to say, Ethan?”
He’d like to say he wished like hell they’d not been interrupted by her mother’s nightmare that evening. He’d like to say that he’d been thinking of her kisses, of her skin, of the beauty of her wavy, russet hair for the past three months. He’d like to say that even in the midst of grief and worry, the memory of her smile and laughter had been a warm beacon.
Instead he sat in a chair across from her, the infant carrier resting on his knees. “This is my nephew, Jonah,” he said simply. “And the day I left your mother’s bed-and-break fast, I was called away because Jonah’s mother, my sister, had been the victim of a carjacking.”
One of Cleo’s hands rose to cover her mouth.
He went on doggedly. It wasn’t an easy story to tell. “I probably should have left you some word, or called you when I reached Houston, but all I could think about was Della and Jonah. She was in intensive care with head injuries and Jonah was missing.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Cleo whispered. Suddenly she wasn’t in her chair, but kneeling beside Ethan, her attention focused on the baby. One fingertip stroked his nephew’s downy head. Her gaze turned Ethan’s way. In her violet eyes was the sudden awareness that his story didn’t have a happy-ever-after. “But the baby was found.”
Ethan nodded. “In an alley, in Della’s abandoned car.” His hand curled into a fist, as the useless waste of the tragedy cut through him again like an acid burn. “Two days later the carjacker was killed in a police shoot-out. A day after that, my sister died.” His voice was hoarse.
“Oh, Ethan.” Cleo’s warm hand covered his fist and he closed his eyes, her touch soothing and so damn welcome. “You must have loved her very much.”
“She was my little sister.” He opened his eyes and saw Cleo still kneeling between Jonah and him, one hand touching his, one hand on the baby’s hair, linking all three of them together.
Just as he knew she would.
“Tell me about her, Ethan. You never even mentioned to me you had a sister.”
Guilt stabbed him again. When he’d been in Montana three months ago he’d been carefully impersonal with Cleo. To tell the truth, he was carefully impersonal with everyone, but Cleo was the kind of woman who invited you to bare your soul. And because he’d been interested only in baring her body, he’d steered completely clear of anything that would even vaguely hint of any deeper intimacy.
But things were different now. Everything was different. Not him, though. He hadn’t changed. But his needs had. So that meant telling Cleo what she wanted to know.
He cleared his throat. “Della was twenty-nine years old. She worked for me, at my office in Houston.”
Cleo looked at little Jonah and smiled. “Was she blond like you?”
He pictured his sister in his mind. Not as he’d last seen her, her head swathed in bandages, bruises on her face and tubes everywhere, but as she’d been before the carjacking. “She was tiny, shorter than you, and she did have blond hair. After Jonah was born, she cut it short as a boy’s.”
Cleo nodded solemnly. “Easy to take care of.”
“She was easy to take care of.” Ethan broke off, suddenly embarrassed. Yeah, he missed his sister, but he wasn’t about to get all maudlin in front of Cleo.
Maybe she sensed his reluctance, because she turned her attention back to the baby. “How old is he?”
“Seven months,” Ethan replied.
“And where’s Jonah’s father?”
“His biological father abandoned both Della and the baby before Jonah was born. They were engaged, but let’s just say Della found it a little…distressing when Drake gave her a black eye instead of a welcome home kiss one evening.” Ethan and Della knew a lot about black eyes and the kind of men who dispensed them.
“She decided that she and the baby were better off without him and he didn’t put up a fuss.” With Ethan there, backing Della up, the cowardly bastard wouldn’t have dared.
“And now that Della’s…gone?” Cleo asked quietly.
“As far as Drake’s concerned, Della and Jonah were gone from his life a long time ago.” Ethan paused, because now they were getting to the important part. “I’m Jonah’s f—”
Damn. He ran his hand through his hair. It was hard to say the word because he’d never considered himself suited to the job.
Cleo rose and leaned against the back of her desk, smiling a little as she looked down at Ethan. “His f—?” she asked, her almost-teasing voice easing the moment. “His what? Feet? Fiddle? Filly?”
Ethan’s lips twitched and his brows came together. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Montana lady, but this city boy seems to recall that a filly is a female horse, right?”
At her little nod he couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke one finger against the back of her hand. “Well, now, Cleo, you gotta know I’m all man, don’t you?”
Her face pinkened and she snatched her hand away, and for the first time in months, Ethan’s mood lightened. Cleo. God, it was right to come back to her. When his lawyer had made what should have been an outrageous suggestion, he’d instantly thought of her, of her wavy hair, of her warm touch, of the way she looked at him.
And the lawyer’s suggestion was what he had to tell Cleo about now. Jonah had drifted off to sleep and Ethan carefully moved the carrier to the carpet beside him. He casually rested his hands on the arms of his chair, though the situation he found himself in was anything but casual.
“I’m Jonah’s family now,” Ethan said. “Nothing and no one is going to take him away from me. Della named me as his legal guardian.” He paused.
“I think I hear a but,” Cleo said slowly.
He nodded. “After Della…died, I hired a nanny right away. I was able to postpone the deal I had going on here in White horn, but there were a couple of others I couldn’t put off. You know what that means.”
“You were out of town a lot.”
Ethan stared down at the sleeping baby. “Yes. But I was cutting my trips as close to the bone as possible and the nanny was working out fine. Then Drake’s parents entered the picture.”
“The baby’s grandparents.”
Ethan nodded. “They’re rich, they’re socially prominent and they don’t think much of me as Jonah’s…father since I’m away from him so much.”
“But the nanny—”
“Isn’t a mother.” Ethan looked up into Cleo’s unsuspecting but sympathetic violet eyes. “They’re suing for custody of Jonah.”
“Oh.” Cleo kneeled again, putting one hand on Ethan’s shoulder. They were face-to-face, and hers was full of concern and sadness. “I’m so sorry, Ethan.”
He looked at her steadily, and suddenly she dropped her hand and jumped to her feet. “Well,
