Daddy Wore Spurs

Drawing in a steadying breath, she said, “You must be feeling confident that Harry is your child.”

“I am. And deep down you believe I’m his father, too. Don’t you?”

Clamping her jaw tight, she was determined not to let him see her cry, to let him know that the thought of losing Harry was shattering her whole being.

Turning back to the sink full of dishes, she picked up the sponge and twisted it until soapy foam covered both hands. “I’ll believe what the DNA test says,” she said hoarsely. “Nothing less.”

She was fighting back tears when she felt him move behind her and place his hand on her shoulder. Mariah squeezed her eyes shut as heat raced up the side of her neck and down her arm.

“Mariah,” he said gently, “I’m not an ogre. I can see how much you love Harry. But a man who could leave his son—well, he wouldn’t be much of a man. Would he?”

Swallowing hard, she turned to face him, but the moment her gaze met his, her self-control crumbled and she began pounding her fist against his chest. “No, damn you! I wished I’d never called you! I’d have my baby and you’d never know the difference!”

By the time he grabbed her flying fists and anchored them tightly against his chest, she was sobbing, her cheeks drenched with tears. But what this man thought about her no longer mattered. All she cared about was Harry.

“Hush, Mariah. Please, don’t cry.”

He gently drew her forward, until her wet cheek was pressed against the middle of his chest and his hand was stroking the back of her head.

Even if Mariah had wanted to resist, the solid comfort of his arms, the tender touch of his fingers upon her hair, was a balm to her raw nerves. A man hadn’t touched her this way in ages. She hadn’t wanted one to touch her. Until now.

Eventually, the warmth of his arms eased the chill inside her and dried the tears in her eyes. By then, his masculine scent and the hard muscle beneath her cheek were turning her thoughts in a totally different direction.

He murmured against the top of her head. “Better now?”

The husky note in his voice shivered through her like a cold drink on a hot day. So good. So perfect. But she couldn’t keep standing here in his arms, letting her erotic thoughts get out of control.

Quickly, she stepped back from his tempting body and wiped fingers against the traces of tears on her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I’m behaving like a shrew. But I—” Her gaze met his and her heart very nearly stopped as she spotted a sensual gleam in his blue eyes. Had the embrace they’d just shared affected him, too? Or were her scattered senses making her see things that weren’t really there?

His lips took on a wry slant. “Forget it, Mariah. I can take a few punches. Besides, you made your point. You chose to call me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known anything about Harry. Unless by some chance I ran across some of her old friends at a horse show, and even then, I probably wouldn’t have made the connection of me being her child’s father.”

His expression softened. “I’m grateful that you made that call, Mariah. Even though I understand how much it’s breaking your heart.”

Blinking at a fresh wave of tears, she turned back to the sink and thrust her hands into the water. Better there than pounding them against Finn’s chest and making a complete neurotic fool of herself, she thought dismally.

A shaky breath shuddered past her lips. “Harry deserves a father,” she said bluntly.

He moved a few steps away and Mariah went limp with relief. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t trust herself near a man.

“The afternoon is getting late,” he said, “and I haven’t gotten a room in town yet. Can you recommend a good place to stay?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and suddenly without warning, she heard herself saying, “You don’t need to drive back to town. You’re welcome to stay here. There are plenty of empty bedrooms and you’d be close to Harry.”

And to me.

The voice in her head came out of the blue. Just as her unplanned invitation had come from a place inside her she hadn’t known existed. Dear Lord, she must be cracking up. Earlier, she’d wanted rid of this man. Now she wanted to get closer to him. This cowboy was putting some sort of hypnotic spell on her.

“It’s nice of you to offer, Mariah, but I don’t expect you to put me up for the night.”

The arch of his brows said her invitation had surprised him. But it couldn’t have surprised him any more than it had her.

“Dad would’ve already insisted you be our guest,” she reasoned. “I wouldn’t feel right doing any less.”

“But you live here alone.”

She frowned. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I trust you to be a gentleman. And you look like a strong guy—you can help me with the barn chores.”

The broad smile he gave her was like a dazzling ray of sunshine. It warmed Mariah as nothing had in a long time.

“You just got yourself a ranch hand and a houseguest. Thank you, Mariah.”

She inclined her head in agreement. “If you’d like to fetch your things, I’ll show you where to put them.”

“I’ll be right back,” he promised.

Once he was gone from the room, Mariah leaned weakly against the cabinet and wondered if she just made the biggest mistake of her life. Opening her home to Finn wasn’t going to make him change his mind about taking Harry.

Oh, come on, Mariah. Inviting him to stay here on the ranch had nothing to do with Harry. You want him around because looking at him is a constant thrill. Hearing his voice shivers over your senses like sweet, slow music. And touching him made your whole body ache for more.

Disgusted with the mocking voice in her head, Mariah left the kitchen and hurried toward the block of bedrooms located at the back of the house. As she collected clean linen for Finn’s bed, she assured herself that she wasn’t about to be charmed by the Nevada horseman. She had more important and pressing issues in her life to deal with. Like finding out whether Finn actually was Harry’s father.

* * *

Later that evening, Finn stood in the middle of the ranch yard, surveying the barns and surrounding landscape. From what he could see from his limited view, the ranch was a beautiful property. Run-down in places, but still very usable.

Not far to the east of the barns and corrals, forest-covered mountains formed a towering green wall. To the west, the land swept away to an open valley floor dotted with a mixture of hardwoods and evergreens. Some twenty to thirty miles beyond the valley, tall blue mountains etched a ragged horizon against the sky. Stallion Canyon was a much greener land than that of the Horn, and the beauty of it made Finn long to straddle a horse and explore the foothills and meandering streams.

He wondered if Mariah ever had the urge to ride over the ranch, or had the financial difficulties she’d been under robbed all pleasures she’d taken from the place?

Damn it, he wished he could quit thinking about the woman. Quit wondering why she’d invited him to stay here on Stallion Canyon. Especially when his presence only seemed to upset her.

You didn’t have to accept her invitation, Finn. You could have told her a quick “no thank you.” Instead, you couldn’t accept fast enough. So you could be near Harry, you told yourself. Bull. Admit it, you want to be near Mariah, too.

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