Читать книгу Bundle of Trouble - Elle James - Страница 9

Something blessedly cool stroked across Sylvia’s forehead as she swam through the murkiness inside her head. A deep baritone hummed in the back of her mind, pulling her closer to the light. When the strokes moved to her cheek, she turned her face into the coolness and surfaced, her mind inching toward clarity. “Ummm, that feels good.”

“Glad you think so. I’d appreciate it if you’d wake up before the sheriff arrives.”

Sylvia’s eyes popped open and she stared up into intense, brown eyes, so dark they could be considered black. A man with midnight-black hair and thick dark brows drawn into a frown glared down at her.

Fear and something else shot through her veins, pushing her to a sitting position. As soon as she sat up, her head swam and her world turned fuzzy around the edges. When she would have toppled over onto the floor, strong arms circled her shoulders and eased her back to cool leather.

“Who are you?” she asked as she edged one eye open and attempted a look around. All she could see was the broad chest and intimidating glare of the incredibly sexy man in front of her. He smelled of dust, sweat and leather. Very earthy and tremendously appealing.

“We’d already established the fact that I’m Tate Vincent. You’re trespassing on my property.” The man’s countenance didn’t change, except the glare deepened until his black eyes shot sparks. “Who the hell are you?”

She sighed, draping an arm over her brow to block out her unwanted attraction to the grouchy man. “Sylvia Michaels.” As her vision cleared, so too did her memory. After a moment, she dropped her arm, her eyes widening. “You’re Tate Vincent?” She sighed. “Oh, thank God.”

“Don’t be thanking Him yet. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you hauled off to jail for trespassing.”

“I’m sorry. I tried to get an appointment to see you, but your assistant wouldn’t give me one.”

“That’s why I have an assistant.” His frown deepened, his face fierce. “Now that you have my attention, what exactly do you want?”

She stared up at him, her determination wavering briefly under his angry countenance. “I’m here because there’s a good possibility that you have my child.”

For a moment he said nothing, the only sign he had heard her was the muscle ticking dangerously in his jaw. “How much do you want?”

Sylvia’s brow furrowed. “Want? What do you mean?”

“Most people who trespass or sneak onto my property want something, usually money. What’s your price?”

Anger and indignation shot into her veins, stiffening her spine and forcing her back into an upright position. This time her vision didn’t waver. “I don’t want anything from you. I only want my child.”

“And what makes you think I have him?”

Her eyes widened and a gasp whooshed from her lips. “The baby I saw outside is a boy?” Joy filled her chest. “I knew it,” she said, her happiness stealing breath from her lungs. “How is he? Where is he?” She leaned to the side to look around Tate.

Strong fingers gripped her arms, forcing her to look at him. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have your son.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “Did you adopt a child about six months ago?”

“Anyone who follows the gossip columns would know the answer to that.” The muscle ticked in his jaw again. “Besides, it’s none of your business.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d scored a hit and she wasn’t backing off until she got answers. She stared up at him, her mouth firming into a determined line. “It is my business if that child was stolen from me.”

“You’re wrong. I met the mother of my son. She signed the papers in front of an attorney swearing the child was hers and that she was giving away all legal rights to him.”

“Was her name Beth Kirksey?”

Tate’s eyes narrowed. “And if it was?”

“She wasn’t the mother of the baby you adopted. The birth certificate was forged. She’d given up her real baby for adoption four months earlier. The baby she gave you was mine.”

“I don’t believe you.” He reached for the cell phone in his back pocket. “A quick call will confirm.”

“Don’t bother, Ms. Kirksey won’t be answering.”

“Why?”

“She’s dead.” Sylvia swallowed hard. “She was killed in a hit-and-run ‘accident’ a week ago.”

“I’m calling the sheriff.” He stood, towering above her.

If he’d intimidated her before, he terrified her now. Well over six feet tall, his massive presence and his ferocious scowl could stop an angry bull in his tracks.

But Sylvia hadn’t come this far or risked this much to give up now. “Just let me see him. Please.”

“No way. For all I know, you’re crazy and might hurt my son. You’d do well to get the hell out of my house now while I’m feeling generous enough to let you go without a police escort.”

Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving until I see my son.”

“We’ll see about that.” He nodded to the man standing in the doorway. “C.W., call the sheriff.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Wait.” Sylvia couldn’t afford to waste time in jail. She had to see her son. “I can prove he’s my son.”

“Yeah, and I’m the King of Hearts.” Tate turned away. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Keep an eye on her, will you, C.W.?”

Sylvia rose from the couch, swaying but determined, and reached for his arm before he could walk away. “He has blond hair and blue eyes just like mine, doesn’t he?”

“So what if he does? His mother had blond hair and blue eyes.”

“Does your son have a star-shaped strawberry birthmark on his right hip?”

About to take a step, the man stopped in midstride, his back to her, his body rigid. “That proves nothing.”

Her hand tightened on his arm, her nails digging in. Then she let go, her fingers going to her waistband. She loosened the button of her jeans and unzipped the fly. Then with a deep breath, she shoved the jeans down low enough to expose her right hip. “Does it look like this?”

The man Tate had called C.W. stopped in the doorway and let out a long, low wolf whistle.

Tate’s chest expanded and contracted before he finally stared down at the mark on her hip. “How do I know that’s real?”

“Touch it,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. The thought of the big cowboy touching her made her tingle all over, but she held steady. She had to do this to get her son back.

His hand came out and he rubbed a work-roughened thumb across the birthmark. “It could be a tattoo.”

Sylvia’s breath caught in her chest and she held it for a moment before replying, electric current tingling throughout her body from where his fingers touched her. “You know it’s not. It’s as real as the one on my son’s hip.” She pulled her jeans up and zipped. “Can I see him now?”

His mouth drew into a tight, forbidding line. Then he caught her by her arms and shook her. “Get it through your head, he’s not your son! Now, get out of my house.” He practically flung her away from him.

Steadying herself against the back of the couch, Sylvia struggled to remain calm. Even with Tate breathing fire down on her, she refused to give up. “Not without my son.”

“You won’t see him without a court order. I’ll be contacting my lawyer. I suggest you contact yours.”

Sylvia’s heart dropped to her stomach. She didn’t have a nickel left in her account and she’d been living on credit cards for the past month until they had maxed out. A long court battle would be way out of her league. She flung her long hair back and stood with her shoulders squared, her feet wide, hands propped on her hips. All she had left was false bravado and her conviction that she’d really found her son. “If you want me to leave, you’ll have to call the sheriff. I’m not going anywhere until I see my son.”

“Let me remind you who is trespassing and who is within legal rights to shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been shot at trying to find my son. Go ahead.” Inside she shook, but she refused to show him an ounce of fear. “I want to see the son stolen from me in Mexico six months ago.”

“What’s it going to take to convince you that he’s not your son?”

“Show me his right hip. If the birthmark isn’t there, I’ll leave, no argument.” Sylvia held her chin high and when her mouth threatened to tremble, she bit down hard on her lower lip.

Tate sucked in a deep breath and let it out. It did nothing to calm the racing beat of his heart. He sucked in another breath and tried again. But as long as the woman who claimed to be his son’s mother stood in his living room, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

After all the years he’d begged Laura for children…then she’d left and his father had died. Tate refused to give up the only family he had left. Ever since he’d adopted Jake, he’d had that niggling worry in the back of his mind that someone would someday come and claim him. Hadn’t he seen court cases where the mother came back and claimed she’d been wrong to let her child go? Never afraid of anything in his life, Tate feared losing Jake. He stiffened.

No way in hell.

“C.W., help me load this woman into the truck so we can kick her off the ranch.”

C.W.’s lips curled upward. “Gladly.” As he walked toward Sylvia, his grin widened. “If you don’t mind me saying, I wish it had been me touching that birthmark, ma’am.”

Sylvia raised her fists to a fighting position and squared off with C.W. “Touch me, and I’ll break every one of your fingers. I won’t leave until I see my son.”

Tate shook his head. “Lady, I don’t know what happened to your son, but since you’re not going to see my son, you might as well shove off.”

The front door to the house slammed open. “Tate?” Kacee LeBlanc’s heels clicked across the hardwood floors in double time. “What’s with the fire down by the creek?” She jerked to a halt when she spied Sylvia with her fists up. “Who the hell’s she?”

Tate nodded toward Sylvia. “This woman claims to be Jake’s mother.”

“That’s just bull. I was there when the real birth mother signed over the child. She didn’t look anything like this woman. Other than the blond hair.” Kacee whipped out her cell phone. “Have you called the sheriff?”

“We were just about to do that.” Tate stared pointedly at Sylvia. “Care to leave before he gets here?”

“You call him Jake?” Sylvia smiled. “My son’s name is Jacob.”

“I don’t care what your son’s name is. He’s my son.”

“I’m not budging until I see the baby.”

“Oh, you’ll be budging all right.” Tate nodded to Kacee. “Make that call.”

She punched a button on her cell phone. While she waited for an answer, she frowned. “There’s a fire down by the creek. You might want to get some of the ranch hands on it before it spreads.”

“Fire?” C.W.’s brows rose. “Damn, as dry as it is, it’ll spread fast.” He nodded at Tate. “You can handle her on your own?”

“Go. We can’t afford a range fire. Take Dalton, Cody and anyone else who’s back from the south range.”

“Will do.” C.W. ran out of the room.

“Yes, we have an emergency. This is Kacee LeBlanc out at the Vincent Ranch. We have a fire by the highway near Rocky Creek. We also have a trespasser at the ranch house.” Kacee’s steel-gray gaze scraped Sylvia from head to toe. “Send the sheriff. The woman claims to be Jake’s mother and refuses to leave. Thirty? That’s the best he can do? Okay. Thank you.” She flipped her cell phone shut and tilted her head to the side. “The sheriff will be here soon.” She crossed the room to Tate and touched his arm. “Want me to get a gun, Tate? You know you can shoot trespassers, especially if they’re threatening you or a loved one.” Her voice was hard, her words menacing. She meant to scare the woman across the room, dressed in a dirty shirt and jeans, looking like she’d been run through the wringer of his grandmother’s old-timey washing machine.

Despite her threat to his son, Tate didn’t like where Kacee was going. “No. I reckon she’s harmless.”

Kacee leaned in to whisper, her breath warm on his ear. “That’s what you thought about that homeless man who stabbed your father.”

A band tightened around Tate’s chest. “That’s enough, Kacee.” But he wasn’t taking any chances. He walked to the desk in the far corner of the room, removed a gun from the drawer and dropped the clip from the chamber. From another drawer he retrieved bullets, sliding them into the clip. “But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“Good grief. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I only want my son.” Sylvia Michaels, eyes wide and face pale, backed toward the door, her hands raised.

“Take one more step, and I’ll shoot,” Tate warned.

She paused for only a moment, her gaze connecting with his, determination hardening her chin. Then she spun around, throwing her parting comment over her shoulder. “Then just shoot me.”