Baby, You're Mine

“So when do you plan to talk with her again?”

“The ball’s in her court now. I left her my cell number.”

“You’re just going to sit around and wait for her to call you?”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” Woodrow snapped impatiently. “Put a gun to her head and demand that she sign away her rights to the kid so you and Maggie can play mommy and daddy?” He immediately regretted the cruel remark, knowing how much his brother and sister-in-law loved that kid. He dragged a hand over his head. “I didn’t mean that,” he said wearily. “I’m just in a bad mood. You know how much I hate big cities.”

“Yeah, I know, which is why I appreciate even more you doing this for us.”

Woodrow grunted. “Yeah. Like I had a choice.”

“Bring her here.”

Woodrow pressed the phone closer to his ear, sure that he’d misunderstood. “What?”

“Bring Star’s sister to the ranch. I’m sure she isn’t going to feel comfortable releasing custody of her niece to complete strangers. Bring her here and let her get to know us. Let her see what ordinary people we are.”

“Ordinary?” Woodrow repeated, then snorted a laugh. “Brother, there’s nothing ordinary about the Tanner family. We live from one scandal to the next, without time to catch our breaths before we’re hit with another one.”

Elizabeth nervously fingered the piece of paper she’d slipped into her robe pocket. Scrawled on the back was Woodrow Tanner’s cell phone number. He’d said for her to call him when she was ready to talk, though she was sure he’d meant when she had decided what she wanted to do about the custody issue. Unfortunately, in the hours since she’d learned of her sister’s death, she hadn’t reached a decision.

But she did have questions. Hundreds of them. How had Renee died? Was she alone when she passed away? How old was her baby? Did the baby look like Renee? Why hadn’t Woodrow’s father married Renee? Where had Renee lived? Where had she worked? Where was she buried? Had Renee never mentioned having a family? Was that why the Tanners had hired a private detective to track Elizabeth down?

She pulled the paper from her pocket and stared at the number. He’d have the answers, she told herself, and picked up the phone. She quickly punched in the number, then waited, telling herself that once she had answers, she’d have a clearer idea of what she should do about Renee’s baby.

“Yo.”

She jumped at the unexpected, gruff greeting. “Mr. Tanner?” she said uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

“Um…this is Dr. Elizabeth Montgomery.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got one of those fancy phones with caller ID. Even tells me the time. It’s 1:33 a.m., in case you’re wondering.”

She winced, not having realized the hour. “I’m sorry. Really. I had no idea it was so late. I’ll call back in the morning.”

“No need. I wasn’t asleep.”

“Oh.” She pressed a hand against the top of her head and began to pace. “Well, I’ve been thinking, Mr. Tanner—”

“Woodrow.”

She stopped and frowned. “What?”

“Woodrow. That’s my name.”

“Oh.” She sighed and dropped her hand. “Well, I’ve been thinking…Woodrow,” she said cautiously, testing the sound of his name, “about what you said this afternoon. Concerning the custody,” she clarified, and began to pace again. “I was hoping you might answer some questions for me.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pot of coffee made, would you?”

She stopped, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “What?”

“Coffee. You know. That black stuff.”

“Well…no. Why?”

“Put some on. I think better after I’ve had a few cups.”

“You’re coming to my house?”

“I’m already here.”

She whirled to stare at the front door. “You’re here?” she repeated in dismay.

“Yeah. And when you open the door, would you mind giving the old bat across the street a wave? She’s been watching me like a hawk. Probably thinks I’m a burglar.”

Elizabeth hurried to the door and unlocked it. By the time she opened it, Woodrow was halfway up the walk, his cell phone still pressed to his ear. She stared, struck again by his size. She remembered thinking that afternoon how large a man he was, but he seemed even taller now, broader. And there was a John Wayne swagger in his walk that she hadn’t noticed that afternoon, which made him appear even bigger, tougher.

“Wave,” he said into the receiver.

She glanced beyond him and saw her neighbor, Mrs. Gladstone, peeking through a slit in the drapes of her front window. Forcing a smile, she lifted a hand in a wave.

“Is she still looking?” he asked.

Elizabeth watched Mrs. Gladstone snatch the drapes together and disappear. She tipped the receiver back to her mouth. “No. She’s gone now.”

“Good.”

Reaching the porch, he slid his cell phone into the holster clipped to his belt, then pulled hers from her ear and punched the disconnect button. He passed it back to her. “I guess we don’t need these anymore.”

Her face heating in embarrassment, Elizabeth slipped the phone into the pocket of her robe. “No, I guess not.”

He lifted a brow. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Flustered, she backed into the house. “Oh. Yes. Please.” She waited for him to step inside, then closed and locked the door behind him.

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

She turned, following his gaze, caught off guard by the comment. “Thank you. I like it.”

He cupped a hand on her elbow. “Now, about that coffee…”

She stumbled along at his side, wondering belatedly if she’d made a mistake in inviting him in. After all, she knew nothing about this man. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.

“Mr. Tanner—”

They reached the kitchen and he released her arm. “Woodrow.”

She squared her shoulders. “Woodrow,” she amended. “May I see your driver’s license, please?”

He gave her a curious look, but reached behind him and pulled his wallet from his rear pocket. “I suppose so, though if you’re worried about your safety, it’s a little late for that.”

She quickly noted his name: Woodrow Jackson Tanner. His address: RR 4, Tanner Crossing, TX. She looked at the accompanying picture, then glanced at him in surprise, comparing the features. “This picture doesn’t look like you at all.”

Scowling, he snatched the wallet from her hand. “It’s a couple of years old. I’ve changed.”

She cocked her head, amused by his embarrassment. “Actually, I was thinking the picture was quite flattering. You look…friendlier.”

He shot her a dark scowl, then jerked a chair from the table and sat down. “Are you going to make coffee, or what?”

“Of course.” She headed for the coffeemaker, but stole a glance at him over her shoulder, fearing she’d insulted him with her comment. “I’m sorry if what I said about your photo offended you.”

“You had questions,” he said tersely.

Reminded of them, she pulled a canister from the cupboard and measured grounds. “Yes. Quite a few, in fact.”

“So let’s hear ’em.”

She switched on the coffeemaker, then crossed to sit opposite him at the table. “Where did Renee live?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I haven’t had any contact with my sister in over five years.”

Though she sensed that he wanted to quiz her about that, he said instead, “Killeen.”

“Killeen,” she repeated, amazed to discover that Renee had lived a mere three-hour drive from Dallas. “You said that you didn’t know her.”

“No. Never even heard of her until Maggie showed up with the kid.”

“Which is your father’s?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his expression turning sour.

“And he and Renee never married?”

He snorted. “That wasn’t his style.”

“You sound as if your father was involved in…paternity situations before.”

He arched a brow. “More than I was obviously aware of.”

She frowned thoughtfully, wondering what Renee would have seen in a man old enough to be her father, then rose to pour them both a cup of coffee. When she returned to the table, she pushed a cup toward him, then closed her hands around hers, needing the warmth.

“How did she die?”

He took a sip. “Something to do with the birth. I don’t know the details. Maggie could probably tell you, though.”

“Maggie,” she repeated. “The friend. You said she’s your brother’s wife?”

“Yeah. Though that’s recent. A couple of days ago, in fact. Ace hired her to take care of the baby, then they up and married.”

“They fell in love?” she asked in surprise.

He grimaced at the question. “I guess. If there is such a thing. They seem suited. They’re both nuts about the kid. Hell,” he said, tossing up a hand. “Come and see for yourself.”

Her eyes rounded. “What?”

“Come to Tanner’s Crossing with me. See the kid. Meet Ace and Maggie and my other brothers.”

The thought of going to Tanner’s Crossing and coming face to face with her sister’s past terrified her. What kind of person had Renee become? Would the baby look like Renee? Would Elizabeth be able to let her niece go once she saw her, held her in her arms?

She swallowed hard. “I’ll need to pack a bag.”

Two

Woodrow had thought Elizabeth would sleep during the drive to Tanner’s Crossing. At least that was the impression she’d given him, when she’d tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as he’d pulled away from her house. But she hadn’t slept. He knew, because her facial muscles had remained tense throughout the drive and she’d kept her hands knotted together on her lap so tightly her knuckles gleamed a pearly white in the darkness. He’d considered asking her to take over the wheel, so he could sleep. After twenty-four hours without any, he could use a little shut-eye. But after sizing her up, he’d opted to remain in the driver’s seat. The woman was skinnier than a rail and looked as weak as a newborn calf, which made him question her ability to handle a truck the size of his.

When he stopped in front of his log house, she finally gave up the possum act and sat up.

“Are we here?” she asked.

Her voice sounded a bit rusty after three hours without use.

“Yeah,” he replied, then clarified, “at my place.”

She whipped her head around, her eyes wide in alarm. “But I thought we were going to your brother’s home.”

He gestured at the windshield and the darkness beyond. “It’s not daylight yet. Everyone will still be in bed. I figured we’d catch a couple hours sleep, then head over to the Bar T.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed open his door and hopped to the ground. He stretched his arms above his head to smooth out the kinks the drive had left in his back, then dropped his arms with a weary sigh and rounded the hood.

As he opened her door, he saw that her eyes were riveted on the dark house behind him. “Problem?” he asked.

Her gaze snapped to his. She gulped, then forced a polite smile. “I appreciate your consideration. Really I do. But I’m not the least bit tired. Couldn’t we just go to your brother’s?”

“And chance waking Ace up before he’s gotten a full night’s rest?” Shaking his head, he offered her a hand. “Trust me. That’s not something you want to do.”

She gave the dark house another uneasy look, before accepting his hand. “Why not?” she asked as she climbed down.

The moment her feet touched the ground, he released her and reached into the back to lift out her suitcase. “Because he’s meaner than a grizzly if he’s awakened before he’s ready to rise.” He tipped his head toward the house, indicating for her to precede him up the rock walk that led to the front porch. “One time when we were out camping during a roundup, Rory and me woke him up from a dead sleep and ’fore we knew what was happening, he had us between the sights of his shotgun.”

She jerked to a stop on the porch, her eyes wide in dismay. “He was going to shoot you?”

He gave her a nudge with the suitcase, urging her on to the door. “Didn’t hang around long enough to find out. Me and Rory hightailed it out of there so fast, Ace was spittin’ dust for a week.”

He pushed the door open, then waited for her to enter before him. “Light switch is on the left,” he instructed.

As she fumbled a hand on the rough-hewn wall in search of the switch, Elizabeth wondered what had possessed her to agree to making this trip. At the very least, she should have insisted upon driving her own car. If she had, she could be on her way to a hotel right now, rather than searching for a light switch in a strange man’s house and worrying about her safety.

Berating herself for the uncustomary impulsiveness, she found the switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the space, exposing a large room. A stone fireplace stood opposite her, wood stacked ready in a copper tub on its hearth. Before it, a round, braided rag rug was spread, covering a large portion of the heart-of-pine flooring. A small kitchen opened to the left of the fireplace, and a closed door stood at its right. To her surprise, she found his home warm and inviting, which helped ease her fears a bit.

“You can bunk down in here,” he said as he crossed to open the closed door. He flipped on the overhead light, then tossed her suitcase onto the massive bed that dominated the small room.

Elizabeth stopped in the doorway and stared, knowing by the personal items scattered about that this was his room. “Where will you sleep?” she asked uneasily.

“On the sofa.” He leaned to turn on a lamp beside the bed. “If you’re worried about hygiene, the sheets are clean. Changed ’em myself before I left for Dallas yesterday morning.”

The intimacy suggested in sleeping in a strange man’s bed had her taking a nervous step back. “There’s no need for you to give up your bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“And have my stepmother rolling in her grave?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. ‘Guests take priority over comfort.’ That’s what Momma Lee always said.”

He whipped back the crazy quilt that covered the bed, then turned for the door. “The bath’s through there,” he said, flapping a hand over his shoulder to indicate a partially open door behind him. “Fresh towels and wash cloths are in the linen chest beside the shower stall. If you wake up first, the coffee makings are in the kitchen cupboard above the percolator. ’Night,” he said and closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth stared at the door for a good thirty seconds, before finding her voice. “G-good night.”

Woodrow lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes and a hand splayed over his belly, the tips of three fingers pushed beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Though he usually slept in the raw, since he had a guest in the house, he’d thought it best to leave on his shorts. He wasn’t modest, but he figured if the doc woke up first and came in to make coffee and caught him sacked out on the sofa in his birthday suit, she’d probably drop dead from a heart attack.

He heard a scratch on the door and swore under his breath, having forgotten about his dog. With a weary sigh, he rolled to his feet, opened the door a crack, just wide enough for Blue to slip through, then shut it and stretched back out on the sofa. A wet nose bumped his arm, followed by a pitiful whimper.

“Sorry, mutt,” he grumbled. “There’s not room for both of us up here.” He lifted a hand and pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace. “You get the rug.”

Blue slunk over to the fireplace and flopped down on the rug. The dog let out a low woof to let Woodrow know she didn’t like the arrangement, then dropped her head between her paws. Within minutes, both Woodrow and Blue were snoring.

In the next room, Elizabeth lay beneath the covers, wide-eyed, forcing herself to take long, even breaths. It wasn’t fear of the man in the other room that kept her awake.

It was regret.

Renee.

Though tears burned behind her eyes and clogged her throat, she couldn’t cry. But, oh God, how she wanted to. She wanted to throw open the floodgates and let loose all the emotions she’d suppressed for so many years. Cry until there were no more tears left to be shed, empty herself of every last drop of grief, unwind every thread of restraint, every layer of composure she’d bound herself with for years in order to survive.

Renee.

Even now she could see her younger sister. The white-blond ringlets Elizabeth had lovingly combed and adorned with ribbons each day before sending her younger sister off to school. The sky blue eyes with the mystical power to light up a room or melt the hardest of hearts. The classically beautiful features that Elizabeth had envied so much.

Oh, Renee, she thought sadly. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? Why did you keep running away? What were you running away from?

But the dark room offered up no answers, no insight into the questions that had haunted Elizabeth for years.

Rolling to her side, she gathered the covers to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, determined to sleep. Using a technique her therapist had suggested to help with the insomnia she suffered, she imagined herself in a peaceful, stress-free environment. With slow, even strokes, she painted in her mind a field of wildflowers and a stream shaded by trees, their low-hanging branches dipping into the deep, clear water, like long graceful fingers. She placed herself there, stretched out alongside the stream on a soft bed of crushed grass. Scents wafted beneath her nose. The musky smell of rotted leaves and the sharper, sweeter scent of the crushed flowers she lay upon. The sound of the water bubbling over the rocks and the birds chirping in the trees nearby soothed her frayed nerves, while the breeze riffling through her hair and the relaxing warmth of the sun on her face melted the tension from her body. She stretched lazily, content—

Stiffening, she flipped open her eyes, jerked from the relaxing scene by a sound. The door opening? she wondered, straining to hear. She listened a moment, wondering if perhaps it was Woodrow. She lifted her head to look toward the door, but saw nothing in the darkness. Telling herself she was imagining things, with a frustrated sigh she dropped her head back to the pillow and closed her eyes. She forced her mind back to the peaceful scene, imagining again the field of wildflowers, the stream tumbling over moss-covered rocks. Gradually the tension eased from her body.

She slept.

A blood-curdling scream rent the air. Woodrow sat bolt upright at the chilling sound, his heart lodged in his throat. Disoriented for a moment, he blinked once. Blinked again. Then he remembered the doc and vaulted from the sofa.

He threw open the bedroom door and hit the overhead light switch. Squinting his eyes against the sudden glare, he focused his gaze on the bed. The doc sat huddled against the headboard, fully dressed, her knees hugged to her chest, her hands clamped over her face.

Blue lay in her customary spot at the foot of his bed.

“Dang you, Blue,” he complained. He caught the dog by the scruff of the neck and hauled the animal to the floor. “Out,” he ordered, pointing to the door.

Blue slunk from the room, her tail tucked between her legs.

He turned to the doc. “It was just Blue,” he explained, then added, “my dog.”

Her shoulders drooped in relief and she lowered her hands. “I thought—”

She stopped midsentence, her eyes rounding. She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flaming a bright red.

Woodrow glanced down and swore, having forgotten he was wearing nothing but his drawers. But he wasn’t about to apologize. Not when it was her scream that had jerked him from a sound sleep and had him barreling into the bedroom.

“You’re lucky I’ve got on shorts,” he grumbled as he turned for the den. “Usually I sleep in the raw.”

Elizabeth didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep. The dog had scared the life out of her when it had jumped onto the bed, but opening her eyes to find Woodrow standing beside the bed, wearing nothing but…

Gulping, she leapt from the bed and all but ran for the bathroom. After locking the door behind her, she bent over the sink and splashed cold water over her flushed face. She groped blindly for a towel and buried her face in its softness.

But she couldn’t block the image of the near-naked Woodrow that seemed engraved behind her lids.

Oh, God, was all she could think, gulping again. He was so…so male. The broad shoulders. The wide, muscled chest shadowed by dark hair. Arms rippling with muscle. Wide, strong hands. Long, powerful legs stretching from the hem of the powder-blue boxers.

Usually I sleep in the raw.

She groaned, remembering what he’d said, and pressed the towel tighter against her face, trying not to think about what lay beneath those powder-blue boxers. She was a grown woman, she reminded herself sternly. A doctor, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t as if she wasn’t familiar with the male anatomy. She’d dealt with dozens of male patients during her medical training and residency. And she and Ted had been intimate for over two years.

She dragged the towel from her face and fisted her hands in it on the edge of the sink, staring at her flushed face. But the sight of Ted’s naked body had never left her feeling as weak-kneed and needy as seeing Woodrow in that same state.

Drawing in a deep breath, she unfurled her fingers from the towel. “It was the shock,” she told her reflection. Opening her eyes to find Woodrow standing beside the bed in his underwear had been a shock, nothing more.

Though her knees were still a bit unsteady, she turned away from the sink and went back into the bedroom to collect her suitcase. Since she was awake, she decided she might as well freshen up and prepare for her meeting with Woodrow’s family and her niece.

It was obvious she wasn’t going to get any more sleep.

Not when she knew that a half-naked Woodrow lay sleeping in the next room.

Woodrow paused at the front door, his hand on the knob. “They’re good people,” he told the doc, hoping to plead Ace and Maggie’s case one last time before introducing his brother and sister-in-law to Elizabeth. “They love that kid like she was their own.”

Tightening her fingers on her shoulder bag, she gave him a brisk nod. “I’m sure they are,” she replied. “I’m grateful for the care they’ve given my niece.”

Which didn’t offer Woodrow a clue as to whether she intended to sign over to Ace and Maggie whatever claim she might have on the kid.

With a sigh, he opened the door and pushed it wide, gesturing for the doc to precede him into the house. “We’re here,” he called loudly as he followed her inside.

Ace appeared in the doorway to the study, looking as if he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a month. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw shadowed by at least two days’ worth of stubble.

He started toward them, a hand extended to Elizabeth. “Ace Tanner,” he said by way of greeting, then glanced behind him. “And this,” he said, reaching to loop an arm around his wife’s waist and draw her forward, “is my wife, Maggie.”

The doc shook first Ace’s hand, then Maggie’s, her expression unchanging, her face a cool mask. “Elizabeth Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Maggie nodded a tight-lipped greeting, but said nothing. Woodrow wondered what was wrong with her. Usually his sister-in-law was friendlier than a pup and talkative as a magpie. But this morning she seemed withdrawn, even resentful.

Ace opened an arm in invitation. “Why don’t we move into the den, where we can talk more comfortably.”

Elizabeth went first. Maggie followed a slow second. Woodrow fell into line behind his sister-in-law and gave Ace a questioning look as he passed by his brother. Ace lifted a shoulder and mouthed “later,” before following Woodrow into the den.

“Maggie baked a batch of cinnamon rolls this morning,” Ace offered, “and there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

Woodrow dropped down onto the sofa next to the doc and rubbed a hand over his stomach. “You won’t hear me turning down any of Maggie’s cooking.”