Maureen Child - Seductive Revenge

He had no explanation for any of this, and checking his watch, Wes saw that he had several hours before he could go back and demand she give him the answers he needed. What was he supposed to do until then?

He dragged his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it back on. He’d had it off during his visit to Belle’s house since he hadn’t needed yet another distraction. Now, the message light blinked crazily and he scrolled through the list of missed calls.

Starting at the top, he hit speed dial and waited while his assistant’s phone rang.

“Hi, boss,” Robin said.

“Yeah, you called. Anything new?” He got up and walked to the bar in the far corner of the room. He opened the fridge, saw the complimentary cheese plate and helped himself before grabbing a beer. Twisting off the cap, he took a long drink to wash the cheese down and gave Robin his attention.

“IT department reports they’re no closer to discovering who this Maverick is or even where he sent that email from.”

“I thought they were supposed to be the best,” he complained.

“Yeah, well, IT’s pretty impressed with Maverick,” she said wryly. “Seems he bounced his signal all over hell and back, so they’re having a time pinning it down.” She took a breath and said, “You already know that email account’s been closed, so the guys here say there isn’t much hope of running him to ground.”

Perfect. He had his own computer experts and they couldn’t give him a direction to focus the fury still clawing at his throat.

“What else?” Another swallow of beer as he plopped back onto the couch and stared at the flames dancing in the hearth.

“Personnel did a deeper check on the name you gave them, and turns out Isabelle Gray’s name is really Graystone. Her family’s got holdings in pretty much everything. She’s an heiress.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know that.”

“Oh. Well, that was anticlimactic. Okay. Moving on.” She forced cheer into her voice. “On the upside, IT says the Twitter trend is dying off. Apparently you’re down to number ten today instead of number one.”

“Great.” Wes made a mental note to check with his IT guys on the status of his Twitter account when he got off the phone. What he really needed was for some celebrity to do something shocking that would be enough to push him off the stage entirely.

“And the warehouses are set up for delivery of the doll. Everything’s ready to roll out on time.”

“Good.” He set the beer on the coffee table and rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to ease the headache pounding there. “Keep on top of this stuff, Robin, and make sure I’m in the loop.”

“Boss,” she said, “you are the loop.”

He had to smile and he was grateful for it. “Right. Did you hear from Harry today?”

“Yep, he’s on it. He’s working with PR to put a spin on all this, and when he’s got the ideas together, he says he’ll call you to discuss it.”

“Okay. Look, I’m going to be staying in Colorado for a while.”

“How long?”

“Not sure yet.” However long it took to make sure the mother of his child understood that she was living in a new reality. “You can always get me on my cell. I’m at the Swan Hollow Palace hotel—”

“Swan Hollow?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He smiled to himself again. “Weird name, but nice town from what I’ve seen.”

“Good to know. I still can’t believe you made the reservations yourself rather than let me handle it as always.”

“I was in a hurry,” Wes said and wondered why he was almost apologizing to his assistant for usurping her job.

She paused, then went on. “Fine, fine. When the final drawings on the PR campaign are turned in, I’ll overnight them to you at the hotel. If you need anything else, let me know and I’ll take care of it.”

“Robin,” he said with feeling, “you are the one bright spot in a fairly miserable couple of days.”

“Thanks, boss,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice. “I’ll remind you of that when I want a raise.”

“I know you will,” he said and was still smiling when he hung up.

Alone again, he drank his beer, and still facing hours to kill before speaking to Isabelle again, Wes had an idea. Grabbing the remote that worked both the flat-screen television and the computer, he turned the latter on. In a few minutes, he was watching an online video to learn ASL.

American Sign Language.

Three

Wes could have walked to Isabelle’s house, since it was just outside town, but at night, the temperature dropped even farther and he figured he’d be an icicle by the time he arrived. The five-minute drive brought him to the long, winding road that stretched at least a half mile before ending in front of the stately Victorian. His headlights swept the front of the place and he took a moment to look it over.

The big house was painted forest green and boasted black shutters and white gingerbread trim. Surrounded as it was by snow-covered pines, the old house looked almost magical. Lamplight glowed from behind window glass, throwing golden shadows into the night. Porch lights shone from what used to be brass carriage lanterns and signaled welcome—though Wes was fairly certain that welcome wasn’t something Belle was feeling for him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he told himself. He turned off the engine and just sat there for a minute, looking up at the house. He’d been thinking about nothing but this moment for hours now, and he knew that this conversation would be the most important of his life. He had a child.

A daughter.

Just that thought alone was enough to make his insides jitter with nerves. He didn’t even know her, yet he felt a connection to this child. There were so many different feelings running through him, he couldn’t separate them all. Panic, of course—who could blame him for being terrified at the thought of being responsible for such a small human being? And whether Belle wanted to admit it or not, he was as responsible for Caroline as she was.

But there was more. There was…wonder. He’d helped to create a person. Okay, he hadn’t had a clue, but that child was here. In the world. Because of him. He smiled to himself even as a fresh wave of trepidation rose up inside him.

Nothing in his life had worried him before this, but at least internally, Wes had to admit that being a father was a damn scary proposition. What the hell did he know about being a parent?

His own mother had died when Wes was six months old. His father, Henry Jackson, had raised him single-handedly. Henry had done a good job, but he’d also managed to let his son know in countless different ways that allowing a woman into your life was a sure path to misery. Though he’d made it clear it wasn’t having a woman that was the problem—it was losing her.

He’d loved Wes’s mother and was lost when she died. Once when Wes was sixteen, Henry had finally talked to him, warning him to guard his heart.

“Wes, you listen good. A woman’s a fine thing for a man,” Henry had mused, staring up at the wide, Texas sky on a warm summer night. “And finding one you can love more than your own life is a gift and a curse all at once.”

“Why’s that?” Wes held a sweating bottle of Coke between his palms and leaned back in the lawn chair beside his father. It had been a long, backbreaking day of work on the ranch, and Wes was exhausted. But he and his dad always ended the day like this, sitting out in the dark, talking, and it didn’t even occur to him to give it up just because he was tired.

“Because once you give your heart to a woman, she can take it with her when she leaves.” Henry turned and looked his son dead in the eye. “Your mama took mine when she died, and I’ve lived like half a man ever since.”