The Maverick's Baby-In-Waiting

Except when he looked left, all thought fled from his head. His brain was operating in slow motion, his gaze on a woman sitting at a table and biting into a donut with yellow custard oozing out. She licked her lips. He licked his, mesmerized.

Was it his imagination or was she glowing?

She had big brown eyes and long, silky brown hair past her shoulders. There was something very...lush about her. Jensen couldn’t take his eyes off her—well, the half of her that was visible above the table, covered by a red-and-white-checked tablecloth. And he was aware that he was staring. Luckily, the beauty in question was more interested in her donut and the woman sitting beside her than in anything else. She put down the donut and picked up an iced drink, then laughed at something her companion said.

He even loved her laugh. Full-bodied. Happy.

Oh, yeah, this was a woman who knew how to have a good time. If a donut and a joke or whatever her friend had said could elicit that happiness and laughter, then this was someone Jensen would like to whisk off to dinner tonight. Maybe to Kalispell, about forty-five minutes away, to an amazing Italian restaurant his brother Walker had told him about. Kalispell had a nice hotel where they could have a nightcap before spending the night naked in bed, taking a soak together, and then he’d bring her home in the morning and go meet Guthrie Barnes with a better offer on the land to get the man to sell. A great night, a deal and back in Tulsa midweek. Now that was the Jones way. His father would be proud.

A woman behind the counter, her name tag reading Eva, smiled at him. He was pretty sure he’d met her at her and her husband’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party a few weeks ago. “May I help you?”

“I’d like to send refills of whatever is making those women so happy,” he said, nodding his chin toward the brunette beauty.

Eva slid a glance over and raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Was that challenge in her voice? Jensen loved a challenge. “I’m a man who knows what he wants.”

Eva grinned. “Well, then. I’ll just ring you up and then bring over their refills.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “You can add a café Americano and a chocolate cider donut for me.”

She’d raised another eyebrow after the ma’am; she couldn’t be more than midtwenties, but he was a gentleman born and bred.

After handing him his much-needed coffee and donut, Eva went over to the women’s table with two more donuts and two more coffee drinks. She whispered something, then lifted her chin at him. Two sets of eyes widened, and they looked over.

He locked eyes with his brunette. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The woman he planned on spending the night with. He’d show her an amazing evening, treat her like a princess, give her anything her heart desired, and then they’d go their separate ways, maybe not even knowing each other’s last names. They’d each get what they needed—a night of pure fantasy—and then they’d go back to real life.

He froze, mentally slapping his palm to his forehead. He hadn’t even checked her ring finger. The auburn-haired woman she was with wore an engagement ring; he could see that a mile away. But now that he was looking at his brunette’s hand, he was relieved to see there was no ring.

Which meant she was his. For the night. Maybe for the few days it would take him to convince Guthrie Barnes to sell.

Eva waved him over, and he sidled up. The brunette was staring at him. The auburn-haired friend seemed delighted by the turn of events. “Mikayla Brown, Amy Wainwright, I don’t even have to ask this man’s name to know he’s a Jones brother. I’m right, right?” she said, looking at him.

He laughed. “Was it the diamond-encrusted J on my belt buckle that gave me away?”

“That and the fact that everything you’re wearing probably cost you more than rent on this place for a few months. And I’m pretty sure I saw you with your brothers at our party at the manor a few weeks ago. We didn’t have a chance to meet then—I think the whole town was there. I’m Eva Stockton.”

He smiled. “Jensen Jones. And yes, I was there. Great party. Congratulations on your marriage.” He bit into the donut on his plate. Chocolate cider, his favorite. “Mmm—this donut is so good you should charge a thousand bucks for just one.”

“You’d probably pay that,” Eva said, shaking her head with a smile.

“Hey, my family might have done all right in business, but we’re not idiots. Two thousand.”

The three women laughed, and then the bell jangled, so Eva went back to the counter.

“Mikayla,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “I know this is going to sound crazy. We just met. We don’t know a thing about each other. But I’m going to be in town for a few days and would love for you to show me around, show me the sights—if you’re free, of course.”

His fantasy woman looked positively shocked. Her mouth dropped slightly open, that sexy, pink lower lip so inviting, and she glanced at her friend. Both their eyes widened again, as if his asking her out, politely couched in terms of a sightseeing guide, was so unusual. The woman was beautiful, her lush breasts in that yellow sundress so damned sexy. Surely she was hit on constantly. Maybe not by millionaires, though.

Ah, Jensen thought, disappointment socking him in the gut. That was it. That was what was so unusual about his interest. She probably wasn’t used to attention from a man with so many commas in his bank account.

Another gold digger? Oh, hell, what did it matter if she were? Jensen wasn’t going there—never again. His heart wasn’t up for grabs. Mikayla Brown was gorgeous, not wearing a ring, and he had a few days to enjoy her company—around town and in bed. He’d wine and dine her, she’d give him her full attention and then they’d both go their separate ways, maybe hooking up once or twice a year when he came to Rust Creek Falls to visit his brothers. Perfect.

The more he looked at her, the more he had another thought: Forget Kalispell. I’m whisking her away to Ibiza or a Greek island for the weekend. No harm in a decadent no-strings weekend romance if they were both for it, right?

She was staring at him. About to say yes. Of course she was. C’mon.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m your type, Mr. Jones,” Mikayla said. She took another bite of her donut, a hint of pink tongue catching a flick of errant custard.

He held her gaze, able to feel his desire for her in every cell of his body. “Trust me. You are.”

She took a breath, lifted her chin and stood up.

Which was when it became obvious that she was very pregnant.

Chapter Two

Mikayla gave the guy five seconds to run screaming out the door of Daisy’s Donuts. Maybe even three.

A wealthy, hot man with a diamond-studded belt buckle, slicked-back movie-star blond hair and intense blue eyes glittering with desire and challenge? Yeah, he’d run as soon as he realized he was coming on to a pregnant woman.

All six feet two inches of muscular millionaire cowboy froze, those gorgeous blue eyes on her seven-months-pregnant belly.

She would have burst out laughing if a tiny part of her wasn’t a bit angry. A minute ago she’d been his biggest fantasy—apparently. Now, not so much.

Reality always won.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re...”

Ding, ding, ding. “Pregnant.”

“I...I didn’t mean to intrude on your time together,” he said quickly, slowly backing away with his coffee and what was left of his donut. “Enjoy your afternoon. It was very nice meeting you both.”

So, eight seconds. He was out the door and probably stopped around the corner, catching his breath from actually having been flirting with a pregnant woman.

“Why is every Jones brother better-looking than the last?” Eva asked, coming over with extra napkins.

The man was beyond good-looking. He was the kind of gorgeous that was hard to draw your gaze from, and Mikayla had felt a connection, a tiny little spark of chemistry that went beyond just the physical. There had been something sweet under the sizzling in their two-minute conversation—before her belly had introduced itself.

But he was gone. As expected. And as it should be! Mikayla Brown wasn’t looking for a man. Or a savior. Or a father for her baby. That wasn’t how life worked. If she met someone and they fell in love and he was wonderful and father material, okay, fine.

Now she did burst out laughing. Ha ha ha. Like that would happen.

She’d been burned bad by the father of her baby, which hurt like hell. She’d cried her eyes out, wished until she’d marked every star, and she’d still been abandoned, her baby unwanted by the man who’d helped create him or her. She hated that with every fiber of her being. And she didn’t understand it. But that was when that handy word came in again: reality. Things were what they were, and she damned well was going to make the best of them. She had a baby to consider, a life to bring forth, a child to raise. She was going to be the best mother she could be.

And anyway, the silver lining? She’d noticed Jensen Jones. Could imagine herself kissing Jensen Jones. Which meant that flicker of hope and faith was still alive inside her. Her ex had taken himself out of the equation, but his loss hadn’t taken the red-blooded woman out of her. Score one for Mikayla.

Her hundredth pep talk issued, Mikayla took a sip of her decaf iced mocha. “Well, at least he liked the top half of me. Which includes my brain. So that’s something.” She took another bite of her donut.

“If only he could have seen your feet,” Amy said, “And the sparkly blue pedicure I gave you last week. That would have hooked him.”

“Jensen Jones doesn’t strike me as a man who’d like sparkly blue toenails,” Mikayla said. “Did you know that Jackie Kennedy Onassis once said that fingernails should be the color of ballet slippers and toes a classic red? He seems like one to agree. Too highfalutin for me, anyway. I’m an eat-ribs-with-my-fingers and blue-toenail-polish kind of woman.”

Amy laughed. “We all should be that woman.”

Eva came over with a tray of samples. “Want to try my new red velvet donut holes? Fresh out of the oven.”

Mikayla adored Eva, who not only baked for Daisy’s, worked the counter when they were understaffed and had recently finished business school, but was letting her stay at Sunshine Farm. “Ooh, of course,” Mikayla said, snatching one and popping the heavenly treat into her mouth. This would have to be her last bite or she’d gain a hundred pounds in this final trimester.

Eva sat down. “Mikayla, you were great today, you know that, right? Standing up like that was hilarious. I’ve never seen a man stammer without saying a word quite like that.”

“Poor guy,” Amy said, sipping her iced latte. “Did you see the way he looked at Mik? He was clearly swooning over her.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Mikayla asked. “Not that I care.”

Both women smirked at her.

Mikayla smiled. “I definitely would have remembered meeting him at your and Luke’s party, Eva, but there was so many people and I left a bit early. He has how many brothers?”

“Four,” Amy said. “All rich beyond belief. They’re from Tulsa and all work as major bigwigs in the corporation their father started. Hudson and Walker—you know them from town—still work for Jones Holdings. They opened a satellite office here in town. And Autry whisked a widowed mom and her three little girls to Paris for the year, but they’re due back. There’s another brother, Gideon, who was at the party, too, since he was visiting Hudson and Walker that week, but I didn’t meet him. Put the five Jones millionaires in a row at a party and women start swooning. Even if three are taken.”

“No one knows much about Jensen,” Eva said. “Other than he’s rich and I heard he’s a workaholic. He’s in town working a deal, I think.”

“Well, sometimes a gal needs a donut and some eye candy, and I got both, so I’m good for a while,” Mikayla said. “I’m not looking for anything. I have great new friends and a great place to live. I’m set.”

Eva squeezed Mikayla’s hand. “It’s so nice having another woman at Sunshine Farm. I’m so glad you’re living in the house with us.”

Eva Armstrong Stockton was so kind and generous. She and her husband were thinking about officially starting a guesthouse at the ranch. There wasn’t much in terms of places to stay in Rust Creek Falls. There was a boardinghouse and a high-end hotel that was more Jensen Jones’s speed. Mikayla knew that the Stocktons hoped to turn the cabins on their property into little guesthouses, the kind of place that people could come to when they needed somewhere to go, somewhere like home. People like Amy, who’d reconnected with her first love in Rust Creek Falls. And people just like Mikayla.

She was temporarily in flux. The Stocktons had told her she was welcome to stay in their ranch house as long as she liked, even when she had her baby, who was sure to wake everyone up a few times a night. She’d have friends and support and community. She knew she was lucky.

So was it wrong that she couldn’t stop thinking about that tiny spark of something wonderful that had ignited between her and Jensen Jones? She’d have to fill her nights somehow, so fantasizing about him was really quite smart.

* * *

Walker and Hudson were belly-laughing so hard in the lobby of Maverick Manor that Hudson actually had to stand up and catch his breath.

What was so hilarious, apparently, was the idea of their parents coming to Rust Creek Falls for a surprise fortieth anniversary party.

“A planned party wouldn’t get them here,” Walker said, running a hand through his blond hair. “God, I needed that laugh. Thanks, Jensen.”

“They hate this town,” Hudson said, sitting back down in his club chair, an expanse of Montana wilderness visible through the floor-to-ceiling window behind him. He picked up his beer and took a drink. “They showed up for our weddings, then turned around and flew home, grumbling all the way about Jones-stealing women and Rust Creek Falls not even being on the map.”

“Those Jones-stealing women are their daughters-in-law. Jeez,” Jensen said, sipping his scotch. “You’d think Mom especially would like some women in the family after five sons.”

Walker popped a walnut from the dish on the table into his mouth. “I tried—hard. I talked to Dad about how much I like Rust Creek Falls, that we can easily work from the Jones Holding satellite building we built in town, that we’re—wait for it—happy, and he just doesn’t get it. Or want to hear it.”

“Lost cause,” Hudson said, shaking his head. “I’m over it. You have to be. It’s the only way to move on.”

Family couldn’t be a lost cause, though. If you gave up, that was it. You accepted defeat. Jensen knew Hudson had always had a hard time dealing with the Jones patriarch; he was the cowboy in the family, the one who’d always gone his own way.

He knew his father had to be proud of the way the Jones brothers had forged their own identities and paths. And to bring this family together, Jensen would do whatever it took.

“Forty years is a big deal,” Jensen said. “That has to mean something.”

Walker shrugged. “Look, you want to plan some big shindig, I’m in. But I remember you getting disappointed more than a time or two, Jensen. Mom and Dad don’t care about anniversaries and family get-togethers. They never will.”

“I’m in, too,” Hudson said. “And I’m sure Autry will fly in from Paris with his family and that Gideon, who’s traveling on company business, will make an appearance. But it will end up being just us celebrating our parents’ anniversary. I seriously doubt Mom and Dad will show up.”

Jensen grumbled to himself, staring hard at the trees and woodlands out the window. Why was everything he wanted—woman, land, anniversary party—not going his way? Maybe whatever was in the water in Rust Creek Falls had a negative effect just on him. “I’ll figure something out,” Jensen said, taking another sip of his scotch.

Except he couldn’t figure anything out right now. Because from the moment he’d left Daisy’s Donuts this morning, feeling like the biggest jerk who ever lived, his mind had been a scramble. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Mikayla Brown? Yes, she was lovely to look at and there was some kind of instantaneous chemical reaction between them that rarely happened—to him, at least. But the woman was very, very pregnant! About to have a baby.

And even if Jensen could overlook that one detail—one big detail—there was no way Mikayla was in the market for a casual weekend fling.

Yet he couldn’t shake the thought of seeing her for the first time sitting there and biting into that custard donut. The deep brown of her intelligent, kind eyes. The melodic sound of her laughter. Her calm voice. What the heck was her story? No wedding ring. Unmarried and pregnant in a small town like Rust Creek Falls.

“Since you’re so family oriented,” Hudson said, shaking him out of his thoughts, “you’re invited to the Stockton triplets’ party tomorrow afternoon. It’s not their birthday, but Auntie Bella can’t resist throwing a party for her brother’s adorable kids, so we’re celebrating the fact that all three triplets are potty trained.”

“A potty-trained party?” Jensen couldn’t help but laugh. “Should I bring superhero underwear as a gift?”

“Actually, yes,” Hudson said. “Two boys and a girl, if you forgot. And Katie is nuts about Wonder Woman,” he added with a smile. “Listen, Bella would love to see you and catch up, so I hope you can make it.”

Triplets. That had to be a handful. Three handfuls.

Made one baby seem not quite as...scary.

Which made him think of Mikayla again. For all he knew she was having quintuplets, though. So forget her, man, he told himself. She’s off-limits. She’s not looking for a good time. And that’s all you can take on these days. A good time. No commitments. No future. No hurt feelings.

“I’ll be there,” Jensen said. Which was what he wanted to hear his parents say when he made up some ruse to get them to their own party. Their own surprise party. He wanted to surprise them, wanted them to know their sons cared, even if they themselves had forgotten to show how much they did. And his parents did care, somewhere deep down where their feelings were buried—Jensen was sure.

He glanced at his watch. Guthrie Barnes had agreed to meet with him face-to-face to discuss the land deal. He had to be over there on the outskirts of town in fifteen minutes. He stood up and slapped down a fifty. “Drinks on me. See you tomorrow at the party.”

Walker raised an eyebrow. “This is Rust Creek Falls, Jensen. And Maverick Manor may be the most upscale place to get a drink in town, but two good scotches and a beer still won’t run you even close to fifty bucks.”

“For the till, then, for the owner to stock up,” he said, tipping the Stetson he’d bought specifically to make himself look more like a land guy than a businessman to Barnes.

In ten minutes, he’d parked the shiny black pickup he’d rented in front of the Barnes ranch house. He got out and surveyed the land, which stretched as far as he could see. The access road to the highway was two minutes away—perfect. And the location on the outskirts of town would allow convoys through and choppers to land out here without clogging up traffic in the center of town.

These hundred acres would be perfect for the crisis distribution center he was planning on. The man who’d been like a second father to him had died in a flash flood while volunteering not too far from here, and Jensen wanted to honor his memory, as did his brothers, in a way that would help the area and community. Davison Parkwell had been a very close friend of his father’s once, but the two had had a falling-out and his father had refused to talk to him, let alone about him, in the past five years. Walker the Second hadn’t even gone to Davison’s funeral. But Davison had been there for Jensen in ways his father hadn’t been, as a Boy Scout leader, a coach of his baseball team, a mentor. His dad had always been too busy, but Davison and his wife, who’d died years before him, hadn’t had children and they’d doted on the Jones boys, particularly Jensen and Gideon, the two youngest, in any way they could. Not with money, which they’d all had in truckloads, but with time. Whenever Jensen had had a problem, his heart and mind all messed up over a girl or a coach making him feel like dung or because he’d learned that all the Jones money couldn’t buy what really mattered in life, he’d sought out Davison Parkwell, who’d listened and comforted and had taught him that riding out in the country could soothe a lot of ailments. He’d been right. Saddling up and taking off always managed to clear Jensen’s head.

Maybe he’d go for a ride once he’d squared things away with Barnes. Anything to get his mind off Mikayla Brown, her brown eyes and her very pregnant belly.

But right now, Jensen was going to pay it back and pay it forward—just the way Davison would want. Victims of natural disasters, such as the Great Flood in Rust Creek Falls a few years ago, wouldn’t have to wait for supplies and food and fresh water or shelter; they’d have a place to go right here.

Jensen glanced at the run-down farmhouse at the edge of the land. Peeling paint. Rotting posts. A barn that looked like it might collapse any day. What the hell? Why wouldn’t Guthrie Barnes, clearly having financial issues, sell the land? Jensen was offering a small fortune. The old-timer had hung up on his assistant twice and told Jensen no on the phone once already.

Two old dogs with graying muzzles ran up to Jensen, and he gave them both a pat, waiting a beat for Barnes to come out. He didn’t. Jensen walked up the three porch steps, the middle of which was half-gone, and knocked on the front door. He was surprised he didn’t punch a hole right through it.

Barnes opened the door but didn’t step out or invite Jensen in. “I had you come out here face-to-face so I could make myself clearer than my previous noes have been. Obviously, you rich city types don’t care what people like me have to say. You just keep coming, run roughshod. Well, you’re not going to bulldoze me, Jones. My answer is no. Now go back to New York or wherever it is you come from.”

With that, he slammed the door in Jensen’s face. A piece of rotting wood fell off and landed on Jensen’s boot.

“Well, guys,” he said to the dogs, “that didn’t go well.” He peered in the window, but the old man shoved the curtains closed. He took another look at the falling-down house and shook his head. Stubborn old coot.

Jensen got back into the truck. This was the perfect land for the crisis distribution center and shelter. The perfect site. And his assistant had made clear to Barnes what Jensen’s plans for the land were. The man had not been moved.

Frustrated, Jensen drove back to Walker’s house, surprised, as he always was every time he saw the place, how magnificent it was—a luxury log cabin nestled in the woods. I could live here, he thought, breathing in the pine and listening to the blissful quiet, broken only by the sound of a wise owl, a coyote or crickets.

His brother and his wife weren’t home, and as Jensen walked around, he was drawn to a photo on the gorgeous river-rock mantel over the huge stone fireplace in the living room, a picture of the Jones family at his brother’s wedding last year. I’m gonna get you people together in two weeks for the party whether you like it or not, he thought, tapping on the frame.

He moved down the mantel, looking at the many pictures. Happy family after happy family: his brother Hudson and his wife, Bella. Bella’s brother Jamie Stockton, his wife, Fallon O’Reilly Stockton, and their triplets—the ones having the party tomorrow. His brother Walker and Lindsay. His brother Autry with Marissa and their three little girls in front of the Eiffel Tower. A shot of Gideon with a girlfriend, though they’d probably broken up by now. And then there was a picture of Jensen, alone. As usual, these days.