Sara Orwig - Cowboy's Secret Child

She gazed over Kevin’s head at Jeb, watching him carefully, and when he looked into her eyes, she gave him a searching stare.

“We need to talk some more,” she said quietly, “but we can’t right now.”

“I can come back,” he said, his voice as quiet as hers, yet he knew that her emotions were as much on edge as his. She seemed to think this over, looking down at Kevin, stroking his hair from his face and patting him. Was she a good mother? Jeb wondered.

“If you want to stay for dinner, Kevin goes to bed around eight and we can talk then.”

Surprised that she offered dinner, Jeb wondered if she wanted him to see her with Kevin to press her point that she was his mother and they loved each other. She didn’t need to, because Jeb could already see they had a close relationship. Was she good to him? he wondered again. Even if she was a marvelous mother, he didn’t want to walk out of his son’s life and give up all rights.

“Thanks. I’ll stay because we do need to talk.”

She gave him another one of her cool, level looks, and he experienced a flicker of admiration for her because she had weathered a big shock and was now in control of her emotions and ready to fight for her rights. At the same time, he didn’t want to admire her or like her or find her attractive. So far he had succumbed to two out of the three and he wondered whether, if he stayed for dinner, he would also begin to like her.

His anger was transforming into a dull, steady pain, and all his plans for getting his child and watching him grow were going up in smoke. The woman facing him was causing him to readjust his thinking. And, adding to his turmoil, he was too aware that she was damned attractive. His gaze flicked over her in a quick assessment that took in the wild red hair that was an invitation to a man to tangle his fingers in it. His gaze lowered to his son’s tiny hand resting against her breast with trust and love. Yet, at the same time, Jeb couldn’t keep from noticing the lush fullness of her breasts beneath her clinging blue T-shirt.

“Kevin, this is Mr. Stuart,” she said.

Kevin twisted slightly to stare at Jeb.

“Hi, Kevin,” Jeb said quietly, feeling another knot in his throat.

Kevin held his small blanket against his face and gazed steadily at Jeb for a long moment until he ducked his head against his mother again. She smoothed his straight black hair. “Sleepy?” she asked him.

He nodded without answering her.

She rocked him slightly, stroking his head while she glanced at Jeb, and he could feel the clash of wills between them. They both wanted the same child. Jeb thought he was entitled to his son, yet for all his young life, the one person Kevin had known as his parent was Amanda Crockett. Jeb realized he was going to have to face that and deal with it in a way that wouldn’t cause a lot of pain to his child.

Why had he thought that he could show up and demand his son and she would hand him over? He had expected a fight, but he hadn’t stopped to think about her being locked into his son’s affections. He had thought of Amanda Crockett as he thought of his ex-wife, Cherie, and Cherie would have given up a child by now. She had given this one up at birth.

“Do you have a grill?” Jeb asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go get some steaks and grill them, and then you won’t have to go to so much trouble.” He stood, feeling a deep reluctance to leave. He wondered if he would ever get enough of looking at Kevin. What a marvel the child was! His big brown eyes watched Jake solemnly. Oh, how he longed to touch his son, to hold him. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Thank you, no,” she answered politely. She stood and picked up Kevin and shifted him to one hip.

As Jeb followed Amanda to the door, his gaze left his son and drifted down over her; he noticed the slight sway of her hips and her long, shapely legs. She opened the door and stepped back for him to leave. When he was outside, he looked back again at Kevin.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. She nodded and closed the door. Jeb felt as if she had slammed it shut on his hopes and dreams.

He shopped quickly, and as he drove back to her house, logic told him she would be there, getting dinner. But his emotions churned and he half expected to come back and find her house empty. Too easily, he could imagine her taking Kevin and running away.

Why hadn’t he stopped to think what he would do if she was a wonderful mother to Kevin? Kevin. Jeb liked the name. According to the detective, the child had his adoptive mother’s last name, Crockett.

When Jeb returned to her house, her black car was in the drive and relief poured over Jeb. He parked behind it and picked up the sack of groceries. On impulse, he went to the back door and knocked.

She opened it and motioned to him. “Come in.”

He entered a kitchen that had mouthwatering smells of hot bread and a blackberry cobbler. He was even more aware of Amanda as she gazed up at him with those compelling crystal-green eyes. Her tangle of red hair and the tiny beads of perspiration dotting her brow gave her a sultry earthiness that was appealing. She blinked, and with a start he realized that he was staring at her. She waved her hand.

“Set the groceries there,” she said, motioning toward a space on the countertop. “Kevin isn’t into steaks and salad. He gets macaroni.”

Jeb placed the grocery sack on the counter and took out the steaks to unwrap them. All the time he worked, he was conscious of Amanda moving around him, of her perfume, of her steady, watchful gaze. She looked at him as though she had invited a monster into her kitchen. Her house was comfortable and appealing, but the kitchen was small, and when he brushed against her accidentally, he was acutely conscious of touching her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at her. She looked up and once more they were caught, gazes locked and sparks that he didn’t want to feel igniting. Her lips were rosy and full, a sensuous mouth that conjured up speculation about what it would be like to kiss her. He realized where his thoughts were going and turned away, bumping a chair.

What was the matter with him? He was reacting to her like a sixteen-year-old to a sexy woman, yet Amanda Crockett had done nothing to warrant any blatant male attention. He needed to remember that this woman was tearing up his life and that he was getting ready to tear up hers. If only she would do the right thing, acknowledge that Kevin was his son and simply hand him over. She had no right to take his child from him.

Hope began to flicker that she would be reasonable, realize she had taken a child from his father. Then he glanced across the kitchen into her eyes, which held fire in their depths, and he was certain that wasn’t going to happen.

Dinner was a silent, strained event with little conversation by anyone. Jeb began to wonder about his son, who seemed shy and too quiet. Kevin was the only one with an appetite and he ate his macaroni, his bread and butter, and drank his milk.

“You’ve been in the army?” Amanda asked.

“The Eighty-second Airborne. I was a paratrooper.”

She inhaled sharply. For some reason he had a suspicion she didn’t approve, yet she probably didn’t approve of anything about him.

“Do you and Cherie keep in contact?” he asked.

“Very little,” she added, carefully. “I haven’t seen her in three years,” she said glancing at Kevin, and Jeb wondered if Kevin thought Amanda was his blood mother.

“She’s a country-western singer. I’ve seen her CDs in stores.”

“I’ve seen them, too,” Amanda replied, “but I haven’t seen Cherie. She’s remarried.”

“Right, for the third time,” he added dryly. “To the actor, Ken Webster.”