Bundle of Trouble. Elle James
Her ears perked at every sound in the household, hoping to hear the faint noises a baby makes. Her baby. Jacob.
So tuned in to the specific sounds of a child, she didn’t hear adult footsteps outside her door.
“These should fit you.”
Sylvia spun, her hand going to her throat. “Oh, Lord, you scared me.”
The young Hispanic woman Tate had called Rosa, the woman who’d been caring for Jacob in the nursery, stepped into the room, moving with a slight limp. She laid a stack of clothing on the bed, the corner of her lips quirking upward. “These belonged to Mr. Vincent’s ex. I found them in a bag of clothing mi madré planned to donate to the homeless shelter. That and an old Mexican dress my mother wore.” Rosa’s lip curled tighter into a sneer.
Sylvia had read everything she could find in the San Antonio public library about the infamous young millionaire and most eligible bachelor of the state of Texas. His wife had walked out on him early in their marriage when Tate wasn’t so rich. In fact, he’d been close to losing his ranch and everything he owned when his wife walked out on him. Had she stuck with him “for richer or poorer” she’d have been sitting pretty in this fabulous house that Tate had built onto and modernized to make it anyone’s dream home, not wanting for anything. Stupid woman.
Feeling every bit the homeless person, Sylvia had no other choice but to take what was offered, even if it had been the ex-wife’s clothing. Another possible strike against her in her struggle to get her child back—a reminder to the great Tate Vincent of what he’d lost in his failed marriage. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Mr. Vincent is to thank for allowing you to stay.” Rosa’s eyes narrowed. “Just so you know, I’m Jake’s nanny…and bodyguard. I’m expert with the nine millimeter and I’ve never missed a target.”
A shiver snaked up the back of Sylvia’s neck. Jacob’s bodyguard could no doubt take her, but Sylvia had no intention of letting Rosa know she was scared. Her back straightened and she tipped her head back, her brows rising. “Are you threatening me?”
Rosa shrugged. “All I’m saying is that the Vincents—that would be Tate and Jake—are like family to me. Hurt either one of them and…” She stared straight into Sylvia’s gaze. “Let’s just say, a nine-millimeter bullet can make a pretty big mess.”
Before Sylvia could respond, the Hispanic woman turned and limped away.
The image she’d left Sylvia with was of herself being gunned down by a crazy woman with a pistol. “And this is the woman he trusts with my son?” Sylvia muttered, her hand sifting through the clothing on the bed. “Maybe I should check for explosive devices before I wear any of this.”
“I see you’ve met Rosa.”
Sylvia squealed and dropped the shirt she’d lifted from the pile, her face burning.
The man who’d been with Tate when he’d found her in the pasture stood with his hat in his hand. “Yes, Rosa can be pretty harsh with her words, but she wouldn’t hide explosives in clothing. She’s more…” The man paused, his hands turning the hat in his fingers before he stopped and looked up. “She’s more in-your-face violent. You’ll know when she plans to do harm.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
He shrugged. “Don’t take her too seriously. She’s had a bug up her…” Color rose in the man’s cheeks, making them a ruddy-brown. “Well, since she took a bullet in Austin.” A brief shadow crossed his face, then he smiled, his deeply tanned skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m C.W., the foreman. Supper’s ready.”
Sylvia’s stomach growled. She wanted to say that she wasn’t hungry. The truth was she hadn’t eaten since last night when she’d left the library in San Antonio to drive here. “Thank you.”
C.W. waited for Sylvia to pass through the door. “About what Rosie said—”
“Don’t call me Rosie. I hate it when you call me Rosie.” Rosa’s voice called out from another room down the hallway.
C.W. chuckled and winked. “Love to get her goat.” All humor left his face. “As for what Rosie—Rosa—said…Same goes for me. Tate and Jake mean the world to all of us. If anything happens…”
Although C.W. said the words gently, Sylvia couldn’t mistake the steel behind them. “You have a nine-milli-meter bullet with my name on it, right?”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
“Point taken.” Sylvia sighed. “I’m not here to hurt either one of them. I’m here to get my son back. My son. The child I gave birth to and didn’t willingly give up.” She planted her fists on her hips and squared off with C.W. “Did you hear that, Rosa?” she called out loud enough for the woman down the hallway to hear.
“Sí.” Rosa stepped through a doorway, Jacob perched in her arms, his baby fists waving and a wet smile spreading across his chubby cheeks at the sight of C.W. “Let the courts decide where Jake belongs.”
Sylvia’s heart melted at the sight of her son.
C.W. met Rosa halfway down the hallway, reaching for the child. “Come here, little man. Come see ol’ Uncle C.W.”
Ready tears sprang to Sylvia’s eyes. Jacob was beautiful. He’d grown into a healthy, happy baby. At least she could rest assured he hadn’t been abused since coming to the Vincent Ranch. All those months of worry could be left behind. When Jacob had been stolen, Sylvia imagined all kinds of horrors her son could have been subjected to. She’d cried too many tears thinking about it.
The smile on Jacob’s face, the happiness he displayed for the people surrounding him let Sylvia know that he’d found a loving family to take care of him until his own mother could find him.
Her arms ached to reach out and hold her son, but she held back, determined to let Tate Vincent know that she was on the up-and-up. She planned to get her son back the legal way. Justice would side with the biological mother.
Sylvia had to believe that, even though, as an investigative reporter, she’d seen too many cases fouled up in court with corrupt judges and equally corrupt attorneys. She marched ahead of Rosa, C.W. and her son, determined to get the ball rolling as soon as she could get a call through to a lawyer she knew in San Antonio. The same one she’d used when she’d filed for divorce from Miguel Tikas a year and a half ago, before she’d known she was pregnant.
With her resolve strengthened, she followed the smell of food toward the kitchen, ever aware of the people at her back.
She passed an open doorway to an office the size of her old apartment. Tate Vincent stood looking out double French doors, his hand pressing a cell phone to his ear. “Tell him I want it done ASAP. The sooner we know something the better off we all are. Tomorrow morning would be best. Have Dr. Richards call to confirm.”
Sylvia paused. Now would be a good time to ask Tate if she could use a telephone. Her cell phone had sketchy reception this far out of Austin, the charger lost with the contents of her car.
When Tate Vincent turned toward her, his brows snapped together in a frown. “What are you doing here?”
His abrupt demand raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Before she could answer, Rosa stepped up beside her.
“She’s on her way to the dining room.” The Hispanic woman jerked her head, indicating Sylvia should keep walking.
C.W. ducked into the office, Jacob perched on his shoulder. “Someone wants to see you.”
Even before C.W. got close, Jacob was leaning toward Tate.
Tate held out his hands and plucked Jacob off C.W.’s shoulders. “Come here, Jake.”
Rosa hooked Sylvia’s arm with an iron grip. “Come with me.”
Sylvia’s gaze remained