Baby Be Mine. Victoria Pade
to it all might make him someone she would be interested in personally.
But this wasn’t a Saturday-night party in Chicago, and being interested in Jace Brimley personally was not part of the plan. She’d come to Elk Creek for one reason and for only one reason—to get her nephew—and that was all she was going to do here. Period.
But as she pulled on her socks and shoes, gave her hair a last fluff and applied a little lip gloss, she realized that the jitters she was feeling had an added element to them. An element that felt suspiciously like eagerness. And not just eagerness to see Willy again. Eagerness to get next door to see Jace Brimley again, too.
And no amount of willpower or reasoning with herself dispelled it.
Especially not when the image of the gloriously handsome man popped into her head again and her heart did another round of that uncontrollable thrumming in response.
I’m here for Willy. And for Kristin’s sake, she reminded herself firmly. And nothing else.
But still her heart kept thrumming, and a little voice in the back of her mind said, But if this was a Saturday-night party in Chicago things might be a whole lot different….
Willy was on the porch when Clair crossed the two yards at exactly nine o’clock. He was so cute that just one look at him made her smile.
He had on miniature blue jeans with the legs cuffed on the bottoms to expose tiny suede work boots. He also wore the heavy parka Clair had seen on the sofa the night before. It wasn’t zipped in front, so between the open sides she could see a navy-blue T-shirt with a bright picture of a cartoon dog and the words Scooby-Doo arched over the dog’s head.
Clair wasn’t sure what Willy was doing, but he was very busy scanning the perimeters of the porch, looking into the two empty clay flowerpots that sentried the front door and even studying the swing seat.
“Hi, Willy,” she greeted as she reached the porch steps.
The little boy cast her a glance from beneath a suspicious frown but he didn’t answer her. Instead he went on about his business.
Clair climbed the stairs and sat on the porch floor, bracing her back against the railing so she could watch him at his own level.
“What are you doing?” she tried again.
“Nussin’,” he finally responded under his breath, pressing his adorable red head as far as he could between the railing slats to peer into the surrounding bushes that hadn’t yet begun to leaf.
“It doesn’t look like you’re doing nothing,” Clair persisted, hoping she’d translated nussin’ correctly. “Did you lose something?”
“No,” he said forcefully, even though searching for something was what he appeared to be doing.
“Can I help?”
“No,” he said, adding impatience and surliness to the forcefulness.
He must have spotted whatever he was hunting for because suddenly he ran as fast as his little legs would take him, around Clair, down the steps and toward the driveway where he snatched something from the side of the porch.
Then he bounded back the way he’d come and charged into the house as if Clair wasn’t there at all.
“Whoa, boy!”
She heard Jace’s deep voice come from just inside as she stood to follow Willy. By the time she was on her feet again Jace was out the door, one big hand on Willy’s head to urge him in the same direction.
“’Mornin’,” Jace said, ignoring Willy’s obvious lack of desire to rejoin her.
“Good morning.”
Willy tugged on Jace’s pant leg—apparently a signal that he wanted to be picked up, because the tall man bent over and did just that, settling the child on one hip.
When he was situated, Willy whispered something in Jace’s ear and in response to it, Jace said, “Her name is Clair. She’s your aunt—that’s someone like Josh and Beau and Ethan and Scott and Devon. They’re your uncles, and ladies like them are called aunts.”
Willy shook his head, vigorously, solemnly and muttered, “Ants’re bugs.”
Clair felt her heart clench at the continuing rejection, but she laughed at his reasoning, anyway.
“Some ants are bugs and other kinds of aunts are people. Clair is not a bug,” Jace tutored. Then, in a confidential voice directed into the boy’s ear, he added, “Why don’t you say good morning to her?”
“No,” Willy responded without hesitation and with as much force as his earlier nos to her.
“Come on. She’s a nice lady. Pretty, too. And if I’m rememberin’ right, she’s come a long way to see you.”
Willy shook his head once more, a stern refusal. Then he stuck his index finger in his mouth and glared at Clair.
“Okay,” Jace conceded as if it were Willy’s loss. “But me, I like pretty ladies.”
Willy shook his head again and remained mute.
Jace ignored that, too, and focused his denim-blue eyes entirely on Clair. “He’s had a lot of upheaval in the past few months,” he said. “And he’s two.”
Clair nodded as if she understood, but she couldn’t keep her spirits from deflating slightly at this second, less-than-enthusiastic beginning.
Then, in a cheerier tone, Jace said, “Shall we get goin’?”
“Sure,” Clair agreed, putting some effort into hiding her disappointment that Willy wouldn’t have anything to do with her.
To Willy, Jace said, “I see you found your tool belt. So we should be all set.”
This time the small, bur-cut head bobbed up and down, and Willy held aloft the toy tool belt he’d located a few minutes earlier by the side of the porch.
Jace turned back to the house to close and lock the door. As he did, Clair’s gaze went with a will of its own to the man himself.
He was dressed much like Willy was—cowboy boots instead of work boots, blue jeans, and a jean jacket over a faded red Henley shirt over a white crew-neck T-shirt that showed beneath the Henley’s open placket.
But it wasn’t merely the clothes that Clair took notice of. It was also the way the clothes fit the man.
The T-shirt molded to impressive pectorals. The waist-length jean jacket was stretched to its limits by the breadth of his shoulders and the expanse of his muscular arms. And the jeans…oh, the jeans! They were just snug enough to cup a derriere to die for.
Clair’s mouth went dry, her heart started thrumming all over again, and she felt as if her temperature had gone up.
Maybe she’d caught some kind of country fever, she thought. Some kind of country fever that was making her body react to things she shouldn’t even be aware of.
Or maybe it was cowboy fever, she amended, none too patient with herself.
But country fever or cowboy fever, she forced her eyes off Jace’s rear end in the nick of time as he spun back around on his heels with a sexy bit of grace and agility that made her think he was probably a good dancer.
He pointed his chin toward the black truck in the driveway and said, “Hope you don’t mind sittin’ in the middle. Willy’s car seat has to be on the passenger’s side because of the seat belt.”
It wasn’t sitting in the middle that she minded. The problem was the effect it would have on her to be that close to Jace.
“Maybe I should follow behind in my car,” she suggested when it occurred to her, trying not to think about his behind….
“You can if you want but it seems silly. Unless you aren’t plannin’ to spend the