“Hi, Sierra.” His smile was friendly, his voice deep and honeyed like she remembered.
She looked up at him—how could she not?—and stared into the face of her baby’s father. Her heart, open with love for her son and the recent reconciliation with her family, promptly closed tight.
* * *
SHE HAD A BABY.
Clay’s stomach clenched as if someone had sucker-punched him with the business end of a baseball bat.
From the moment he’d learned Sierra was returning to Mustang Valley, he’d imagined them picking up where they’d left off. She’d generously overlook his incredible lack of judgment and brief, disastrous marriage, and they’d fall into each other’s arms.
Only her arms were full of a bouncing baby boy. There went the happy-you’re-home kiss he’d been counting on.
Instead, he squeezed her upper arm. “Good to see you again.”
She muttered something about how nice it was to see him, too.
The boy’s head tipped back, and his inquisitive gaze fixed on Clay’s face. There was something about his eyes that struck a familiar chord, though Clay couldn’t quite identify why.
Maybe he was wrong, and the kid wasn’t hers. She could be a nanny or something.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
“My, um, my…” She glanced down at the baby, held him closer. “My son.”
Clay swallowed. So much for his nanny theory.
Which meant she’d been with a man. A man besides him. Jealousy sliced through him. Not that he had any claim on her. He’d forfeited it the second he’d stupidly left Sierra in order to reunite with Jessica, his then ex-fiancée and later wife.
In hindsight, hurting Sierra had been inevitable.
If Gavin and Ethan knew what he’d done to their little sister, he’d lose a lot more than their friendship. An arm. The use of his legs. And that was just for starters.
“What’s his name?” Clay asked.
The baby babbled as if answering. He really was an appealing tyke. Clay felt an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, tug inside his chest. He’d always liked kids despite having little experience with them and would be a father today if things had gone differently.
His loss still pained him.
Probably the reason he felt drawn to Sierra’s boy.
She said nothing, acting as though she hadn’t heard him. Loading a spoon with some vile-looking mush out of a jar, she tried to feed it to the baby. Wisely, the kid shook his head and grimaced. The stuff did look awful.
“No name, buddy?”
“It’s Jamie,” Isa piped up. She and Cassie had been standing behind Sierra and trying to distract the baby with funny faces. “Isn’t that a cool name?”
“Yeah,” Clay agreed, receiving yet another invisible punch to the stomach. “Cool.”
His grandfather’s name had been Jamie, short for Jamieson. Did Sierra know?
Yes, he’d told her all about his summers spent in Montana and about returning for his grandfather’s funeral.
Coincidence?
It had to be.
“Nice to meet you, Jamie,” Clay said and leaned down, extending his index finger.
The baby broke into a wide, rather comical grin and grabbed Clay’s finger, holding it as he were shaking hands.
“He likes you,” Cassie blurted.
“The feeling’s mutual.” The tug inside Clay’s chest grew stronger, and he grinned back at the baby. Turning his head, he discovered Sierra’s face mere inches from him. “Cute baby.”
She stared back at him, her brown eyes wide with terror.
His grin dissolved, and he involuntarily straightened. The moment he did, she practically leapt out of her chair.
“I’d better clean this up.” Grabbing the jar of baby food and empty bottle with her free hand, she cut past Isa and made a hasty beeline for the sink, Jamie riding on her hip.
What exactly had happened?
He would have understood anger. He’d treated her badly after all. But fear? No. Something else was definitely amiss.
Clay’s glance cut to Sage and Caitlin still sitting at the table. Their expressions reflected a confusion similar to the one he was experiencing.
The celebration continued with cake and punch. Wayne Powell, Sierra’s father, acted as host. The group of men, which included a few family friends and two of the Powells’ longtime ranch hands, wandered to the living room. The women, girls and Wayne remained in the kitchen, hovering around Sierra and Jamie.
Clay stayed, too, using a conversation with Wayne as his excuse. While the older man talked, Clay kept one ear tuned to the discussion going on between the women.
Sierra had set Jamie on the floor, and he was toddling about by her feet. Isa knelt in front of him, making a toy pony that looked as if it had been mauled gallop in the air.
“How old is he?” Caitlin asked Sierra.
Sierra hesitated, thinned her lips and twirled a strand of glossy brunette hair around her finger. “About a year.”
Clay knew that look and habit, having seen it a hundred times before. He’d spent almost as much time at Powell Ranch as he had his own family’s while growing up. Sierra was the pesky, always-in-the-way little sister. While she didn’t lie, exactly, she’d occasionally exaggerated, and the hair-twirling was a dead giveaway.
So, what was she exaggerating about this time?
“He’s walking well for a year,” Sage commented.
“Did he have his birthday already?” Cassie asked. “Maybe we can have a party for him.”
Sierra thinned her lips again and twirled her hair even faster. “He already had a party.”
Wayne said something to Sierra about her and Jamie staying in Ethan’s old room, that her room had been given over to the girls.
Clay listened and watched.
Jamie fascinated him. He picked at the laces of Isa’s sneakers with amazing determination and quickly had them untied. Clay admired that quality, having plenty of it himself. He’d inherited it from his father and grandfather Jamie.
Suddenly, the air was too thick to breathe and the room stifling hot.
Clay mentally calculated how long since he and Caitlin had last seen each other.
