The Billionaire's Seed_A Secret Baby Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  “Well, now, the two prettiest ladies on the ranch,” was his amiable greeting. “And my two absolute favorite. How’s the pup doin’?”

  “If we wear him out enough, he sleeps for fifteen minutes at a time, doesn’t he, Carrie?”

  “That does seem to work. Although I think Tom might have been inquiring about his state of health.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Sophie peered down at the energetic animal, who was leaping, mock-growling, and attempting play with every step. “Well, he still gots that big blue band-aid on his paw. But he’s eatin’ real good, and he ain’t got any more fleas, and we’re s’posed to take him back to see Dr. Morgan in a week.”

  “And what are we going to look for in town today, Sophie?”

  “We’re gonna get him a bed, Tom,” answered the happy little girl. “And maybe some more toys. And plenty of food.”

  “I’d say that’s a fine idea. You goin’ alone?”

  “We were planning on it. And having dinner there, too. Unless—” Caroline paused, smiling at the cowpuncher. “Unless you’d like to accompany us.”

  Tom grinned with pleasure. “Haven’t had so fetchin’ an offer in a long time. How soon you plannin’ to leave?”

  Arrangements were made quickly and easily. Tom would change and clean up, then bring the ranch truck around to the front door. Meanwhile, Sophie would leave Jasper in the kitchen, to the tender care of Maria, for the few hours they would be gone. Caroline would collect her purse, with credit cards and cash. All were looking forward to the outing.

  To some extent. Impatient as she was for the simple pleasure of a shopping expedition and supper, Sophie was worried about her dog.

  “You sure Maria knows what to do?” she fretted for the umpteenth time. “You sure she can take care of Jasper?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be just fine, Sophie,” soothed Caroline. “We won’t be gone very long. And your puppy will probably sleep anyway. You really tired him out today.” And yourself as well. But she merely thought the words, instead of saying them aloud.

  Marigold, a town of ten thousand or so, proved to have everything they were looking for. A large ranching and farming supply store had just the size bed that was needed for Jasper, and Tom carried the bag of dry and the carton of canned dog food Caroline purchased out to the truck bed. It was Sophie who chose the rope tuggie and the set of fluorescent green tennis balls as must-haves for her puppy, who surely must be missing her like crazy.

  From there the girls left Tom to do some more browsing amongst saddles and leather goods, while they perused the goodies offered at a nearby toy emporium. Several coloring books, a 48 count box of watercolor brushes, and a Barbie Cinderella Princess doll later, they rejoined their escort for a short walk to the Cattleman’s Bar and Grill.

  “It’s pretty casual,” warned Tom, as they stepped inside the iconic batwing doors. “Noisy. And peanut shells on the floor. But the food is damn good, and it’s reasonable.”

  Caroline tried not to show her surprise. She assumed that she, as the one extending the invitation to dinner, and of—yes, it must be admitted—unlimited deep pockets, would be paying. But there she erred. No old-fashioned cowboy, with innate good manners toward all womenfolk, would ever allow such a thing.

  “Want some fries, Sophie? And maybe a burger?” asked Caroline, as she scanned the menu.

  “Uh-huh. And a great big ole apple dumpling, with ice cream.”

  Music was thumping away loudly, not so much in the background as to drown out most attempts at conversation. After the third time that Tom, across the table, leaned forward and yelled, “Huh?” in response to her question, she gave up and they merely smiled at each other.

  It was a pleasure to look at him, anyway, in between responding to Sophie’s concerns. He had changed into a powder blue long-sleeved shirt that did nice things for his coloring and dark navy form-fitting jeans that probably hadn’t even been through the laundry yet. Tom Sinclair was a true man’s man by appearance, and just plain sweet-tempered and considerate to boot; and Caroline was proud to keep him company.

  They had finished their meal—Tom a giant slab of meat, cooked half-raw, and a baked potato; Caroline a much lighter pasta dish, with cornbread—and were enjoying coffee as an aftermath, when Tom suddenly asked her to dance.

  “Oh. Well.” The music had changed from the raucous twangety-twang-twang to something softer and more mellow. She glanced over at Sophie in her bench seat, who, as promised, was working away at her dessert. “But what about—”

  “Darlin’, she’ll be fine. The dance floor ain’t but five feet away.”

  For her trip to the big city, she had changed into a white cotton sweater, a flowing skirt in her favorite purple and teal, and cute little sandals. Now, she was glad she had done so. It had never seemed appropriate to her for a woman to dance in jeans, no matter how many might consider her to be wrong.

  She allowed him to draw her into his arms, to hold her firmly yet carefully as they sashayed around in an easy two-step. Tall, with the spare Westerner’s frame that allowed no extra pounds to settle upon it, Tom’s black and silver hair gave him a look of maturity, and his blue eyes seemed to see into her soul.

  “You’re settlin’ in okay,” he commented.

  She sighed. “I’m relieved you think so. But I’m sure I’ve just scratched the surface with Sophie. We’re bound to have a blowup one of these days, when we don’t get along at all. And I’ll wonder if I’m doing anything right.”

  He twirled her, and brought her in again. Closer to his chest. “Sure nuff. But that’s just people, learnin’ to live together. You’ve been good for her already, Carrie, and that was the main reason Ben married you.”

  “Yeeess...” It was the main reason; no one could dispute that. But she felt a little depressed hearing said it right out in public.

  “It’s made all the difference in the world t’ Ben, knowin’ he could go on his travels, managin’ and addin’ to his empire, without havin’ to worry who was takin’ care of her.”

  “He didn’t do such a good job of filling me in, right at the beginning,” she said tartly. “It was sink or swim. I wasn’t sure how I was to handle a little girl.”

  “Well, you took the bit b’tween your teeth and you went off a-runnin’ with it.” She felt, rather than saw, his comfortable smile. “And she’s accepted you, completely. I’d say Ben got the best of the bargain, in a good mother for his child.”

  “Not so much. He paid my enormous pile of bills.”

  He peered down at her, with those eyes that saw so much. “And you’re kinda worried about it, aren’tcha? It’ll work out, honey. Don’t you doubt it for a minute. Things’ll work out just fine.”

  “Tom—”

  Another twirl, and she felt the strength in his arms and chest. “Think I dunno what’s goin’ on?”

  Caroline felt oddly shamefaced. “You mean—it’s that obvious?”

  “Well, not to most people. But it is to me. Carrie, looks t’ me like our little punkin has just about wore herself out. Whaddya say we get her on home t’ bed?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Caroline was a light sleeper.

  It could be a curse, as when something vitally important must be taken care early the next morning, but every small sound kept her from getting the rest she needed: the rattle of the wind at a pleated shade; a neighbor’s dog, barking; the sudden eruption into music of a car driving past.

  It could also be a blessing. Perhaps for the care of a child, needing comfort in the dark hours. Or, currently, for the necessary carrying outside of a whimpering puppy with a small bladder.

  She was between that stage of full unconsciousness and semi-stupor, trying to rouse fully awake in case that soft strange sound was something requiring her attention.

  Clouds were drifting across the face of a sullen man-in-the-moon, and the night sky was just light enough to send shadows dancing across the wooden floor. The luminescent numbers on her bedside clock read 2:14.
AM, of course, although in her condition the question might rightfully be raised.

  It was three days after her expedition with Tom to the shopping mecca of Marigold, and someone was in her bedroom.

  Although she came suddenly, fully, sharply awake, she did not move but lay, wide-eyed, her heart thumping wildly in the darkness, waiting for the inevitable. Wasn’t that always the case of the movie heroine—she was attacked and left dying, covered with gore, in her own bed?

  The first alert had been a very faint turn of her door knob.

  The second was a click of the latch

  The third was a creak of one particular floorboard.

  And then a heavy body eased onto the bed.

  Rearing up in absolute terror, Caroline opened her mouth to scream. But couldn’t. Because a hard hand instantly covered her mouth and blocked the scream. She chose to fight instead, struggling for release and gasping for breath.

  “Caroline!” hissed the body. “For God’s sake, stop it. You’ll wake the house.”

  Scrambling to reach the bedside lamp, she flicked the switch and both occupant and intruder blinked like owls in the sudden light.

  “Ben!” She wanted to screech her outrage, waking the house or not. “Damn you, Benjamin Taggart. You scared me almost to death! I could kill you!”

  Her heart was pounding like a kettledrum gone berserk, and she had to climb down from the plane she was on to even try matching his level of imperturbability.

  He had the nerve to chuckle. “I suppose I’m lucky you didn’t whack me with a meat cleaver.”

  Caroline fell back upon her piled-up pillows and gradually began to calm down. It was then she realized he was near-naked, having arrived in only a pair of jockey shorts, and he was clearly in a state of readiness for whatever he had planned.

  “What are you doing back at this hour?” she demanded suspiciously.

  “Huh. Y’ know, some wives would be happy to see their husbands home safely. Would be giving them a welcome with open—uh—arms…” He leered at her.

  She was still cross at having her sleep interrupted and her liver almost destroyed by fright. “Yes, yes, of course I’m happy to see—wait a minute! How did you get into my room when I’ve been locking the door every night?” she pounced, feeling suddenly like Mrs. Wyeth and her so-called invasion of privacy.

  Grinning, he raised his hand to show her. In the muted light from the bedside lamp, his master key twinkled as it swung slowly back and forth from its silver chain.

  “Why, you rat! You double-dealing, swamp-running, cherry-picking rat! You enormous—”

  Again she was silenced. But not by a hand this time. By his mouth. He rolled over on top of her, crushing her body beneath his weight, and took his sweet time with a lengthy, mind-blowing kiss that simply sucked her into pure pleasure and held her. Succumbing, as she always did, Caroline savored the taste of his lips conforming to hers and the feel of his tongue playing with her own.

  With a moan, she plunged upward, desperate to connect and end the misery of loneliness she hadn’t even realized was there. She wanted to sob with impatience for the bliss that would be waiting, wanted to cry out with frustration, “Get on with it!”

  “Sssshh,” he urged softly. His hands were already pushing her nightgown aside, so that he could reach all the important parts. “Easy there, girl. We’ve got the rest of the night ahead of us. I’ve had you six ways from Sunday, Carrie; and I’ve had you rough. Tonight I’m gonna have you slow and seductive.”

  Delicious nibbling, from top to bottom and back again. Fingers curved, fingers spread, fingers inserted. For everything he took, she gave; for everything he gave, she took. There was the melding of skin against skin: hers soft and smooth as creamery butter, his muscular and bunched with hair. She sighed, she moaned, she begged for more. He crooned, he gentled, he tried to hold back.

  Ben cupped the mound of her left breast while he suckled from the right. Caroline captured the whole of his erection and stroked every magnificent inch.

  And finally, finally, he took her, in the age-old rhythm that never tired.

  He was right.

  During their wedding weekend, the sex was tentative at first; a way for two human beings to find out about each other; a time of exploration and possible bonding. At their second encounter, that fateful afternoon under the tree, the sex had been dissolute, abandoned, and insanely arousing; no foreplay, only fornication—the work of a libertine and a trollop.

  But, this. This came close to the concept of actually making love; and when they finished at last, in a few drawn-out moments of spinning toward heaven, and slowly coming back down to earth, both felt a bit of surprise.

  Some time later, Ben was lying on his back, halfway dozing, with Caroline cradled in one arm and her head on his shoulder.

  “Ben,” she said quietly.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ben, is it okay if I fire Mrs. Wyeth?”

  It was so far from what he was expecting that he almost fell off the bed. Instead, brows raised, he turned slightly to face her. “Fire Mrs. Wyeth? Why would you? She’s been here a long time, and I thought she was doing a fine job.”

  Her hand was dallying on his chest, doing funny things to both nipples, curling and uncurling the silky hair. If she didn’t watch out, she could expect to be tumbled again, soon. Certain vital components were already beginning to show interest.

  “We’re having a little trouble with—uh—adjustment.”

  “Huh. I can’t say that I’ve ever had any problems with her. Won’t you be able to work it out?”

  Caroline seriously considered the question. “I don’t know, Ben. She’s taken such a strong dislike to me that I’m not sure she’s willing to save her job just to keep me around.”

  “Won’t bend at all, huh? In that case, I’m surprised she hasn’t put a spot of arsenic in your stew.”

  Naked, with just the sheet tucked up to her waist, she started to laugh, with the expected result. Every burst sent her breasts jiggling, and that drew his immediate attention. With a salacious satyr’s smile, he covered one with a big hand and squeezed.

  “Hey, Benjamin, be careful. If you hadn’t left bruises all over my body…”

  “Mmmm. Bruises, huh? Let me just kiss ’em, and make ’em well…”

  “No, I’m serious. Now, listen to me, because—Ben, I mean it. I want to know what to do about your cook.”

  Sighing, he released his grip. “Our cook, Carrie. What d’ you want to do?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. She’s accusing me of all sorts of things, and I’m not sure she even wants to stay, with me here. Seriously. I just want your permission to do anything that’s necessary.”

  “Of course. How many times do I have to tell you that the house is yours? Just keep it standing in one piece, will you?”

  “All right. Thank you.” Silence for a few moments, while the bedside clock ticked away the seconds and Ben let out a mighty yawn. “Why were you so late getting back tonight?”

  “Late? Oh. Change of plans from San Antonio stop to one in Albuquerque. And then we got a thunderstorm, had to lay low for a while.”

  “I see.”

  Another yawn, as he slipped lower onto the pillow and his eyes closed. “All right, I admit, I probably should’ve called to let you know. But you were aware of the rules going in, Carrie. This is not a typical marriage, and I don’t have to answer to anyone. Besides, it was already so late I figured you’d be asleep. Which is where I plan to be in about ten minutes.”

  The hurt stabbed so deeply, so sharply, that she thought surely blood must be dripping from the wound it had caused. She almost curled up around it, this grievous injury straight to the gut, and only barely managed to suppress a sob of pure pain. How could she have forgotten the rules she was supposed to live by, as a mail order bride? How could she be so blind and dumb to the type of person Ben Taggart actually was: a cold, selfish, insensitive autocrat who lived only for business and sex?

 
Pulling slightly away, to more easily hide her woes beneath these exquisite sheets, Caroline, at a distance of several inches from the warm body which had so encapsulated hers, whispered, “Ben?”

  He groaned and flung one arm across his face. “Just about driftin’ off here, Carrie. What is it?”

  “Ben. How many women’s files and photographs did you look over before—before you chose—me?”

  “Hell, I dunno. A lot.”

  “And what was your—criteria?”

  “Aw, Carrie, d’ you have to go into this now? For God’s sake, it’s almost four o’clock in the morning. I have to be at—”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I want to know now.”

  Another heavy sigh that lifted the hard naked chest. “I wanted a woman who was reasonably attractive and intelligent, who could run my house and take care of my daughter. I already told you that.”

  “But why mail order? You’re a—” Much as she hated to speak the words, she swallowed hard and spat them out, “You’re a fine chunk of man. Surely in your business dealings, even in your own world right here around the ranch, there were plenty of women just dying to be part of your life. Why me, in particular?”

  Suddenly he reared up on a surge of very real anger—a sign, she realized much later, that her probing had struck a nerve. Turned to confront her, as some antagonist across a dueling plain, the face that had just a little while before been soft with tenderness was now set in lines of resentment.

  “Because I didn’t want any complications! I didn’t want any questions! I wanted a woman who would leave me alone to do as I wanted, no strings attached, and that woman looked and sounded like what I’d get in you. I basically just wanted a housekeeper with sexual benefits!”

  Leave him alone, to do as he wanted. Like a selfish child, with no responsibilities to anyone’s wishes or needs but his own.

  Caroline had thought the hurt couldn’t go any deeper. She was wrong. This one was mortal.

  “There, are you satisfied? Now, for God’s sake, turn off the light and let me sleep!”