Bargaining for Baby / The Billionaire's Baby Arrangement: Bargaining for Baby / The Billionaire's Baby Arrangement

“You must be parched,” Cait was saying as she ascended the steps, too.

When Nell padded into the homestead after Jack, Maddy followed the housekeeper. “I am a little dry.”

“How’s a cup of tea sound?”

“I’d prefer something cold, if you have it.”

Still climbing, Cait gave a knowing, wistful sigh. “My husband was a stockman. We dated for two weeks and next I knew we were shacked up, working in the Northern Territory. Rugged land. Crocodiles, you know. Never thought I’d get used to the heat and the bull dust and the flies.” The corners of her mouth swept up. “But you do.”

Maddy blew at the hair clinging to her forehead. “I won’t be here long enough to find out.”

She had a career back in Sydney … friends … an exciting full life. Needing to say goodbye to Beau until she saw him again would hurt terribly—she slapped another fly—but she already knew she wouldn’t miss this place.

Halfway up, Cait stopped and touched the younger woman’s hand. “I was sorry to hear about poor Dahlia. You must have been fast friends to help her out this way.”

Maddy remembered how she’d made it through the chapel service yesterday with Beau asleep in her arms and a run of tears slipping quietly down her cheeks. Whenever the raw ache of emotion had threatened to break free, she’d concentrated on the pastor’s calming words and the soft light filtering in through serene lofty windows.

Jack had sat beside her in the front left-hand pew. In an impeccable black suit, the set of his shoulders hadn’t slipped once. Dahlia’s university friends had recited prayers, poems or anecdotes, but her brother had kept his lidded gold-flecked eyes trained dead ahead.

Funneling down a breath, Maddy brought herself back and nodded. “Dahlia was the best friend I ever had.”

Never too busy to listen. Never judgmental or rude. She was the easiest-going person Maddy had ever met. Which begged the question: how had two siblings with the same parents ended up with such different natures? Jack must be the most ornery person south of the equator.

Cait resumed her climb. “The bairn is lucky to have you.”

Maddy smiled. Bairn as in baby.

“Dahlia wanted Jack to raise him,” she explained. “I promised I’d help with the transition.”

Cait dropped her gaze. “I’m sure she knew what she was doing.”

Maddy’s step faltered. Cait had reservations about Jack’s suitability as a guardian, too? Dahlia hadn’t got along with Jack; Maddy felt certain she, herself, would never penetrate his armor. Nell, on the other hand, idolized him. But Nell was a dog.

How had Jack treated his wife?

A curse blasted out of a nearby window and both women jumped. Maddy’s palm pressed against her stomach. Jack. Was he having trouble opening the talc bottle?

Nausea crept up the back of her throat.

Oh Lord, had he dropped the baby?

Cait bolted, flinging open the front screen door, and when she sped into a room to the right, Maddy quickly followed. Her gaze landed on the baby, lying bare-bottomed on his back on a changing table, which was set up against a side wall. Jack stood before the table, his posture hunched, hands out, fingers spread, his expression darker than usual. He was gaping at a wet patch on his shirt while Beau kicked his feet and cooed. A bemused Nell was backed up in the corner, her head angled to one side.

When Jack had taken off the diaper, the baby must have squirted him.

Maddy cupped her mouth to catch the laugh. Why were the strongest men sometimes the biggest babies?

Struggling to compose herself, she sauntered forward. “I see you had a waterworks accident.”

“I wasn’t the one who had the accident.” He touched the wet patch then flicked his hand. “At least he’s a good aim.”

Cait’s chuckle came from behind. “I’ll leave you both to do damage control,” she said then asked about the baby’s formula. Maddy handed her a bottle and can from a separate segment of Beau’s bag. Cait called, “C’mon, Nell.” The dog skulked out the doorway behind the housekeeper and Maddy gave a sigh of relief.

When Beau was cleaned up and in a fresh diaper, Maddy slipped him carefully up and nuzzled her lips against his satin soft brow.

“I’m amazed he didn’t freak out when you yelled like that,” she said, rubbing the baby’s back the way he liked. “I thought you might’ve dropped him.”

When Maddy pivoted around, her mind froze solid while her response systems went into overload. His frown deep, Jack was grumbling, wrestling out of that soiled shirt.

Bronzed. Breathtakingly broad.

The walls seemed to darken and drag away at the same time the breath left her lungs and a sizzling, marvelous current swept through her body. Maddy unconsciously licked her lips.

Jack Prescott’s chest was better than any she’d seen, airbrushed billboards included. His shoulders were sculpted from polished oak, his biceps were naturally, beautifully pumped, and the knockout expanse in between was dusted with the quintessential amount of coal black hair. She knew his flesh would be hot to the touch. Knew the landscape would be bedrock hard.

Maddy’s gaze dropped.

And if that was the top half …

Cursing under his breath, Jack tore the sleeves from his arms and dumped the damp shirt at his feet.

He’d helped birth lambs more times than he could count. In comparison, this was child’s play—literally. Being hosed by a baby wasn’t a big deal. Three years ago he’d have done anything to have experienced just this kind of scene … to have been given the chance to care for his own little boy.

Raw emotion torqued in his chest. But he beat the pain down before black memories took over. Feeling nothing was better than feeling angry.

Feeling helpless.

When he glanced up from the shirt, Maddy was standing stock still, jaw hanging. Holding Beau tight, she was staring at everything between his neck and his navel. Then her gaze dropped lower. Taken off guard—again—his muscles contracted as a coil of dark arousal snaked up his legs.

Inhaling, Jack set his jaw.

He’d already acknowledged his feelings for Madison Tyler. She was a looker, obviously intelligent. She also had guts. When Jack Prescott drew his pistols, most people had the good sense to run, but back in Sydney she’d stood her ground. She’d insisted she do right by his sister. He admired her for that. Frankly, his curiosity was piqued by the whole package.

But this physical attraction was headed nowhere. He was as good as engaged. Practically set to marry. Even if he were free, this woman wasn’t what he needed. And vice versa. Clearly she was not the least impressed by what he held most dear—this rugged, sprawling land. Hell, she didn’t even like horses whereas Tara was the only female he knew who could give him a run for his money galloping full bore down a straight.

So why was his gaze pinned to this woman’s legs?

A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest.

Because they were shapely, that’s why. Long and milk white, and his fingers itched to know if they were as fine and silky smooth as they looked.

The baby squeaked and Jack came back to earth with a jolt. Shoving a hand through his hair, he shifted the thickness from his throat. He had no business indulging those images, particularly the vision of his houseguest in a negligee … the filmy, sultry kind that might wave and swirl around her slim ankles on a breezy summer night.

When heavy footfalls sounded down the timber floors of the hall, the full quota of Jack’s senses came reeling back. Needing a distraction, he swiped his shirt off the floor and wadded it up while Maddy, seemingly needing a distraction, too, spun back to the changing table, busying herself with the baby’s bag.

Jack had assumed a cool mask by the time Cait appeared and chimed, “Bottle’s ready. I’d be happy to give him his feeding. It’s been a long while.” Cait extended her arms and Beau put out one of his. Sighing happily, she took and jiggled the wide-eyed baby. “Seems I haven’t lost the touch.” Then her attention skated over to his state of undress and her lips twitched. “Can I get you a fresh shirt, Jack?”

He held the wadded shirt higher and replied in a low, even voice. “S’right. I’ll get one.”

On her way out, the housekeeper tossed over one shoulder, “There’s a pot of tea on the back veranda and a cool pitcher, too.”

Maddy thanked Cait, flicked him an anxious glance, then, for something more to do, performed a fidgety finger comb of her flaxen hair behind each ear.

The entire “checking each other out” episode had lasted no more than a few seconds. They were a man and a woman who’d experienced a moment where natural attraction and physical impulse had temporarily taken over.

Jack drew up tall.

It wouldn’t happen again. He hadn’t brought city girl Madison Tyler here to seduce her. She was on his property only for the baby’s sake. He owed that to his sister. But in two weeks, Maddy would be gone from Leadeebrook. Gone and out of his life. No use getting tangled up in it.

He headed for the door and didn’t stop when her voice came from behind.

“Cait’ll be a big help with Beau,” she said, conversationally.

“She’ll take good care of him.”

“So you won’t be hiring a nanny?”

“Won’t need one.”

Tara wanted a family. Now, ready or not, they had one. But there was time enough to tell Maddy about Beau’s future stepmother. Time enough to let Tara know she was about to become an instant parent. After the news sank in, he couldn’t imagine Tara would be anything other than pleased. But that wasn’t the kind of information one shared over the phone. He’d tell her in person, in private.

Tomorrow was soon enough.

As he sauntered down the hall, Jack felt Maddy’s gaze burning a hole in his back. Not meeting her eyes, he jerked a thumb toward his bedroom doorway.

“I’ll grab a shirt and we’ll get to that pot of tea.”

A moment later he stood in front of his wardrobe, retrieving a button-down from its hanger. Out of the corner of his eye he spied movement—probably Nellie-girl keeping tabs on things. But when he checked, it was Maddy who hovered in the doorway, and this time her gaze wasn’t fused on him. Her attention was riveted on the chest of drawers to her immediate right. On the photo he kept there and never put away.

Her face visibly pale, her round gaze hovered over to his.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I had no idea. I thought you must be going to the laundry. I thought the main bedroom would be upstairs.”

Jaw tight, he drove his arms through the sleeves then, leaving buttons undone and tails hanging. He took her arm and ushered her out into the hall. Did she have to follow him around like a newborn calf? Was she purposely trying to get in the way and whip up his blood?

Once in the hall, he released his hold and told himself that would be the last time he’d feel her skin on his. If looking was bad, touching was a million times worse. Or was that a million times better?

Growling, he shook that unwelcome thought from his brain and headed toward the veranda, purposefully fastening each shirt button, then rolling the sleeves to the elbow. “Cait’ll have set the tray out here.”

Out on the veranda, he fell into a chair, lifted the food net and nodded at the spread of scones and cupcakes. After she accepted a scone, he grabbed a cake. He chomped off a mouthful and chewed, studying the plains and daring her to ask the question that must be tingling on the tip of her tongue. He could hear the words rattling around in her head.

The lady in the photo … was she your wife?

But Maddy didn’t ask. Rather she sat quietly on the other side of the small square table, her chair backed up against the wall, as was his. She poured one glass of lemonade and one cup of tea and passed it over.

After a tense moment, he flicked her a sidelong glance. She was sipping her drink, surveying his favorite stretch of land—the dip between what was known on the property as Twelve Gum Ridge and Black Shore Creek. The knot binding the muscles between his shoulder blades eased fractionally. A moment more and he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee.

As three full-grown red kangaroos bounded across the shimmering horizon, Maddy sighed.

“I can’t get over the quiet.” She craned her neck, trying to see farther. “Where do you keep the sheep?”

He uncrossed his ankle and sat straighter. “Don’t have any.”

She tossed him a look. “Sorry. I thought you said you don’t have any sheep.”

“I got rid of them … three years ago.”

She blinked several times then offered a nod as if she understood. But she didn’t. Unless you’d lived the nightmare, no one could understand what it meant to lose both your wife and your child in one day. The world had looked black after that. As black and charred as his heart had been. He hadn’t cared about sheep or money.

About anything.

“What do you do on a sheep station with no sheep?” she asked after a time. “Don’t you get bored?”

He set down his cup and said what should have been obvious. “Leadeebrook is my home.”

Urban folk weren’t programmed to appreciate what the land had to offer. The freedom to think. The room to simply be. As much as his father had tried to convert her, his mother had never fully appreciated it either.

Besides, there was plenty of maintenance to keep a man busy if he went looking for it.

He dumped sugar into his cup. “It’s a different way of living out here. A lot different from the city.”

“A lot.”

“No smog.”

“No people.”

“Just the way I like it.”

“Don’t you miss civilization?”

His face deadpanned. “Oh, I prefer being a barbarian.”

She pursed her lips, considering. “That’s a strong word, but in a pinch …”

He had every intention of staring her down, but a different emotion rose up and he grinned instead. They might not see eye to eye, but she was … amusing.

Seeing his grin, a smile lit her eyes and she sat back more. “How many acres do you have?”

“Now, just under five thousand. Back in its heyday, Leadeebrook was spread over three hundred thousand acres and carried two hundred thousand sheep, but after World War II land was needed for war service and agricultural settlement so my great-grandfather and grandfather decided to sell off plots to soldier settlers. The soil here is fertile. Their forward planning helped make an easier transition from grazing to farming. That industry’s the mainstay of this district now. Keeps people employed.”

“I take it back.” Her voice carried a sincere note of respect. “You’re not a barbarian.”

“Save your opinion until after you’ve eaten my brown snake on an open spit.”

She chuckled. “You do have a sense of humor.” Her smile withered. “You are joking, right?”

He only spooned more sugar into his tea.

One leg crooked up under the other as she turned toward him. “Did you have a happy childhood growing up here? “

“Couldn’t have asked for a better one. My family was wealthy. Probably far wealthier than most people even realized. But we lived a relatively simple life, with some good old-fashioned hard work thrown in for good measure.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Went to the town first off then boarding school in Sydney. I came home every vacation. I’d help with dipping, shearing, lambing and tagging.”

Her smile wistful, she laid her elbow on the table between them and cupped her jaw in her palm. “You make it sound almost romantic.”

Almost?

He forced his gaze away from her mouth and let it settle on the picturesque horizon.

“Have you ever seen a sunset like that? I sit out here, lapping up those colors, and know this is how God intended for us to live. Not rushing around like maniacs on multilane freeways, chained to a computer fourteen hours a day. This is paradise.”

Sue had thought the same way.

They sat saying nothing, simply looking at the rose-gold pallet darken against a distant smudge of hills. Most nights he took in the dusk, soaking in the sense of connectedness it gave. Sometimes, for a few moments, he felt half at peace.

“Will you ever stock up again?” she asked after a time.

He had plenty invested in bonds and real estate around the country. Despite the wool industry having seen better days, he was more comfortable financially than any of his ancestors, and had harbored dreams of reshaping Leadeebrook to its former glory. He and Sue used to discuss their ideas into the night, particularly during the last stages of her pregnancy. There’d been so much to look forward to and build on together. Now.

His stomach muscles double-clutched and he set his cup aside.

Now he was responsible for Dahlia’s boy. He would give the lad every opportunity. Would care for him like a father. But that feeling …?

He swallowed against the stone in his throat.

He wished he could be the man he’d once been. But when his family died, that man had died, too.

“No,” he said, his gaze returning to the sunset. “I’ll never stock up again.”

She was asking another question but his focus had shifted to a far off rumbling—the distant groan of a motor. He knew the vehicle. Knew the driver.

Lord and Holy Father.

He unfolded to his feet and groaned.

He wasn’t ready for this meeting yet.

Four

The white Land Cruiser skidded to a stop a few feet from a nearby water tank, dry grass spewing out in dusty clouds from behind its monster wheels. A woman leaped out and, without shutting the driver’s door, sailed up the back steps.

Maddy clutched her chair’s arms while her gaze hunted down Jack.

He’d heard the engine before she had. Had pushed up and now came to a stop by the veranda rail, his weight shifted to one side so that the back pockets of his jeans and those big shoulders lay slightly askew. When the woman reached him, no words were exchanged. She merely bounced up on tiptoe, flung her arms around his neck and, her cheek to his, held on.

Maddy pressed back into the early evening shadows. This scene was obviously meant for two. Who was this woman? If she wasn’t Jack Prescott’s lover, she sure as rain wanted to be.

Maddy’s gaze tracked downward.

The woman’s riding boots—clean and expensive by the emblem—covered her fitted breeches to the knee. She was slender and toned; with a mane of ebony hair, loose and lush, she might have been the human equivalent of a prized thoroughbred. Her olive complexion hinted at Mediterranean descent and her onyx eyes were filled with affection as she drew back and peered up into Jack’s—passionate and loyal.

Maddy’s mouth pulled to one side.

Seemed Jack had indeed moved on since the death of his wife—the auburn-haired woman whose photo she’d seen on that chest of drawers. When they’d come face to face earlier in the nursery and she’d copped an eye full of Jack’s all-male-and-then-some chest, she’d imagined he’d felt the moment, too. She’d told herself that’s why he’d been particularly brusque afterward. The lightning bolt—the overwhelming awareness—had struck him, as well, and, taken aback, he hadn’t known how to handle it.

But clearly that fiery, unexpected reaction had been one-sided. He’d seemed vexed by the scene in the nursery because he was embarrassed over her ogling. Embarrassed and annoyed. He was spoken for, and this woman in front of her might capture and hold any man, even I-am-an-island Jack Prescott.

With a fond but strained smile, Jack unfastened the woman’s hold and her palms slid several inches down from his thick neck to his shirt. She toyed with a button as she gazed adoringly into his eyes and sighed.

“You’re home.” Then she tilted her head, that ebony mane spilled over her shoulder and her smile became a look of mild admonition. “I wish you’d have let me come to Sydney with you. It must have been so hard facing the funeral on your own. I shouldn’t have promised that I’d stay behind.”

Jack found her hand on his chest and carefully brought it to her side. “Tara, I brought somebody back with me.”

The woman slowly straightened, blinked. Then, having dialed into her personal radar, she honed in on Maddy. The woman’s thickly lashed eyes darkened more while her complexion dropped a shade. As their gazes locked, Tara surreptitiously found and held the veranda rail at her back.

Maddy’s face flushed hot. She knew what this woman, Tara, was thinking. The accusation blazed in her eyes. But she and Jack were not an item. They weren’t even friends, and from the venom building in this woman’s eyes, the sooner she knew all the facts the better.

Maddy found her feet at the same time Jack beckoned her over.

“This is Madison Tyler,” he said, then nodded to the woman. “Tara Anderson.”

An uneven smile broke across Tara’s face. “Madison. We haven’t met before—” her eyes narrowed slightly “—have we?”

Jack stepped in. “Maddy’s staying at Leadeebrook for a couple of weeks.”

“Oh?” Tara’s practiced smile almost quivered. “Why?”

Before anyone could answer, Cait appeared at the back doorway, holding Beau. The housekeeper’s jovial expression slid when she recognized their visitor.

“Tara, love. I heard the truck. I thought it was Snow.”

Tara’s hand slipped off the rail and when her startled, glistening gaze slid from the baby to Jack, Maddy’s heart sank in her chest. Tara’s thoughts were as loud as war drums. She thought the child belonged to them—to her and Jack. Yet everything in Tara Anderson’s stunned expression said she couldn’t let herself believe the worst. She wanted to trust the man she so obviously cared for.

As if afraid he might vanish, Tara tentatively touched Jack’s hand and her voice cracked when she asked, “Jack …?”

“This is Dahlia’s son,” he said in a somber tone. “The father isn’t on the scene. Maddy was Dahlia’s friend. She promised my sister she’d help the baby settle in here.”

Drawing back, Tara audibly exhaled, then touched her brow with an unsteady hand. She shook her head as if to dispel a fog but her expression remained pained.

“Dahlia’s son …” She breathed out again before her gaze pierced his. “You agreed to this, Jack? To a baby? I thought you said—”

His brows tipped together. “We won’t discuss it now.”

“When were we going to discuss it?” she asked. “How long have you known?”

But the line of his mouth remained firm. Turning, he set his hands on the rail and peered out over the barren landscape.

The anxiety in Maddy’s stomach balled tighter. Hearing that Jack was responsible for a baby had been a massive shock for Tara Anderson; she wanted answers. Without knowing their history, Maddy couldn’t help but think she deserved them. And yet Jack kept his shoulders set and his gaze fixed on something in the distance. He could be so bloody stubborn sometimes.

It wasn’t her place to interfere, but if she could ease the tension a little by extending the hand of friendship, Maddy decided she would. If Jack and this woman were as close as this scene suggested, Beau would be seeing more of Tara … more than he would see of his aunt Maddy.

She edged closer. “Do you live in town, Tara?”

Tara’s bewildered gaze whipped around, as if she’d forgotten they had company.

“I own the adjoining property,” she said absently. Then a different emotion filtered over her face and she exhaled once more, this time with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, please. I’m being rude. It’s just …” She sought out Jack’s gaze. “I’ve been worried these past days.”

“Will you stay for supper?” Cait asked from the back door, giving Beau, who had half his fist in his mouth, a jiggle. “There’s always plenty.”

At the same time Tara quizzed Jack’s face for his reaction, Maddy felt a brush against her leg. She lowered her gaze. Nell had taken up a seat between herself and Jack.