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Since Patrick had delivered his news, Emma felt her body relax. One rarely crossed her daddy and got by with it. He had clout in this town and wasn’t afraid to use it. Sometimes she wondered if he played dirty pool in order to get his way or to make a deal, but since she had no proof, she refused to dwell on the negative.
It was fruitless, anyway. She had enough intuitiveness to realize she couldn’t change him or his way of operating. Nor did she want to. In this case, she definitely didn’t. She’d make any sacrifice, or do most anything to keep Logan, which she guessed put her in the same class with her father.
“What do we do?” she finally asked, trapping Patrick’s dark eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s right. It’s up to Webster to make the first move. Why alert him to the fact he has a child? I’m betting a kid is the last thing he’d want to be saddled with. When he was married to your sister, he was wild as a March hare and not afraid of the devil himself.”
“That’s why I can’t believe she married someone like him.” Emma shivered. “A kid off the streets.”
“A hoodlum is what I called him,” Patrick responded grimly. “His dad was a no-good layabout who finally drank himself to death. I think his mother later died from sheer laziness.”
“No wonder he was wild,” Emma said in a sad tone.
“That’s no excuse,” Patrick flared back, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.
“Still, that’s probably what attracted him to Uncle Sam.” Emma shivered again. “No telling what he did for them.”
“We’ll never know,” Patrick said. “But then, I don’t give a damn. I just don’t want to ever lay eyes on the s.o.b. again.”
Emma sighed deeply. “It’s a good thing I never had the pleasure of meeting him.”
When her sister had hooked up with Cal Webster, Emma had been in Europe studying. By the time she’d returned, the marriage was over and Webster had disappeared.
“The first time your sister brought him home,” Patrick was saying, “I knew he was bad news. He was cocky and arrogant even when he didn’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of.”
Knowing this conversation had dredged up painful memories, Emma crossed the room and placed a hand on her dad’s arm. “It’s okay. Like you said, he’s probably just passing through, then he’ll be gone on another assignment, no telling where.”
“That had better be the case,” Patrick said with twisted features and venom in his voice.
Before Emma could say anything else, Logan cried out. Turning, she ran to the pallet and dropped to her knees beside him. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. “Mommy’s here. And so is Papa.”
“Hey, fellow,” Patrick said, making his way to his grandson where he placed a hand on the child’s head and tousled his dark hair. “Be a good boy for Mommy today, and I’ll take you to get an ice cream cone tonight.”
“Ice cream,” Logan repeated, a grin on his face.
Facing Emma, Patrick said, “I’ll see you two later. I have a meeting in about five minutes.”
She nodded. “Keep me posted.”
Patrick’s features remained twisted. “That goes without saying.”
Once he was gone, Emma clutched Logan so tightly to her breast that he began to whimper. “Sorry, son, didn’t mean to hurt you.” She tweaked him on the chin, then placed a hand on his forehead, which felt cool and free of any fever.
“Mama,” he said with his toothy grin.
“Oh,” she said wide-eyed. “I hear Mickey’s truck.”
“Truck,” Logan mimicked, his grin increasing.
“That’s right, which means Mama has to go. You stay with Janet, and I’ll be back in a minute.”
As if on cue, her helper came around the corner and took the baby, whose lower lip began to tremble. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Janet will play with you.”
Logan kicked his legs, then looped his arms around Emma’s neck and gave her a gooey kiss on the cheek. Emma laughed with joy as she walked outside.
Cal wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all. In fact, it was probably insanity at its highest level. Still, he’d made up his mind to go through with this bizarre plan, and he wasn’t about to change it now. Besides, it was too late. He was already parked in front of his ex sister-in-law’s nursery, his truck loaded with plants.
He was sweating as though he’d been chopping wood, to his chagrin. Albeit the spring day was hotter than usual, but he shouldn’t have been wet with sweat. Dammit, he was nervous. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. He’d been in the worst hellholes one could imagine, and here he was about to face an innocent woman and he couldn’t function.
Only he knew she wasn’t just any woman. She was his son’s guardian.
Dammit, he had to get hold of himself or he couldn’t even get out of the truck, much less rein in his splattered emotions. Losing control was not something he had patience with. That could get him dead.
That sudden trek back into the past brought on a curse as Cal lunged out of the truck, making him aware that while he might be out of the jungle physically, he had a long way to go before he was out mentally.
He’d hold that thought and dissect it another time.
Right now, he had other fish to fry. Grabbing his clipboard, Cal made his way around the front of the vehicle. When he saw Emma coming toward him, he pulled up short.
While she was not nearly as attractive as Connie had been, it was obvious they were sisters. Both had the same shaped face and eyes, though their eyes were different colors. And the mouth—there was a resemblance there, too.
But that was where the likeness ended. The closer Emma came, the closer he stared with far more interest than necessary, especially since he had sworn off women.
Most Southern women he knew would never be caught dead without makeup. Emma Jenkins was the exception, and it served her well. Her skin appeared soft and radiant and wrinkle-free, though he knew she was in her mid-thirties. You go girl, he thought; buck the status quo.
But it was the way she was dressed that really captivated his attention. She had on a pair of bright-purple overalls with loose-fitting straps. Underneath was a skimpily-cut T-shirt that hugged her well-endowed breasts and left a smidgen of her ribs bare. He’d bet his last red cent that she was braless. On closer observation, she didn’t need one.
Those breasts were upright and perky….
Whoa, cowboy! It had been a long time since he’d noticed a woman’s breasts with any interest whatsoever. And he wasn’t about to start with her—his ex-wife’s sister. God forbid.
Cal dragged his eyes off her chest and back to her face. Unlike Connie, she wasn’t beautiful in the true sense of the word, nor was she as blatantly sexy. Yet in her own right, she was lovely. And classy.
She was tall—he’d guess five feet eight—with dark hair worn in a short, bobbed style, which accented her creamy skin and full lips. But it was her eyes that held him spellbound. They were a unique color—Windex-blue—and surrounded by an abundance of sooty lashes.
“Mickey, it’s about time you got here.” She paused, a frown marring her brows. “You’re not Mickey,” she added inanely.
“No, ma’am,” Cal drawled, “I’m not.”
“Where’s Mickey?” she asked bluntly, her eyes giving him the once-over.
He wondered what she was thinking. If he were to hazard a guess, he probably wouldn’t like it. In no way would he come near measuring up to her expectations, remembering his reflection in his mirror this morning.
His hair was too long and his jeans and T-shirt both had holes in them. And his face—well, that was another story altogether. He knew he looked drawn and disheveled—not at all pleasing to the eyesight. But give him time, he told himself. When he had to, he cleaned up real well. He just hadn’t had the time or the inclination to do so.
“I understand he’s now on another route. I read about the vacancy in the paper.”
She leaned her head to one side and gave him a suspicious look, like she wanted to say more. She didn’t, though, at least not about Mickey. “So who are you?”
Cal hesitated for a moment, then shot out his hand, a hearty smile on his lips. “Bart McBride. But my friends call me Bubba.”
Three
Wow!
That was the first thought that came to Emma’s mind when she met his eyes, dark and direct. She’d had lots of delivery guys since she’d been in this business, but none had ever looked like this one. She couldn’t exactly say he was the best-looking thing that had come down the pike—that would be an exaggeration—yet there was something about him that definitely got her attention.
When it came to men, that wasn’t an easy feat.
Maybe it was the hard, dangerous look he seemed to wear so comfortably. Jeez Louise, Emma thought, swallowing nervously, feeling a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Who was he? More to the point, how could she have such an irrational reaction to a stranger? A truck driver, to boot.
She wasn’t a snob—that wasn’t it at all. It usually took more than a tall, tanned, muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair to make her take a second look.
This time she’d taken more than one look, for heaven’s sake. Her eyes were camped on him. Even though she felt color seep into her cheeks, Emma still didn’t turn away. Maybe it was those kick-ass dimples in his cheeks that were the culprit. Or maybe it was his even white teeth that appeared even whiter under his tanned skin.
So he was an awesome specimen of manhood. A moment’s worth of eye candy. So what? She’d been exposed to his type before, and it hadn’t come close to striking a nerve.
Why now?
He certainly wasn’t her type; that was a given. Much too rough around the edges, too menacing to suit her. In the mounting silence, instead of averting her gaze, however, she perused his body. Her eyes started with his faded and tight-fitting T-shirt, then traveled down to his jeans that had no chance of hiding the impressive bulge of his sex or the powerful strength of his legs.
Emma’s flush deepened, and her skin prickled.
Realizing how crazily she was behaving, how totally out of the norm this was, she jerked her eyes back up, but not before she caught the same look of blatant appreciation and interest mirrored in his.
To her dismay, the air around them turned suffocating with sexual tension.
“I’m assuming you’re Emma Jenkins,” he said, finally.
His low, sandpaper-edged voice now seemed as sexy as his appearance. For another moment, she was speechless, trying to assimilate her feelings. What was this all about? What was she all about?
Nothing, she told herself, feeling a surge of defiance flood through her. She was just reacting to a good-looking man, that was all—something she hadn’t done in a long time. While that felt good, it also scared the bejesus out of her as her sister’s lifestyle flashed before her eyes.
Emma cleared her throat and forced herself to say, “Uh, that’s right.” He didn’t extend his hand again, which was good in light of her crazy reaction to him.
Nope, touching him would definitely not work, mainly because she wanted to. Emma gritted her teeth, then pasted a smile on her face. “I hope everything’s okay with Mickey,” she commented, trying to lessen the tension that was threatening to mount again. “He was here so often, we actually became friends.” She paused. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me he’d been reassigned.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll get around to that,” Bubba drawled, peering down at his clipboard, then back up. “Everything in my truck belongs to you.”
“That’s not a surprise.”
“You must have a super business.”
“I do.”
Bubba grinned, which played more havoc with her insides. “Can’t beat that. So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
Oh, brother. “Not if Mickey comes back.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, at least not for a while.”
“If you see him, tell him to stop by and see me, okay?”
“Sure will.”
A silence.
This time Bubba cleared his throat and was apparently about to say something when Emma heard a noise behind her. She swung around and saw Logan, pursued by a harassed-looking Janet, come toddling toward her.
“I’m sorry, Em, but he got away from me.”
Emma smiled, reached for Logan and swept him into her arms. After flicking him on the chin, she said with a grin, “You’re a bad boy.”
“Bad,” Logan mimicked, hugging her around the neck as he took a peek at Bubba.
“Good-looking kid.”
“Thanks.”
“He’s yours, right?” Bubba asked.
Not wanting to get personal with this man made Emma hesitate, then she thought of Mickey. When he’d asked that same question, she hadn’t been reluctant to respond at all. Just the opposite, in fact. With this Bubba character, it was another matter altogether.
Her reaction wasn’t because he’d asked about Logan per se, but because she had reacted to Bubba so strongly and wanted him to take care of business and be on his way.
Yet she wanted him to stay. How much sense did that make? None. Again, she had never reacted to a man in such a forthright way. Bluntly put, she was intrigued, much to her dismay.
Then realizing how absurd, how out-of-hand her thoughts had gotten, Emma declared in a firm, but businesslike tone, “Yes, he is.” Then she hesitated and with a proud smile added, “Or at least he soon will be.”
“Care to explain?” he asked.
Slightly taken aback by his continued boldness, Emma plastered another smile on her face and said, “Not at the moment.”
Bubba laughed, then winked. “Before I wear out my welcome, I guess I’d best unload this truck and move on.”
“I think that’s a grand idea.”
Bubba paused and looked her up and down again, leaving her breathless in her tracks. He then walked to the back of the truck, shoved up the big door and went about his task.
When he finished, he brought the invoice for her to sign, placing her in much closer proximity to him than she would have liked. Despite the warmth of the morning, the smell of soap still clung to his skin; it wafted through her senses, creating another cluster of butterflies in her tummy.
If this man didn’t hurry up and get out of her sight…
“Be seeing you, Emma,” Bubba said with a grin that recalled her attention to those kick-ass dimples.
“I’m sure you will.” She watched him climb into the truck. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “You bet.” Then added, “Take care of that boy, you hear?”
Until he disappeared, she stood her ground, feeling as if her bones had turned to water, leaving her weak and unsteady. And damned confused. Finally she hauled a heavy Logan back inside, but even that seemed like an effort.
Once the baby was back under the tutelage of Janet, Emma went into her office, closed the door, sat down in her chair and took several deep breaths, trying to quiet her erratic heartbeat.
“Stop it,” she muttered aloud, grabbing the invoice and pen, forcing herself to peruse the statement. If the truth be known, while her fingers were doing their job, her mind was not. It was elsewhere, she conceded, a mutinous curve to her mouth. It was on that driver. There was something about him that had an effect on her.
Stop it, she repeated silently, having sworn long ago not to become a clone of her sister. She almost laughed at the thought, it was so ludicrous. Even if she’d wanted to, it wouldn’t have been possible.
Connie was like a true princess, tiny and blond with a figure to die for. Enhancing that lovely body was a bubbly personality. She attracted people, especially men, like bees to honey. But underneath that Southern belle demeanor was a wild streak that Connie had never learned to control.
Men seemed to have loved that in her. Not only were they attracted to her, but she to them. Not so with Emma. The fact that she didn’t have the same appetite for the opposite sex always brought ridicule from her sister.
Connie had continually pointed out, “God, you’re such a stick-in-the-mud, sis.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Emma had responded in as calm a tone as possible.
“No, you’re not. That’s what makes it so bad.” Connie smiled her sunny smile and batted her big dark lashes. “Why don’t you let me fix you up? We’ll double-date, and I’ll show you how to have the time of your life.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Emma said with a smidgen of defiance, which Connie readily picked up on.
“What’s your problem?” Connie demanded in an ugly tone. “You gay, or something?”
That barb cut to the core. Still, Emma kept her cool, knowing that Connie thrived on a good verbal fight, determined to win no matter what. Having learned that early on, Emma merely smiled and said, “You know better than that, Connie. I just prefer to pick my own men, that’s all.”
Connie gave an unladylike snort, then mouthed off, “Yeah, right.”
A deep heavy sigh parted Emma’s lips, bringing her out of her morbid thoughts back into the sunlight. Connie was gone and it was pointless to let herself dwell on the bad times, though she had to confess there were few good ones.
While she knew that Patrick loved her, he had adored Connie. He’d tried not to show his partiality, but he hadn’t pulled it off. Patrick’s adoration remained on course even after Connie had married, divorced and even got hooked on drugs. Once the baby was born, she couldn’t stand being tied down. Not long after that, she took up with a biker. It was then that she had made Emma her baby’s guardian. They never saw Connie again except in her casket.
That child had been the only thing that had kept Patrick from falling apart after Connie’s death. Realizing that her mind had once again backtracked into the morbid, Emma lunged up and took several calming breaths.
She had made peace with Connie’s death. Out of that peace had come the certainty that she would never end up like her sister, who couldn’t control her lust for a man.
A wail almost erupted from Emma’s lips. Hadn’t she done the very same thing this morning? Lust had shot through her when she’d first seen Bubba McBride. Why? Because he’d made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life. How crazy was that? Most likely he was married with a home in suburbia with two-point-three children, even though he hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. However, a ringless finger didn’t mean anything.
Gritting her teeth again, Emma shoved the thought of that stranger out of her mind and went in search of Logan. When things in her life began to get out of kilter, the responsibility of him put her back on solid ground.
Thank God.
He’d never lacked balls before. Why this morning? Why hadn’t he told Emma Jenkins who he was?
Cal had asked himself that question countless times and still hadn’t come up with an answer worth a damn. Bubba? His mouth twisted. God, where had that idiotic name come from? He had no idea; it had crossed his mind and he’d blurted it out. Now his foot was stuck in his mouth and it sure didn’t taste good.
What now?
That was the really big question, the one he had no choice but to answer. Only not right now. He was too busy controlling the sick feeling churning in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he reached the gates of his ranch several miles north of Tyler.
His mother and dad had left him this prime piece of property only because they hadn’t gotten around to selling it before their deaths. Cal’s lips twisted sardonically, remembering his parents and how unimportant he’d been to them.
If he hadn’t run away from home and joined the army, he’d probably be dead by now. He would’ve joined a gang and been sucked into the same underworld he’d spent much of his adult life fighting.
Thank God that hadn’t happened and thank God he had this place.
It was home to him now, especially since he loved the outdoors, reveling in the freedom it gave him. Until his new security job took him out of the country, he aimed to spend as much time here with his horses and cattle as he could.
He just wished he could bring his son….
Cal slammed on the brakes and shoved the gearshift in Park, feeling sweat ooze out of every pore in his body. He was also dizzy. He rested his head on the steering wheel until it stopped spinning.
His child.
His son.
By damn, he was a father.
Of a fine-looking boy, too. When he’d first laid eyes on the kid, he’d been awestruck, thinking Logan couldn’t be his flesh and blood. No way could he and Connie, out of the misery of their marriage, have produced a tiny being so perfect. Hence, the kid had to have come from someone else’s loins.
Then just as quickly Cal’s negative thoughts turned a bit positive when he remembered a baby picture of himself he’d found at the ranch. Logan did resemble the kid in the picture.
Screw DNA testing; he didn’t need that. Logan was his kid.
Still shaking, Cal swiped the sweat from his brow and above his lip. He remained too shaken to drive toward the small cabin that served as his home. His gaze searched for his foreman, Art Rutherford, who was usually out and about taking care of chores. When Cal didn’t see Art or his vehicle, relief flooded through him.
Right now he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. He had some serious thinking to do. Since he’d lied to Emma Jenkins, he might as well see where that took him. Maybe if he wormed his way into her good graces, she would let him see the kid. In doing that, he had to know he might run head-on into her father, who would immediately recognize him, and the gig would be up.
If that happened, he’d devise plan B. That was his boy and no one was going to take Logan away from him.
“Whoa, brother,” he said out loud, “Don’t go gettin’ too big for your britches.”
While getting his son, having something of his own for the first time in his life, might be his top priority, he had to ask himself a brutal and honest question. How equipped was he to become a parent? He had a ton of emotional baggage weighing him down, which certainly didn’t make him parent material.
The Jenkinses knew that and were sure to use it against him. Both father and sister hated him with a passion. To add insult to injury, Connie’s sister had built a smoldering fire in his loins.
Not a good thing.
Though a chill of foreboding shot through him, Cal couldn’t ignore this emotional upheaval. Like it or not, seeing Emma today had made him think thoughts he hadn’t had since he’d returned from Central America. But Emma was different. She fascinated him because she had no idea how attractive, how sexy, she was.
He’d never met a female who seemed as unaware of herself as she was. There was nothing artificial about her, no desire to be noticed. She reeked of sexuality, with a fragile innocence that any man in his right mind would have found appealing.
Any man but him, he told himself savagely. He wasn’t about to get involved with any woman, especially not his ex-sister-in-law, who had every intention of taking his child away from him.
So what was he doing counting the days until he could return to the nursery?
Four
“Ms. Jenkins, this is a disaster. Plain and simple.”
And you’re a bitch. Now where had that ugly thought come from? Emma asked herself, appalled at the direction her mind had taken. Granted, Sally Sue Landrum was a pain in the rear, but she hadn’t earned the title of bitch. Not yet, anyway.
“No, it’s not a disaster, Sally,” Emma rebutted with all the patience she could muster. “I told you I’d have your landscaping finished today, and I intend to keep that promise.”
Sally pursed her full lips, placed her hands on her tiny waist and glared at Emma. “That won’t happen without plants.”
“I’ll get the plants.” Emma’s tone held conviction, even though she wasn’t sure she could follow through, which would indeed be a disaster.
She didn’t take many private jobs because her daddy kept her so busy with his projects. But there had been a lull in her business right now, so when her friend Sally had called and practically begged her to landscape the grounds of her new multi-million dollar home, Emma had said yes.