Bargaining for Baby / The Billionaire's Baby Arrangement: Bargaining for Baby / The Billionaire's Baby Arrangement. Robyn Grady
and your child in one day. The world had looked black after that. As black and charred as his heart had been. He hadn’t cared about sheep or money.
About anything.
“What do you do on a sheep station with no sheep?” she asked after a time. “Don’t you get bored?”
He set down his cup and said what should have been obvious. “Leadeebrook is my home.”
Urban folk weren’t programmed to appreciate what the land had to offer. The freedom to think. The room to simply be. As much as his father had tried to convert her, his mother had never fully appreciated it either.
Besides, there was plenty of maintenance to keep a man busy if he went looking for it.
He dumped sugar into his cup. “It’s a different way of living out here. A lot different from the city.”
“A lot.”
“No smog.”
“No people.”
“Just the way I like it.”
“Don’t you miss civilization?”
His face deadpanned. “Oh, I prefer being a barbarian.”
She pursed her lips, considering. “That’s a strong word, but in a pinch …”
He had every intention of staring her down, but a different emotion rose up and he grinned instead. They might not see eye to eye, but she was … amusing.
Seeing his grin, a smile lit her eyes and she sat back more. “How many acres do you have?”
“Now, just under five thousand. Back in its heyday, Leadeebrook was spread over three hundred thousand acres and carried two hundred thousand sheep, but after World War II land was needed for war service and agricultural settlement so my great-grandfather and grandfather decided to sell off plots to soldier settlers. The soil here is fertile. Their forward planning helped make an easier transition from grazing to farming. That industry’s the mainstay of this district now. Keeps people employed.”
“I take it back.” Her voice carried a sincere note of respect. “You’re not a barbarian.”
“Save your opinion until after you’ve eaten my brown snake on an open spit.”
She chuckled. “You do have a sense of humor.” Her smile withered. “You are joking, right?”
He only spooned more sugar into his tea.
One leg crooked up under the other as she turned toward him. “Did you have a happy childhood growing up here? “
“Couldn’t have asked for a better one. My family was wealthy. Probably far wealthier than most people even realized. But we lived a relatively simple life, with some good old-fashioned hard work thrown in for good measure.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Went to the town first off then boarding school in Sydney. I came home every vacation. I’d help with dipping, shearing, lambing and tagging.”
Her smile wistful, she laid her elbow on the table between them and cupped her jaw in her palm. “You make it sound almost romantic.”
Almost?
He forced his gaze away from her mouth and let it settle on the picturesque horizon.
“Have you ever seen a sunset like that? I sit out here, lapping up those colors, and know this is how God intended for us to live. Not rushing around like maniacs on multilane freeways, chained to a computer fourteen hours a day. This is paradise.”
Sue had thought the same way.
They sat saying nothing, simply looking at the rose-gold pallet darken against a distant smudge of hills. Most nights he took in the dusk, soaking in the sense of connectedness it gave. Sometimes, for a few moments, he felt half at peace.
“Will you ever stock up again?” she asked after a time.
He had plenty invested in bonds and real estate around the country. Despite the wool industry having seen better days, he was more comfortable financially than any of his ancestors, and had harbored dreams of reshaping Leadeebrook to its former glory. He and Sue used to discuss their ideas into the night, particularly during the last stages of her pregnancy. There’d been so much to look forward to and build on together. Now.
His stomach muscles double-clutched and he set his cup aside.
Now he was responsible for Dahlia’s boy. He would give the lad every opportunity. Would care for him like a father. But that feeling …?
He swallowed against the stone in his throat.
He wished he could be the man he’d once been. But when his family died, that man had died, too.
“No,” he said, his gaze returning to the sunset. “I’ll never stock up again.”
She was asking another question but his focus had shifted to a far off rumbling—the distant groan of a motor. He knew the vehicle. Knew the driver.
Lord and Holy Father.
He unfolded to his feet and groaned.
He wasn’t ready for this meeting yet.
Four
The white Land Cruiser skidded to a stop a few feet from a nearby water tank, dry grass spewing out in dusty clouds from behind its monster wheels. A woman leaped out and, without shutting the driver’s door, sailed up the back steps.
Maddy clutched her chair’s arms while her gaze hunted down Jack.
He’d heard the engine before she had. Had pushed up and now came to a stop by the veranda rail, his weight shifted to one side so that the back pockets of his jeans and those big shoulders lay slightly askew. When the woman reached him, no words were exchanged. She merely bounced up on tiptoe, flung her arms around his neck and, her cheek to his, held on.
Maddy pressed back into the early evening shadows. This scene was obviously meant for two. Who was this woman? If she wasn’t Jack Prescott’s lover, she sure as rain wanted to be.
Maddy’s gaze tracked downward.
The woman’s riding boots—clean and expensive by the emblem—covered her fitted breeches to the knee. She was slender and toned; with a mane of ebony hair, loose and lush, she might have been the human equivalent of a prized thoroughbred. Her olive complexion hinted at Mediterranean descent and her onyx eyes were filled with affection as she drew back and peered up into Jack’s—passionate and loyal.
Maddy’s mouth pulled to one side.
Seemed Jack had indeed moved on since the death of his wife—the auburn-haired woman whose photo she’d seen on that chest of drawers. When they’d come face to face earlier in the nursery and she’d copped an eye full of Jack’s all-male-and-then-some chest, she’d imagined he’d felt the moment, too. She’d told herself that’s why he’d been particularly brusque afterward. The lightning bolt—the overwhelming awareness—had struck him, as well, and, taken aback, he hadn’t known how to handle it.
But clearly that fiery, unexpected reaction had been one-sided. He’d seemed vexed by the scene in the nursery because he was embarrassed over her ogling. Embarrassed and annoyed. He was spoken for, and this woman in front of her might capture and hold any man, even I-am-an-island Jack Prescott.
With a fond but strained smile, Jack unfastened the woman’s hold and her palms slid several inches down from his thick neck to his shirt. She toyed with a button as she gazed adoringly into his eyes and sighed.
“You’re home.” Then she tilted her head, that ebony mane spilled over her shoulder and her smile became a look of mild admonition. “I wish you’d have let me come to Sydney with you. It must have been so hard facing the funeral on your own. I shouldn’t have promised