Her mother had fallen hard for her father, a man who’d proved early on in their marriage that he had a temperament to match his considerable ambitions. He’d satisfied some of his need for control and power through his work. But not nearly all of it. As a result, every day of her and her mother’s life had been like living with a time bomb. They’d never known what would set off Donnal Dixon next. They did, however, learn to dread being alone with him when something went wrong.
At first Dana only lost respect for her father. Eventually he taught her to despise him. When he died the year before she graduated from college, in an incident as violent as he was, she hadn’t been able to shed a tear. Counseling might have helped, but there hadn’t been money for that and school both. She’d settled for an occasional talk with her school psychologist…and longer talks with her mother. At least safe from the abuse, they’d had a chance to become friends again, until her mother’s fall in the tub, which led to other complications, and ultimately her premature death just over a year ago.
John’s ancestry might have been slightly less homogeneous—somewhere in his family tree was a bit of Italian blood. The displays of temper, or “passion” as her father had insisted on calling it, had endured. Particularly so since John’s mother had suffered a stroke during childbirth, thus giving her robust, volatile husband full disciplinary control over his son.
James and John’s reputation as the battling Paladins had been one of the first stories Dana had heard upon arriving in Dusty Flats, making her eager to give them a wide berth. But for years afterward, fate seemed determined to thwart her efforts, at the most sensitive moments, too, forcing her to face up to his interest in her. Only the tractor accident that had killed James on John’s twenty-sixth birthday had given her some breathing space.
Burdened with more responsibility than a young man his age should have to cope with, John struggled valiantly to keep the Long J prosperous—and succeeded—but not without gaining his own reputation as being hotheaded and ironfisted. Dana had tasted that temper herself for the first and last time almost a year ago.
Giving herself a mental shake, she unsnapped the baby’s clothing while making cooing and clicking noises to reassure and entertain J.J. Secretly, though, she was anything but calm.
What if this was a mistake? What was she doing here? This was insane, being in John’s house and taking care of the baby he’d conceived barely a day after swearing to her that she was the only woman he would ever want.
“Uh-oh.” The diaper was wet. Now where did that smooth-talking wretch say he kept the extras? He hadn’t. They had been too busy with the shopping lists. Temporarily resecuring the diaper, she lifted the baby and patted his bottom. “No problem. We’ll find out where he keeps the others.”
She had a hunch, but didn’t look forward to going there. It was the room down the hall that John hadn’t shown her. Celene’s room. With a fatalistic sigh, she went to investigate.
The room made her feel like a trespasser. It possessed no warmth or organization, and just as with the kitchen, negligence had reduced it to a mess. Dana found more food wrappers and dirty glasses, but nothing that belonged to Celene personally. Except for the gold ring on the bedside table.
Why hadn’t the woman taken that with her? If she’d been half the gold digger John had suggested, she could have pawned it for a few dollars. For that matter, there were some items around that would yield some nice pocket change. But John had said the only things missing from the house were Celene herself, her clothes and the car he’d purchased for her.
It must have been some car.
Dana stared at the ring. She told herself that she didn’t care. She told herself the woman could walk back into the house this minute, and that it would be a relief to get her jacket and leave. But somehow none of that kept her from reaching for the band and trying it on her left ring finger.
It felt cold and the fit was too loose, but Dana experienced a strange heaviness in her chest as she stared at it. This had belonged to the woman John had made love to and conceived a baby with. How had it felt to be undressed by him? Touched by him? Had his size and power intimidated Celene, or had she been bold and wild? Had John liked that?
Abruptly she jerked off the ring and slapped it back onto the table. “You’re sick, Dixon,” she muttered to herself.
She’d had every opportunity to learn all that firsthand, only she’d turned him down again and again. Remember? You weren’t ever going to let another man control you for as long as you lived. So stop tormenting yourself with “what ifs.”
Adjusting her hold of the baby, she continued hunting for some diapers. A near-empty box was in the closet with a few wire clothes hangers dropped on top—another indication of Celene’s hasty departure. Feeling more protective of J.J. than ever, Dana hung them on the rod and awkwardly grabbed one flap on the box.
How could you do it, Celene? How could you leave your own baby?
The baby’s gurgle and sweet smile was an unexpected gift as she hurried back to John’s room. “Thanks, pumpkin,” she whispered, beaming back at him. “You’re beginning to get used to me, aren’t you? I’m going to have you changed in no time and then we’re going to go downstairs and see what we can find for you to eat.”
Realizing she hadn’t asked John about that, either, reminded her of how inexperienced she was at this, as well. Had Celene nursed the child or used a formula? Dana decided it had to be the latter, and that hopefully there was an adequate supply in the house, or at least enough to get through the rest of today and tonight, since she hadn’t thought to add it to the list. Tomorrow she would pick up more on her way out here.
Then she remembered she had two customers dropping off their books for reconciling in the morning. Double drat, she mused. She’d better make a few phone calls to pick them up herself. Did she really believe she could juggle her professional obligations with all this? “No, don’t worry,” she told the baby as she set him back on the bed again. “I’ll figure out something.”
Talking to the child was a shameless attempt at getting another smile. But when J.J. rewarded her, she eagerly planted a noisy kiss on his bared tummy. “Oh, you’re wonderful,” she cooed. “We’re not doing too badly at all, are we?”
Things didn’t go quite as smoothly as she thought they would, though, and it was twenty minutes later when she held on to the banister and carefully descended the stairs. While bathing the baby’s bottom in the sink, she’d dropped the tail end of his clothing into the water and had to find him something else to wear. No sooner had she finished than J.J. wet his diaper again. How did working mothers manage? she wondered.
“I’ll tell you something else, Master Paladin. It’s as gloomy as a mausoleum in here. Let’s brighten things up a bit, and how about a little music to get you used to sounds? Does your daddy talk to you like this? Probably not, huh? He’s better at long stares and barking orders.”
Maybe she felt a bit ridiculous, but she hoped hearing her voice would help reassure J.J. about being in a stranger’s arms. After all, he was nearly two weeks old, which meant he should have already bonded with his mother, and that meant he might begin missing her at any moment. At any rate, all the TV talk shows and magazines said it was never too soon for a child to begin learning.
As they entered the kitchen, she turned on that light, too. Softly humming one of the Irish lullabies her mother had taught her, she crossed to the radio and switched it on.
“News…ugh. You’ll get an earful of that soon enough,” she muttered, dialing through station after station. “Country western ballads…trust me, you landed in the middle of a whopper.” Finally the soft strains of harp music filled the room. “Ah…this should sound familiar, angel. We’ll leave it here for a while, okay?”
She started hunting for his food next, and had her head deep in the pantry closet when she felt a cool blast of air. Swinging around, she faced a man who looked as disreputable and wiry as the day she’d last seem him.
&nb
sp; “I should have known you’d creep in here to offer your five-cents’ worth of editorializing,” she told John’s longtime cook. “Well, shut the door, you’re creating a draft.”
Durango, alias Durango Bill to the hands on the Long J, and William Clive Durand to the IRS, grinned, but comically danced the rest of the way inside, exhibiting an impressive agility for a man over six decades old. “Didn’t mean to interrupt that nice little serenade, missy, but I had to make sure my eyesight wasn’t going.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Yep,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “There I was washing up the lunch things and thinking about adding banana pudding to the dinner menu so’s I could use up them overripe things, when whaddya know, there you are pulling up behind Big John just like old times when you used to do the boss’s books.”
“Not quite,” Dana replied dryly.
“How’d he pull it off?” the chip-toothed scoundrel asked, jutting his chin to scratch at his whiskers. “I’d bet a bottle of my oldest brew that you’d never set foot on Long J land again.”
Dana tried for a negligent shrug. “You know me, Durango. Once a Girl Scout always a Girl Scout.”
“The kid looks pretty content.”
And J.J. felt wonderful in her arms, but she wasn’t about to admit any such thing. “Don’t waste your breath. This is a short-term deal. What’s more, I’m doing it strictly for J.J.’s sake, and no one else’s.”
The man who had more hair at his nape than at his crown combed those salt-and-pepper curls gingerly. “Ah, yes. All’s bliss in paradise, I see. Well, for what it’s worth, it’s good to see you again, missy.”
“Thanks.” Despite her suspiciousness, Dana couldn’t help but like the conniving wretch. He was his own person, and refused to apologize for it. “How’ve you been?”
“Better than some people around here, that’s for sure. Whew-ee…will you look at the place. No wonder the boss took most of his meals over at the bunkhouse. She sure was a case.”
“It’s none of my business, Durango.”
“Seen her leave.”
“I don’t want to—You what? John said you didn’t hear anything.”
“Worries me when a woman races from a house with a suitcase after giving birth to a kid less than a couple weeks before,” he continued, without acknowledging his fib to his employer. “What with the boss being off on the range, I figured I’d wander over and check on the papoose. When I found him sleeping snug as a bug, I went back to my work.”
Dana frowned at the man who stood eye level with her. “Why didn’t you tell him, Durango?”
“Because I wanted her gone. She made him miserable and he’s better off without her. Saw him take off to town, too. Guess he didn’t find her, huh?”
“No.”
“Reckon you wouldn’t be here if he had.”
Good thinking, Dana thought, determined not to participate in any speculation one way or another. You’re here because of the baby, she reminded herself. Stay out of it. With a nod, she returned to her search.
“You got any idea what happens now?”
“Why don’t you ask your boss when he gets back? I made a shopping list for him, so I’m afraid it’ll be a while.”
“Seeing the shape of this place, he’ll be getting himself one of those quickie divorces if he’s smart. I told him when he brought her out here that a person only had to look at those painted talons she called fingernails t’know what she’d do to the house.”
Trying to ignore the wicked pleasure those words gave her, Dana brushed a near-empty bag of chips into the nearly full trash container at her feet. Immediately Durango was beside her.
“Here now…you’ve got enough on your hands without fooling with that. Let me handle the mess. What is it you’re looking for?”
“Formula. I don’t suppose you’d know if there is any, and where she put it?”
“’Course I know. That one didn’t do nothing except make demands. She sure didn’t put the shopping away. I got her the stuff myself,” he continued, bending to a lower cabinet and drawing out a box marked with a reputable manufacturer’s logo. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Dana lifted one of the slim cans and sighed. They seemed an impersonal substitute for the warmth a mother’s milk could provide.
“Don’t fret none, sugar, the pup’s used to it. The only mouth that got close to—”
“Durango!”
Dana turned her back to the man under the pretense of seeking a can opener. She couldn’t believe his outrageous talk. She definitely didn’t want to think about John and Celene in a lovers’ embrace.
“Sorry,” the elderly man replied, assisting her with the electric appliance. “Guess I’m spilling too much too soon.”
Dana gently rocked J.J., but needed the soothing motion for her own inner turmoil, as well. “She’s his wife. Until he tells everyone otherwise, she deserves to be treated with the respect due the lady of the house.”
“That one wasn’t no lady.” Again he stooped with impressive agility to reach into another cabinet and brought out a saucepan. “Here. You’ll want to heat that in this. She did it in the microwave, but I’ve been reading about electromagnetic waves and stuff. Don’t think it’s good for the pup to be exposed so much this early on in his life.”
Unable to resist eyeing the butt of the cigar stuck in the pocket of his red T-shirt, Dana laughed. “Since when did you become a health nut?”
“Who’s a health nut? I just prefer things more natural. All things…like you and—”
“Will you stop?” Embarrassed, Dana shook her head and poured the formula into the pan. “As I told you before, don’t get the wrong idea about any of this.”
“Not me, no, ma’am. But facts is facts. You’re here because you couldn’t say no to him. I’m just wondering how long your head’s gonna fight that tug of war with your heart?”
Long after Durango had gone, Dana fumed over his audacious comments. He’d always been a forward rascal, but this time he’d really tested the boundaries of her patience. Let him complain to John about her if he wanted to; she’d ordered him out of the house to be rid of him. It had seemed the only way to get some relief.
Only when she had the bottles sterilized and had settled with J.J. in the rocking chair by the living room fireplace, did she begin to feel her nerves calming. Watching the baby eat helped. With his rosebud mouth locked tightly around the nipple and his cheeks working furiously, he looked adorable.
Inevitably, however, her thoughts began wandering again. It was a habit she’d acquired as a child to help her get through the bad times—rationalizing, trying to find the logic in why things were the way they were. Now she found herself focusing on the decision she’d made as a teenager not to have children because she planned never to marry.
She saw herself as damaged. Any romantic notions about love, marriage and babies had long been destroyed. Crushed. She knew too many truths. And her father had vanquished them further by telling her that it was her “obligation” to bear children. No woman deserved such a yoke around her neck. It would take a man of superhuman understanding and generosity to help her through her doubts and pain, let alone get her to change her mind.
She thought about it a long while. Maybe she dreamed about it, too. At least she knew it was the first thought she had when she opened her eyes again, and saw John in the doorway watching her.
Chapter Four
J ohn knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life than Dana holding his sated, sleeping son in her arms. This was a scene from his dreams, the way things should have been if life had been fairer. If he hadn’t been such a jerk. But J.J. wasn’t from Dana’s flesh, and she wasn’t his wife; yet somehow that made the exquisite scene all the more poignant.
He watched her blink, glance around, get her bearings. The weather and the hour made the room dusky, but he had enough light to see her gaze shift down to the baby, and her expression soften as she
realized J.J. had his chubby arms and legs wrapped around the empty bottle.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“Shhh,” she whispered back. But her eyes held no rebuke, simply the same awe and tenderness he felt.
Unable to resist, he approached the pair, moving slowly, as unwilling to upset Dana as he was to rouse his son. When he reached the side of the rocker, he crouched down, focusing on how close the baby’s rosebud mouth was to her breast. For much of the drive to town and most of the trip back, he’d been trying not to dwell on what she might, or might not be wearing beneath that sweatshirt. As she grew more aware of his attention, the obvious answer filled him with a bittersweet ache.
“You have no idea what an incredible picture you two make,” he murmured gruffly.
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t move to escape, either. Filled with gratitude, John felt his throat shut down, and he knew he couldn’t have spoken again if he’d wanted to. This wasn’t a moment to ruin with words, anyway. It was a moment to absorb, to use as a balm on the scar tissue that was his memory.
But despite his soul-deep humbleness and gratitude, his body stirred and heated, too. Longing swept through him, carried by his racing blood. This was the woman who should have been his wife, the solemn, vulnerable girl who’d unintentionally crept under his skin and stolen his heart, and who’d kept him at arm’s length until he’d almost gone out of his mind. The woman who no longer trusted him because he once did lose control in a moment of panic and frustration.
Aware his eyes would reveal all that, but deciding it was more important to be honest than careful, he met her shy, sad gaze and gave in to the need to stroke the back of his fingers against her cheek.
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