From New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery comes a fan-favorite tale about finding the love you never knew you needed…
Rancher Jake Masters’ adopted daughter is deeply troubled by his wife’s death, so when she asks, Jake can’t deny the young girl’s anguished plea to meet her birth mother. But granting her wish is damn hard—Jake never asked for this new woman in his life…or for the stunning attraction he feels toward her.
Anne Baker has come a long way from the dirt-poor Texas town where she made the toughest decision of her life, but she’s never forgotten her child. And nothing is going to keep them apart now, not even the suspicions of the most aggravating—and compelling—man she’s ever known…
Cowboy Daddy
Susan Mallery
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 1
“Your two o’clock is a hunk.”
Anne Baker stared blankly at her assistant. “A hunk?”
“Yeah!” Heather clutched her notepad to her chest and sagged against the door. “Tall, dark, with big brown eyes that could melt you faster than…” Her voice trailed off. “I assume by the way you’re looking at me that you’re not happy with the news.”
Anne fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like. The fact is he’s here. What am I supposed to do with him?”
“Talk?” Heather grinned. “You aren’t scared of him, are you?”
“Me?” Anne firmly shook her head. “Of course not. I’ve worked with company presidents, relocated Fortune 500 companies.”
“Leapt buildings in a single bound. You are scared.”
Anne sighed. “Terrified.”
“Should I send him away?”
Anne almost wished that was possible. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t want to send him away; she desperately wanted to meet Jake Masters. With one phone call and a few carefully chosen words, the man had turned her world upside down. For the past two days she’d thought about nothing but his call. Now he was here, waiting to see her. She’d hoped for a connection—a way to undo the past—but she hadn’t thought it would happen like this. Or happen this soon.
Anne glanced down at the slim gold watch on her wrist. It had been a gift to herself last month, celebrating both the completion of the electronics firm’s contract and her birthday. Thirty-one. The day had made her think about many things, most of them revolving around her eighteenth birthday. Funny, less than a month later Jake Masters called. Had her thoughts been a premonition? She shook her head. Of course not. She thought about the same thing every birthday. She tried not to of course, but it was inevitable.
Anne looked up and forced herself to smile. “Is he really a hunk?”
Heather smiled back. “We are talking heartthrob city. Long, lean and luscious.”
Anne’s forced smile became genuine. “You are a wicked woman.”
“It is one of my best qualities.” Heather winked. “He’s pacing back and forth like a caged lion. Do you want me to send him in?”
Anne’s stomach lurched as if she’d just taken the last heart-stopping drop on a roller coaster. “Waiting is only going to make it worse.” She drew in a deep breath. “All right. Here goes nothing. Tell Mr. Masters he can come in.”
Heather nodded. Her blond hair bounced with the movement. “One hunk, coming right up.” The oak door closed quietly behind her.
Just keep breathing, Anne told herself. She sat straighter in her chair and rested her hands on the desk. Her fingers shook. She thrust them onto her lap. She touched her hair to make sure it was still neatly smoothed in place, then wished she’d told Heather to give her a couple of minutes. She wanted to freshen her lipstick, to check the mirror for the hundredth time and make sure there was nothing in her teeth. She wanted to catch her breath and think about something other than Jake Masters and why he was coming to see her.
A knock on the door brought her out of her seat. She straightened, tugged at her suit jacket and called, “Come in.”
Heather pushed the door open. “Mr. Masters to see you, Ms. Baker.” She stepped back to let the man enter.
Anne’s heart was already pounding in her chest, but at the sight of the tall, dark-haired man standing in front of her, it leapt into high gear and tried to lodge in her throat. Her palms grew damp.
The panic threatening to swamp her had a little to do with the reason for his visit and a whole lot more to do with the way he was dressed. Boots, jeans, tailored white shirt rolled up to the elbows and a black Stetson he’d removed when he came to her office. It took all her strength to remain standing. Jake Masters was a cowboy. She avoided cowboys at all costs—not an easy thing to do in Houston, Texas.
It shouldn’t matter what he wore or did for a living, she reminded herself. But why did he have to be a cowboy?
“Would you like me to bring coffee, Mr. Masters?” Heather asked.
He turned to her assistant. “None for me, thanks.” His voice was low and controlled with only the hint of a Texas drawl. He was a native, but not local. Dallas, maybe.
When Heather glanced at her, Anne shook her head. The younger woman gave her a thumbs-up sign and retreated.
The door closed. Anne returned her attention to her guest. His shadowed eyes held hers. Brown, she thought, with odd flecks of gold, but no expression. He might have been a hunk, as Heather had promised, but Anne couldn’t judge from the impressions she gathered. Tall, brown hair, a firm mouth with no hint of a smile. Broad shouldered, slim hipped. Younger than she would have thought. Midthirties. Handsome? It didn’t matter. Her gaze drifted back to his face and she saw he returned her close inspection. Her hands tightened into fists. What was he seeing? She resisted the urge to smooth her hair.
“Mr. Masters?” she said, raising the pitch of her voice so it came out as a question.
He nodded. “Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Baker.” Those cool, oddly flecked eyes searched her face. “I still have the picture you gave us. You’ve changed.”
Anne flushed. She knew the hot color would flare brightly on her cheeks, giving away her embarrassment. She ducked her head and pointed to the leather chair in front of her desk. “It was a long time ago.”
“Thirteen years,” he said as he sat down and set his hat on the edge of her desk. His hair was short, barely brushing the collar of his white shirt.
Anne lowered herself into her seat. She looked at the bookcases against the right-hand wall, at the sofa on the opposite side of the room, at the closed door, and suddenly wished she’d asked for coffee. She could use the momentary rescue, if not the caffeine.
“I know how much time has passed,” she said. “It’s not the sort of thing I would forget.”
His eyes narrowed and his mouth drew even straighter. “I’ll have to take your word on that.”
She leaned forward. “You know nothing about me or my circumstances, Mr. Masters,” she said curtly. “You have no right to judge me. If that’s what this meeting is about—”
“It isn’t.” He cut her off, then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Look, it’s been a hell of a summer. First the move, then this whole situation with Laurel.”
“Laurel?” Her voice quavered as she spoke the name.
He dropped his hand to the armrest. “Yes. My daughter.”
Laurel. Anne blinked several times. She had often
wondered what they’d called her child. Now she knew. No matter what, she would always know. Laurel. She pictured a towheaded toddler in a frilly pink dress. No, that wasn’t right. Thirteen years had gone by; Laurel was a teenager now. A milestone in a child’s life. Maybe that’s why their shared birthday had struck a nerve this time. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“My wife picked it out.” He watched her carefully.
“Is she here with you?”
“My wife passed away two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. But I was asking about…your daughter.”
He caught the slight hesitation. “I thought we should speak alone first,” he said.
She hadn’t known how much she’d hoped to meet her—to meet Laurel—until this moment. To have come so far, to be so close. It was more than she’d ever dared to hope for, and yet she had hoped. The chance had been snatched away and she wanted to cry out her pain. She rose slowly and walked around her chair to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Downtown Houston stretched out before her. The double-glazed glass protected her from the weather and the noise, but she could see the August heat shimmering on the streets and sidewalks.
Heather had opened the vertical blinds that morning. Anne stared out at the city. “You have the advantage here, Mr. Masters.”
“How?”
“I don’t understand why you’re here or what you want from me. From your reaction a minute ago I would guess you might not want to believe me, but I’m having a difficult time with this. When you called, I agreed to meet with you because—” She paused. The ache in her chest deepened. She drew in a breath and told herself she was strong enough to get through this. She had no choice; she was in this alone. “Because I couldn’t say no. I’ve spent thirteen years wondering about her. The private adoption arranged by the attorneys meant you could have contacted me at any time. Why now?”
“She wants to meet you.”
The opposite of pain was joy. Happiness flooded her, chasing away the darkness and the fear. Tears she’d managed to ward off before filled her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand to hold in her cry of relief. The window in front of her blurred as she remembered a day thirteen years ago.
It had been summer then, too, but July instead of August. Paradise was too small a town to have a hospital, so her mother had driven her the forty miles to the nearest community facility. On her eighteenth birthday, surrounded by strangers, with only her mother’s hand to hold, she’d given birth to a daughter. She remembered little of the pain, although the smells stayed with her, as did the cold stare of the nurse who had taken the baby from the doctor and carried her from the room. Later, the woman had returned, her arms empty. Anne had cried out to see her child. The woman had refused. “If you give ‘em up, you can’t see ‘em. Hospital policy.”
She had begged for hours. The stern-faced woman refused to budge. Later, the night nurse had taken pity on her and told her the baby—her child, her daughter—was already gone. The new parents had whisked her away.
Anne wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “She wants to meet me,” she whispered, barely able to believe her good fortune.
“I think it’s a mistake.”
She spun to face him. Sometime while she’d been lost in the past, he’d risen from the chair and approached her. He stood only a foot away. She had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. Coldness radiated from him. And anger.
“Why?” she asked, fighting the urge to step back.
“Laurel is having some problems right now and—”
“What’s wrong? Is she sick? Tell me what I can do.”
“It’s nothing that concerns you.”
“But it does. I’m her—”
He grabbed her shoulders. Strong fingers bit into her. “Don’t you dare say it. You’re not her mother.”
She wanted to contradict him, but she knew he spoke the truth. She’d given up all rights to that title the day she’d given up her child. Another tear rolled down her face.
He briefly tightened his hold on her, then released her. He cursed under his breath. “Ms. Baker—”
She turned away and fumbled for the box of tissue in the bottom drawer of her desk. She glanced at him.
Jake Masters looked as uncomfortable and confused as she felt. “I need a drink.”
She wiped her face, then glanced down at the streak of makeup and a black smudge staining the white tissue. “Me, too.” She pointed to the center cabinet in the bookcase. “Please pour me one of whatever you’re having. I’ll be right back.”
She escaped through the door opposite the bookcase and into the small powder room off her office. When she was safely alone, Anne braced her forearms against the vanity and exhaled. Her whole body ached, as if she’d been beaten and left for dead. Her eyes burned and her hands still trembled. She’d thought she’d been prepared for this meeting.
“Not very,” she muttered softly as she forced herself to stand upright.
After clicking on the overhead light, she stared into the mirror. The summer humidity had already done its damage to her hair as the sleek pageboy crinkled into an unruly mass of waves. Mascara and eye shadow collected below her eyes, and what was left of her lipstick didn’t begin to cover her mouth.
“Good thing he didn’t bring Laurel. Seeing me like this would probably scare her back to—”
She paused in the middle of turning on the faucet. Back to where? She didn’t know where her daughter lived. Didn’t know where she’d grown up or what she looked like or if—
She closed her eyes. To see her, to hold her, just once, she prayed silently. One time. To look into her face. To know that she was all right.
Anne swallowed and blinked away fresh tears. After opening the single drawer on the right of the sink, she took out her emergency makeup kit and used a headband to pull her hair away from her face. She always got red and puffy when she cried, but it could all be cured with a little cold water and a lot of denial.
*
Jake stared at the shot of brandy, swore briefly, then tossed it back with a single gulp. The fiery liquid burned down to his stomach. He filled the snifter again, but this time he carried it over to the coffee table in front of the leather couch. He set the glass next to the one he’d poured for Anne, then looked around the room.
He knew all about executive offices. She was one step away from the prized corner slot. A high-powered lady on her way up. She’d come a long way from that tiny west Texas town. She’d probably forgotten all about her little mistake in high school. He must have shocked her when he’d called. The tearful scene today had been a nice touch. He shook his head. If he had his way, he would walk out that door and never come back. She didn’t deserve to know his daughter. But Laurel wasn’t giving him a choice.
Why now? he wondered for the hundredth time. Why this? He’d asked Laurel, had argued with her, but she’d refused to listen. Meeting her birth mother—he hated that phrase—had become the only thing she cared about. He didn’t know how to talk to her anymore. Laurel wasn’t grown-up yet, but she wasn’t the little girl who had spent so many evenings curled up on his lap. Was he making a mistake?
He paced the area between the coffee table and the window. She was his daughter. And Ellen’s. Only Ellen was gone. It was up to him to do what was right and to protect her. Especially from Anne Baker.
The side door opened and Anne stepped out. She’d cleaned up her face. Except for the slight redness around her eyes, no one would know she’d been crying. Probably had it down to an art form.
She walked over to him. “We have a lot of things to learn about each other. Laurel wanting to meet me must have been a shock for you, as well. I know I haven’t been a part of her life, but you must believe I only want what’s best for her. Let’s start over.” She offered him her hand.
Jake stared down at her. Unlike Ellen, who had stood only four inches shorter than his six foot one, Anne Baker’s head barely skimmed his chin. He didn’t want to shake han
ds, he didn’t want to be friendly, he didn’t want to do a damn thing but get the hell out of here.
He hesitated long enough to make her uncomfortable, but she didn’t back down. Light blue eyes met his, refusing to look away. She’d put mascara on her top lashes, but the bottom ones were pale. He could see freckles across the bridge of her nose.
It wasn’t politeness or his mother’s training that caused him to reach out and engulf her small fingers in his. It was the memory of Laurel staring up at him, confused and scared and desperate to find something—and someone—to belong to.
As he took her hand, he felt it. A jolt of electricity flashed up his arm, igniting a spark that flared low in his belly. He fought to steady himself. The anger inside fed on the heat and burned hotter. She pumped his arm once. He withdrew from her and retreated to the edge of the couch.
When she sat at the far end, he lowered himself down to the leather seat and picked up the drink he’d poured. Instead of gulping down the brandy, he stared at the liquid.
He’d sensed it—the attraction. From the moment he’d walked into this room. Whether it was scent or instinct or some great cosmic joke, he didn’t know. But he did know the meaning of that jolt. Ellen had been gone two years. In all that time, he’d never felt the surge of need, had never wanted to—
He looked at Anne Baker. She sat in the corner of the soft leather sofa. The supple material surrounded her, the light peach color highlighted the pale red of her hair and made her skin appear translucent. Oh, she’d planned this right down to the slight gap in her navy suit jacket that allowed him to see the lacy edge of her blouse.
“How much do I have to pay you to meet with Laurel?” he asked abruptly.
She gaped at him. “What?” Fury straightened her spine and darkened her pale blue eyes. It shot out at him, heading straight for his heart.
Unperturbed, Jake took a sip of his drink and rested one arm on the back of the sofa. He didn’t trust her. She’d disappeared from her daughter’s life once already. Why should anything be different now?
“Mr. Masters, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I agreed to see you because I care about—”
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