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If this man didn’t hurry up and get out of her sight…
“Be seeing you, Emma,” Bubba said with a grin that recalled her attention to those kick-ass dimples.
“I’m sure you will.” She watched him climb into the truck. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “You bet.” Then added, “Take care of that boy, you hear?”
Until he disappeared, she stood her ground, feeling as if her bones had turned to water, leaving her weak and unsteady. And damned confused. Finally she hauled a heavy Logan back inside, but even that seemed like an effort.
Once the baby was back under the tutelage of Janet, Emma went into her office, closed the door, sat down in her chair and took several deep breaths, trying to quiet her erratic heartbeat.
“Stop it,” she muttered aloud, grabbing the invoice and pen, forcing herself to peruse the statement. If the truth be known, while her fingers were doing their job, her mind was not. It was elsewhere, she conceded, a mutinous curve to her mouth. It was on that driver. There was something about him that had an effect on her.
Stop it, she repeated silently, having sworn long ago not to become a clone of her sister. She almost laughed at the thought, it was so ludicrous. Even if she’d wanted to, it wouldn’t have been possible.
Connie was like a true princess, tiny and blond with a figure to die for. Enhancing that lovely body was a bubbly personality. She attracted people, especially men, like bees to honey. But underneath that Southern belle demeanor was a wild streak that Connie had never learned to control.
Men seemed to have loved that in her. Not only were they attracted to her, but she to them. Not so with Emma. The fact that she didn’t have the same appetite for the opposite sex always brought ridicule from her sister.
Connie had continually pointed out, “God, you’re such a stick-in-the-mud, sis.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Emma had responded in as calm a tone as possible.
“No, you’re not. That’s what makes it so bad.” Connie smiled her sunny smile and batted her big dark lashes. “Why don’t you let me fix you up? We’ll double-date, and I’ll show you how to have the time of your life.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Emma said with a smidgen of defiance, which Connie readily picked up on.
“What’s your problem?” Connie demanded in an ugly tone. “You gay, or something?”
That barb cut to the core. Still, Emma kept her cool, knowing that Connie thrived on a good verbal fight, determined to win no matter what. Having learned that early on, Emma merely smiled and said, “You know better than that, Connie. I just prefer to pick my own men, that’s all.”
Connie gave an unladylike snort, then mouthed off, “Yeah, right.”
A deep heavy sigh parted Emma’s lips, bringing her out of her morbid thoughts back into the sunlight. Connie was gone and it was pointless to let herself dwell on the bad times, though she had to confess there were few good ones.
While she knew that Patrick loved her, he had adored Connie. He’d tried not to show his partiality, but he hadn’t pulled it off. Patrick’s adoration remained on course even after Connie had married, divorced and even got hooked on drugs. Once the baby was born, she couldn’t stand being tied down. Not long after that, she took up with a biker. It was then that she had made Emma her baby’s guardian. They never saw Connie again except in her casket.
That child had been the only thing that had kept Patrick from falling apart after Connie’s death. Realizing that her mind had once again backtracked into the morbid, Emma lunged up and took several calming breaths.
She had made peace with Connie’s death. Out of that peace had come the certainty that she would never end up like her sister, who couldn’t control her lust for a man.
A wail almost erupted from Emma’s lips. Hadn’t she done the very same thing this morning? Lust had shot through her when she’d first seen Bubba McBride. Why? Because he’d made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life. How crazy was that? Most likely he was married with a home in suburbia with two-point-three children, even though he hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. However, a ringless finger didn’t mean anything.
Gritting her teeth again, Emma shoved the thought of that stranger out of her mind and went in search of Logan. When things in her life began to get out of kilter, the responsibility of him put her back on solid ground.
Thank God.
He’d never lacked balls before. Why this morning? Why hadn’t he told Emma Jenkins who he was?
Cal had asked himself that question countless times and still hadn’t come up with an answer worth a damn. Bubba? His mouth twisted. God, where had that idiotic name come from? He had no idea; it had crossed his mind and he’d blurted it out. Now his foot was stuck in his mouth and it sure didn’t taste good.
What now?
That was the really big question, the one he had no choice but to answer. Only not right now. He was too busy controlling the sick feeling churning in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he reached the gates of his ranch several miles north of Tyler.
His mother and dad had left him this prime piece of property only because they hadn’t gotten around to selling it before their deaths. Cal’s lips twisted sardonically, remembering his parents and how unimportant he’d been to them.
If he hadn’t run away from home and joined the army, he’d probably be dead by now. He would’ve joined a gang and been sucked into the same underworld he’d spent much of his adult life fighting.
Thank God that hadn’t happened and thank God he had this place.
It was home to him now, especially since he loved the outdoors, reveling in the freedom it gave him. Until his new security job took him out of the country, he aimed to spend as much time here with his horses and cattle as he could.
He just wished he could bring his son….
Cal slammed on the brakes and shoved the gearshift in Park, feeling sweat ooze out of every pore in his body. He was also dizzy. He rested his head on the steering wheel until it stopped spinning.
His child.
His son.
By damn, he was a father.
Of a fine-looking boy, too. When he’d first laid eyes on the kid, he’d been awestruck, thinking Logan couldn’t be his flesh and blood. No way could he and Connie, out of the misery of their marriage, have produced a tiny being so perfect. Hence, the kid had to have come from someone else’s loins.
Then just as quickly Cal’s negative thoughts turned a bit positive when he remembered a baby picture of himself he’d found at the ranch. Logan did resemble the kid in the picture.
Screw DNA testing; he didn’t need that. Logan was his kid.
Still shaking, Cal swiped the sweat from his brow and above his lip. He remained too shaken to drive toward the small cabin that served as his home. His gaze searched for his foreman, Art Rutherford, who was usually out and about taking care of chores. When Cal didn’t see Art or his vehicle, relief flooded through him.
Right now he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. He had some serious thinking to do. Since he’d lied to Emma Jenkins, he might as well see where that took him. Maybe if he wormed his way into her good graces, she would let him see the kid. In doing that, he had to know he might run head-on into her father, who would immediately recognize him, and the gig would be up.
If that happened, he’d devise plan B. That was his boy and no one was going to take Logan away from him.
“Whoa, brother,” he said out loud, “Don’t go gettin’ too big for your britches.”
While getting his son, having something of his own for the first time in his life, might be his top priority, he had to ask himself a brutal and honest question. How equipped was he to become a parent? He had a ton of emotional baggage weighing him down, which certainly didn’t make him parent material.
The Jenkinses knew that and were sure to use it against him. Both father and sister hated him with a passion. To add insult to injury, Connie’s sister had built a smoldering fire in his loins.
Not a good thing.
Though a chill of foreboding shot through him, Cal couldn’t ignore this emotional upheaval. Like it or not, seeing Emma today had made him think thoughts he hadn’t had since he’d returned from Central America. But Emma was different. She fascinated him because she had no idea how attractive, how sexy, she was.
He’d never met a female who seemed as unaware of herself as she was. There was nothing artificial about her, no desire to be noticed. She reeked of sexuality, with a fragile innocence that any man in his right mind would have found appealing.
Any man but him, he told himself savagely. He wasn’t about to get involved with any woman, especially not his ex-sister-in-law, who had every intention of taking his child away from him.
So what was he doing counting the days until he could return to the nursery?
Four
“Ms. Jenkins, this is a disaster. Plain and simple.”
And you’re a bitch. Now where had that ugly thought come from? Emma asked herself, appalled at the direction her mind had taken. Granted, Sally Sue Landrum was a pain in the rear, but she hadn’t earned the title of bitch. Not yet, anyway.
“No, it’s not a disaster, Sally,” Emma rebutted with all the patience she could muster. “I told you I’d have your landscaping finished today, and I intend to keep that promise.”
Sally pursed her full lips, placed her hands on her tiny waist and glared at Emma. “That won’t happen without plants.”
“I’ll get the plants.” Emma’s tone held conviction, even though she wasn’t sure she could follow through, which would indeed be a disaster.
She didn’t take many private jobs because her daddy kept her so busy with his projects. But there had been a lull in her business right now, so when her friend Sally had called and practically begged her to landscape the grounds of her new multi-million dollar home, Emma had said yes.
Actually, she’d been thrilled, seeing a home as something different, and as a challenge. At the moment, with Sally glaring at her, she was beginning to rue the day she’d taken the job.
Dammit, the supplier had told her just yesterday the plants she’d ordered would be in. So far, that hadn’t come to fruition. She’d called other suppliers, but none could fill her need. To make matters worse, Sally was having a big open house to show off her new mansion, which put that much more pressure on Emma.
“Sally, go back inside and do whatever it is you do,” Emma said into the hostile silence, “and let me handle things on this end.” She paused and forced a smile. “Please.”
Sally was having no part of Emma’s smile; that was apparent by the tightening of her lips. “You’re my friend, Emma. You of all people, I thought I could count on.”
“You can.” Emma’s tone was terse. “Again, just leave me alone and let me do my job. Everything will be all right.”
“It had better be.”
With that, Sally flounced around and marched back into the mansion, slamming the door behind her. Emma breathed for the first time since she’d been accosted by her friend and client, then reached for her cell phone and dialed her main supplier.
“Fred, this is—”
“I know who it is.”
“Have my plants come in yet?”
“Yes, praise the Lord.”
Emma wilted on the spot, the relief washing through her was so acute.
“Thank you, Fred.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“Why not?”
“Thank Bubba McBride. He’s the one responsible.”
“Oh?” she said inanely, her heart pounding slightly harder, which was crazy. Even the man’s name had an effect on her. This foolishness had to come to an end.
“He volunteered to go after them, and I told him to hit the road.”
Following another deep, settling breath, Emma said, “When do you expect him back?”
“He’s on his way to the estate, even as we speak.”
“I owe you, Fred. And Bubba,” she emphasized before snapping her cell shut.
It was then that she heard the squeal of brakes. Whipping around, she watched Bubba bound out of the truck and saunter toward her. She tried not to react to his dark, menacing good looks, but nothing short of another miracle would’ve stopped that.
At the moment, she was fresh out of miracles.
“Hiya,” he said in that low, sexy voice that scraped across her skin like fingernails over a chalkboard. Emma shivered. And that look in his eyes—she couldn’t ignore that either.
For a moment, she stiffened under that gaze, more potent than the sun bearing down on her head. Then her sanity came to her rescue. No matter how captivating he might be—and she couldn’t deny that he was—she wasn’t interested.
Then why was she fixated on the width of his muscled shoulders and the span of his six-pack abs? She dared not look any farther south, already knowing the power he packed there.
“Hi yourself,” she responded but not before swallowing hard, feeling suddenly like a teenager meeting a new beau. God, how corny—and ridiculous. She was a grown woman with a child. Where were her good sense and her pride?
Pulling herself together, Emma wiped the answering smile off her face and said in her most businesslike tone, “I spoke to Fred and he told me what you did. Thanks a lot.”
A mocking smile answered her formality, which merely added to that sexiness he wore like a second skin. And those dimples, they were definitely bad on a woman who was trying to keep her heart out of the equation.
“You’re welcome,” he said, that mocking smile still intact.
“Okay, so you saved my rear,” she added with more punch.
“Glad I could oblige. Now, shall we get down to work?”
Emma gave him a startled look. “I have a crew, Bubba. Besides, I’m sure you have other deliveries to make.”
“Not this afternoon. So put me to work, and we’ll get this job done.”
Though Emma was tempted to argue, she refrained. One thing, another pair of hands would help, and she wanted his company. Hold it, girl, she warned. She was headed for deep waters and if she was not careful, she’d drown. Still…
“Tell me what you want me to do,” Bubba said, jerking her mind back to the moment at hand. “And we’ll have this job done before you can spell Rumpelstiltskin.”
She laughed then. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have a child, remember?”
“Ah, right, you do,” he responded, his tone becoming serious. Then, before anything else could be said, he turned and went about the task of unloading the plants.
A little past mid-afternoon, the biggest part of the grounds were planted. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this exhausted. Usually, she only supervised, letting her crew do the manual labor. But since Bubba was working like a field hand, she pitched in and did her share of digging and planting.
Surprisingly, she’d enjoyed every minute of it. She’d forgotten how much fun it was to dig in the dirt.
“So, what do you think?” Bubba asked, sidling up to her while wiping the sweat off his face with a handkerchief from the back pocket of his cutoffs. Although he smelled sweaty, he wasn’t offensive. In fact, she ached to reach for the rag and blot the sweat off herself. Emma cringed at her thoughts.
The effect this man had on her was uncanny and just plain unnerving.
