Читать книгу The Marriage Command - Susan Fox, Susan Fox P. - Страница 6

CLAIRE RYAN’S first contact with Logan Pierce had been six months ago at her stepsister’s funeral. Because Farrah had alienated most people and had few friends left, the sad little service had been only minimally attended. The forty or so people who’d shown up had mostly been Claire’s friends, and they’d attended out of respect for her rather than Farrah.

The only person Claire hadn’t recognized had been the tall, rugged stranger in the coal black suit and dress Stetson who’d walked in looking harsh and unapproachable. The moment Claire had caught sight of him, her attention had been seized by the wild impression that he was some sort of human manifestation of death itself.

If she’d known then who he was and why he’d come to Farrah’s funeral, she would have fled the chapel and raced home to snatch up little Cody and disappear. But the singular drawback of having a modest, stable life was that it had been impossible to just pack up and run, not even to keep Farrah’s eighteen-month-old son.

Because she hadn’t been able to run all those weeks and months ago—as much because of her sense of honor as her settled situation—Claire was about to lose the one person she loved with all her heart.

It had taken every scrap of integrity she’d had to force herself to obey the court’s order and drive all the way from San Antonio to the Pierce Ranch that afternoon. She’d slowed her older model car to a crawl as she’d approached the huge single-story ranch house at the headquarters of what had to be one of the largest ranches in that part of Texas.

She’d parked at the end of the front walk, then got out to gather the sleepy two-year-old from his car seat to carry him to the door. The housekeeper, who’d introduced herself as Elsa, had opened the door for her immediately, then got her and little Cody seated in the living room before she briskly went to the kitchen to bring back a tray of iced tea and orange juice that she’d set on the coffee table. After taking a few silent moments to pour a glass of tea and a smaller one of juice, the woman had disappeared into another part of the big house.

Claire felt her throat spasm more tightly closed as she ignored the tea and cuddled the drowsy boy against herself. Emotion that was the most poignant and painful of her life made her eyes sting yet again.

After today, or after tomorrow at the latest, she might never see this precious little boy again. Legally, she no longer had even a small claim to him, though morally she was far more entitled to be his mother than Farrah had been.

It had been Claire who’d taken care of the boy from the day he’d come home from the hospital. Claire who’d gotten up with him in the night, Claire who’d fed him, bathed him, taken him for checkups, played with him. And Claire who had paid for anything and everything the child had needed. And though it had been Claire who’d loved him more than her life, none of that had counted for anything with the judge.

Farrah hadn’t bonded at all with the child and she certainly hadn’t wanted the responsibility of raising him. The truth was, she’d only kept the unplanned and unwanted pregnancy in hopes of getting her rich former boyfriend to marry her. Or failing that—and she had failed to wrangle a marriage proposal out of the father—she’d meant to extort some lavish amount of child support from him. But then Cliff Pierce had been killed before Cody had been born.

That was all Claire had known. The day after Cody’s birth, Farrah had brought the infant directly to her, then promptly gone to live with one of the few friends she hadn’t yet alienated.

The moment Claire had taken the tiny infant into her arms, she’d fallen instantly and irrevocably in love. She’d understood right away that her flighty stepsister meant for the arrangement to be permanent, but she hadn’t been able to persuade Farrah to make her the baby’s legal guardian.

Claire had recognized Farrah’s refusal for what it was: an opportunity to maintain legal control over the child in case a future opportunity presented itself.

And it had presented itself in the form of Cliff Pierce’s older brother—his very rich older brother—who was sole heir to all things Pierce.

That’s why Logan Pierce had shown up at Farrah’s funeral to make contact with Claire. That’s why he’d taken her to court to continue the process of claiming his late brother’s only child. Farrah hadn’t informed Claire that she’d already petitioned the courts for child support from Cody’s uncle, so finding out about it after Farrah’s sudden death had been a shock.

Cliff Pierce had taken a blood test before Cody’s birth, and once Cody was born, his blood had also been tested, so there was no doubt of paternity. Then a week ago, the court had deemed Logan Pierce more entitled and qualified to raise little Cody than she was.

A stepaunt’s rights—though she’d virtually been a mother to the child—had been trumped in the courts by the rights of blood kin. If she’d had the money to continue to fight for access to the boy, she might at least have had a legal chance. But her money was no match for Pierce resources.

And because Cody’s blood kin was too coldhearted to concede her right to anything to do with the boy, today was the beginning of the end. Her last obligation was to hand Cody over. But would the man who was so determined to have his nephew all to himself allow her to at least help the child through what would surely be a traumatic transition?

She would find some way to survive the loss of the boy, but Cody was far too young to make sense of any of this. All he would understand was that the woman he thought of as his mother had suddenly abandoned him. Why the judge hadn’t been able to understand that worried her less than Logan Pierce’s apparent indifference to the emotional consequences of separation for little Cody.

The temptation to throw herself at Logan Pierce’s feet and beg to be allowed at least a miniscule part in the boy’s future was pitifully strong. If she could somehow keep the child from being devastated, she was willing to do whatever it took to spare him.

And yet she knew instinctively that she couldn’t show even a particle of emotion. A man who apparently had no feelings wouldn’t respect anything but the cool poise she’d shown him so far.

She’d already determined that the best course would be to convince Logan Pierce that her ongoing contact with Cody would benefit Logan Pierce. He didn’t impress her as a man who tolerated upset or insubordination of any kind, much less any ripples in his otherwise rigidly ordered life. Little boys were inherently disruptive and not given to rigid order. They should be expected to behave, but children were still learning. Mistakes and little problems were inevitable.

Suddenly every reasoned point she’d considered making to him about the wisdom of allowing her frequent, regular contact with the boy seemed doomed to fail. Her limited experience with Logan Pierce had more than convinced her that he considered her just as shiftless and troublesome as Farrah.

But the boy considered her his mother. Farrah herself had encouraged Cody to call Claire “Momma.” Though Claire had worried about that from the start, she had been Cody’s momma in every way other than actually giving birth to him. The tragedy for her, but now especially for the boy, was that she hadn’t.

As if he’d sensed her upset, Cody moved restlessly in her arms and drew back to rub his eye with a back of his hand. His soft whimper was a strong signal that he was out of sorts. He’d not slept well in the car, and the lack of a good nap would leave him cranky until he felt more fully awake. This wasn’t the best time for him to meet his uncle.

The housekeeper had offered no real welcome to the boy, though most people did. Cody was a handsome child, with black hair and blue eyes, and he was usually well behaved. It helped to remember that he’d had his little arms fastened tightly around Claire’s neck when they’d come in, so perhaps the housekeeper hadn’t thought he was awake enough yet to cope with a stranger.

Claire so hoped that was the reason the woman had all but ignored the boy. At least she’d brought a carafe of cold orange juice with the pitcher of iced tea, so perhaps that was an indication of the woman’s thoughtfulness.

Cody began to fuss a little then, and Claire tried to distract him.

“Would you like some orange juice, sweetheart?”

That got his attention and she scooted forward on the sofa with him on her lap to reach for the small glass. Cody seemed to perk up a bit after he’d had a sip, but he refused a second sip. He’d noticed a small bronze sculpture of a wild horse on the table at the end of the sofa and immediately wiggled out of her arms to investigate.

And promptly knocked the small, weighty piece on its side!

Horrified, Claire put the glass of juice on the tray then jumped up to right the sculpture. The moment she picked it up, she saw that the rippling mane of the horse had gouged the fine, high gloss tabletop. The whitish cut stood out starkly on the dark wood.

How would Logan Pierce react to this? The question made her nauseous, and her heart began to race with real fear. But then her fear shot up what must have been miles as she heard heavy bootsteps coming from some unseen hall outside the wide doorway of the living room.

There was no way to fix or conceal the damage to what was surely a very expensive table. She would gladly pay for the damage whatever it cost, but a two-year-old was bound to have other small accidents in a home filled with fine furniture, and she wouldn’t be around to intervene with those.

As the steady bootsteps grew closer, she sent up a desperate prayer.

Please, God, let him be tenderhearted with this boy. And understanding and wonderfully patient…

That was the moment Logan Pierce walked into the room. Claire looked up from the damaged table and tried to read his somber expression as she clutched the small sculpture.

There was nothing even remotely tender or understanding or patient about the way this man looked. His rugged face was all planes and angles and harshness. He looked almost ruthless. She doubted he’d ever smiled in his life.

And then he leveled that cold black gaze on her and she felt the sharp impact of it. She could tell he didn’t like her—that had been obvious from the moment she’d seen him at the funeral—but her worries about his bad opinion of her were a distant second to her fear that Cody’s accident just now might cause him to have a bad opinion of the boy.

Pierce was clearly not a man to cross or aggravate or inconvenience in any way, which made him the last person Claire would pick to raise her beloved Cody. Just the fact that he’d deemed her unimportant to the child was enough to convince her that he wouldn’t care about Cody’s feelings in any other circumstances. Particularly furniture gouges.

That hard black gaze dropped to note the bronze horse she still held in her hands. He hadn’t greeted her, not even to make a token welcome, so she didn’t offer one, though she was compelled to speak.

“There’s been a small accident, Mr. Pierce. I’m afraid your table has been damaged, and I apologize for not being quick enough to prevent it. If you’ll send me the bill, I’ll gladly pay for either a repair or a replacement, whichever you prefer.”

Claire held her breath, so terrified of how he’d react that she felt almost faint. Cody’s voice carried a cranky whine.

“I want the horse, Momma.”

Claire glanced down at him, relieved to be spared a few seconds of the intensity in Logan Pierce’s gaze. She set the sculpture on the coffee table next to the tray.

“The horse isn’t a toy, honey,” she said softly as she took the boy’s hand to redirect his attention. “You need to say hello to your uncle.” She gave the child an encouraging smile.

Cody glanced over his shoulder to see the giant of a man who stood a few feet away, then promptly turned back to Claire and launched himself against her. Claire picked him up and his little arms went tightly around her neck. There was no mistaking his fear, and Logan’s disapproval was evident.

“Does he act up like that all the time?”

The question was a criticism of the boy that was almost impossible to tolerate, though she managed to do it.

“He’s very well behaved, Mr. Pierce. He didn’t get a good nap on the way out, so he’s out of sorts. And this is a new place. He’s shy with people he doesn’t know, and I’m glad of that. I hope you’ll be patient. He’s really a very good little boy. Very good.”

She took a shaky breath, compelled to win some sign of softening on Pierce’s harsh face. “He’s only two years old.”

Her voice broke on the words so she went silent and tried not to look as terrified for Cody—and as worried about Logan Pierce’s obvious displeasure—as she felt.

“Why are you glad?”

The odd question threw her for a moment, but he helpfully supplied a reminder.

“You said he’s shy with people he doesn’t know. Why are you glad?”

Claire sensed more than a trace of anger behind the question, as if he’d taken her remarks personally.

“I’m sure you read the papers and listen to the news, Mr. Pierce. A child who’s too friendly with strangers is at risk, so yes, I’m glad he’s leery of strangers. I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets to know you. Please don’t be offended.”

The heavy silence that descended was rife with undercurrents. As intimidating as Logan Pierce was, Claire couldn’t seem to keep from staring.

The man wasn’t handsome, at least not in the conventional way. His weathered tan gave the impression of Native ancestry that went with his almost black hair and midnight eyes. And yet it was his very ruggedness that would make him a standout anywhere he went.

He was tall and wide-shouldered, with strong arms and long, powerful legs. He obviously spent the bulk of his time outdoors doing hard physical labor, and the blue plaid shirt he wore with the cuffs folded back, his jeans and scuffed black boots were clearly work clothes.

The overall impression was raw masculinity unrelieved by any trace of softness. Claire knew already that he was a tyrant who was used to getting his way, either by the sheer overpowering force of his will or by buying it. He’d used both to stake his claim to Cody and he’d been soundly successful.

But did he have it in him to extend some small particle of mercy to the woman he’d so decisively trounced in court? Claire would gladly forego any possible concession to her in exchange for his pledge to be gentle and understanding with the boy.

Cody’s whispered, “Wanna go home, Mommy,” wasn’t quite enough of a whisper.

If it was possible, Logan Pierce’s harsh expression went harsher. Claire sensed right away that he blamed her for the boy’s eagerness to leave. She broke contact with his cold gaze to speak with the child.

“We came to visit your uncle Logan, sweetheart. Remember? We brought your toys so you’d have plenty to play with in case your uncle didn’t have many toys.”

Claire persuaded the boy to loosen his hold on her neck so he could see her face. She made herself smile. “Maybe we can have Uncle Logan help us bring in a few things. Would you like that? I’m sure he’d like to see your cars.”

“No, Momma,” Cody said, his little face the picture of distress before he cuddled close again. “I wanna go home,” he said, then burst into tears.

The sound wounded her and she looked over at Logan. “Do you have a rocking chair?” If she could get Cody to settle down enough to finish his nap, it would make all the difference.

Logan didn’t reply to that, but instead turned to walk to the wide doorway he’d entered the room by moments ago. He obviously expected her to follow, so she gathered up her handbag and the large cloth bag of Cody’s things. She awkwardly balanced her hold on the sobbing child with one arm as she swung the long straps of both bags over her shoulder and started around the long sofa.

When she got to the hall, she turned in the direction Logan had gone. She passed the open double doors to a formal dining room before she reached a second long hall to the left that apparently led to the bedroom end of the large house. Claire hadn’t realized that the house was laid out in an L-shape. Somehow she’d not noticed it, possibly because the ranch driveway had brought her directly toward the house and she’d been too upset over finally arriving to pay attention.

Her ungracious host was waiting outside the door of a bedroom and she ignored his deepening frown when his dark gaze dropped to note the large bag that no doubt looked as heavy and cumbersome as it felt.

A gentleman would have offered to carry it for her, but because he might not have seen it sitting on the floor during his brief visit to the living room, he’d not had an opportunity to be helpful.

On the other hand, the rude way he’d walked out of the living room to lead the way here, easily outdistancing her and the sobbing boy as if they were both too disruptive to tolerate, made her conclude that chivalrous acts—if he even knew what those were—weren’t automatically conferred on those he deemed unworthy of them.

And this was the creature who would raise Cody.

Claire turned carefully with her burdens to walk through the doorway, and the sight of the bedroom made her heart fall. It was a child’s room, a little boy’s, and it had obviously been decorated by a professional. It was another hurtful reminder that Cody’s place was here now, and not with her. Everything, from the wallpaper to the drapes to the beds—and there were two of those—had been beautifully coordinated.

A variety of charming baby animals made up the wallpaper design that covered the walls above the glossy wood wainscoting, and were picked up again by a couple of lamps on the dresser and chest of drawers. The baby animals were repeated on the coverlets of both beds. A huge wooden rocking horse that looked as if it had been handcrafted generations ago sat in a corner.

A gigantic toy box with a safety-hinged lid stood open in another corner, but the area in front of low triple windows featured a miniature wood table and four little chairs. Two bookcases were half-filled with books that looked so new they might have been bought in a bookstore that day.

One of the two beds was a baby bed, but the other was a single bed with a solid wood headboard. Claire guessed right away that the tall silent man who’d followed her into the room had decreed the choice of both. First because he didn’t know which bed size was appropriate for the boy’s age and wouldn’t humble himself enough to ask, and second because he was a man with too much money to worry about an unnecessary cost.

Unless he’d figured the baby bed, if not needed, could be used by a future son or daughter of his own. Claire didn’t know much about Logan Pierce but she did know he was single, though after her unpleasant encounters with him, it was her opinion that the baby bed would go to waste. She couldn’t imagine that any principled woman would be willing to marry such a cold-blooded man and allow him to father her children, not even to have access to his fortune.

Claire carried Cody directly to the rocking chair that sat between the baby bed and the regular bed. She took a moment to pull a diaper out of the cloth bag before she let the shoulder straps to both her bags slide down her arm to the floor and turned with the boy to the baby bed.

With the ease of long practice, she managed to hold the boy and the diaper while she lowered the side of the bed. She laid him on the quilt-covered mattress then unhooked the boy’s little overalls to change him. The moment she got him fastened back up, she lifted Cody and carried him to the private bathroom that had also been expertly decorated. She disposed of the diaper, then set the fussy child on the counter next to the sink while she washed her hands.

When she finished and carried the boy out to the rocking chair, Logan Pierce hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood, watching everything. Claire ignored him and sat down with the tired little boy who was still fretting.

Claire had never been rattled by Cody’s crying or fussiness before, but today it put her on edge. The utter silence from Logan Pierce warned her he wasn’t taking this well, and Claire worried that Cody’s potential to have a good relationship with his uncle was being damaged a little more every moment he acted less than the perfect child.

Thank God there was no nanny evident, so Logan couldn’t send her away too quickly unless he wanted to manage Cody on his own.

The rocking chair was a fine one, and it moved smoothly. Claire kept her attention on the boy or on the wall or on the windows as she rocked and patiently soothed the boy by rubbing his back. He wound down fairly quick and after a few minutes he was resting heavily against her.

What would happen once she put him in the baby bed? Would Logan show her the door? Since she had no legal rights over the boy, she and Cody were literally at the mercy of a man who didn’t appear to know the meaning of the word.

But surely, surely the man knew it was a bad idea to banish her and let the boy wake up later without a chance to even say goodbye.

Claire pressed a desperate kiss to the boy’s forehead and felt again the stark pain of impending loss. Her heart was about to be torn out, but it was the boy who would bleed. How would he ever understand? How would he ever get over the trauma of being suddenly abandoned by her?

Logan’s gravely drawl pushed at her.

“He’s asleep.”

The message was clear. The boy’s asleep, so put him in bed. Dread made her brain add the words, Don’t let the door hit your backside on the way out…

Claire almost couldn’t force herself to stop rocking and stand. The seconds fell heavily, one by one, impacting her heart like sharp spears as she carried the soundly sleeping two-year-old to the baby bed and carefully laid him on his side atop the plush little quilt.

Unable to step away too quickly, unable to keep from taking what might be a last opportunity, she leaned down and kissed the boy’s satiny cheek. The wetness that blurred everything was almost impossible to hold back but she did. And then she straightened and quietly eased the side of the bed up until it locked into place.

She didn’t look at the big man who loomed at arm’s length as she stepped away to gather up her purse and the cloth bag. The bag would stay with the boy, but she needed to show Logan some of the things she’d packed in it.

Cody’s vitamins and his baby book were included in the contents, along with a detailed printout of everything to do with his health, from vaccinations to doctor’s names and the schedule of future appointments for checkups.

She’d even photocopied the meticulous little diary she’d kept, but that, along with a baby book containing photos and keepsakes identical to the one she’d made for Logan Pierce, would stay with her forever.

Claire carried her things to the door, taking a few seconds to pause and glance back at the sleeping boy before she reached the hall. Because Logan had followed her and his big body blocked her view, she leaned to the side for a last glimpse.

Cody was lying asleep just as she’d left him, so there was no excuse to linger. She turned and went on out the door into the hall and started back the way she’d come on legs that felt heavy and weak. They reached the wide doorway to the living room before she stopped and turned back to Logan.

“Will you check on him regularly? It will upset him to wake up in a strange place.” She hesitated, wanting badly to add the words without me, but instead added, “Alone.”

Logan tilted his head back the tiniest bit as he stared down at her. Claire felt the cut of his dark gaze and quailed a little inside. The man was stern, and as unmoved as a column of stone. She’d never felt so powerless against anyone or anything in her life before this man had crossed her path. He was taking everything that mattered to her and she almost couldn’t bear the roaring frustration of being unable to prevent it or to even slow him down.

Claire had never hated anyone in her entire life, but she was close to hating this man. And if he harmed so much as a hair on that sweet boy or failed to love him wholeheartedly or unconditionally, or abused him, she’d somehow find out about it. And when she did, she’d also find the means, some way or somehow, to destroy Logan Pierce.

“Are you so eager to dump him off and get home?”

Logan’s low words shocked her and she almost pinched herself to make sure she was actually awake and that something wasn’t wrong with her hearing. Or was she just so desperate to be able to stay as long as he’d tolerate that she was having a delusion?

Claire couldn’t answer the question at first, but when she registered the challenge to her devotion, she felt a flash of anger.

“I’m not eager to leave him anywhere, Mr. Pierce.”

“Especially not with me,” he added as smoothly as if he’d read her mind. Claire’s gaze fell from contact with his.

“I’m…worried for him. You clearly expect me to just leave him here and not come back. Do you realize how traumatic that will be for him?”

Now she looked up at him, unable to keep the rest from boiling out.

“He’s not a week old or a month old. He’s a trusting little boy who’s lived his whole life with a woman he thinks of as his mother. Do you have any idea how devastating it will be for him if I’m forced to leave him here forever, with a man he’s never met before today?”

That was the moment Logan reached for her arm. She flinched and tried to draw back, but he caught her elbow and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The bolt of electricity that went through her from his steely fingers sent a heavy wave of weakness through her.

“We’ll finish this in private,” he growled, and before she could react, he was ushering her on past the living room then down the long hall that paralleled the front of the house. The power in his grip, though it was amazingly gentle, was a silent manifestation of male strength.

Whatever he’d just said about finishing this in private, Claire was terrified that he was about to throw her out of his house.