Читать книгу Bundle of Trouble - Elle James - Страница 12

Sylvia stood at the window of the spacious bedroom, staring out at the dry Texas hill country, her gaze panning the horizon but not seeing a thing. Her ears perked at every sound in the household, hoping to hear the faint noises a baby makes. Her baby. Jacob.

So tuned in to the specific sounds of a child, she didn’t hear adult footsteps outside her door.

“These should fit you.”

Sylvia spun, her hand going to her throat. “Oh, Lord, you scared me.”

The young Hispanic woman Tate had called Rosa, the woman who’d been caring for Jacob in the nursery, stepped into the room, moving with a slight limp. She laid a stack of clothing on the bed, the corner of her lips quirking upward. “These belonged to Mr. Vincent’s ex. I found them in a bag of clothing mi madré planned to donate to the homeless shelter. That and an old Mexican dress my mother wore.” Rosa’s lip curled tighter into a sneer.

Sylvia had read everything she could find in the San Antonio public library about the infamous young millionaire and most eligible bachelor of the state of Texas. His wife had walked out on him early in their marriage when Tate wasn’t so rich. In fact, he’d been close to losing his ranch and everything he owned when his wife walked out on him. Had she stuck with him “for richer or poorer” she’d have been sitting pretty in this fabulous house that Tate had built onto and modernized to make it anyone’s dream home, not wanting for anything. Stupid woman.

Feeling every bit the homeless person, Sylvia had no other choice but to take what was offered, even if it had been the ex-wife’s clothing. Another possible strike against her in her struggle to get her child back—a reminder to the great Tate Vincent of what he’d lost in his failed marriage. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Mr. Vincent is to thank for allowing you to stay.” Rosa’s eyes narrowed. “Just so you know, I’m Jake’s nanny…and bodyguard. I’m expert with the nine millimeter and I’ve never missed a target.”

A shiver snaked up the back of Sylvia’s neck. Jacob’s bodyguard could no doubt take her, but Sylvia had no intention of letting Rosa know she was scared. Her back straightened and she tipped her head back, her brows rising. “Are you threatening me?”

Rosa shrugged. “All I’m saying is that the Vincents—that would be Tate and Jake—are like family to me. Hurt either one of them and…” She stared straight into Sylvia’s gaze. “Let’s just say, a nine-millimeter bullet can make a pretty big mess.”

Before Sylvia could respond, the Hispanic woman turned and limped away.

The image she’d left Sylvia with was of herself being gunned down by a crazy woman with a pistol. “And this is the woman he trusts with my son?” Sylvia muttered, her hand sifting through the clothing on the bed. “Maybe I should check for explosive devices before I wear any of this.”

“I see you’ve met Rosa.”

Sylvia squealed and dropped the shirt she’d lifted from the pile, her face burning.

The man who’d been with Tate when he’d found her in the pasture stood with his hat in his hand. “Yes, Rosa can be pretty harsh with her words, but she wouldn’t hide explosives in clothing. She’s more…” The man paused, his hands turning the hat in his fingers before he stopped and looked up. “She’s more in-your-face violent. You’ll know when she plans to do harm.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

He shrugged. “Don’t take her too seriously. She’s had a bug up her…” Color rose in the man’s cheeks, making them a ruddy-brown. “Well, since she took a bullet in Austin.” A brief shadow crossed his face, then he smiled, his deeply tanned skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m C.W., the foreman. Supper’s ready.”

Sylvia’s stomach growled. She wanted to say that she wasn’t hungry. The truth was she hadn’t eaten since last night when she’d left the library in San Antonio to drive here. “Thank you.”

C.W. waited for Sylvia to pass through the door. “About what Rosie said—”

“Don’t call me Rosie. I hate it when you call me Rosie.” Rosa’s voice called out from another room down the hallway.

C.W. chuckled and winked. “Love to get her goat.” All humor left his face. “As for what Rosie—Rosa—said…Same goes for me. Tate and Jake mean the world to all of us. If anything happens…”

Although C.W. said the words gently, Sylvia couldn’t mistake the steel behind them. “You have a nine-milli-meter bullet with my name on it, right?”

He nodded. “Something like that.”

“Point taken.” Sylvia sighed. “I’m not here to hurt either one of them. I’m here to get my son back. My son. The child I gave birth to and didn’t willingly give up.” She planted her fists on her hips and squared off with C.W. “Did you hear that, Rosa?” she called out loud enough for the woman down the hallway to hear.

“Sí.” Rosa stepped through a doorway, Jacob perched in her arms, his baby fists waving and a wet smile spreading across his chubby cheeks at the sight of C.W. “Let the courts decide where Jake belongs.”

Sylvia’s heart melted at the sight of her son.

C.W. met Rosa halfway down the hallway, reaching for the child. “Come here, little man. Come see ol’ Uncle C.W.”

Ready tears sprang to Sylvia’s eyes. Jacob was beautiful. He’d grown into a healthy, happy baby. At least she could rest assured he hadn’t been abused since coming to the Vincent Ranch. All those months of worry could be left behind. When Jacob had been stolen, Sylvia imagined all kinds of horrors her son could have been subjected to. She’d cried too many tears thinking about it.

The smile on Jacob’s face, the happiness he displayed for the people surrounding him let Sylvia know that he’d found a loving family to take care of him until his own mother could find him.

Her arms ached to reach out and hold her son, but she held back, determined to let Tate Vincent know that she was on the up-and-up. She planned to get her son back the legal way. Justice would side with the biological mother.

Sylvia had to believe that, even though, as an investigative reporter, she’d seen too many cases fouled up in court with corrupt judges and equally corrupt attorneys. She marched ahead of Rosa, C.W. and her son, determined to get the ball rolling as soon as she could get a call through to a lawyer she knew in San Antonio. The same one she’d used when she’d filed for divorce from Miguel Tikas a year and a half ago, before she’d known she was pregnant.

With her resolve strengthened, she followed the smell of food toward the kitchen, ever aware of the people at her back.

She passed an open doorway to an office the size of her old apartment. Tate Vincent stood looking out double French doors, his hand pressing a cell phone to his ear. “Tell him I want it done ASAP. The sooner we know something the better off we all are. Tomorrow morning would be best. Have Dr. Richards call to confirm.”

Sylvia paused. Now would be a good time to ask Tate if she could use a telephone. Her cell phone had sketchy reception this far out of Austin, the charger lost with the contents of her car.

When Tate Vincent turned toward her, his brows snapped together in a frown. “What are you doing here?”

His abrupt demand raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Before she could answer, Rosa stepped up beside her.

“She’s on her way to the dining room.” The Hispanic woman jerked her head, indicating Sylvia should keep walking.

C.W. ducked into the office, Jacob perched on his shoulder. “Someone wants to see you.”

Even before C.W. got close, Jacob was leaning toward Tate.

Tate held out his hands and plucked Jacob off C.W.’s shoulders. “Come here, Jake.”

Rosa hooked Sylvia’s arm with an iron grip. “Come with me.”

Sylvia’s gaze remained on Tate and Jacob until Rosa jerked her past the office with a violent tug.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to get mean. I’m coming.” If she could afford to be nasty, Sylvia would have jerked back as hard as she could, hopefully dropping Rosa on her cranky butt. But she couldn’t. If she wanted custody of her son, she had to make nice to the people who held Jacob. One in particular who had enough money to buy a judge of his own.

Deep down, Sylvia realized the difficulties she faced going up against a financial giant like Tate Vincent. The man had unlimited funds at his disposal. He could make the court case last for years with custody of Jacob remaining with him throughout.

Her footsteps faltered and she came to a halt before they reached the kitchen. “I’m too dirty. Besides, I’m not hungry.”

“Tough. The boss wants you to eat. So you will eat if I have to force feed you.” Rosa stepped into a formal dining room, Sylvia’s arm still in her grip. She whipped Sylvia around and nearly tripped her into a padded seat at the dinner table.

Broad windows lined one wall overlooking a field dotted with horses, tails swishing in the late-evening sun. A perfect setting for dinner. A perfect home for a child to grow up in. A place Sylvia could never hope to own, not as a single mom, an investigative reporter, no less. What kind of life could she offer her son? Nothing like this. But she would give him all the love she had in her heart. That had to count for something.

As she’d been staring out at the hill country, Maria moved in and out of the room carrying trays laden with food. She’d laid out on the smooth wood surface of the long mahogany dining table an array of platters brimming with tortillas, sizzling fajitas, rice, refried beans and fluffy mounds of green guacamole.

Sylvia loved Mexican food, her mouth watering despite herself. The hole in her stomach overrode the worry eating at her insides. If she planned on fighting for her son, she’d better keep her energy up.

Rosa stood over her, her arms crossed over her chest like the tough street cop. “Eat.”

Hunger trumped anger and Sylvia lifted a fork, piling spicy chicken into a light flour tortilla. She ate like a starving person, unsure of where or when her next meal would come. If Tate decided to throw her out, she’d have nothing to live on, no money, no food, no home to go to. Basically, she was at his mercy.

Tate Vincent stood in the living room, holding Jake in his arms. The open floor plan allowed him to monitor Sylvia’s movements. The blonde shoveled food onto her plate like there was no tomorrow. And maybe the events of the past six months made her feel that way. If her waist measurement was any indication, she hadn’t been eating enough food to keep healthy.

While Maria had shown Sylvia to her room, Tate had called his lawyer, asking him to check into the information Sylvia had given him regarding Jake’s birth mother. Or, if Sylvia was to be believed, the woman who’d masqueraded as Jake’s birth mother.

Tate had pulled Jake’s birth certificate from his file of important papers and studied it. Again, he couldn’t tell if it was real or not. Even his attorney hadn’t picked up that it was a fake. At this point, Tate didn’t know who the faker was, Beth Kirksey or Sylvia Michaels. He’d left a call out to Brandon, a buddy of his on the San Antonio police force, to verify whether or not Beth Kirksey had really died and her cause of death, if she had.

Even if Ms. Kirksey was dead, it proved nothing.

Tate’s cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. Juggling Jake on one arm, he checked the caller ID. His buddy from SAPD. His stomach twisted as he pressed the cell phone to his ear. “Yeah.”

“Tate, Brandon Walker here.”

“What did you find out?”

“Beth Kirksey died a week ago. She was struck down by a car that jumped the corner she’d been working. The vehicle hit her head-on and left the scene of the accident without rendering assistance.”

Tate’s arm tightened around Jake until the little guy squirmed. “Any idea who did it?”

“Still looking for the car. A witness reported seeing a black Hummer with chrome grills speeding away from the scene. Not sure it was the one that hit her, but it’s our only lead.”

“What did you mean ‘the corner she was working’?”

“You know. Her corner.” Brandon paused and then cleared his throat. “You didn’t know? Beth Kirksey goes by the name Bunny. She’s one of the local hookers we’ve hauled in on occasion for prostitution.”

The air left Tate’s lungs. For a moment or two he didn’t say anything. When the silence stretched on, he swallowed past the lump building in his throat. “Uh, thanks, Brandon.”

“Anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”

“I might be taking you up on that,” Tate said quietly. He clicked the off button and slid the phone into his pocket. Then he hugged Jake so hard, the boy squealed and patted Tate’s face.

“Sorry, little man.” His eyes burned, but Tate refused to surrender. Not yet. Just because Beth Kirksey was dead didn’t mean she wasn’t Jake’s mother. Tomorrow his family physician was making a house call to collect the DNA samples. Until then, Tate refused to give up hope. Jake was his, damn it!

He carried his little boy into the dining room, intent on telling the trespasser just that.

Rosa stood at Sylvia’s shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest.

Tate almost laughed at her stance, sure she’d used the intimidating glare on more than one traffic violator in her job as an Austin cop.

He was surprised Sylvia could eat while Rosa stood over her. But she finished off one fajita and loaded another tortilla with chicken. She must be really hungry.

A twinge of guilt threatened to creep into Tate, which he promptly squashed. After all, this woman threatened the only family he had left. Jake reached out and grabbed Tate’s ear and giggled.

Sylvia had raised the tortilla to her mouth to take a bite. Her hand froze, her lips open and ready. When Jake giggled again, her face paled and she turned in her chair. Her face softening as soon as her gaze took in Tate and Jake.

“Oh, baby. Look at you all grown-up.” She choked on the last word, the fajita falling to the plate, forgotten. She wiped her fingers on her napkin and stood next to her chair.

“Don’t try anything, lady,” Rosa said, taking a step closer, putting her body between Tate and Sylvia.

“It’s okay, Rosa,” Tate said.

“I’ll tell you when it’s okay. I’m Jake’s bodyguard,” she said. “If I think he needs protecting, I’ll do it.”

Tate chuckled. “Always the protector, aren’t you?”

“Damn right. And I can take you, too, if I have to.” Without turning her back on Sylvia, Rosa asked over her shoulder, “Want me to take Jake to the kitchen?”

Tate stared at Sylvia, whose eyes swam with unshed tears. “Promise to keep your hands to yourself?”

She dragged in a deep, shaky breath and let it out before she nodded. “I do.”

“Then I take it you wouldn’t mind if Jake and I join you at the dinner table?”

Sylvia’s mouth twisted into a sorry attempt at a smile. “It’s your table. I’m the one who doesn’t belong.”

Tate’s jaw tightened, but he refused to rise to her words. “Right.” He glanced down at his son. “Jake, do you think you can control your urge to throw your food just this once?”

Jake patted his sticky palm against Tate’s face. “Da, da, da.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Tate tilted his head toward Jake’s bodyguard. “Rosa, could you bring Jake’s chair?”

She stared at Sylvia and back at Tate before she responded. “Sí, Señor.”

“Rosa. Stop with the señor, already.” Tate shook his head. “I pulled your ponytails, we should be able to call each other by our first names for heaven’s sake.”