Committed to the Baby: Claiming King's Baby / The Doctor's Secret Baby

“You’re wrong.”

The doorbell rang just then and Justice heard his housekeeper’s footsteps as she hustled along the hall toward the door. Something way too close to panic for Justice’s own comfort rose up inside him. He shot Jefferson a quick look and said, “Just get rid of her, all right? I don’t want help. I’ll get back on my feet my own way.”

“You’ve been doing it your own way for long enough, Justice,” Jefferson told him. “You can hardly stand without sweat popping out on your forehead.”

From a distance, Justice heard Mrs. Carey’s voice, welcoming whoever had just arrived. He made another try at convincing his brother to take his latest attempt at help and leave.

“I want to do this on my own.”

“That’s how you do everything, you stubborn bastard. But everybody needs help sometimes, Justice,” his brother said. “Even you.”

“Damn it, Jefferson—”

The sound of two women’s voices rippled through the house like music, rising and falling and finally dropping into hushed whispers. That couldn’t be a good sign. Already his housekeeper was siding with the new therapist. Wasn’t anyone loyal anymore? Justice scraped his free hand through his hair, then scrubbed his palm across his face.

He hated feeling out of control. And ever since his accident, that sensation had only been mounting. He’d had to trust in daily reports from his ranch manager rather than going out to ride his own land. He’d had to count on his housekeeper to take care of the tasks that needed doing around here. He wanted his damn life back, and he wasn’t going to get it by depending on some stranger to come in and work on his leg.

He’d regain control only if he managed to come back from his injuries on his own. If that didn’t make sense to anyone but him, well, he didn’t care. This was his life, his ranch and, by God, he was going to do things the way he always had.

His way.

He heard someone coming and shot a sidelong glance at the open doorway, preparing himself to fire whoever it was the minute she walked in. His brothers could just butt the hell out of his life.

Footsteps sounded quick and light on the wood floor, and something inside Justice tightened. He had a weird feeling. There was no explanation for it, but for some reason his gut twisted into knots. Glancing at his brother, he muttered, “Just who the hell did you hire?”

Then a too-familiar voice announced from the doorway, “Me, Justice. He hired me.”

Maggie.

His gaze shot to her, taking her in all at once as a man dying of thirst would near drown himself with his first taste of water. She was wearing blue jeans, black boots and a long-sleeved, green T-shirt. She looked curvier than he remembered, more lush somehow. Her hair was a tumble of wild curls around her shoulders and framing her face with fiery, silken strands. Her blue eyes were fixed on him and her mouth was curved into a half smile.

“Surprise,” she said softly.

That about covered it, he thought. Surprise. Shock. Stunned stupid.

He was going to kill Jefferson first chance he got.

But for now he had to manage to stay on his feet long enough to convince Maggie that he didn’t need her help. Damn it, she was the absolute last person in the world he wanted feeling sorry for him. Lifting his chin, he narrowed his gaze on her and said, “There’s been a mistake, Maggie. I don’t need you here, so you can go.”

She flinched—actually flinched—and Justice felt like the bastard Jefferson had called him just a moment or two ago. But it was best for her to leave right away. He didn’t want her here.

“Justice,” his brother said in a long-suffering sigh.

“It’s okay, Jeff,” Maggie said, walking into the room, head held high, pale blue eyes glinting with the light of battle. “I’m more than used to your brother’s crabby attitude.”

“I’m not crabby.”

“No,” she said with a tight smile, “you’re the very soul of congenial hospitality. I just feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Then she took a hard look at him. “Why are you standing?”

“What?”

Beside him, Jeff muffled a laugh and tried to disguise it with a cough. It didn’t work.

“You heard me,” Maggie said, rushing across the room. When Justice didn’t move, she grumbled something unintelligible, then dragged a chair over to him. She pushed him down onto it, and it was all Justice could do to hide the relief that getting off his feet gave him. “Honestly, Justice, don’t you have any sense at all? You can’t put all your weight on your bad leg or you’ll be flat on your back again. Why aren’t you using a cane at least?”

“Don’t have one,” he muttered.

“He threw it across the room,” Jeff provided.

“Of course he did,” Maggie said. She spotted the cane, then walked to retrieve it. When she came back to his side, she thrust it at him and ordered, “If you’re going to stand, you’re going to use the cane.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Maggie,” he said.

“You do now.”

“In case you didn’t notice the lack of welcome, I’m firing you.”

“You can’t fire me,” she told him, leaning down to stare him dead in the eye. “Jefferson hired me. He’s paying me to get you back on your feet.”

“He had no right to.” Justice sent his brother a hard glare, but Jefferson was rocking back and forth on his heels, clearly enjoying himself.

Maggie straightened up, fisted her hands at her hips and stared down at him with the stern look of a general about to order troops into battle. “He did hire me, though, Justice. Oh, and by the way, I’ve heard about the other three therapists who’ve come and gone from here—”

Justice looked past her to glare at his brother but looked back to Maggie again when she continued.

“—and you’re not going to scare me off by throwing your cane. Or by being rude and nasty. So no need to try.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Yes,” she said and a flicker of something sharp and sad shot through her eyes. “You’ve made that plain a number of times. But you can just suck it up. Because I’m here. And I’m staying. Until you can stand up without brackets of pain lining the sides of your mouth or gritting your teeth to keep from moaning. So you know what? Your best plan of action is to do exactly what I tell you to do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, Justice,” she said, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair and leaning in until their faces were just a breath apart, “if you listen to me, you’ll heal. And the sooner that happens, the sooner you’ll get rid of me.”

“Can’t argue with her there,” Jeff pointed out.

Justice didn’t even glance at his brother. His gaze was locked with Maggie’s. Her scent wafted to him like the scent of wildflowers on a summer wind. Her eyes shone with a silent challenge. Now that he was over the initial shock of seeing her walk into his life again, he could only hope to God she walked back out really soon.

Just being this close to her was torture. His body was pressing against the thick denim fabric of his jeans. Good thing she’d pushed him into a chair so damn fast or she and his brother would have been all too aware of the kind of effect she had on him.

Maggie stared into Justice’s eyes and felt her heart hammer in her chest. Seeing him again was like balm to an open wound. But seeing him hurt tore at her. So she was both relieved and miserable to be here.

Yet how could she have turned down Jefferson’s request that she come to the ranch and help out? Justice was still her husband. Though he probably didn’t realize that. No doubt he’d never even noticed that though he had signed the divorce papers and mailed them to her, she had never filed them with the courts. Naturally, even if he had noticed, Justice would have been too stubborn to call her and find out what was going on.

And as for Maggie? Well, she had had her own reasons for keeping quiet.

Strange. The last time she’d left this ranch, she’d been determined to sever the bond between her and Justice once and for all. But that plan had died soon enough when things had changed. Her life had taken a turn she hadn’t expected. Hadn’t planned for. A rush of something sweet and fulfilling swept through her and Maggie almost smiled. Nothing Justice did or said could make her regret what her life was now.

In fact, that was one of the reasons she’d come to help him, she told herself. Of course she would have come anyway, because she couldn’t bear the thought of Justice being in pain and needing help he didn’t have. But there was more. Maggie had leaped at Jefferson’s request to come to the ranch, because she’d wanted the chance to show her husband what he was missing. To maybe open his stubborn eyes to the possibilities stretched out in front of him.

Now, though, as she stood right in front of him and actually watched a shutter come down over his eyes, effectively blocking her out, she wondered if coming here had been the right thing to do after all.

Still, she was here. And since she was, she would at least get Justice back on his feet.

“So, what’s it going to be, Justice?” she asked. “Going to play the tough, stoic cowboy? Or are you going to cooperate with me?”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” he told her, ignoring his brother standing just a foot or so away.

“Of course you didn’t,” Maggie retorted. “Everyone knows the great Justice King doesn’t need anyone or anything. You’re getting along fine, right?” She straightened up and took a step back. “So why don’t you just get up out of that chair and walk me to the door.”

His features tightened and his eyes flashed dangerously, and just for a second or two Maggie was half afraid he’d try to do just that and end up falling on his face. But the moment passed and he only glared at her. “Fine. You can stay.”

“Wow.” She placed one hand on her chest as if she were sighing in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Justice glowered at her.

Jefferson cleared his throat and drew both of their gazes to him. “Well, then, looks like my work here is done. Justice, try not to be too big of an ass. Maggie,” he said, moving to plant a quick kiss on her forehead, “best of luck.”

Then he left and they were alone.

“Jefferson shouldn’t have called you,” Justice said quietly.

“Who else would he call?” Maggie looked at his white-knuckled grip on the cane he held in his right fist. He was angry, she knew. But more than that, he was frustrated. Her husband wasn’t the kind of man to accept limitations in himself. Having to use a cane to support a weakened leg would gnaw at him. No wonder he was as charming as a mountain lion with its foot caught in a trap.

He blew out a breath. “I could get Mrs. Carey to throw you out.”

Maggie laughed shortly. “She wouldn’t do it. She likes me. Besides, you need me.”

“I don’t need your help or your pity. I can do this on my own.”

A flare of indignation burst into life inside her. “That is so typical, Justice. You go through your life self-sufficient and expecting everyone else to do the same. Do it yourself or don’t do it. That’s your style.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he argued. “A man’s got to stand on his own.”

“Why?” She threw both hands high and let them fall. “Why does it always have to be your way? Why can’t you see that everyone needs someone else at some point?”

“I don’t,” he told her.

“Oh, no, not you. Not Justice King. You never ask for help. Never admit to needing anyone or anything. Heck, you’ve never even said the word please.”

“Why the hell should I?” he demanded.

“You’re a hard man,” Maggie said.

“Best you remember that.”

“Fine. I’ll remember.” She stepped up close to him, helped him up from the chair despite his resistance and when he was standing, looked him dead in the eye and said, “As long as you remember that if you want to get your life back, you’re going to have to take orders from me for a change.”

* * *

Late that night Justice lay alone in the bed he used to share with his wife. He was exhausted, in pain and furious. He didn’t want Maggie looking at him and seeing a patient. Yet, all afternoon she’d been with him, taking notes on his progress, telling him what he’d been doing wrong and then massaging his leg muscles with an impersonal competence that tore at him.

Every time she’d touched him, his body had reacted. He hadn’t been able to hide his erection, but she’d ignored it—which infuriated him. It was as if he meant nothing to her. As if this were just a job.

Which it probably was.

Hell, what did he expect? They were divorced.

Grabbing the phone off the nightstand, he stabbed in a number from memory and waited impatiently while it rang. When his brother answered, Justice snapped, “Get her out of my house.”

“No.”

“Damn it, Jefferson,” Justice raged quietly with a quick look at the closed door of his bedroom. For all he knew Maggie or Mrs. Carey was out wandering the hall, and he didn’t want to be overheard. Which was the only thing that kept his voice low. “I don’t want her here. I made my peace with her leaving, and having her here again only makes everything harder.”

“Too bad,” Jefferson shot back. “Justice, you need help whether you want to admit it or not. Maggie’s a great therapist and you know it. She can get you back on your feet if you’ll just swallow your damn pride and do what she tells you.”

Justice hung up on his brother, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Swallow his pride? Hell, his pride was all he had. It had gotten him through some tough times—watching Maggie walk out of his life, for instance—and damned if he was going to let it go now, when he needed it the most.

He scooted off the edge of the bed, too filled with frustration to try to sleep anyway. He could watch the flat-screen television he’d had installed a year ago, but he was too keyed up to sit still for a movie and too pissed off already to watch the news.

Disgusted by the need for it, Justice reached for his cane and pried himself off the mattress, using the thickly carved oak stick for balance. His injured leg ached like a bad tooth, and that only served to feed the irritation already clawing at his insides. Shaking his head, he hobbled toward the window but stopped dead when he heard…something.

Frowning, he turned toward the doorway and the hall beyond. He waited for that noise to come again, and when it did, his scowl deepened. What the hell?

He made his way to the door, flung it open and stood on the threshold, glancing up and down the hallway. The wall sconces were lit, throwing golden light over the narrow, dark red-and-green carpet, which lay like a path down the polished oak floors. The hallway was empty, and yet…

There it was again.

Sounded like a cat mewling. Justice moved toward the sound with slow, uncertain steps. Just one more reason to hate his damn cane and his own leg for betraying him. A few months ago he’d have stalked down this hallway with long strides. Now he was reduced to an ungainly stagger.

He followed the sound to the last door at the end of the hallway. The room Maggie was to stay in while she was on the ranch. At least he’d been able to order that much. He’d wanted her as far from his bedroom as possible to avoid the inevitable temptation.

Outside her door he cocked his head and listened. The house made its usual groaning noises as night settled in and the temperature dropped. Seconds ticked past and then he heard it again. That soft, wailing sound that he couldn’t quite place. Was she crying? Missing him? Regretting coming to the ranch?

He should knock, he told himself. But if he did and she told him to go away, he’d have to. So instead, Justice turned the knob, threw open the door and felt the world fall out from beneath his feet.

Maggie.

Holding a baby.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Hello, Justice. I’d like you to meet Jonas. My son.”

Chapter Four

“What? Who? How? What?” Justice jolted back a step, hit the doorjamb and simply stared at the woman and baby on the wide, king-size bed.

Maggie’s gaze locked on his as she answered his questions in order. “My son. Jonas. The usual way. And again, my son.”

Pain like Justice had never known before shot through him with a swiftness that stole his breath and nearly knocked him off his feet.

Maggie had a son.

Which meant she had a lover.

She was with someone else.

Everything in him went cold and hard. Amazing, really, how big the pain was. He’d told himself he was over her. Assured himself that their marriage was done and that it was for the best. For both of them. Yet now, when he was slapped with the proof that what they’d shared was over, the sharp stab of regret was hard enough to steal his breath. The thought of Maggie lying in another man’s arms almost killed him. But then, what had he expected? That they’d get a divorce and she’d join a convent? Not his Maggie. She had too much fire.

Clearly, it hadn’t taken her too long to move on. Her son looked to be several months old, which meant that she’d rolled out of his bed into someone else’s real damn fast. Which made him wonder whether she’d been involved with someone else already when they’d had that last weekend together. That thought chewed on Justice, too. All the time they’d been rolling around in his bed, she’d had another guy waiting for her? What the hell was up with that?

He wanted to shout. To rage. But he didn’t. He locked up everything inside him and refused to let her see that he was affected at all. Damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of knowing that she still had the power to cut him.

He had his pride, after all.

“Not going to say anything else?” she asked, swinging her legs off the bed and lifting the baby to sit at her hip.

He wiped one hand across his whiskered jaw and fought for indifference. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations? Fine. I said it.” His gaze stayed locked on hers. He wouldn’t look at the chubby-cheeked infant making insensible noises and gurgles.

“Don’t you want to know who his father is?” she asked, moving closer with small, deliberate steps.

Why the hell was she doing this? Did she really enjoy rubbing the fact of her new relationship in his face? He hoped she was enjoying the show because, yeah, he did want to know. Then he wanted to find the guy and beat the crap out of him. But that wasn’t going to happen. “None of my business, is it?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, turning her head to plant a kiss on the baby’s brow before looking back at Justice. “It sort of is. Especially since you’re his father.”

Another jolt went through Justice, and he wondered idly how many lightning strikes a man could survive in one night. Whatever game she was trying to run wouldn’t work. She didn’t have any way of knowing it, of course, but there was no possible way he was that baby’s father.

So why the hell would she lie? Was the real father not interested in his kid? Is that why Maggie sought to convince Justice that he was the father instead? Or was it about money? Maybe she was trying to get some child support out of this. That would be stupid, though. All it would take was a paternity test and they’d all know the truth.

Maggie wasn’t a fool. Which brought him right back to the question at hand.

What was she up to?

And why?

He stared at her, reading a challenge in her eyes. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at the child. It was there, though, in his peripheral vision. A babbling, chortling statement on Justice’s failure as a husband and Maggie’s desire for family, provided by some other guy.

Pain grabbed at him again, making the constant ache in his leg seem like nothing more substantial than a stubbed toe.

“Nice try,” he said, fixing his gaze on her with a cold distance he hoped was easily read.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means, Maggie, I’m not his father, so don’t bother trying to pawn him off on me.”

“Pawn him—” She stopped speaking, gulped in air and tightened her hold on the baby, who was slapping tiny fists against her shoulder. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“Really?” Justice swallowed past the knot in his throat and managed to give her a tight smile that was more of a baring of his teeth than anything else. “Then why is he here?”

“Because I am, you dolt!” Maggie took another step closer to him, and Justice forced himself to hold his ground. With the weakness in his leg, if he tried to step back, he might just go down on his ass, and wouldn’t that be a fine end to an already spectacular day?

“I’m his mother,” Maggie told him. “He goes where I go. And I thought maybe his daddy would like a look at him.”

One more twist of the knife into his gut. He hadn’t been able to give her the one thing she’d really wanted from him. Now seeing her with the child she used to dream of was torture. Especially since she was looking into his eyes and lying.

“I’m not buying it, Maggie, so just drop it, all right? I’m not that kid’s father. I’m not anybody’s father. So why the song and dance?”

“How can you know you’re not?” she argued, clearly willing to stick to whatever game plan she’d had in mind when she got here. “Look at Jonas. Look at him! He has your eyes, Justice. He has your hair. Heck, he’s even as stubborn as you are.”

As if to prove her point, the baby gave up slapping at her shoulder for attention, reached out and grabbed hold of Maggie’s gold, dangling earring. He gave it a tug, squealing in a high-pitched tone that made Justice wince. Gently, Maggie pried that tiny fist off her earring and gave her son a bright smile.

“Don’t pull, sweetie,” she murmured, and her son cooed at her in delight.

That softness in her voice, the love shining in her eyes, got to him as nothing else could have. Justice swallowed hard and finally forced himself to look at the child. Bright red cheeks, sparkling dark blue eyes and a thatch of black hair. He wore a diaper and a black T-shirt that read Cowboy in Training and was waving and kicking his chubby arms and legs.

Something inside him shifted. If he and Maggie had been able to have children, this is just what he would have expected their child to look like. Maybe that’s why she thought her ploy would work on him. The kid looked enough like Justice that she probably thought she could convince him he was the father and then talk him out of a paternity test.

Sure. Why would she think he’d insist on that anyway? They had been married. The timing for the child was about right. She’d have no reason to think that he wouldn’t believe her claims. But that meant that whoever had fathered the boy had turned his back on them. Which, weirdly, pissed him off on Maggie’s behalf. What the hell kind of man would do that to her? Or to the baby? Who wouldn’t claim his own child?

He watched the boy bouncing up and down on Maggie’s hip, laughing and drooling, and told himself that if there were even the slightest chance the boy was actually his, Justice would do everything in his power to take care of him. But he knew the truth, even if Maggie didn’t.

“He’s a good-looking boy.”

Maggie melted. “Thank you.”

“But he’s not mine.”

She wanted to argue. He could see it in her face. Hell, he knew her well enough to know that there was nothing Maggie liked more than a good argument. But this one she’d lose before she even started.

He couldn’t be Jonas’s father. Ten years before, Justice had been in a vicious car accident. His injuries were severe enough to keep him in a hospital for weeks. And during his stay and the interminable testing that was done, a doctor had told him that the accident had left him unlikely to ever father children.

The doctor had used all sorts of complicated medical terms to describe his condition, but the upshot was that Jonas couldn’t be his. Maggie had no way of knowing that, of course, since Justice had never told anyone about the doctor’s prognosis. Not even his brothers.

Before he and Maggie got married, when she started talking about having a family, he’d told her that he didn’t want kids. Better to let her believe he chose to remain childless rather than have her think he was less than a man.