Claiming King's Baby

by Maureen Child

  Her mouth worked and he knew she was struggling not to shout and rail at him. But then, Maggie’s hot Irish temper was one of the things that had first drawn him to her. She blazed like a sun during an argument—standing her ground no matter who stood against her. He admired that trait even though it made him a little crazy sometimes.

  “Damn it, Justice!” She stalked to the chair where she’d left her clothes and grabbed her bra and panties. Slipping them on, she shook her head and kept talking. “You’re willing to give up what we have because you don’t want a child?”

  Irritation raced through him; he couldn’t stop it. But he wasn’t going to get into this argument again.

  “I told you how I felt before we got married, Maggie,” he reminded her, in a calm, patient tone he knew would drive her to distraction.

  As expected, she whipped her hair back out of her eyes, glared at him fiercely, then picked up her pale pink blouse and put it on. While her fingers did up the buttons, she snapped, “Yes, but I just thought you didn’t want kids that instant. I never thought you meant ever.”

  “Your mistake,” he said softly.

  “But one you didn’t bother to clear up,” she countered.

  “Maggie,” he said tightly, “do we really have to do this again?”

  “Why the hell not?” she demanded. Then pointing to the bed, she snapped, “We just spent an incredible weekend together, Justice. And you’re telling me you feel nothing?”

  He’d be a liar if he tried. But admitting what he was feeling still wouldn’t change a thing. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she told him. “The very fact that you’re willing to let me walk…again…tells me everything I need to know.”

  His back teeth ground together until he wouldn’t have been surprised to find them nothing more than gritty powder in his mouth. She thought she knew him, thought she knew what he was doing and why, but she didn’t have a clue. And never would, he reminded himself.

  “Hell, Justice, you wouldn’t back down even if you did change your mind, would you? Oh, no. Not Justice King. His pride motivates his every action—”

  He inhaled deeply and folded his arms across his bare chest. “Maggie…”

  She held up one hand to cut off whatever else he might say, and though he felt a kick to his own temper, he shut up and let her have her say.

  “You know what? I’m sick to death of your pride, Justice. The great Justice King. Master of his Universe.” She slapped both hands to her hips and lifted her chin. “You’re so busy arranging the world to your specifications that there is absolutely no compromise in you.”

  “Why the hell should there be?” Justice took a half step toward her and stopped. Only because he knew if he got close enough to inhale her scent, he’d be lost again. He’d toss her back into the bed, bury himself inside her—and what would that solve? Not a thing. Sooner or later, they’d end up right here. Back at the fight that had finally finished their marriage.

  “Because there were two of us in our marriage, Justice. Not just you.”

  “Right,” he said with a brief, hard nod. He didn’t like arguments. Didn’t think they solved anything. If two people were far enough apart on an issue, then shouting at each other over it wasn’t going to help any. But there was only just so much he was willing to take. “You want compromise? We each give a little? So how would you manage that here, Maggie? Have half a child?”

  “Not funny at all, Justice.” Maggie huffed out a breath. “You knew what family meant to me. What it still means to me.”

  “And you knew how I felt, too.” Keeping his gaze steady and cool on hers, he said, “There’s no compromise here, Maggie, and you know it. I can’t give you what you want, and you can’t be happy without it.”

  As if all the air had left her body, she slumped, the flash of temper gone only to be replaced by a well of defeat that glimmered in her eyes. And that tore at him. He hated seeing Maggie’s spirit shattered. Hated even more that he was the one who’d caused it. But that couldn’t be helped. Not now. Not ever.

  “Fine,” she said softly. “That’s it, then. We end it. Again.”

  She picked up her slacks and put them on. Shaking her head, she zipped them up, tucked the tail of her shirt into the waistband and then stepped into her boots. Lifting her arms, she gathered up the tangle of her hair and deftly wound it into a knot at the back of her head, capturing that wild mass and hiding it away.

  When she was finished, she stared at him for a long moment, and even from across the room Justice would have spared her this rehashing of the argument that had finally torn them apart. But this weekend had proven to him as nothing else ever would, that the best thing he could do for her was to step back. Let her hate him if she had to. Better for her to move the hell on with her life.

  Even if the thought of her moving on to another man was enough to carve his heart right out of his chest.

  Maggie picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder and stared at him. “So, I guess the only thing left to say is thanks for the weekend.”

  “Maggie…”

  Shaking her head again, she started walking toward the door. When she came close to him, she stopped and looked up at him. “Sign the damn divorce papers, Justice.”

  She took another step and he stopped her with one hand on her arm. “It’s pouring down rain out there. Why don’t you stay put for a while and wait out the storm before you go.”

  Maggie pulled her arm free of his grasp and started walking again. “I can’t stay here. Not another minute. Besides, we’re not a couple, Justice. You don’t have the right to worry about me anymore.”

  A few seconds later, he heard the front door slam. Justice walked to the windows and looked down on the yard. The wind tore her hair free of its tidy knot and sent long strands of red flying about her face. She was drenched by the rain almost instantly. She climbed into the car and fired up the engine. Justice saw the headlights come on, saw the rain slash in front of those twin beams and stood there in silence as she steered the car down the drive and off the ranch.

  Chest tight, he watched until her taillights disappeared into the darkness. Then he punched his fist against the window and relished the pain.

  Three

  J ustice threw his cane across the room and listened to it hit the far wall with a satisfying clatter. He hated needing the damn thing. Hated the fact that he was less than he used to be. Hated knowing that he needed help, and he sure as hell hated having his brother here to tell him so.

  He glared at Jefferson, his eldest brother, then pushed up and out of the chair he was sitting in. Justice gathered up his pride and dignity and used every ounce of his will to make sure he hobbled only a little as he lurched from the chair to the window overlooking the front yard. Sunlight splashed through the glass into the room, bathing everything in a brilliant wash of light.

  Justice narrowed his eyes at his brother, and when he was no more than a foot away from him, he stopped and said, “I told you I can walk. I don’t need another damn therapist.”

  Jefferson shook his head and stuffed both hands into the pockets of what was probably a five-thousand-dollar suit. “You are the most stubborn jackass I’ve ever known. And being a member of this family, that’s saying something.”

  “Very amusing,” Justice told him and oh-so-casually shot out one hand to brace himself against the log wall. His knuckles were white with the effort to support himself and take the pressure off his bad leg. But he’d be damned if he’d show that weakness to Jefferson. “Now, get out.”

  “That’s the attitude that ended up bringing me here.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’ve chased off three physical therapists in the past month, Justice.”

  “I didn’t bring’em here,” he pointed out.

  Jefferson scowled at him, then sighed. “Dude, you broke your leg in three places. You’ve had surgery. The bones are healed but the muscles are weak. You need a physic
al therapist and you damn well know it.”

  “Don’t call me ‘dude,’ and I’m getting along fine.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Jefferson shot a quick glance to Justice’s white-knuckled grip on the wall.

  “Don’t you have some inane movie to make somewhere?” Justice countered. As head of King Studios, Jefferson was the man in charge of the film division of the King empire. The man loved Hollywood. Loved traveling around the world, making deals, looking for talent, scouting locations himself. He was as footloose as Justice was rooted to this ranch.

  “First I’m taking care of my idiot brother.”

  Justice leaned a little harder against the log wall. If Jefferson didn’t leave soon, Justice was going to fall on his ass. Whether he wanted to admit it aloud or not, his healing leg was still too weak to be much good. And that irritated the hell out of him.

  A stupid accident had caused all of this. His horse had stumbled into a gopher hole one fine morning a few months back. Justice had been thrown clear, but then the horse rolled across his leg, shattering it but good. The horse had recovered nicely. Justice, though, was having a tougher time. After surgery, he now carried enough metal in his bones to make getting through airport security a nightmare, and his muscles were now so flabby and weak it was all he could do to force himself to move.

  “It’s your own damn fault you’re in this fix anyway,” Jefferson said, as if reading Justice’s mind. “If you’d been riding in a ranch jeep instead of sitting on top of your horse, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Spoken like a man who’s forgotten what it was like to ride herd.”

  “Damn right,” Jefferson told him. “I put a lot of effort into forgetting about predawn rides to round up cattle. Or having to go and find a cow so dumb it got lost on its own home ranch.”

  This is why Jeff was the Hollywood mogul and Justice was the man on the ranch. His brothers had all bolted from the home ranch as soon as they were old enough, each of them chasing his own dream. But Justice’s dreams were all here on this ranch. Here is where he felt most alive. Here, where the clear air and the open land could let a man breathe. He didn’t mind the hard work. Hell, he relished it. And his brother knew why he’d been astride a horse.

  “You grew up here, Jeff,” he said. “You know damn well a horse is better for getting down into the canyons. And they don’t have engines that scare the cattle and cause stress that will shut down milk production for the calves, not to mention running the jeeps on the grasslands only tears them up and—”

  “Save it,” Jeff interrupted, holding up both hands to stave off a lecture. “I heard it all from Dad, thanks.”

  “Fine, then. No more ranch talk. Just answer this.” Justice reached down and idly rubbed at his aching leg. “Who asked you to butt into my life and start hiring physical therapists I don’t even want?”

  “Actually,” Jefferson answered with a grin, “Jesse and Jericho asked me to. Mrs. Carey kept us posted on the situation with the therapists, and we all want you back on your feet.”

  He snorted. “Yeah? Why’re you the only one here, then?”

  Jefferson shrugged. “You know Jesse won’t leave Bella alone right now. You’d think she was the only woman in the world to ever get pregnant.”

  Justice nodded, distracted from the argument at the moment by thoughts of their youngest brother. “True. You know he even sent me a book? How to Be a Great Uncle.”

  “He sent the same one to me and Jericho. Weird how he did this turnaround from wandering surfer to home-and-hearth expectant father.”

  Justice swallowed hard. He was glad for his brother, but he didn’t want to think about Jesse’s imminent fatherhood. Changing the subject, he asked, “So where’s Jericho?”

  “On leave,” Jefferson told him. “If you’d open your e-mails once in a while, you’d know that. He’s shipping out again soon, and he had some leave coming to him so he took it. He’s soaking up some sun at cousin Rico’s hotel in Mexico.”

  Jericho was a career marine. He loved the life and he was good at his job, but Justice hated that his brother was about to head back into harm’s way. Why hadn’t he been opening his e-mails? Truth? Because he’d been in a piss-poor mood since the accident. He should have known, though, that his brothers wouldn’t just leave him alone in his misery.

  “That’s why you’re here, then,” Justice said. “You got the short straw.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I should have been an only child,” Justice muttered.

  “Maybe in your next life,” Jefferson told him, then pulled one hand free of his slacks pocket to check the time on his gold watch.

  “If I’m keeping you,” Justice answered with a bared teeth grin, “feel free to get the hell out.”

  “I’ve got time,” his brother assured him. “I’m not leaving until the new therapist arrives and I can make sure you don’t scare her off.”

  Wounded pride took a bite out of Justice and he practically snarled at his brother. “Why don’t you all just leave me the hell alone? I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it. Just like I don’t want these damn therapists moving in here like some kind of invasion.” He winced as his leg pained him, then finished by saying, “I’m not even gonna let this one in, Jeff. So you might as well head her off.”

  “Oh,” Jefferson told him with a satisfied smile, “I think you’ll let this one stay.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  The doorbell rang just then and Justice heard his housekeeper’s footsteps as she hustled along the hall toward the door. Something way too close to panic for Justice’s own comfort rose up inside him. He shot Jefferson a quick look and said, “Just get rid of her, all right? I don’t want help. I’ll get back on my feet my own way.”

  “You’ve been doing it your own way for long enough, Justice,” Jefferson told him. “You can hardly stand without sweat popping out on your forehead.”

  From a distance, Justice heard Mrs. Carey’s voice, welcoming whoever had just arrived. He made another try at convincing his brother to take his latest attempt at help and leave.

  “I want to do this on my own.”

  “That’s how you do everything, you stubborn bastard. But everybody needs help sometimes, Justice,” his brother said. “Even you.”

  “Damn it, Jefferson—”

  The sound of two women’s voices rippled through the house like music, rising and falling and finally dropping into hushed whispers. That couldn’t be a good sign. Already his housekeeper was siding with the new therapist. Wasn’t anyone loyal anymore? Justice scraped his free hand through his hair, then scrubbed his palm across his face.

  He hated feeling out of control. And ever since his accident, that sensation had only been mounting. He’d had to trust in daily reports from his ranch manager rather than going out to ride his own land. He’d had to count on his housekeeper to take care of the tasks that needed doing around here. He wanted his damn life back, and he wasn’t going to get it by depending on some stranger to come in and work on his leg.

  He’d regain control only if he managed to come back from his injuries on his own. If that didn’t make sense to anyone but him, well, he didn’t care. This was his life, his ranch and, by God, he was going to do things the way he always had.

  His way.

  He heard someone coming and shot a sidelong glance at the open doorway, preparing himself to fire whoever it was the minute she walked in. His brothers could just butt the hell out of his life.

  Footsteps sounded quick and light on the wood floor, and something inside Justice tightened. He had a weird feeling. There was no explanation for it, but for some reason his gut twisted into knots. Glancing at his brother, he muttered, “Just who the hell did you hire?”

  Then a too-familiar voice announced from the doorway, “Me, Justice. He hired me.”

  Maggie.

  His gaze shot to her, taking her in all at once as a man dying of thirst would near drown himself with his f
irst taste of water. She was wearing blue jeans, black boots and a long-sleeved, green T-shirt. She looked curvier than he remembered, more lush somehow. Her hair was a tumble of wild curls around her shoulders and framing her face with fiery, silken strands. Her blue eyes were fixed on him and her mouth was curved into a half smile.

  “Surprise,” she said softly.

  That about covered it, he thought. Surprise. Shock. Stunned stupid.

  He was going to kill Jefferson first chance he got.

  But for now he had to manage to stay on his feet long enough to convince Maggie that he didn’t need her help. Damn it, she was the absolute last person in the world he wanted feeling sorry for him. Lifting his chin, he narrowed his gaze on her and said, “There’s been a mistake, Maggie. I don’t need you here, so you can go.”

  She flinched—actually flinched—and Justice felt like the bastard Jefferson had called him just a moment or two ago. But it was best for her to leave right away. He didn’t want her here.

  “Justice,” his brother said in a long-suffering sigh.

  “It’s okay, Jeff,” Maggie said, walking into the room, head held high, pale blue eyes glinting with the light of battle. “I’m more than used to your brother’s crabby attitude.”

  “I’m not crabby.”

  “No,” she said with a tight smile, “you’re the very soul of congenial hospitality. I just feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Then she took a hard look at him. “Why are you standing?”

  “What?”

  Beside him, Jeff muffled a laugh and tried to disguise it with a cough. It didn’t work.

  “You heard me,” Maggie said, rushing across the room. When Justice didn’t move, she grumbled something unintelligible, then dragged a chair over to him. She pushed him down onto it, and it was all Justice could do to hide the relief that getting off his feet gave him. “Honestly, Justice, don’t you have any sense at all? You can’t put all your weight on your bad leg or you’ll be flat on your back again. Why aren’t you using a cane at least?”

  “Don’t have one,” he muttered.

  “He threw it across the room,” Jeff provided.