His Special Delivery. Belinda Barnes

      Chapter One

      Cal Tucker had gotten as far as the altar, but he had one slight problem. No bride.

      The white, lace-covered unity candle stood off to one side, unlit, its future decided by his absent bride’s unexpected change of heart.

      He yanked the peach boutonniere from the lapel of his tuxedo and crushed it under his heel as he made the long trek down the aisle past the now-empty church pews. Alone. “Guess she loves me not.”

      James Scott, Cal’s business partner, waited beside the front doors. “You know, you didn’t have to stay and face everyone. I could have sent them on their way.”

      Though Cal hadn’t wanted to endure the sympathetic looks of his friends and acquaintances, he couldn’t very well run off and leave the chore of explaining this mess to someone else. “It was my wedding, my responsibility.”

      His friend pushed away from the wall. “Any idea why Tiffany didn’t show?”

      Cal ran his forefinger around the inside of the stiff collar, which for the past hour had felt like a noose. “I finally got around to telling her I didn’t intend to accept Dad’s offer to head up his new megaconglomerate.”

      James whistled through his front teeth. “I see where that would tick her off. Tiffany thrives on all that highbrow stuff.”

      Cal frowned, wondering how James had become so perceptive when he himself had only just figured it out. “Yeah, but I don’t. When I told her last night, she gave me an ultimatum.”

      “Then you knew she might not come?”

      “Hell, no. You know Tiff. She’s hot one minute, cold the next.” Cal rubbed the aching muscles at the back of his neck. “Do you think I’d be standing here now if I’d thought she wouldn’t be here?”

      “So, what do you plan to do?”

      “Do?” He shrugged. “Nothing. She made her choice.” Cal didn’t understand why he hadn’t realized before then how different Tiffany and he were. They’d never wanted the same things. Only it had never mattered. Not to her. Or to him. “It’s over.”

      “You sure?” James asked.

      The sense of loss Cal expected didn’t come, but the blow to his pride came with the force of a mule’s kick. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Whatever he’d once felt or convinced himself he’d felt for Tiffany was gone. Only now could Cal admit he’d never loved her. But then, she hadn’t loved him either. Not that he’d needed it. In fact, he’d never seen evidence love existed.

      It really didn’t matter any longer that Tiffany had dumped him. Besides, he’d had his fill of doing what everybody else wanted him to do. No more. From now on, he’d do what he wanted. He didn’t need anybody, didn’t want anybody.

      James gestured toward the front of the church. “Reporters have your folks cornered out by your pickup.”

      With his father’s standing as one of Dallas’s finest entrepreneurs and his mother’s reputation as a society matriarch, Cal wasn’t surprised. “They can handle the press. They always have.” And, as usual, his parents had chosen the limelight over him.

      “Sneak out the back way. It’s only a few blocks to the Bull Pen. I’ll take your truck and meet you there later.” James grinned. “I’ll even buy you a beer. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a couple of little fillies for the night.”

      Cal held up his hands and shook his head. “Hell, no. I don’t want anything to do with another woman. I’m swearing off.”

      “Yeah, well, we’ll see how long you can hold out when those sweet young things start stuffing their numbers in your pockets.”

      “I’m telling you, I’m not interested. All women are trouble—short, tall, blond or brunette,” Cal said. “It doesn’t matter. They’re all bad news.”

      James shot Cal a sympathetic look. “You’ll be all right once we get you back in the saddle.”

      “I’m okay. Honest. I don’t need a woman.” Wanting to get away from the church, Cal crossed to the minister’s office and slipped through the door leading outside.

      “I’ll tell your folks you’ve gone, then I’ll meet you at the Bull Pen,” James said, closing the door with a soft click.

      Cal headed toward the sidewalk. Tufts of dead grass caught in a Texas winter’s slumber crunched beneath his feet as he crossed the hard ground. Heavy gray clouds sat low in the Dallas sky, and the scent of snow hung thick in the late-afternoon air.

      He shoved his hands in his pockets, slowing at the corner to glance back at the Gothic white stone of the Methodist church.

      Cal wondered at his judgment. Had his reasons for wanting to marry Tiffany been misguided? Even though lust and social compatibility only went so far, his parents were certainly proof they could sustain a marriage. And Cal had been willing to settle for that. Only now, even contentment seemed out of his reach.

      Determined to ignore the chill of the February breeze and the deep-seated wound to his male pride, Cal started walking.

      He’d gone no more than two blocks when the screech of brakes and the squeal of tires brought him up short. A faded brown compact car with a broken headlight jumped the curb and headed toward him. He dived out of the way and hit the concrete hard, rolling as the car slammed to a stop before stalling.

      Cal swore and hauled himself to his feet, then swore again when he saw the driver—a woman.

      When the pain crested, Sara Jamison peeked through the windshield at the man pushing himself up from the ground. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pound some sense into the driver who’d come so close to running him down. Since Sara was the driver in question, she prayed he’d take pity on a pregnant woman in the final stages of labor.

      The tuxedo-clad man marched around the front of her car, his dark scowl deepening as he neared the open window. Anger flashed in his cold, gray eyes. “What the—”

      Sara flinched. “I’m really, really sorry.”

      He pushed away from the car, muttering under his breath. She wished he’d quit frowning at her as if she’d intentionally tried to run him over.

      “Do you have any idea—?” He drew a hand over the rigid lines of his face, his frustration evident.

      “Look, I said I was—” Another contraction hit. Sara gasped and clutched the steering wheel, unable to finish her apology. After having three false alarms this past week, she’d refused to leave home until certain this was the real thing. Now she regretted waiting so long. A small moan slipped unbidden through her lips before she clamped her mouth shut. She glanced at her watch to note the time passage since the last contraction.

      The man leaned down and angled his head to look inside the car at her swollen stomach. “Are you in labor?”

      She nodded and noticed the sudden tightening of his stern jaw, as if her condition displeased him. It was obvious he didn’t want to be inconvenienced. Not that she wanted his blasted help.

      He plowed his long fingers through his short, black hair and exhaled a breath shot through with frustration. “Wait here. I’ll find a phone and call for an ambulance.”

      Sara caught his hand where it rested on the open window. “No. I can’t afford one. Thank you, but I’ll be all right.”

      His quicksilver