twin ability to almost read each other’s thoughts, though, and Alex didn’t particularly care for the vibe he was receiving at the moment.
“So you’re saying Molly may not be ours?”
The possibility carved an unexpected hole in his heart. He’d had two weeks to get used to the idea of being a father. Or uncle. Either way, the idea that neither he nor Blake might have a claim on the baby left a hollow feeling inside him.
“I’m saying it might not hurt to run another test,” Blake was saying. “Especially considering who arranged for the first.”
“You’re right.” Alex huffed out an exasperated breath. “I wouldn’t put it past our dear, sweet mother to have sent in baby hair from one of us instead of from Molly.”
“Me, either.” Laughter lightened Blake’s somber expression. “How many prospective brides has she thrown at you in the past six months?”
“Eight. You?”
“Five.”
Now they had a whole new set of issues to work. With his characteristic decisiveness, Alex wanted the matter of Molly’s parentage settled. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. First, we’ll have another test run to confirm Molly is ours. Second, we convince Ms. Bartlett to submit a DNA sample. If it turns out she’s not Molly’s mother, we go back and …”
The buzz of the intercom cut him off. Irritated, Alex scowled when his brother reached for the phone.
“I told your secretary not to interrupt us.”
“She’s not a secretary,” Blake corrected in his precise way. “She’s my executive assistant.”
As much as Alex loved his twin, there were times he itched to stick a firecracker down his shirt collar and light the fuse. This was one of them.
“Just tell her … Oh, crap!”
He couldn’t suppress a groan as the office door flew open and their mother sailed in. With her megawatt personality, waist-length raven hair showing only a trace of silver, and fingers flashing their usual ten or twelve carats worth of diamonds, Delilah Dalton tended to put a stone-cold finish to conversation whenever she made one of her flamboyant entrances.
The diamonds were absent today. She’d removed them two weeks ago to avoid scratching the tender skin of the infant now cradled to her chest. Instead, her tall, spare figure was encased in black leggings and a print tunic sprouting a profusion of leafy geraniums in eye-popping pink. The sling snuggling the baby against her chest was made of the same wild print.
“Well?” she demanded as she swept in. “How did it go with the Bartlett woman?”
Alex parried her imperious demand with one of his own. “Where did you get that outfit?”
“An on-line shop called Baby Glam and Mama, Too.” Preening, she patted the baby’s back. “It’s got the most delicious inventory. I’m thinking of ordering matching leopard-skin tights and headbands for Molly and me.”
Alex and Blake shared a quick glance. They knew their mother. Once she latched on to something, she didn’t let go. If she’d decided Molly was really her granddaughter …
Aw, hell! Who were they kidding? Alex and Blake had latched on to that same possibility two weeks ago. Even if subsequent tests proved otherwise, the baby was now permanently etched on both their hearts.
That much was obvious when Blake rounded his desk and approached their mom. Smiling, he gazed down at the sleeping infant. His fatuous expression must have mirrored Alex’s because their mother could hardly conceal her glee as she glanced from one son to the other.
“Tell me,” she demanded of Alex. “What did the Bartlett woman say?”
“Her name’s Julie,” he reminded her.
“Whatever.” She flapped an impatient hand. “Did she admit to being Molly’s mother?”
“No.”
“Well, we’ll soon discover the truth of that! When is she going in to supply a DNA sample?”
“She’s not.”
“What?”
Delilah’s small shriek startled the baby. Molly’s head popped up. She blinked and looked right, left, then right again. Driven by an instinct as nervous as it was protective, Alex reached for the child.
“Here, let me take her.”
Delilah unhooked the sling and let him extract the baby. When she saw his smile as he cradled Molly in his arms, she had to bite back an exultant whoop.
She couldn’t have scripted this scenario any better! She was ready. More than ready. All those long, hard years hopping around oil fields and even harder years expanding Dalton International to its present level of operations had taken their toll. Delilah wanted to kick back. Enjoy the wealth those grueling years had generated. Lavish all her loving energy on her tall, handsome, annoyingly independent sons. On the baby Alex now cradled in his arms.
“Tell me,” she ordered again. “What did Bartlett say? Is she the mother or isn’t she?”
“I don’t know.” Frowning, he brushed a knuckle over Molly’s cheek. “I would have said no based on her initial reaction. But when I asked for a DNA sample, she got all huffy and hot-tempered.”
“Ha! There you go! Refusing that simple request proves the woman’s got something to hide. Did you tell her our primary goal is to ascertain Molly’s parentage so we can do a medical history?”
“Yeah, I did.”
His knuckle made another tender sweep over the baby’s cheek. The sight would have filled Delilah with untrammeled glee if not for his grim expression.
“I also offered to pay for a sample,” he related. “That seemed to set her back up.”
“Then you didn’t offer enough.” The hard-headed businesswoman took precedence over Delilah’s rampaging motherly/grandmotherly instincts. “Everyone’s got a price. You just haven’t found hers yet.”
Alex knew she was right. He and Blake had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their mother as she’d faced down competitors who made the mistake of thinking they could prey on their father’s amiable good nature to cut into the Daltons’ growing empire. Delilah had taught her sons to move in, take over, and leave no prisoners behind. As a result Dalton International had gobbled up their competition over the years, including any number of small, two-bit ventures like Agro-Air.
Their mother zoomed in on that like a crow diving on roadkill. “Did you check out this company she works for?”
“Of course,” Blake answered. “We ran a complete financial analysis before Alex drove out to the Panhandle.”
“And?”
“Agro-Air is operating on a shoestring. The old timer who founded it …”
“Careful!”
