“Me?”
“You didn’t sign off on the adoption, which is usually required. Ken and Gail’s attorney had advised them not to go ahead without your signature, but they were desperate and willing to take the chance you wouldn’t appear one day. That changed when she got pregnant.”
“And you decided to come home.”
“I quit my job, gave up my apartment, cashed in my 401K and headed here. Now that I have Jamie, nothing or no one is going to take him from me again.”
“I see,” Clay said in a tone that made Sierra think he didn’t see at all.
“I’ve been given a second chance, Clay. An opportunity to correct all the mistakes I made.” The hell with her pride. She’d plead with him if that was what it took.
“Do those mistakes include not telling me?”
“I’m here now, and I’ve explained everything.”
“Have you?”
Everything except the part where I fell in love with you. “Yes.”
Jamie promptly abandoned the mugs and cups and waddled over to Sierra. She gathered him to her and kissed the top of his downy blond head.
Clay watched them. “We’re going to have to come to an agreement about him.”
“All right.”
She’d let him visit Jamie at the ranch. A few times a week if he wanted. Then later, say next year, when she’d conquered her separation anxiety, Clay could take Jamie for the afternoon or maybe the whole day. Assuming she was still in Mustang Valley. She’d need a new job and these days a decent one was hard to find. Chances were she’d have to look outside the Scottsdale area, possibly outside the state.
“I’m glad you agree.” Clay stood, went over to Jamie and patted his head, his smile tender and, this was a surprise to Sierra, almost fatherly. “I’ll have my attorney contact you this week regarding the custody agreement.”
“Custody agreement? Don’t you mean visitation?” Sierra also stood, Jamie holding on to her leg.
Clay reached for Jamie, hefted him into his arms. “I want joint custody of our son.”
“No! Forget it.”
“We’re going to raise him together, whether you like it or not.”
She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.
Chapter Three
Clay rang his mother’s doorbell. She always told him to use his key and just come in, but he didn’t feel right about that. Perhaps because the spacious townhouse in the upscale Scottsdale neighborhood had never struck him as home.
His mother’s home, he reminded himself.
The door swung open. “Clay, sweetheart! Come in.” Blythe Duvall kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad you called. What a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon.”
He gave her a fond squeeze before releasing her. “How are you, Mom?”
“Great. I shot an eighty-seven this morning. My best game in months.”
All this time, and it still surprised him to see her in golfing attire. Or in the business suits and heels she wore to the title company where she worked as an escrow officer. She should be in jeans and boots and the floppy straw hat she’d refused to give up till it literally fell apart on her head.
Except she hadn’t lived on a ranch in more than eight years and probably wouldn’t ever again.
“Good for you.” Clay followed her into the kitchen where a newspaper lay spread open on the breakfast bar.
“Can I get you something? A cold drink? Coffee?”
“Just ice water.”
“You sounded so serious on the phone.” She busied herself pouring their water. “Something the matter?”
“Not exactly.”
He sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and let his gaze travel the stylish, ultra-contemporary kitchen, with its high-tech appliances and built-in flat-panel TV. Like his mother’s clothes, the kitchen felt wrong. He remembered her cooking hearty meals at their huge gas range and a refrigerator covered with photos, reminder notes and school papers.
His parents had divorced about the time his father exercised a small-print clause in his contract with the Powells and sold off their land, effectively putting them out of the cattle business. Clay honestly didn’t know if the sale of the land was the final straw in a marriage circling the drain or a last-ditch effort to save it.
The story changed depending on which parent was telling it.
Because his mother sided with Clay against his father regarding the Powells’ land, they had remained close. Neither of them kept much of a connection with Bud Duvall.
“I have some news,” Clay said. “Rather incredible news.”
“Uh-oh.” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed, replaced by worry. “The last incredible news you had was when you told me you and Jessica were getting married and moving to Texas.”
They both knew how badly that had turned out. No two people had been more ill-suited for each other or more blind until it was too late.
“No, I’m not getting married again.”
“What is it then?” She placed two glasses of ice water on the breakfast bar and slipped into the stool beside him.
He hesitated, honestly not sure how his mother would react. She wanted grandchildren. She also wanted Clay happily married and settled first.
“I told you Sierra Powell was coming home for the wedding.”
“You did.”
Clay’s mother and Sierra’s mother had been good friends before tragedy had struck, cutting Louise Powell’s life short.
“She brought her young son with her.”
“Really! I wasn’t aware she had any children.”
“No one was, including her family.”
His mother’s hands flew to her cheeks. “That must have come as a shock. Though I’m sure Wayne is overjoyed. He dotes on his granddaughter, Sage’s daughter, too.”
“He is overjoyed.” Clay inhaled deeply. “There’s something else you need to know. It’s good news, I assure you. But unexpected.”
“Now you’ve got me scared.”
“Sierra’s son… Well, I’m the father.”
