Hart's Baby. Christine Pacheco
one time Zach had had a weakness for women. Smaller, more vulnerable than he, he’d wanted to shelter them, care for them. Trouble was, trust had been shattered into tiny pieces when his wife slept with another man, betraying his trust. He’d walked away wiser, perhaps bitter. He’d never let another woman close.
Even if the instinct hadn’t been destroyed, he’d already determined Cassandra wasn’t weak, nor was she vulnerable. She stood tall and strong. Sure as winter followed fall, she didn’t want anything resembling protection from him. Fact was, maybe she needed to be protected from him.
“Mother’s certain this kid belongs to Chad.”
Nick nodded. “And you’re certain he doesn’t.”
Zach’s sigh came from the diaphragm. Plowing his fingers through his hair, he admitted, “Hell, Nick, I don’t know.”
“It’s not impossible.”
“Chad’s no saint, but he wouldn’t turn his back on his son. His son. None of us would.” Standing, he said, “I’ve got an investigator’s report in my office.”
Wordlessly Nick gathered his mug and followed.
After handing the tattered folder to Nick, Zach settled behind his desk, watching as a mirror expression of his own reaction played across Nick’s features.
Nick closed the folder and nodded. “The father could be anyone.”
“Yeah. But the birth certificate lists Chad as the father.” That knot of tension tightened in Zach’s shoulder again. “And you heard Mother, the kid looks like Chad.”
“He looks like a baby,” Nick countered.
“But she’d know.” Doubts crept in, along with the ramifications. “If he is Chad’s kid, he’s a Hart.”
Nick took a long drink. “Okay, little brother, lay it on the line. What have you come up with?”
Growing up, their mother always called Zach her thinker. Nick acted, Chad reacted and Zach contemplated. From an early age, responsibility had befallen him. Nick had worked his guts out, sending home every penny he could spare, but Zach had parlayed the earnings into something substantial, the heritage they deserved.
He’d watched Nick lose half his worldly goods and a chunk of his salary to a woman he’d briefly married. And Zach himself had struggled to hang on to everything they’d accumulated after Vanessa tried to do the same when he filed for divorce.
No woman, ever again, would come between the Harts and their heritage.
“I offered her a payoff.”
Nick’s brow arched.
“She refused it. Said she doesn’t want money. She wants our time and, for Billy, love.”
“You don’t believe her.”
Zach shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Following a long pause, Nick said, “We’ll have to get to the bottom of it.”
“And hope no one gets hurt.” Most of all their mother. “So, I’ve hired an investigator.”
Nick nodded. “Good.”
The brothers looked at each other, measured gaze for measured gaze. Unspoken words hung in the air, poised like the tip of a knife blade.
The moment the men strode into the room, Cassie’s senses swam. Zach’s commanding attitude swamped her, demanding her full attention.
His gaze flicked to the Hart family album on her lap and guilty heat suffused her face.
Suddenly feeling like an interloper, she slammed the cover closed. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her guilty reaction. Right. She should have known better. In the short time she’d known Zach, she’d realized he missed nothing.
His eyes were slate again, cold and hard, chilling her as they accused.
“I was showing off pictures of you boys when you were children,” Margaret said, using her cane to stand. “Young Billy has the Hart nose. No doubt about it.”
Tension, so hot it sent a shiver sliding through Cassie, crackled in the room.
Margaret, either oblivious to, or ignoring the effects of her statement, stood and reached for the photo album. “Nicholas, dear, do help me put this away. We’ll have a chance to look at others later.” She paused to look at one last picture. “Here’s one of my boys swimming in the pond.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Seems our Zachary had lost his trunks in the water.” With a little wink, she moved away.
Cassie’s smile died when Zach descended on her. His strides long, he managed to obliterate her comfort zone in three steps. She should have stood up before he’d gotten so close. Or maybe she should have escaped. But it was too late. She was trapped in her seat.
“My mother wants your baby to be her grandchild.”
Having no other choice, Cassie tipped back her head. A crick froze one of the muscles in her shoulder, holding it rigid. Absently she stroked the knot while searching for the right words. “I know.”
Zach crouched, knees wide, stretching his jeans taut across the crotch. For a brief, horrifying second, he snared her attention, her imagination and more.
“Have you considered what it might do to her if you’re wrong?”
Forcing herself to focus on him, on his question, she slowly answered, “Believe me, Mr. Hart—”
“Zach.”
She blinked.
“If you’re going to be sleeping in the room next to mine, we might as well dispense with the formality.”
“But—”
“The name’s Zach.”
The solidness of the name rolled around in her mind, but she didn’t think she’d be able to bring herself to think of him on a friendly first-name basis for quite a while.
Still, with him crouched so near to her, his words whisper soft and the scent of mountain spice permeating the air, she wondered what it might be like to be more, so much more, than opponents.
Thinking became a task demanding effort and she returned to the topic of baby Billy’s future. “I’m a helper, a teacher, not a destroyer.” The voices around them had lowered and she matched the pitch. “If I believe, for one moment, that I’m going to hurt your family, I promise you I’ll leave.”
They regarded each other warily, and she swore she heard the rush of her own pulse, as much from his reaction to her statement as from her own recognition of him.
“I’ll make sure you do,” he said, placing his hands on his thighs and pushing to a standing position.
That brought him, for a brief second, closer to her, skipping her pulse forward a beat.
Billy started to whimper.
“I’ll hold him while you make a bottle,” Margaret said from across the room.
Relief cascaded through Cassie.
Her breathing was still irregular when she mixed water and formula in the kitchen. The situation was becoming more difficult by the minute. And it didn’t appear that relief loomed on the horizon. Finding Chad might take weeks. According to her investigator, Chad was riding rodeos somewhere in South America.
By the time she’d mixed the powder and water, Billy’s whimpers had reached squall force. She was standing just outside the living room door when Margaret’s words stopped Cassie in her tracks.
“Zachary, dear,” Margaret said, “come here and hold young William while I show Nicholas out.”
Nick and Zach’s conversation