The Baby Bargain. Peggy Nicholson
to his own lights. “What about getting her some professional counseling? I’m sure that Dr. Hancock—”
“I’m the only counselor Zoe needs, dammit! A baby will wreck her life!”
“Then if you’re all she needs,” Dana said coolly, “she doesn’t need me.”
“But, dammit—” He saw her chin tip up in warning and he shut his mouth with an effort, locked his jaw over his words. Stood rocking on his boot heels and scowling, while she patted the first ball of dough into a loaf, settled it into its greased pan and placed it on the warming shelf. She turned out another ball of risen dough, pressed out the yeasty gas, commenced kneading.
“All right,” he said grimly, “then look at it this way. You owe me this help.”
Her hands paused as she looked up. “Excuse me?”
“Your son knocked up my daughter. If you’d ridden herd on him, hadn’t let him run wild, had taught him a proper respect for girls—”
Dana threw up a floury hand. “Now, wait a minute. Your daughter is—what—two years older than Sean? And everyone knows girls are years more mature than boys. So just who seduced whom? And who should have known better?”
“At fourteen, he’s old enough to know right from wrong! Or at least, old enough to know how not to get caught. Didn’t you tell him about condoms?”
“Didn’t you tell your brilliant daughter?” she shot back.
“She knew,” he said with dangerous calm.
“Then—”
“Condoms do fail.” His gaze turned distant and bleak.
“Is that what—”
He shrugged and spun on his heel, surveyed her kitchen, swung back again. “She’s not giving me any of the gory details, and frankly—” His shrug was more of a shudder. “Frankly, I don’t want to know. Every time I think about it, I get this urge to hammer your kid into the ground like a cedar fence post.”
Dana dusted her hands and came carefully around the table. “If you ever lay so much as a finger on Sean again—” She prodded his chest with a fingertip “—I’ll have you in jail for assault, Rafe Montana. See if I don’t!”
“Assault?” He caught her wrist, trapping her hand in that gesture of threat, forefinger touching his breast. “Last night, he swung on me.”
“Yes, but who finished it?” She yanked backward, but he held her easily.
“That was a lesson he needed to learn. You don’t take on someone you can’t handle.”
“I’ll thank you not to give my son lessons!”
“Then who will?” He brought her hand down to his side, then drew it slightly behind him, a subtle tug that swayed her closer. She flattened her other hand on his chest to catch her balance—could feel his heart thudding against her palm. “You’ll teach him how to grow up a man? Not your strong point, I’d say.” His eyes roved down her face to her mouth. He smiled slowly and shook his head. “Not your strong point at all, thank God.”
She shoved his chest hard, and he let her go. “Nobody asked you for lessons, and I’m telling you again, don’t you dare—” She cut herself short as the screen door to the deck creaked.
Sean stood there, gaping at them both.
CHAPTER SIX
THE BOY’S LOOK OF SHOCK turned to a thunderous scowl and he stepped backward—spun away. Rafe Montana lunged after him before the door banged shut. “You! Come here!”
So much for her warning! Dana yelped a protest and followed. She flung out onto the deck to find them faced off like a couple of dogs, hackles risen and weight on the balls of their feet. She caught Montana’s collar and gave a warning tug. “I said don’t!”
“And I heard you,” he told her evenly, his eyes locked on Sean.
Which was hardly a promise to obey, she realized. Retaining her grip, Dana glared at Sean. “Sean, if you’d please go in the—” The bruise on his jaw registered—blue-green and glorious. “Oh, Sean!” She let go of Montana and flew to her stepson, caught his chin in her hand.
Sean jerked out of her grasp and edged away. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t!” She touched his shoulder, but he stepped aside. “Sean, please…”
“Shut up, Dana.” Sean didn’t spare her a glance.
“What did you say?” Rafe demanded in a voice of quiet thunder.
“I—I s-said…” The boy stopped as Rafe shook his head.
“Don’t,” he said with ominous calm. “Not ever. Not around me.”
“Rafe, I can handle this, thank you,” Dana insisted.
“Some job you’re doing.” His eyes switched to Sean. “You and I have to talk.”
Sean clenched his hands. “I’ve only got one thing to say to you, Mr. Montana. Where’s Zoe?”
Montana seemed to grow a foot. “You went looking for my daughter? You went on my land?”
Sean gulped and shook his head, but he didn’t back down. “Uh-uh. Zoe was supposed to meet me where—” His hand flew toward his mouth—a touchingly childish gesture—and stopped midair. Fisted again. “She didn’t meet me,” he finished sullenly. “What’d you do to her?”
“Zoe is grounded. She doesn’t set foot off Suntop till I give the word, and when she does, believe me, it won’t be to meet you.”
“No!” Sean shook his head wildly as his voice cracked. “I’ve got to see her!”
“Get this straight,” Rafe said softly. “You won’t be seeing my daughter again—ever. You’ve done your damage, and now you’re finished. It’s over.”
“It isn’t!” Sean cried raggedly. “Dana?”
“Oh, Sean…” He never asked her for anything, and now that he had, she’d give all she held precious to help. But he might as well ask her to move a mountain.
“You come sneaking on my land, and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” Rafe continued. “And I promise you, sonny boy, this charge will stick. You got that?”
“Try and stop me, asshole!” Sean spun, jumped three steps to ground level and took off running.
Rafe took two strides after him, but Dana blocked his path. “Don’t.”
“So help me God, Dana, if he comes sniffing after her onto my land, I’ll hog-tie the brat and haul him home to you in my truck!”
“I’ve heard enough threats for one day.” Dana swiped the hair from her eyes, retreated to her swing and sat.
“How long have you been raising him alone? He’s out of control.”
“And I’ve had enough criticism about my child-rearing techniques, thank you. Want me to start in on yours?” Crossing her arms to wall him out, she closed her eyes, tipped her head back. Willed him to disappear in a puff of smoke.
No such luck. He growled something wordless, and the swing tilted as he sat down beside her. Their thighs brushed, and she shied away. After a moment, the swing rocked backward on its chains, glided forward. Dana heaved a sigh up from around her toes, lifted her heels up to the cushion, clasped her ankles. The swing arced gently through her self-imposed darkness, through the fragrance of roses. How odd to be rocked; she’d grown so used to doing for herself.
“Well, what now?” he asked finally.
“Now?