Читать книгу The Paternity Proposition - Merline Lovelace, Merline Lovelace - Страница 8

Alex’s first call Wednesday morning was to his mother. Since she’d turned over most of the Dalton International’s operations to her sons, Delilah had taken to sleeping more than the four or five hours a night she’d grabbed while she was raising her boys and building the corporation from the ground up almost single-handedly. Molly had rekindled old habits, however. Delilah was once again up with the sun and crashed as soon as she tucked the baby in for the night.

She sipped her first cup of coffee while she listened to Alex’s plan. When he hung up, she sat for a long time in the kitchen of her sprawling mansion. She would never admit to either of her sons that she felt more comfortable in this cheerful kitchen with its watermelon striped wallpaper and collection of dented copper tea kettles than in any of the other seventeen rooms, all decorated by outrageously expensive interior designers.

She’d wanted more for her sons than the shack she’d grown up in. More than the tar-paper shanty their father had called home before hiring out to Conoco-Philips Petroleum when he turned thirteen. Neither she nor Big Jake had finished high school. Yet their sons had not only racked up several advanced degrees, they’d acquired a sophistication that secretly thrilled Delilah almost as much as it frustrated her. Alex and Blake should be married by now, damn it. Should be giving her the grandbabies she craved. Babies like Molly.

“Ah, Jake,” she murmured as she nested her coffee cup in both hands and looked out onto a multi-terraced and elaborately landscaped garden. “You ought to see the little one. She has your eyes.”

A familiar ache pierced Delilah’s heart. She could only pray that the shape of her eyes was all Molly had inherited from her irresponsible, incorrigible, irresistible grandfather. Then one of the monitors she’d had installed in every room of the house recorded the sounds of the baby waking to a new day and she catapulted out of her chair.

Alex’s second call that morning was to Agro-Air. He wanted to make sure the company’s senior partner was present when he made the return drive to the Panhandle and presented his offer.

Dusty Jones was folded into the desk chair when Alex arrived at the hail-dented hangar that housed the company’s office. Julie Bartlett and the craggy-faced mechanic she’d been working with yesterday were also in the office. The two men eyed Alex with varying degrees of interest when he walked into the hole in the wall that constituted Agro-Air’s office. Julie’s expression was considerably less friendly than her partner’s.

She wasn’t wearing coveralls today. What she was wearing almost stopped Alex in his tracks. It took some effort but he managed to keep his gaze from skimming down the long, fluid legs showcased by her cut-offs. He also allowed himself only a brief glance at the scoop-necked tank top, but the image of the high, firm breasts showcased by the stretchy tank stirred the beast within him. Ordering himself to get a grip, he focused instead on the dark red hair looped through the back of her ball cap and the destructive eyes leveled directly at him.

“I was going to call you,” she stated almost before he was in the door.

“Were you?”

He did his best to disguise the sudden spike in his adrenaline. Was she going to admit the truth? That she’d given birth to his child? Or flatly deny it and provide the requested DNA sample as proof?

In that moment, Alex was damned if he could decide which option he preferred. This woman had eaten a big hole in his sleep last night. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility that a child might link them together for the rest of their lives, but the idea was inching its way into his psyche.

“You have something you want to tell me?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers.

“Yes, I …”

“Hold on there, missy!”

Alex’s gaze shifted to the white-haired, weather-beaten man who popped to his feet and deposited his dirigible excuse of a cat atop the littered desk. So this was the Dusty Jones who’d locked horns with his mother sometime in the past. Alex sized him up, wondering what caused Delilah and this banty rooster to go toe to toe.

“Dalton here called us,” Jones reminded his partner. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“I know what he has to say.” The anger Alex had glimpsed yesterday flared in her unusual eyes again. She banked it with a visible effort. “He wants me to provide proof positive that I am or am not the kind of woman who would abandon her own child.”

Dammit! Julie had promised herself she wouldn’t get all hot under the collar again. Dalton had a legitimate need to know the identity of his child’s mother. Yet she could feel the steam building as his blue eyes sliced into her.

“Are you?”

“Now just hold on a dang minute!” Swift as a snake, Dusty drew their fire. “You said you had a revised proposal you wanted to discuss with us, Dalton. What is it?”

“We’re not interested in any revised proposal,” Julie snapped.

“We might be, missy. We might be. Let’s just hear what the man has to say.”

The look she shot the old reprobate should have cut him off at the knees. He ignored her.

“Why’d you want all of us here?” he asked Dalton. “Why me ‘n Chuck as well as Julie?”

“I realize I might have come across a little heavy-handed yesterday,” Dalton began.

“Ya think?” Julie drawled.

“But I’ve had time to reconsider,” he continued coolly. “Instead of a cash settlement, I’m thinking we might …”

“Cash is good,” Dusty interrupted. “Cash works for me.”

“… work out a business arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?”

Dalton responded to Dusty’s question but his eyes remained on Julie. “Dalton International hasn’t moved into the agricultural aviation sector. With the upsurge in the crop production, this may be the right time. We’re prepared to make a substantial investment in Agro-Air.”

“How substantial?” Dusty asked eagerly.

“Enough to purchase another, newer plane. I checked and found a used Lane AT-602 on the market, available immediately. It only requires one load to spray a 125-acre circle at five gallons per acre. With this increased capacity and spread ratio, you could double your business base.”

He’d done his homework. Julie had to give him that. Despite herself, she felt a bump of excitement at the thought of the 602’s powerful engine.

“In the meantime,” Dalton continued, “I’ll have our engineers look at current applications systems. With Dalton International’s resources and Agro-Air’s expertise in the field, we should be able to come up with an even more efficient spread ratio.”

“And what does DI get in return for this investment?” Dusty wanted to know.

“We take fifty percent of the profits until we’ve recouped the cost of the initial aircraft. We’ll negotiate a percentage for the purchase of additional aircraft. As for the design and possible manufacture of a new application system, we’ll bear the research and development costs but will pay for technical input and flight testing.”

Dusty stroked his unshaven chin and peered at Dalton through eyes permanently reddened from dust and cigarette smoke. “That’s it? DI takes a cut of the profits from the new plane and Agro-Air helps design and test possible new application systems?”

“No. There’s a precondition to the deal.”

“Ha!” Julie huffed. “I knew it.”

“Did you?” Dalton’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then you won’t be surprised when I ask you to spend a week in Oklahoma City as my guest.”

“Right.” Forgetting that she’d already decided to call the man and assure him she was a non-mom, Julie made a moue of disgust. “I camp out in the city, you lift my DNA off a glass or a comb, and this generous offer from DI suddenly evaporates.”

“The offer is solid. So is my promise that I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down Julie’s spine. Before she could block it, her traitorous mind recalled the mind-numbing pleasure this man had given and taken during their night together.

“I don’t get it,” she said, sternly repressing the memory of his mouth on hers. “How does my spending a week in Oklahoma City answer the question of whether or not I’m your daughter’s mother?”

He hesitated and speared a glance at the other two men. Chuck maintained a stoic, unreadable expression. Dusty cocked his head and waited with as much interest as Julie to hear the answer.

“It doesn’t,” Dalton finally admitted. “What it does is give you a chance to spend some time with Molly and me, see how we fit together. Make sure this is what you want if, in fact, you are her mother. It will also give you an insight into Dalton International’s operations,” he added when her mouth opened on a hot protest.

Before she could voice it, Dusty leaped into action. “Wait outside,” he ordered, shoving their visitor to the door. “My partners and I need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t,” Julie said indignantly as he slammed the door in Dalton’s face. “I’m not trekking off to Oklahoma City for a week.”

“You make it sound like the wilds of Africa. It’s just down the road a piece, missy.”

“Dusty. Listen up! I am not spending a week in Oklahoma City.”

“Well, now, let’s just chaw on that a bit.”

Alex was leaning against his Jag when Julie exited the office some twenty minutes later. She stalked out of the hangar, her face stormy, those long legs of hers eating ground with stiff strides. He was careful to avoid any sign of triumph when she curtly announced they had a deal.

“But just so you know, I’m not happy about this, Dalton.”

“I can see that.”

“Nor do I intend to have you foot my bill. I’ll make my own arrangements.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said with a shrug. “But DI maintains a guest suite for out-of-town visitors. It’s empty and available.”

She hesitated, common sense warring with her obvious anger at being manipulated, then gave a grudging, “All right.”

“Do you want me to wait here while you pack a few things or follow you to your place?”

“Just give me the address of the guest suite and a key, if you have one on you.”

“I planned to drive you into the city.”

“I’ll drive myself. I’ve got some things I need to take care of first.”

He’d won the battle. No need for additional skirmishes. With a tight feeling of anticipation he didn’t stop to analyze, Alex extracted a business card and wrote the address on the back along with the keypad code for the door. “And this,” he said as he added another set of numbers, “is my private line. Call me when you get in.”

He handed her the card but held on to an edge when she reached for it. Her distinctive eyes flashed up to meet his.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said quietly.

The wave of temper she’d ridden out of the hangar subsided enough for her to dredge up a reluctant smile. “You might not be thanking me when you end up with Dusty for a partner. He’s the best pilot in twenty-six states but … well …”

“I can handle Dusty.”

But could he handle her?

The thought added another edge to his anticipation as she made for a pickup parked to the side of the hangar with that hip-swinging stride of hers.

The next week, he told himself during the drive back to the city, should prove interesting.

Julie covered the same route later that afternoon. She still couldn’t believe she’d let Dusty whine and weasel and guilt her into this ridiculous situation. She’d fully intended to tell Alex Dalton straight out to look elsewhere for his baby’s mother. Sign whatever release the man put in front of her. Spit into the nearest empty cup.

Yet here she was, cruising east on I-40 toward the cluster of skyscrapers that thrust up from the flat Oklahoma plains like a bundle of steel celery stalks. The only reasons she’d caved, finally, was because Dusty swore a solemn pledge to stay away from the casinos if she agreed to Dalton’s deal. Plus, she would get a first-hand look at DI’s operations, scope out their engineering and test facilities. Added to that was the fact that they were between growing seasons and Julie hadn’t had a vacation in longer than she could remember.

She would hit the shops, she decided as fallow, straight-lined farm sections gave way to suburbs sprinkled with strip malls and fast-food stops. Visit a couple of Oklahoma City’s world-class museums. Maybe catch the musical Jersey Boys at the Civic Center. And, oh by the way, spend a few hours with Alex Dalton and his family.

She’d looked them up on Google this afternoon. She’d skimmed through all sorts of articles and financial publications chronicling Dalton International’s steady rise from a small family venture to a mega-corporation that manufactured and supplied equipment to oil-rich countries around the world. She’d also found a profusion of articles and photos from various society pages. There was the two-page color spread of Delilah Dalton’s mansion, thrown open to the public for a garden charity event last spring. And a profusion of photos showing one or both of the Dalton twins with be-gowned and be-jeweled babes on their arms.