Deep in a Texan's Heart

by Sara Orwig

  “You’re a kid expert. That’s what I need.”

  He’d been keeping tabs on her. Since she’d kept tabs on him, it shouldn’t have come as a shock. Except Michael Shaylen’s name graced the headlines every week, especially the past couple of years, once the cascade of government contracts awarded to GGS Aerospace catapulted its three founders onto the short list of billionaires under the age of thirty.

  The story of her life was considerably less newsworthy. A dissertation arguing for more traditional child-rearing methods. Marriage to a compatible man. Four failed in vitro attempts. One quiet divorce and a year of floundering. But she was on track now, with a thriving psychology practice and the beginnings of a new parenting book. If she couldn’t have a baby, she’d help other parents be the best they could be.

  Much better than her own parents had ever been. They didn’t know half of what had happened to her and didn’t care to know. They’d always been too caught up in moving to the next town one step ahead of creditors to notice their daughter’s problems, so she’d stopped telling them how rootless she’d felt. She’d stopped telling anyone.

  All her angst, all her longing would be funneled into the book she’d conceptualized a few weeks ago. She’d birth a legacy instead of a baby.

  “Yes, I’m a child psychologist. How does that make me what you need?”

  “How do I raise him? How do I care for him?” Shay met her gaze and the strength of his plea hummed through the air. The years vanished as her flesh pebbled like it always had when provoked with that searing intensity. “Anyone can show me how to mix formula and change diapers. I’m asking you to teach me to be a father.”

  With a shiver, she ordered her goose bumps to cease and desist. He wanted her help, as a professional advisor of sorts. Not a smart idea. How could she work with him so closely when he still had such a strong effect on her? “That’s a tall order. Hire a nanny.”

  “I plan to hire a nanny. Help me pick a good one. Help me pick schools, toys. Grant entrusted his son to me and I have to do everything right.” The green tide pool of Shay’s eyes sucked at her, mesmerizing her, as he pleaded his case.

  He meant it.

  Never would she have suspected such a sense of responsibility lurked in the heart of the roller coaster ride sprawled on her couch.

  Eight years ago, she’d ended their relationship because she’d wanted to have children with a man who would raise them by her side, not one who was likely to wind up in a broken heap at the bottom of a cliff after his rappelling rope failed. Not one who willingly sought to upset the status quo every five seconds.

  How ironic that he was the one who had ended up with the baby.

  * * *

  “Please, Juliana.”

  Shay fought the urge to clear his throat again.

  He hadn’t said her name aloud in a long time. Hadn’t allowed himself to think about her. For the past eight years, he’d successfully avoided recalling what a mess she’d left behind when she’d walked out on him.

  “Will you consider it? If the answer is no, I’ll be on my way.”

  In the past twenty-four hours after making that phone call, he’d done nothing but think about Juliana Cane. The way her lips curled up in a half smile as she drew a bow across her violin. How she threw her head back while in the throes of pleasure. The exact shade of blue of her eyes.

  Her still-gorgeous mouth pursed in thought, shifting the lines of her heartbreaker of a face. “What exactly are you proposing? I have clients. A practice. A life.”

  A life. Well, so did he. Or he used to. These days, life had an aggravating tendency to be one way when he woke up and a whole other way by the time his head hit the pillow that night. If he slept at all.

  He hadn’t closed his eyes once the night after Grant and Donna died. Too busy counting the if-onlys. Too busy shouldering blame and cursing himself for not double-checking that fuel line personally. Too busy figuring out that yeah, men weren’t supposed to cry, but after losing everything that mattered, rules didn’t apply.

  Shay crossed his arms over the perpetual ache and scooted back against the fluffy, senior-citizen-approved couch cushions. “Sounds like the answer is yes.”

  She straightened the perfectly symmetrical hem to her grown-up suit and crossed her mile-long legs. “Yes to considering it. Iced tea? It’s organic, and I only use stevia as a sweetener.”

  “Sure.”

  He hated iced tea and always had. What did it say that she didn’t remember? Likely that she’d moved on and rightly so. They’d had no contact for eight years, and without the accident and his resulting parenthood, they would have continued to have no contact. Yeah, he’d followed her career. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d found the boring life she seemed to want.

  Shay trailed Juliana into the neat kitchen, eyes on her heels. Nice. Did a lot for her already spectacular legs. Those legs dredged up crystal-clear memories of her smooth limbs wrapped around his waist, her hot torso heaving against his.

  Their relationship had bordered on mythical. The sex had been awesome, too. Nearly a decade later, the heat between them was banked. But still there. He could feel it.

  The kitchen told him a bunch about this new professional version of Juliana Cane. Canisters lined the immaculate counter, all labeled in precise script. No dishes in the sink, not even on a Saturday. Crayon drawings lined the refrigerator—the only visual difference between this kitchen and one set up in a pristine home décor showroom.

  Seemed like she’d hit the boring jackpot. He’d hoped it would make her happy, but no one as passionate about music as Juliana had been would ever be happy with such a vanilla life. The sad lines around her mouth proved it.

  “I’m proposing a job,” he said as she retrieved a glass from an overhead cabinet. “In case that wasn’t clear. A consulting gig. Name your price.”

  “Still not much of a negotiator, are you?”

  She tucked a lock of pale blond hair behind her ear. A simple gesture, but a familiar one. Back in the day, Juliana’s hair had always hung loose and sexy, curling along her shoulders, begging for a man’s fingers to sweep it back.

  His fingertips strained to reach for those pale locks but that wasn’t the purpose of his visit. Mikey needed him. Juliana didn’t.

  “Negotiation is for people who can afford to walk away if the terms aren’t agreeable. I’m not trying to bargain. If I had another choice, I’d take it. You’re the last person I expected to be asking for help.”

  The iced tea she’d been pouring splattered on the counter, missing the glass by six inches.

  Rattled. Good. He barely recognized the woman she’d grown into. She looked the same, made some of the same gestures, but her reserve bothered him. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this polite stranger.

  With the baby’s welfare sitting like bricks on his shoulders, the last thing he should be thinking about was how to rattle Juliana some more. But he was.

  “I see.” She wiped up the spilled tea without looking at him. “It seems we have some latent issues to address before we can enter a consulting arrangement.”

  No. There was no way he was discussing what had happened in college. He grinned, the best form of deflection he had on him. “The past is the past. Let’s leave it there. Now it’s addressed. Name your price.”

  She handed him the glass, blank-faced. “I’d hardly call that addressing it. But I’m willing to let it lie, at least until I decide if I’ll accept. There’s a lot to consider.”

  Calling her had dug up difficult memories, but he owed Grant and Donna. Mikey deserved the best. Shay wasn’t leaving without Juliana’s agreement. “Allow me to play the sympathy card, then. Be right back.”

  He left Juliana and the glass of revolting tea in the kitchen and let himself out the front door. He waved at
the car and Linda stepped out with Mikey fast asleep in her arms. His admin carried the baby to Juliana’s porch. Gingerly, Shay took him. Such a little guy to have so much expectation attached to him, and no matter what anyone said, holding him was nothing like carrying a football.

  Linda held the door open and retreated to the car. He’d really stretched her job description lately and the raise he’d already given her wasn’t nearly enough. If he could get Juliana’s help, his admin was due for a two-week, all-expenses-paid cruise.

  As soon as he cleared the foyer, Juliana came out of the kitchen.

  “Oh.” Juliana’s hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t know you brought him.”

  “Figured you could say no to me, but not to that face.” He grinned at the quiet baby. First time in God knew how long Mikey wasn’t screaming his head off. “This guy here is Michael Grant Greene. We call him Mikey.”

  Juliana’s eyes filled. “They named him after you.”

  It wasn’t a question but he nodded, his throat too tight to respond. That had pretty much been the way of things for two weeks. Lots of nodding. Lots of pretending that if he could run a billion-dollar company, raising a baby should be a snap. But Mikey wasn’t just a baby. Mikey was his kid now. He’d already started adoption proceedings.

  Why hadn’t someone warned him a piece of paper didn’t automatically bestow parenting powers? He was doing what he always did—facing down the gaping jaws of challenge without blinking. So why wasn’t he getting to a place where it started to come together, where the thick coating of scared-out-of-his-mind didn’t strangle him twenty-four hours a day?

  The sleek blonde peering at him from those earthy blue eyes was going to get him back on solid ground. She’d always had a way about her, as if she could carry the world on her shoulders without stumbling. Steadiness. He’d missed that.

  Missed her.

  Where had that come from?

  The past was in the past, but it hadn’t been a very clean break. He’d done a lot of yelling and Juliana had cried a lot but ultimately, she stubbornly dug her toes into the ground and he craved the sky. Both of them had been unwilling to compromise.

  He’d loved her. A lot. But not enough to take up knitting so she’d have a guarantee he’d be in one piece at the end of the day. So she’d dumped him because she couldn’t love him as is. He was an adrenaline junkie to the core, sure, but he’d channeled considerable energy into their relationship. Some women would have sacrificed limbs to be so fiercely loved. It still stung that she wasn’t one of them.

  If he’d known being in her presence would stir all that up again, he’d never have picked up the phone.

  Their voices—or whatever demons haunted the baby—woke Mikey and he let loose with a shriek. That was the kid he’d lived with for the past two weeks. Shay rocked his arms. “Shh. Shh.”

  Stupid soothing noises never worked but neither did anything else.

  “Let me.” Juliana gathered up the baby, her eyes lit from within as she focused on the bundle of blanket and bleating kid, and nestled him against her breast. Mikey buried his face in her shirt and miraculously shut up.

  Humming. Juliana was humming. He’d never thought of that.

  Early-morning floor-treading, night after night, gave birth to much insanity and calling Juliana obviously topped the list. But usually nothing worked to stop Mikey’s constant crying. Shay was at the end of his rope. Mikey needed more than what Shay could physically do, and late at night, all he could think about was how Juliana had once made everything all right.

  “See?” Shay whispered. “That’s why I’m here. You’re perfect for this job. Say yes.”

  The tremulous smile on her face sent a shaft of hope through him. Hope and warmth. Eight years was a long time. They’d both changed—Juliana clearly more so, with her professional reserve and grown-up clothes—but regardless, he’d spent a long time not thinking about her. How hard could it be to work together?

  “Fifty thousand dollars. And I want to write a book about it. You agree to let me use the experience, and I’ll do it.”

  Did she not know how much he was worth? He’d have paid a million without hesitation. “A book? Diapers and giraffe mobiles aren’t a very interesting story. Maybe you should add a vampire.”

  “Non-fiction. About parenting.” She shifted Mikey higher on her chest and brushed her lips across his baby-fine hair with a tiny smile. “It’s a project I’ve been thinking about for a while and I need a good platform. Teaching a man to be a father is great in and of itself. The fact that it’s you will make it a bestseller.”

  “You want to use my name in a book?” A half step away from selling the story to a tabloid, and partly the reason why he was here instead of interviewing someone from Nannies-R-Us. “That’s going a little far.”

  “You asked my price. I’m not the one with the problem.”

  Apparently it was a negotiation. One day, he’d learn to think before speaking. Before it was too late to take back his words. “Only if I get approval of the final version and you stay at my house so you can be on call all the time. That’s my price.”

  Looked like today wasn’t the day he’d learn his lesson because he definitely could have thought of a better way to phrase that. He hadn’t meant that kind of on call. But now he was thinking about it. A beautiful, single woman would be in his house, eating, sleeping—did she still sleep naked?

  Her expression blanked. “I’d prefer to do it via video conferencing. Virtual consulting is as good as in person.”

  “Not to me. I want total immersion. Mikey responds to you. I barely know how to change diapers and I have no idea what else I don’t know. I want to be a dad who puts Band-Aids on his knee and throws a ball in the backyard. That doesn’t happen automatically.”

  Not even when the dad shared DNA with his son. Shay’s own father had never done Band-Aids or ball-throwing. The first time Shay had picked up Mikey after being awarded custody, he knew instantly he would be a different kind of dad, the kind he’d always wanted. The best replacement dad he could be. He had every intention of living up to the confidence Grant had in him.

  Softness stole across her mouth. “No. It doesn’t. It takes commitment and sacrifice and it starts in the cradle. Some parents don’t understand that. It says a lot that you do.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged, unsure why the compliment meant so much. “Will you do it?”

  “What’s the time frame? The breadth of fatherhood is a lot to cover in a week.”

  “Then stay for six months. A year. I’ll double the money.”

  She shook her head and frowned. “I can’t leave my practice that long. Some of these kids are really damaged. They need me.”

  “They can get another therapist. I can’t get another you.”

  Their gazes crashed and she held him captive, drawing out a connection that pulled him in like a magnet. She felt it, too—he could see the sway of her shoulders. Was she remembering how good it had been? The idea fed his own memory, and he couldn’t shut off the video in his head.

  He’d moved on because he’d had no choice. Didn’t mean he’d forgotten the curves now hiding under her prim suit or the way she kept a good hold on him as she blasted him into outer space. The way she’d been the only one he’d wanted waiting for him when he came back to Earth.

  “Perhaps we should discuss the nature of the arrangement you’re offering.” Her dry tone left no doubt she’d been right there with him on the trip down memory lane. “It’s strictly professional or no deal.”

  He’d also never forgotten what had happened after he’d broken his leg snowboarding. She’d said sayonara and left his heart in pieces that never fit back together quite the same way. There was no worse pain than being told you weren’t okay exactly the way you were. Her love was conditional, available only if he became someone el
se, someone safe and acceptable.

  He could hire a nanny tomorrow. Ask his mom for advice. But he wanted the best and he’d pay the emotional price for it.

  “Of course. I’m interested in you for your expertise,” he said, but it was only half the truth.

  He was also, suddenly, perversely, interested in proving to Juliana she’d made a big mistake by walking out on him. In proving he could get under the skin of this buttoned-up Juliana who was clearly willing to ignore the humming vibe between them. By the time he was through, she wouldn’t be ignoring anything. And she’d admit she wanted him. As is.

  “I’ll help you,” she said, leaving him rabidly curious about why she’d agreed. Because of Mikey, the book or that trip down memory lane? He’d never been able to read her and the mystery intrigued him. “For a couple of months. I have to make arrangements for my clients and it’ll take a week or so. I’d like to see each of them personally to explain my absence.”

  It was done. Relief flooded that empty place hollowed out by the explosion. The most qualified consultant money could buy would help him become the father Mikey deserved. If he was smart, he’d leave it at that.

  He’d rather rattle Dr. Cane than play it safe.

  ISBN: 9781460316726

  DEEP IN A TEXAN’S HEART

  Copyright © 2013 by Harlequin Books S.A.

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