The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby Page 13

  “Nice to meet you, Dylan. I hope to see you again before you go.”

  “Count on it,” Dylan said, regarding him speculatively.

  Trish dragged her brother out of the store. “Where’s your car?”

  “Across the street. Where’s yours?”

  “At the ranch. Hardy drove me in.”

  He waited until after they were in his sports utility vehicle before he glanced over at her and asked idly, “So what’s going on between you and the cowboy?”

  She seized on the label, rather than answering him directly. “How do you know he’s a cowboy?”

  “He told me. He said this work for you is just some temporary gig his boss set up.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Now that that’s out of the way, why don’t you tell me what’s going on between the two of you?”

  “Nothing,” she said flatly.

  “Look, Patricia Ann, you might be able to fool some people with the innocent act, but not me. There were enough sparks in that room just now to light up Houston.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Okay, let’s try this another way. Why did you decide to stay in a town like Los Piños?”

  “I like it here,” she said with a touch of defiance.

  “What is it you like?” he persisted patiently.

  The persistence and the patience were both traits that served him well as a private eye. As a brother, they made him damned annoying.

  “The people,” she said tightly. “Everyone here has been wonderful to me.”

  “Including this Hardy person.”

  “Yes, of course. He’s been very helpful.”

  “How did you meet?”

  She scowled at him. “Is this really necessary? I am not some criminal you’re cross-examining.”

  “No, you’re my sister, which makes this personal. How did you meet?”

  She sighed. “I was stranded on the side of the road New Year’s Eve. He came along.”

  “And?”

  “I was in labor,” she finally ground out. “He delivered Laura.”

  Dylan’s eyes widened. “Well, well, well. Isn’t that interesting? No wonder he’s so attached to your daughter. I assume he’s single.”

  “An inveterate playboy,” she acknowledged, hoping the description would be enough to tell him why Hardy would never be a serious candidate for a husband.

  Dylan didn’t seem convinced. “You sure about that, sis? He struck me as a solid guy. He obviously cares about you and the baby.”

  “He’s been very kind. And he’s definitely a decent guy, which is why we have agreed that we will be friends and leave it at that.”

  Dylan turned and stared at her as if she’d calmly announced a decision to fly off to Mars. “You’ve agreed to be friends?”

  “Yes.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The grin spread, displaying the devastating dimple that drove women crazy. “Oh, Sis, you are in such deep trouble.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He regarded her patiently. “Men and women do not agree to be just friends, unless they’re fighting the urge to be a whole lot more.”

  She frowned. “And you would know this because…? Is it your vast success rate with members of the opposite sex? Or the psychology degree you apparently received without me knowing about it?”

  “Experience,” he insisted, still chortling with glee at what he viewed as her self-deception. “I’ve reached a few of those agreements myself. Meant ’em at the time, too. Bottom line, though? They’re not worth the time they take to spew the words out. In fact, the opposite is true. Once you’ve declared each other off-limits, the attraction escalates. Label something forbidden and everybody wants it. That’s human nature.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Ruth.” She was very much afraid he was right. She certainly hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Hardy in a sexual way since she’d made the decision to keep things strictly platonic. In fact, the whole friendship thing was making her a little crazy.

  “Just how bad do you have it for this guy?” Dylan asked.

  “I don’t. We’re just friends,” she said one more time as if repetition would make it true.

  Her brother shrugged. “Fine by me, if that’s the truth. Probably just as well, too.”

  Her gaze shot to his face. He was staring out the windshield, his gaze locked on the highway, his expression suddenly way too innocent. “What do you mean, it’s probably just as well?”

  “Dad would hate him.”

  “Why on earth would he hate him? He’s a fine man, better than Jack the jerk, by a long shot.”

  “But he’s not an oilman. He can’t be heir apparent to a vice presidency in the family business.”

  “Neither are you, but he tolerates you.”

  “I’m blood. He can’t wish me away.”

  Trish waved off the whole discussion as absurd. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll probably never even meet.”

  Dylan’s expression sobered at last. “Then you don’t intend to tell Dad where you are?”

  She sighed. “Sooner or later I suppose I’ll have to. I’m amazed his private detectives don’t already know where I am. After all, you found me.”

  “I’m better than most of those goons he keeps on staff. They’re better at white collar crime than chasing wayward daughters.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “It was pathetically simple, really.”

  “How?”

  “You transferred your money from your bank account in Houston to the bank here.”

  Trish groaned. “I’m obviously not career criminal material.”

  “Thank the Lord.”

  “You are going to keep this a secret, right? You promised.”

  “On two conditions.”

  “What?”

  “You check in with me regularly.”

  “Done.”

  “And you keep an open mind about the cowboy.”

  So, they were back to that again. “Why are you pushing so hard to make something happen between us?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. Dylan had never been prone to counseling her on her love life before.

  “Because I saw the way he looked at you, Sis. It’s not something you should ever take for granted.”

  She caught the shadows in his eyes and realized he was thinking of Kit, the woman who’d stolen his heart and then shattered it. Or if not of his ex-wife, then definitely of his son. Dylan missed Shane terribly, but he refused to admit it.

  “Kit was a witch,” she declared fiercely.

  “No,” he said just as vehemently. “I took her for granted. I neglected her. It was my fault she walked out. It took me a long time to admit it, but that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Then go after her, Dylan. Get her back, if you still love her.”

  “Too late. She got married again last week. I let her and the new hubby get full custody of Shane.”

  Trish was shocked and filled with pity. She knew what a terrible sacrifice her brother was making. She even thought she could understand why he’d made it. Dylan wouldn’t want his son torn between two fathers. “Oh, Dylan, I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Too bad these brilliant flashes of self-awareness come too late. Don’t you sit around until it’s too late, Trish. I’d give anything to have my baby back and somebody who looks at me the way your cowboy looks at you.”

  “You will,” she promised him. Maybe she’d go about finding the perfect candidate herself.

  No sooner had the thought occurred to her than she realized that she’d been around Adamses way too long. She had four bachelor brothers and she was in serious danger of catching the matchmaking fever that seemed to be contagious in Los Piños.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hardy couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the unexpected arrival of Trish’s brother. He wasn’t sure which of them it had shaken more, him or Trish. For Trish there had been the fear of discovery. For him it had m
eant the possible end to having her to himself. It had meant Laura’s father might be only hours or days away from finding her, as well.

  Trish claimed to want nothing to do with Jack Grainger, but when she was face-to-face with her daughter’s father, would she be able to resist? Especially with her own father pressuring her?

  When the stranger had first walked into the store asking for Trish, Hardy’s muscles had tensed. His stomach had knotted. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of any man that good-looking having a claim on her. For five minutes, maybe longer, the possibility that he’d been the father of her baby had eaten Hardy up inside until Dylan Delacourt had finally gotten around to introducing himself.

  Once Trish had turned up, some sort of mental telepathy had been exchanged between brother and sister. After that Dylan’s gaze had turned speculative. He seemed to be sizing up Hardy as if he guessed that Hardy might be more than the man who was helping her build the shelves for her store. Since Dylan had suggested dinner, Hardy figured he’d either passed muster or that further interrogation was required.

  Hardy wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. He figured he already had too many people passing judgment on how he and Trish matched up as a couple. They’d been under scrutiny and under pressure since day one. For two people who had vowed to avoid marriage like the plague, it amounted to a whole lot of unwanted interference.

  After Trish and Dylan had left for the ranch, Hardy had spent the evening putting the finishing touches on the shelves. He hadn’t much felt like going back to the bunkhouse and enduring the inevitable teasing about his recent lack of a social life and the taunting speculation about what it meant.

  Nor had the prospect of going to any of his usual haunts appealed to him. Not one single name from his little black book popped into his head. The only woman he wanted to spend the evening with was otherwise occupied. Everyone else seemed like a poor substitute. It was pathetic. What the hell was happening to him?

  With the last of the shelves built and ready for the books that would be arriving any day, he had turned his attention to the floor. He spent another hour with the sander, then polished the wood until the old planks gleamed.

  When he was through, he’d stood by the front door and studied the bookstore. As a child he hadn’t spent a lot of time reading books, and those he had read had been borrowed from a library. As an adult, he’d never found the time either. He could see, though, how a place like this would be appealing. There was an inviting warmth to it, a hominess, a personal charm that was all Trish.

  In fact, he could imagine curling up in one of those big chairs Trish had found and recovered with bright chintz. He could practically feel her settled in his lap, a beer in his hand, a glass of wine in hers, as the fire flickered cheerfully. The image aroused him as none of his past conquests ever had.

  He’d finally left the store after ten, exhausted and frustrated but pleased, as he anticipated Trish’s reaction when they arrived in the morning and she discovered all that he’d accomplished in her absence. The work was all but over now. Soon he’d be back in the saddle and working at White Pines. His only contact with Trish would be by chance unless something changed.

  Back at the bunkhouse, he’d crawled into bed, then tossed and turned for an hour before finally giving up and going outside. Maybe a walk would settle his nerves and wipe out the thoughts that kept churning no matter how hard he tried to shut them off.

  He automatically gravitated toward the creek. Even in winter, he found solace in the fast-moving water and rustling of the wind. On a night like tonight, with a full moon and a sharp nip in the air, there was something almost magical about it.

  As he neared the water, he thought he heard the soft whisper of crying. Slipping quietly through the shadows, he walked toward the sound, then halted at the sight of Trish, sitting on a boulder, her knees drawn up, her coat wrapped tightly around her. She looked so dejected, so completely lost and alone, it almost broke his heart.

  He stood there forever debating what to do. Obviously she had come here to be by herself, to sort out whatever demons were troubling her after her visit with her brother. Maybe Dylan had tried to convince her to go home, Hardy thought, and mentally cursed the man. Hardy might not know exactly what he wanted from Trish, but he did know he didn’t want her leaving. Even in such a brief time, she had become a part of his life. Little Laura had stolen his heart.

  Whatever had brought Trish here tonight, though, he had the sense that she wouldn’t welcome him catching her at such a vulnerable moment. He settled for remaining out of sight, watching over her until she decided finally to leave, then following at a discreet distance as she made the long walk back to Kelly and Jordan’s. Only when she was safely inside, did he go back to his own bed, where he finally fell into a restless sleep.

  In the morning Hardy felt as if he’d been on an all-night bender. It was a sensation he was familiar with but this time had done nothing to deserve. That made him irritable.

  When he got to Jordan’s ranch, he pounded on the front door as if that carved oak barrier had offended him.

  “What on earth?” Kelly demanded, when she opened it. “Hardy, is something wrong?”

  He winced, then shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Come on in and have some coffee. You look as though you could use it.”

  “No, thanks,” he said, well aware that he wasn’t fit company. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  “It could be a long wait. You might as well come in. Trish isn’t quite ready. She had a rough night last night, and Laura’s been fussing since way before dawn.”

  It was the mention of the baby that got to him. “Where is she?”

  Kelly regarded him with amusement. “Laura? In the kitchen in her bassinet, squalling up a storm. She seems to be unhappy about everything today. Maybe she’s catching on to her mother’s mood. Trish has been distracted and sad ever since her brother left.”

  “Let me have a try at settling Laura down,” he said, already heading in that direction. He could hear the pitiful wails before he was halfway down the hall. When he reached her, she was red-faced and waving her tiny fists in the air as if to protest being neglected.

  “Come here, angel,” he murmured, picking her up and settling her against his shoulder. The scent of baby powder and the feel of her soft flannel blanket wiped out the last traces of his lousy mood. He patted her back. “Are you having a tough day?”

  As if she understood that she finally had a sympathetic audience, her cries trailed off. Hardy grinned as she hiccuped once, then again, then finally uttered what sounded like a tiny sigh.

  Trish walked in just then, looking almost as frazzled as her daughter. Her eyes weren’t red from crying, but they were shadowed with exhaustion.

  “Aren’t you a miracle worker?” she muttered, sounding more annoyed than grateful.

  “Hey, I can’t help it if she likes me.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m sure you’re thrilled to have another female conquest you can claim.”

  He studied her intently, trying to guess where the hostility was coming from. “Bad night?” he inquired finally, as if he hadn’t already witnessed part of it and heard about the rest.

  She sighed heavily and looked vaguely contrite. “Bad enough,” she admitted. “I don’t think she slept for more than fifteen minutes at a time. She didn’t want to be fed, didn’t need to be changed. I was at my wit’s end. Sorry if I was taking it out on you.”

  “I can handle the occasional short-tempered mood. I’ve had my share. Ask Kelly. I almost broke the front door this morning, before she wisely got it out of my way.”

  She studied him quizzically. “Why?”

  “Not enough sleep, too many crazy thoughts running around in my head.” He shrugged. “General contrariness.”

  “Aren’t we a pair, then?” she said, finally mustering a halfhearted smile. “I guess Kelly will be thrilled to see the last of us.”

  Kelly appeared at precisely that momen
t. “Not until you’ve both had a proper breakfast. Something tells me neither one of you has eaten. That’s probably why you’re acting like a couple of grouchy old bears.”

  She added something under her breath that Hardy couldn’t quite catch. “What was that?” he asked, all but certain he already knew. If he’d guessed right, Kelly Adams was a very intuitive woman.

  Trish’s cheeks turned bright pink. Kelly beamed at him. “Not a thing.”

  He looked at Trish. “What about you? You heard her.”

  “I never heard a thing,” she insisted, avoiding his gaze.

  He held Laura out in front of him. “What about you, sweetness? Did you hear her?”

  The baby gurgled something he couldn’t interpret. “Hmm, not talking. Must mean all the women intend to stick together. Guess it had something to do with sex.” He gazed into the baby’s eyes. “Was that it? Was she blaming our foul moods on sexual frustration?”

  “Hardy!” Trish protested, as Kelly chuckled, pretty much confirming his guess.

  “Sit,” Kelly ordered, putting two plates piled high with pancakes in front of them. She reached for Laura. “I’ll take her now. You eat.”

  Hardy knew better than to argue. Even if he hadn’t been starving, he would have eaten every last bite of those light, fluffy pancakes. Sweeney’s flapjacks were as tough and heavy as rubber. Trish, however, toyed with hers, taking no more than a bite or two before finally pushing the plate away. Kelly studied her worriedly, then cast a helpless look at Hardy.

  “Trish, you want something else?” he asked. “Maybe a banana.”

  “No. I’m not really hungry.”

  “You have to eat. You’ve just had a baby.”

  She scowled at him. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Is this that post-partum blues stuff they talk about on TV?” he asked.

  Trish stood up. “No, what it is is none of your business.”

  She bent down to give Laura a kiss. “I’ll see you later, darling girl.” She managed a smile for Kelly. “Thanks for breakfast.”