Flynt did not correct her; if she needed him to be her brother Joe for a while longer, he was willing. “I know you love him,” he said quietly. “You’re going to be a good mother, Sugar.”
“I promise I will,” the young mother exclaimed, gazing at the baby. “And I’m going to name him Sawyer Matthew. I picked it out months ago.”
“A fine name,” said Flynt, his eyes moving from the infant to Angelica.
For a few blissful seconds, he allowed himself to fantasize that he was the father of Angelica’s child, that he would cradle her and their baby in his arms, moments after supporting her through the birth.
“Flynt, why don’t you join Romina downstairs now?” Mara’s suggestion was an unwelcome intrusion into his enchanted fantasy. “We want to put the baby to breast now and—”
“I’m on my way.” Flynt knew he was being kicked out and acceded gracefully. He walked to the door.
“Flynt.” Angelica’s voice halted him in his tracks. He turned and faced her. “You—you were a real help tonight. Thank you.”
Warmth radiated through him. He left the room with a smile as broad as a proud father’s. Or big brother’s.
“Renee Riley is on her way to my little getaway cabin in Wyoming.” Back in Minneapolis, Kate Fortune hung up the phone, looking pleased.
Sterling lit his pipe. “Kate, my dear, you have a myriad of young relatives, all your own grandchildren and all of Ben’s brothers’ grandchildren, Zeke’s and Caleb’s and—”
“Your point, please, darling,” Kate teased merrily.
“With all the young Fortune lives to manage and arrange, kindly explain to me why you’ve branched out to meddle in Renee Riley’s life? I agree that fiancé of hers, Lyle Whoever, is a repellent character, but young Renee did agree to marry him, didn’t she? Sending her off to Last Resort, Wyoming, days before her scheduled wedding is a bit beyond the pale, even for you, my love.”
“But Renee is a darling girl.” Kate smiled. “And deep in your heart you believe I’ve done the right thing, don’t you, Sterling? She shouldn’t have to marry a man she doesn’t love just to save the family business.”
“You’re incorrigible, Kate. I don’t suppose you mentioned to darling Renee that your great-nephew Garrett is a part-time rancher there who will be in residence when she arrives?”
“Garrett.” Kate strolled along her picture wall, staring at the beloved faces framed there. “I’ve heard him described as a gruff loner but that’s a misunderstanding. He is such a dear boy. And I know he was with Renee when they both disappeared at Kelly and Mac’s New Year’s Eve wedding.”
“Oh, I think gruff loner is an apt description of the dear boy. And if he and Renee Riley—who is fleeing one fiancé and certainly not looking for another—happen to cross paths in Wyoming, odds are great that nothing at all will result.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” quoted Kate jovially. “It seems to me—” The telephone rang, interrupting her.
“It’s your private line,” said Sterling, a frown already creasing his face. Only close family members had that particular number, and a call at ten o’clock at night did not bode well.
He moved to answer the phone but Kate beat him to it. “Mom, it’s me.” Brandon’s voice came over the line.
“Brandon, how are you, dear?” Kate watched Sterling heave an exasperated sigh and head for the desk where he kept a supply of his trusty antacid tablets. She sat down.
“I saw my daughter tonight. We went to this club. She’s—she’s—beautiful, Mom!”
“Oh, Brandon, my dear, what an evening this must have been for you! Brandon, are you crying?”
“If he is, it’s undoubtedly a crying jag,” Sterling injected sourly. “Ask him how much he’s had to drink tonight.”
“I think I might’ve acted like a jerk, Mom. I was so shook…and when I saw the picture of Romina…I felt this cosmic connection to Romina. I mean, we made this kid…but I don’t know her, Mom. I don’t know my very own kid. It’s too weird.”
“It makes perfect sense to me, Brandon,” Kate said softly.
She thought of the lost years without her youngest son, of being introduced to him as an adult stranger. How ironic that very son should face the same situation with his own child. “Now, why do you think you acted like a, um, jerk with Angelica tonight?”
She ignored Sterling’s exaggerated groan.
“I played it as cool as I could, but I had to get away and kind of get myself together, you know?” Brandon paused and took a deep breath. “So I went to the men’s room and when I came back, I saw her—Angelica in a hot, hot clinch with Flynt.”
“Angelica was kissing Flynt Corrigan?” Kate was intrigued. Sterling’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.
“I wanted to stay and talk to her, but I figured she wanted to be alone with Flynt. I mean their lips were…locked. They were really into each other. I didn’t want to intrude, so I caught a cab back to my suite. They’re still out together, but I can’t stop thinking about my kid and about Romina and—and I am crying, Mom. I feel like—I don’t know.” Brandon broke into sobs.
Kate did her best to console him. But her mind was racing, over the past nine years with Brandon. He’d said he had wanted to stay and talk to Angelica but didn’t because he “figured she wanted to be alone with Flynt.”
As far as Kate could recall, this was the first time that Brandon had ever considered someone else’s feelings and placed them above his own. The Brandon who had left Minneapolis yesterday would’ve stayed in that club and monopolized the conversation without a second thought, because he wanted to and he always did what he wanted.
But this post-Angelica Brandon had assessed his daughter’s feelings and acted accordingly. Contrary to his own wishes. A small thing, perhaps, yet Kate was enormously encouraged.
“Mom, do you think I should—oh, wait, someone’s at the door. Guess I better get it, huh?”
“Go right ahead, dear. Call me back, if you want.”
Brandon opened the door to a uniformed bellhop who handed him a sealed envelope. He tore it open with one hand while fumbling with his money clip for a tip.
A piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the floor. The bellhop snatched it up and gave it to Brandon. It was another threat spelled out in cut-and-pasted letters, just like the previous one: Angelica would be killed and Brandon framed for murder if he didn’t pay up. One more letter would follow, with directions about the required cash payment.
“Where did this come from?” Brandon demanded. “Who gave it to you?”
The bellhop grinned. “Sorry, I swore I wouldn’t tell.”
“You better. Here, read this.” Brandon shoved the note in front of him.
“It’s a threat?” The bellhop was clearly astonished. “This has gotta be some kind of joke. While you were out, a geeky little kid gave me that envelope along with a dollar bill and a bag of cookies. He said to bring it to you but not tell where it came from. I told him to keep his money, but I’d take the cookies.”
“A geeky kid?” echoed Brandon.
“Skinny, thick glasses, about eleven or twelve years old. Sound like anyone you know?”
Brandon shook his head and then his face grew worried. “Listen, uh, I’d better call my people and get on this right away.” He peeled a fifty-dollar bill from his money clip and placed it grandly in the bellhop’s hand. “Thanks for the info.”
“Thank you, sir.” The bellhop seemed torn between gratitude and uncertainty. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, please, just ask.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“A baby boy,” Flynt marveled, cradling the small blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms as he paced the kitchen.
The newborn liked the motion; his crying had ceased the moment Flynt began walking with him. The new mother was asleep in the bedroom upstairs, having delivered her child a little over an hour ago.
“Your very first delivery is always special.” Mara smiled at Flynt from
her seat at the kitchen table. “I bet you’ll never forget little Sawyer and the night he was born.”
“Sawyer Matthew.” Flynt gazed down at the dozing infant. “At least he has a name. Unlike his mother who remains Ms. Anonymous. I wonder who she is?” The secrecy continued to nag at him.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Mara shrugged philosophically. “What counts is that you were a terrific big brother to her during labor and the delivery. So I guess that makes you baby Sawyer’s honorary uncle.”
“Some big brother!” Romina frowned her disapproval. “He searched Sugar’s coat and her bag looking for ID the minute she fell asleep.”
“And I didn’t find a single clue to her identity. There aren’t even labels in her clothes.” Flynt stopped pacing and looked up as Angelica joined them in the kitchen.
She’d just returned from checking the patient again. “Sugar is fine, she’s still sleeping,” Angelica reported. She walked over to Flynt and stroked the baby’s shock of silky black hair. “How’s this little guy doing?”
“Okay, I think,” Flynt said huskily. “Thanks to you.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his, and he hoped she saw the admiration and respect he felt. Watching her deliver the baby had been an extraordinary experience. She’d been so confident and competent, a true professional in a far-from-professional setting. Kind and calm and thorough, right down to having diapers for the infant in her big medical black bag.
“It looks like he’s really taken to you,” Angelica observed. Her dark eyes glowed. “Uncle Flynt.”
The sight of the baby in Flynt’s big hands was having a most peculiar effect on her. For a change, the notion of a man’s strength didn’t unnerve her. She knew Flynt Corrigan would use it to protect, never to hurt; she didn’t know how she knew this, but she’d never been more certain of anything in her life. A child would be safe with him. A woman would, too.
That renegade thought slipped through her usual defenses, and a wave of heat rushed through her. Their intimate little interlude in the Martini Lounge flashed vividly to mind, leaving her dazed and unsteady. And very, very nervous.
She thought she was safe with a man who affected her like none other? A man who held an entirely different set of values and principles from her own? She’d seen him rummaging through Sugar’s things, looking for some sort of identification information. What if he’d found some? What would he have done then, called the cops? He was an ex-cop himself, an ex-FBI agent, which was even worse!
Angelica backed slowly away from him. That he’d been able to make her feel safe around him paradoxically proved that Flynt Corrigan was a dangerous man, indeed.
“What do we do now?” Flynt asked.
Ostensibly, he was asking about the baby, but if she were to interpret his question to be What should they do about the burgeoning attraction between them? she would be right on the mark.
“Now you go back to wherever you’re staying or go look for Brandon or do whatever you want,” Angelica replied tersely. “Mama is going home, and Mara and I will stay here with Sugar and the baby.”
Flynt felt frustration roil through him. Not only was she dismissing him, she was inching away from him as if he were radioactive. He wanted her closer, where he could touch her, where he could inhale the clean scent of her hair….
But he knew it wasn’t going to happen, because she intended to keep her distance from him. Somehow he was so attuned to her that he could pinpoint the exact moment when the nascent bond between them had snapped, the moment she’d emotionally frozen.
What he didn’t know was why.
“Oh, yikes! Angel, there was so much going on I forgot to ask you about Brandon!” Romina suddenly interjected. “You saw him tonight! Tell me everything! What did you think of your daddy? How did he look? Did he ask about me?”
Angelica met Flynt’s eyes for a long, silent moment. She felt that innate connection between them and quickly looked away, wanting to break it. Needing to.
“Tell me something about him!” Romina persisted impatiently.
Angelica folded her arms in front of her chest and stared at her mother’s flushed face and glittering eyes. It was not a good thing when her mother showed signs of excited interest in a man. They’d been down that road too many times before, and Angelica wasn’t up for yet another perilous journey.
“Because he’s my father, I’ll be kind and just say that he’s a few cans short of a six-pack,” she said dampeningly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Romina snapped.
Flynt stiffened. He’d seen Romina turn her temper on the cops and wanted to protect Angelica from it. “Brandon is a Hollywood player wanna-be, Romina. He isn’t anyone’s idea of a father, not even his.”
“Well, what do you expect? Brandon was given away to that witch Monica Malone by his very own father!” Romina’s defense of Brandon surprised them all. “At the time, he wasn’t much older than the little baby you’re holding right now, Flynt. After a trauma like that, how can you blame poor Bran for being the way he is?”
Flynt’s grasp tightened on the warm little bundle snoozing in his arms. Put in that perspective, Ben Fortune’s deed seemed uncompromisingly evil, yet it was almost impossible to compare the adult Brandon of today with this helpless infant.
Bran? Angelica felt her blood chill. The nickname had slipped so easily off her mother’s tongue, she was sure it was a long-ago term of endearment. Well, it was definitely time to end this nostalgiafest!
“Mama, Brandon Fortune gives off vibes that would give Count Dracula the creeps! Getting reinvolved with him would be a horrible mistake and—”
“Don’t use that tone with me, Angelica Alina Fortune!” Romina’s voice rose. “And don’t you dare try to tell me what to do! You might think you know everything, but I’m still your mother!”
“I’m sure she never forgets that for a moment, Romina,” Flynt inserted smoothly.
“More coffee, anyone?” Mara had jumped to her feet and was circling the table with the coffeepot.
“I’ve had enough.” Romina stood up. “I have to get home. Casper will sit up and watch TV all night unless I’m there to order him into bed. I’ll be in touch with you girls.” She paused. “In the morning. Oh, and would you feed the parrot and the dogs before you leave for work?”
“Of course, Mama,” agreed Angelica. “Drive safely.”
“I packed a few things for us ’cause I figured we’d be staying over tonight, Angel,” said Mara. “I’ll run out to my car and get the bag.” She followed Romina out the door.
Left alone in the kitchen, Angelica and Flynt faced each other.
“Your mother is going to contact Nancy Portland tonight and plug little Sawyer and his mother into the underground, isn’t she?”
“Mama doesn’t even know who Sawyer’s father is, Flynt.”
“Nice dodge, Angelica.” A mirthless smile curved the corners of Flynt’s mouth. “You adroitly manage to sidestep every question posed about Nancy Portland and the underground.” He took a step toward her. “Angelica, this child belongs to someone. He and his mother have a family somewhere who care about them, who are crazy with grief and worry and want them back.”
Angelica looked at him askance. “You don’t know that. It’s more likely that nobody cares about Sugar, and the best move she ever made was to go to Mama for help. Because my mother comes through for people, she never hesitates to get involved.”
“Well, it sounds like she’s considering getting involved with your father again.” Flynt felt a perverse streak of satisfaction at the hot pink color that stained her cheeks. “She’s already thinking of you with the Fortune name.”
“No, she isn’t, she just said that to rile me,” Angelica retorted. “Just like you’re deliberately trying to rile me by implying that Mama wants to take up with Brandon again.”
“I wasn’t implying anything, I said it flat-out,” Flynt corrected. “And why would I want to rile you, Angelica?”
“Because—” She looked at him. Because the unresolved sexual tension between them was so thick it was practically a tangible force, and arguing somehow made it easier to deal with, she thought, but didn’t dare say. She wasn’t ready to deal with the ramifications of such candor.
“Because you’re a jerk,” she said instead.
Instead of being insulted, Flynt laughed, as if he knew exactly what she had avoided admitting.
Angelica scowled. “Give me the baby, Flynt. I want to take him up to his mother to nurse.”
He could hardly refuse that order. Flynt placed the child in her arms. The exchange made it necessary for them to come closer together. He towered over her, his body not quite touching hers.
Angelica clutched the baby tight. Instead of intimidating her, Flynt’s masculine size and strength were exciting her. The warmth of his body heat and the musky aroma of his aftershave filled her senses. Her head began to spin.
“You have to go.” Her voice quavered.
Flustered and aroused, she automatically backed away. The wall was four short steps behind her, and her back came up against it. Flynt moved directly in front of her, trapping her between him and the wall.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” But instead of leaving, he leaned his lower body into her.
Angelica felt his hardness and caught her breath. The fierce, fast pounding of her heart roared in her ears. “Flynt, we can’t do this, we—ohhh!”
Her voice broke on a gasp as his mouth brushed hers.
“We probably shouldn’t,” he agreed, nibbling on her lips between words. His hands settled on her hips and he stroked lightly with his thumbs. “But we’re going to, anyway, aren’t we?” He didn’t lift his mouth, but kept his lips against hers as he spoke.
“No.” She tried to turn her head from side to side but he kept his mouth gently, lightly against hers, tantalizing her with teasing little kisses. The baby’s small warm body between them only heightened the aura of intimacy.
“No?” he repeated. He slipped his knee between her thighs. “Do you mean ‘No, we can’t,’ ‘No, we shouldn’t’ or ‘No, we aren’t going to’? Specify, please.”
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