One Heir...Or Two?

He had an ethical obligation to see that his children had the best of everything—morally and materially. That meant being the best damn father he could be. His kids would have a solid, safe, reliable upbringing. And no matter what impractical ideas Kayla had about parenting, he’d made himself a promise—he’d be the one making the hard decisions in their lives. He’d be the one keeping them safe, now and in the future. If that meant making sure their birth mother was cared for 24/7 until the new baby was born, then that was what he’d do.

Kayla needed his help right now, and she was going to get it—even though he knew she’d fight him on this. But what she probably hadn’t counted on was that in the last several years he’d become quite used to succeeding—in everything. He wasn’t about to stop now and he wasn’t above using some heavy emotional leverage to achieve his objective, either.

He picked his next words very carefully. “You know, you don’t need to make things so hard on yourself.”

She made a noise that fell somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Really? That’s rather ironic, when you’re the one making things hard on me.”

Kayla leaned forward and gave the legal envelope sitting in front of her on the coffee table a dismissive shove toward him with her fingertips. He ignored it and the quick surge of frustration that threatened to cloud his thinking.

“I mean, you don’t need to do this all on your own,” he rephrased.

“Oh, you think I should just give in to your demands? Hand Sienna over to you without another thought? Forget I carried her in my body, birthed her, nurtured her and raised her on my own these past ten months? Forget that she’s my sister’s baby and that I promised to raise her?”

Her voice wobbled, betraying her vulnerability. Out of nowhere came the urge to wrap her in his arms, to tell her that everything was going to be okay. It was most inconvenient. He didn’t want to feel that way toward her. He didn’t want to feel that way toward anybody. He’d drilled that sap out of himself, taught himself not to feel anything more than he wanted to feel when he wanted to feel it. He compartmentalized and planned; he didn’t wing it. He made decisions based on analysis and structure, not emotion. He did not offer hugs to tearful females, even if they were carrying his kids.

Again, the unwelcome impulse to comfort her fought to rise to the surface. Again, he shoved it straight back down. It was time to bring in the big guns—he might not want to feel emotion but he wasn’t above manipulating it to get what he wanted.

“Sienna wouldn’t have wanted you to do this on your own, Kayla. You know that. You said yourself that she would have wanted me to be a part of this, to help you, to support you.”

“To support me, yes. Not to rip everything I hold dear away from me.”

Her face grew taut, her throat worked—swallowing almost convulsively—and he saw the stricken echo of sorrow reflect from her blue eyes. He averted his gaze. Damn, he couldn’t have felt any worse right now if he’d just kicked a puppy. What was it with these feelings? Was she leaking hormones in the air or something? He had to move, to get out of the line of fire. He shoved up and out of his chair and started to pace, talking all the time—enumerating all the reasons it would be a good idea for her to accept his offer of household help, financial security, comfortable living. You name it, he’d provide it. Help to infinity and beyond. After all, hadn’t that been her objective all along when she’d come to see him last month? Wasn’t he giving her, albeit belatedly, exactly what she’d asked for?

When he finally wound down, her expression was more normal again. Granted, she was still pale and her eyes still red rimmed, but there was a light of battle in them again. A light that reminded him of old Kayla. The one who got a harebrained idea in that head of hers and went off, damning the consequences without a second thought—just like she had with this pregnancy.

“So you’re saying I should give up the lease on this apartment, give up a job I love, move south to your no doubt obscenely luxurious home on the hills outside Monterey, hand over Sienna to some faceless nanny and spend my time growing your next child like some uninvolved incubator until it’s born, whereupon you plan to take it and my daughter and show me the door? I don’t think so.”

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