start cryin’ if you don’t keep your voice down.” Now the damn woman had her chin poked out. She was giving him her best Yankee-style glare. “And would you kindly stop your swearing, as well.”
Fine. He would keep his voice down. He wouldn’t swear. Much. He suggested with measured care, “Listen. I want you to carry Becky into her bedroom, lay her down in her crib and then step across the hall with me.”
She glared all the harder. “And why on earth would I want to go and do that?”
“So we can discuss this more…freely.”
She made a snorting sound. “I don’t think so, Mr. Stockwell. There is nothin’ to discuss here.” She had one of those big, flowered diaper bags hooked over her shoulder. She hoisted it higher. “I’ll take Becky home now and when you’ve solved the nanny problem you can—”
“Just where the hell is this home you’re taking my daughter to?”
She flinched, just barely, a reaction so small a less observant man would have missed it. But Cord Stockwell saw it, and took note of it. For the first time in their irritating association, he had gotten under Ms. Hannah Miller’s skin. He wondered exactly what nerve he’d hit.
She tried to brazen it out. “Mr. Stockwell, as you very well know, paternity has not yet been medically established. Until the test results come back from the lab in San Diego, the state of Texas can’t be completely certain that Becky is—”
“Come on. That’s my baby, and we both know it.”
Why me? Cord thought. Why of all the damn Child Protective Services workers in the giant state of Texas, did his baby girl have to draw this one? The woman was impossible. She had all the evidence she needed, for pity’s sake. Marnie Lott, Becky’s mother, who had died suddenly two weeks ago, had put Cord’s name on Becky’s birth certificate in the space reserved for the father. Why Marnie never bothered to let Cord know he was going to be a daddy was a mystery to him. But the dates matched. Cord’s brief affair with Marnie had occurred almost exactly a year before—nine months prior to Becky’s birth. And timing aside, all anyone had to do was look at her. If Becky wasn’t a Stockwell, then neither was Cord.
Was Cord prepared for fatherhood? Hell, no. And he doubted that he’d ever be. But Becky was his. A Stock-well. Down the generations, the oil-rich Stockwells of Grandview, Texas, had been called hard-hearted, grasping, backstabbing and cold-blooded. But their worst enemies wouldn’t argue on one point: a Stockwell took care of his own.
The social worker made a sniffing sound. “Maybe Becky is your daughter. Maybe she’s not. The lab results will confirm or disprove your claim.”
“My claim?” Cord grunted. “Let’s cut through the bull here, Ms. Miller. That damn paternity test is no more than a formality. Becky’s mine. And I will provide for her. I’ll see that she has the best of everything. She’ll go to the best schools. She’ll never know what it is to do without. There are a lot of babies in this world who have a hell of lot less—nanny or no nanny. So it seems to me that the state of Texas ought to be just tickled pink over my claim.”
Of course, she had the classic comeback for that. “Money,” she said, “is not all that a baby needs. A child also needs—”
He cut her off before she could get rolling. “Don’t go there, Ms. Miller. Don’t even get started in that direction. I’ve filled out your forms and answered your thousand and one way-too-personal questions. I’ve driven halfway across the county to meet you at that damn clinic so a nurse could stick a cotton swab in my mouth for the DNA test. I’ve set up the nursery you said I had to have. I’ve hired a nanny. She just never came to work. But it’s not a big deal. As I’ve told you, I can manage without her until I replace her. Any other social worker would be more than satisfied that I’m ready and willing to be a father to my child. The question is, Ms. Miller, why aren’t you?”
She gulped. The action gave him great satisfaction. Oh, yeah. He had her on the run now. “I’ve told you, I only want what’s best for—”
“Didn’t I ask if we could cut the bull? Let’s get down to what’s really going on here. Let’s get down to how you plain don’t like me.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I—”
“You don’t like me and you don’t approve of me.”
“Well, uh, I—”
“I can see it in those eyes of yours. I can hear it in your voice. You’ve been reading the National Tattler and Inside Scoop magazine and you know what they say about me. I like women. I like them tall and I like them gorgeous—but I never like them for long.”
“I did not—”
“Sure you did. And that’s okay. It’s only the truth. And my reputation as a ladies’ man has got nothing at all to do with the fact that that baby is mine and I will take care of her.”
Ms. Miller’s face had flushed a burning red. “No. Now, you wait a minute. You wait just a minute. If you can’t provide a stable, loving home for Becky, if you are gonna be out winin’ and dinin’ an endless string of women with whom you never intend to build a meaningful relationship, well, then, I do not see how I can bring myself to leave Becky in—”
“So I’m right.” He gave her a slow, self-satisfied smile. “You don’t approve of me—and you still haven’t answered my first question.”
“Uh. What question was that?”
“Where are you taking my baby if and when you leave this house?”
She opened her mouth. And then she shut it. And then she gulped for the second time.
At last, with an embarrassed reluctance he found particularly pleasurable, she was forced to admit, “I’m licensed for foster care. Becky has been staying with me for the past several days.”
It all made sense to Cord then. He allowed an agonized beat of silence to elapse before echoing quietly, “She’s staying with you.”
Hannah Miller drew her shoulders back and aimed her chin a notch higher. “Yes.”
Cord couldn’t help but gloat—just a little. “You know, I’ll bet that doesn’t leave a lot of time for your other cases. I mean, given that a three-month-old baby is—how did you put it? A full-time job, I think you said, a full-time job requiring round-the-clock attention.”
Those leaf-green eyes shifted away, but only briefly. Then she forced herself to look straight at him again. “I’m providin’ what Becky needs. I had some vacation time coming and I took it. She is getting round-the-clock attention, I promise you that.”
He delivered the telling blow, but he did it gently, in a softer voice than he’d used up till then. “Ms. Miller, you’ve let yourself get personally involved with my baby.”
She blinked, her mouth went trembly. Cord enjoyed the sight more than he should have. “I…no. I—”
“The nanny isn’t the issue here. The way I see it, the issue is twofold. You don’t like me—and
