instead of rescuing hostages or liberating territory, he was claiming his unborn son.
“Susie, I’ve gotta go.” After hanging up the phone, Tiffany’s eyes widened in shock and maybe even a little horror to find her baby’s daddy standing a mere five feet away. “You...”
The man she hadn’t shared a room with since she could see her own toes closed the door.
“What are you doing here? How did you even find me?” Flustered, she couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. She skimmed her no-doubt-messy hair, then tried crossing her arms, but that didn’t feel quite right, because she’d grown so top-heavy that her arms were practically under her chin—yet one more reason to despise the man standing before her.
“Got your message.” He wagged a silver-toned cell phone.
“Little late, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Been out of town. Unavoidable delay.”
“Uh-huh...” She returned to her email. “Whatever you’ve got to say, you’re not just a little late, but all-the-way late. Adoption plans are already in place.”
“About that...” He stepped forward, bracing his hands on either side of her small desk. In a quiet, downright lethal tone, he said, “There’s no way in hell you’re signing away my son.”
Tiffany gulped. The last time she’d seen him he’d been handsome, but she’d also been wearing martini goggles and in hindsight had figured it was an impossibility for him to look half as good as she remembered. Wrong. He looked even better. He smelled amazing, too—like a day at the beach. Warm sun and sand and a hint of sexy sweat. She sneaked a peek at whisker-stubbled cheeks and eyes green enough to remind her of her former Dallas mansion’s lawn.
Straightening in her chair, she retorted, “As a matter of fact, I am giving him up. We might have discussed the matter had you been courteous enough to call within hours—or even days—of my message. But when you failed to share so much as an opinion after months, what did you expect? As much as I’d love being a mom, I can barely afford being me—which reminds me, I have an appointment for a showing, so you’ll need to leave.”
He not only didn’t leave but set his battered brown leather cowboy hat in one guest chair, then proceeded to help himself to the other. His legs were so long they didn’t fold right given the cramped space, so he stretched them out. Beneath her desk, the toes of his cowboy boots touched the toes of her pumps.
She lurched backward as if she’d been struck by a rattler.
“Let me guess?” he asked with a lopsided, white-toothed grin. “This client is a Mr. Jones?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“I am him.” He chuckled.
“No, no, no...” She massaged her forehead.
“Oh, yes.”
“But I needed that commission.” Her stinging eyes and tight throat might mean she was ready to cry, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.
“Relax. I’ll help you raise the baby. Financially, and you know...” He waved his hands. “With all the other stuff kids need.”
“Great—only you won’t be raising him at all. Susie and Jeb Parker will. They’re amazing people, and both have real jobs—as opposed to you. I’m assuming you’re a low-life seasonal cowboy? Now that you’ve earned enough cash to buy beer through the long, cold winter, you’re back in town to raise a little hell?”
“First, cut the attitude and sass. Second, how about trying to act like a civilized adult. Third, I’m a freaking navy SEAL—it doesn’t get much more real than that, sweetheart.”
“You’re in the navy? In the middle of North Dakota? The night we were together, you told me you were a bull rider. But now I see you meant to say you’re just full of bull.” She primly folded her hands atop her desk. What she wouldn’t give to have one of her father’s former legal team make mincemeat of this loser—although they hadn’t been all that successful with her dad.
“Okay...” He sighed, then leaned back in his chair, opening his long duster coat just enough for her to see how well his brown sweater clung to his broad chest. “I get that the night we met, I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior, but then, neither were you.”
True.
“But here’s the deal. I really am in the navy, and I was in town for the annual rodeo and to visit my family for Easter. They were supposed to join me in Virginia Beach, but Dad tripped during the last big snow and hurt his back. The reason I never got your message is because I was in Afghanistan and dropped my damned phone down a well.”
“Show me pics or it didn’t happen.” What kind of drugs was this guy on? “Oh—but since your phone is at the bottom of a well, guess that won’t happen, either.”
“Ever heard of the cloud?” His expression brightened when he pulled out his phone to start flipping through photos of a guy wearing desert camo, mirrored Ray-Bans and a similar cowboy hat, only with a full beard and shaggy hair. “Here I am with a donkey, and playing soccer with village kids—that’s the phone-eating well in the background...” He pointed. “There’s me driving a tank, and me in a cave—Oh, here I am with a cheetah. You find the damnedest things in terrorist camps.”
“Okay, okay, so you proved you’ve been somewhere in the Middle East, but as for you being a SEAL? Let’s get real. If I had a dollar for every time some guy in a bar told me he was a fighter pilot or spy—or in your case, bull rider—I sure wouldn’t be selling real estate in the middle of nowhere, North Dakota.”
“Case in point.” He stashed his phone in his back pocket, then winked. “You sure didn’t have a problem with my line the night we made our son—if he even is mine.” He said the words, but Logan’s churning stomach recalled that split second of condom doubt. He could deny it all he wanted, but in all probability, this baby was his.
She rolled her eyes.
“Ready to reach an amicable arrangement?”
“No. Because not only do I not believe you’re from Maple Springs, but I think you’re lying about the navy and your rodeo glory days and probably damn near everything else you’ve ever told me.”
“That’s it.” Jaw clenched, he leaped to his feet, planted his hat on his head, then rounded to her side of the desk. Hand on her upper arm, he barked, “Get up. There’s someone you need to meet.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Look...” Even though he’d released her, she could have sworn his each individual fingertip scorched her skin through her dress. He knelt so his gaze landed dead even with hers. He was close enough for his warm, coffee-laced breath to flare her nostrils and raise achingly familiar goose bumps up and down the length of her arms. To compensate for the
