The Rich Man's Baby. Leah Vale
shining armor. She curled her lip at the thought. The guy just said he never wanted to love someone so much it cost him his control.
She and Nat would simply leave. She stuffed her armload into the bag. The two of them would go so far away no one would ever find them, no matter how rich he might be.
The thought of riches made Juliet pause before going back to the dresser to collect her few belongings. Instead, she knelt and pulled a large, dented, Dutch shortbread cookie tin from beneath the bed. Popping the lid open, she released a quiet sob and sat on her heels to stare at the white envelope resting on top of a battered, leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s works.
A faded Polaroid of her and her grandpa marked the page he’d been reading to her right before he died. Her grief hadn’t allowed her to open the book since. Missing a loved one was probably the only thing besides Nathan she and Harrison had in common.
Looking at the envelope, she didn’t need to pick it up and count how much money was inside. She knew exactly how much it held, exactly how much she’d managed to squirrel away since she’d convinced her mom to pay her minimum wage out of any profits the store made. Unfortunately, lately there rarely were any.
At one point she’d had close to five thousand dollars saved in that envelope. Five thousand dollars saved for college, for the school she’d been trying to screw up the courage to apply to.
Then she’d had Nat and had started dipping into the envelope to pay for things. Important things like the hospital, trips to the doctor, his crib and car seat. And that cute, fuzzy, blue snowsuit with bear ears that she’d bought when it had been so cold last winter. Juliet’s gaze rose to the open duffel. And those overalls embroidered all over with little trains he loved so much. Important things like that.
Now her envelope contained exactly $249. They wouldn’t get far on so little. Not far at all. Nat might even end up in danger. She’d rather die.
She slid her hand beneath the envelope to satisfy her ritual of tracing the tired lines of her grandfather’s face peeking out above the book. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. Quietly she replaced the lid of the old cookie tin with a hollow snap.
Grandpa would have told her to fight for what was hers. He wouldn’t have stood for this running-away nonsense, either. Grandpa would have gone toe-to-toe with anyone who’d tried to mess with his family. Shoot, he’d done as much when the state had made noises about taking her away from her own mother back when Mom couldn’t declare which of her boyfriends had fathered Juliet. At least that’s how he’d told the story.
No, Grandpa wouldn’t want his granddaughter sitting on the floor crying because she didn’t have enough money to run away. He’d want her to fight.
Since her grandpa was the only person Juliet had ever wanted to make proud, besides Nathan, of course, she shoved the round tin back beneath the bed and got to her feet. She would march herself downstairs and tell her no-good family again that she was the only one who had the right to decide anything about Nathan.
But after she eased closed the bedroom door behind her, a male voice reverberating up from the kitchen stopped her at the top of the stairs. Her hand turned to stone on the knob. She knew that voice in her heart as well as her head.
Harrison Rivers was downstairs, in her kitchen, talking to her greedy family.
The tremors that had seized her earlier in that very kitchen started once again, and she felt the blood leave her head. She couldn’t face Harrison like this, with her eyes red and nose running. She didn’t want him to think that she was weak and vulnerable. Not when he was the poster child for the confidence and self-assurance she had always wished she possessed.
But she had to know what he was saying to her family and, more important, what they were saying to him. So she started down the stairs.
Harrison’s deep voice increased her shaking. “It wasn’t my intention to upset Juliet.”
“Don’t you worry about that girl. She always did tend toward the emotional side,” her mom said in a girlish, high-pitched voice reserved for men who caught her interest.
As if things weren’t bad enough.
“Really.” Harrison didn’t sound particularly happy to hear the news.
Juliet scoffed. Wait until he tried to take Nat from her. Then he’d really see her emotional side.
“It’s not like she’s unstable or anything,” she heard Willie offer.
Juliet moaned inwardly. Leave it to Willie to make things worse. She sank down on a stair, her knees too unsteady to support her.
Great. Just great. Plant words like emotional and unstable in Harrison’s brain. Then he’d be chomping at the bit to rip Nathan from her arms at any cost.
She fisted her hands and forced herself back to her feet. She’d be damned if she’d cower in a dark stairway and let her family work up to portraying her as an unfit mother. That was one thing she was not. With renewed determination she descended the remaining stairs and turned the corner into the brightly lit kitchen.
At the sight of Harrison, she pulled up short not two steps into the room. While she had stopped a good yard from him, the breath left her as if she’d slammed into him at a dead run. She had never thought of their kitchen as big, but it had become absolutely tiny with him crowding the area. He completely filled the space between the table and the back door with his broad shoulders and tall frame. And he practically pulsated with an animal magnetism that made her break out in a very feminine sweat.
She hadn’t noticed down by the river, but he still wore the clothes he had on earlier that day, and his white designer shirt and olive-colored pants looked as out of place next to the dingy linoleum and gold-speckled Formica as they had in the store. Only the strained look on his handsome face and finger-mussed, dark-gold hair kept him from looking like he’d just stepped out of his country club.
When he turned toward her and caught her gaze with his, Juliet couldn’t regain the breath she’d lost. The look he gave her was far more wary than before, though just as intense. His wariness scared her, more than what her family had said. But as terrified as she was by what he might say or do, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his, and the blood that had pooled in her feet at the first sound of his voice came surging back up through her body like a tempest.
Why did she feel so connected to him? So in tune that she swore she could feel his heartbeat throbbing through her from three feet away? Didn’t her body know how dangerous he was to her? With a snap of his fingers he could take away her reason for living—Nathan. Not to mention what he could do to her heart. She forced herself to look away from his probing gaze.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Willie piped up when he, too, caught sight of her from where he stood leaning against the fridge. “Sheesh, Julie, you look like you just ran one of those stupid marathons.”
Juliet covered her flushed cheeks with her hands. It took a physical effort to cease gasping for air. She had to get ahold of herself or Harrison would easily believe what her family spouted about her mental health.
“Glad you decided to show, missy,” her mom said from her permanent spot at the head of the small table. “Mr. Rivers, here, came to see his son.”
She frowned at her mom. “My son is asleep.”
Harrison held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t expect you to wake him.” He stepped around the table toward her, making a squishy sound with his shoe.
Juliet looked down and blinked when she saw his right leg was soaked from the ankle down. The cuff of his olive slacks and brown leather loafer were darkened with river water. She couldn’t help but feel a small surge of empathy. There probably weren’t any stagnant, ankle-deep puddles in front of his country club. He looked as uncomfortable and out of place in her world as she would in his.
He shifted again. She quickly looked up from his feet to his eyes when he continued, “I also wanted to make sure you were all right.”