Bundle of Trouble

For a moment he said nothing, the only sign he had heard her was the muscle ticking dangerously in his jaw. “How much do you want?”

Sylvia’s brow furrowed. “Want? What do you mean?”

“Most people who trespass or sneak onto my property want something, usually money. What’s your price?”

Anger and indignation shot into her veins, stiffening her spine and forcing her back into an upright position. This time her vision didn’t waver. “I don’t want anything from you. I only want my child.”

“And what makes you think I have him?”

Her eyes widened and a gasp whooshed from her lips. “The baby I saw outside is a boy?” Joy filled her chest. “I knew it,” she said, her happiness stealing breath from her lungs. “How is he? Where is he?” She leaned to the side to look around Tate.

Strong fingers gripped her arms, forcing her to look at him. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have your son.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “Did you adopt a child about six months ago?”

“Anyone who follows the gossip columns would know the answer to that.” The muscle ticked in his jaw again. “Besides, it’s none of your business.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d scored a hit and she wasn’t backing off until she got answers. She stared up at him, her mouth firming into a determined line. “It is my business if that child was stolen from me.”

“You’re wrong. I met the mother of my son. She signed the papers in front of an attorney swearing the child was hers and that she was giving away all legal rights to him.”

“Was her name Beth Kirksey?”

Tate’s eyes narrowed. “And if it was?”

“She wasn’t the mother of the baby you adopted. The birth certificate was forged. She’d given up her real baby for adoption four months earlier. The baby she gave you was mine.”

“I don’t believe you.” He reached for the cell phone in his back pocket. “A quick call will confirm.”

“Don’t bother, Ms. Kirksey won’t be answering.”

“Why?”

“She’s dead.” Sylvia swallowed hard. “She was killed in a hit-and-run ‘accident’ a week ago.”

“I’m calling the sheriff.” He stood, towering above her.

If he’d intimidated her before, he terrified her now. Well over six feet tall, his massive presence and his ferocious scowl could stop an angry bull in his tracks.

But Sylvia hadn’t come this far or risked this much to give up now. “Just let me see him. Please.”

“No way. For all I know, you’re crazy and might hurt my son. You’d do well to get the hell out of my house now while I’m feeling generous enough to let you go without a police escort.”

Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving until I see my son.”

“We’ll see about that.” He nodded to the man standing in the doorway. “C.W., call the sheriff.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Wait.” Sylvia couldn’t afford to waste time in jail. She had to see her son. “I can prove he’s my son.”

“Yeah, and I’m the King of Hearts.” Tate turned away. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Keep an eye on her, will you, C.W.?”

Sylvia rose from the couch, swaying but determined, and reached for his arm before he could walk away. “He has blond hair and blue eyes just like mine, doesn’t he?”

“So what if he does? His mother had blond hair and blue eyes.”

“Does your son have a star-shaped strawberry birthmark on his right hip?”

About to take a step, the man stopped in midstride, his back to her, his body rigid. “That proves nothing.”

Her hand tightened on his arm, her nails digging in. Then she let go, her fingers going to her waistband. She loosened the button of her jeans and unzipped the fly. Then with a deep breath, she shoved the jeans down low enough to expose her right hip. “Does it look like this?”

The man Tate had called C.W. stopped in the doorway and let out a long, low wolf whistle.

Tate’s chest expanded and contracted before he finally stared down at the mark on her hip. “How do I know that’s real?”

“Touch it,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. The thought of the big cowboy touching her made her tingle all over, but she held steady. She had to do this to get her son back.

His hand came out and he rubbed a work-roughened thumb across the birthmark. “It could be a tattoo.”

Sylvia’s breath caught in her chest and she held it for a moment before replying, electric current tingling throughout her body from where his fingers touched her. “You know it’s not. It’s as real as the one on my son’s hip.” She pulled her jeans up and zipped. “Can I see him now?”

His mouth drew into a tight, forbidding line. Then he caught her by her arms and shook her. “Get it through your head, he’s not your son! Now, get out of my house.” He practically flung her away from him.

Steadying herself against the back of the couch, Sylvia struggled to remain calm. Even with Tate breathing fire down on her, she refused to give up. “Not without my son.”

“You won’t see him without a court order. I’ll be contacting my lawyer. I suggest you contact yours.”

Sylvia’s heart dropped to her stomach. She didn’t have a nickel left in her account and she’d been living on credit cards for the past month until they had maxed out. A long court battle would be way out of her league. She flung her long hair back and stood with her shoulders squared, her feet wide, hands propped on her hips. All she had left was false bravado and her conviction that she’d really found her son. “If you want me to leave, you’ll have to call the sheriff. I’m not going anywhere until I see my son.”

“Let me remind you who is trespassing and who is within legal rights to shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been shot at trying to find my son. Go ahead.” Inside she shook, but she refused to show him an ounce of fear. “I want to see the son stolen from me in Mexico six months ago.”

“What’s it going to take to convince you that he’s not your son?”

“Show me his right hip. If the birthmark isn’t there, I’ll leave, no argument.” Sylvia held her chin high and when her mouth threatened to tremble, she bit down hard on her lower lip.

Tate sucked in a deep breath and let it out. It did nothing to calm the racing beat of his heart. He sucked in another breath and tried again. But as long as the woman who claimed to be his son’s mother stood in his living room, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

After all the years he’d begged Laura for children…then she’d left and his father had died. Tate refused to give up the only family he had left. Ever since he’d adopted Jake, he’d had that niggling worry in the back of his mind that someone would someday come and claim him. Hadn’t he seen court cases where the mother came back and claimed she’d been wrong to let her child go? Never afraid of anything in his life, Tate feared losing Jake. He stiffened.

No way in hell.

“C.W., help me load this woman into the truck so we can kick her off the ranch.”

C.W.’s lips curled upward. “Gladly.” As he walked toward Sylvia, his grin widened. “If you don’t mind me saying, I wish it had been me touching that birthmark, ma’am.”

Sylvia raised her fists to a fighting position and squared off with C.W. “Touch me, and I’ll break every one of your fingers. I won’t leave until I see my son.”

Tate shook his head. “Lady, I don’t know what happened to your son, but since you’re not going to see my son, you might as well shove off.”

The front door to the house slammed open. “Tate?” Kacee LeBlanc’s heels clicked across the hardwood floors in double time. “What’s with the fire down by the creek?” She jerked to a halt when she spied Sylvia with her fists up. “Who the hell’s she?”

Tate nodded toward Sylvia. “This woman claims to be Jake’s mother.”

“That’s just bull. I was there when the real birth mother signed over the child. She didn’t look anything like this woman. Other than the blond hair.” Kacee whipped out her cell phone. “Have you called the sheriff?”

“We were just about to do that.” Tate stared pointedly at Sylvia. “Care to leave before he gets here?”

“You call him Jake?” Sylvia smiled. “My son’s name is Jacob.”

“I don’t care what your son’s name is. He’s my son.”

“I’m not budging until I see the baby.”

“Oh, you’ll be budging all right.” Tate nodded to Kacee. “Make that call.”

She punched a button on her cell phone. While she waited for an answer, she frowned. “There’s a fire down by the creek. You might want to get some of the ranch hands on it before it spreads.”

“Fire?” C.W.’s brows rose. “Damn, as dry as it is, it’ll spread fast.” He nodded at Tate. “You can handle her on your own?”

“Go. We can’t afford a range fire. Take Dalton, Cody and anyone else who’s back from the south range.”

“Will do.” C.W. ran out of the room.

“Yes, we have an emergency. This is Kacee LeBlanc out at the Vincent Ranch. We have a fire by the highway near Rocky Creek. We also have a trespasser at the ranch house.” Kacee’s steel-gray gaze scraped Sylvia from head to toe. “Send the sheriff. The woman claims to be Jake’s mother and refuses to leave. Thirty? That’s the best he can do? Okay. Thank you.” She flipped her cell phone shut and tilted her head to the side. “The sheriff will be here soon.” She crossed the room to Tate and touched his arm. “Want me to get a gun, Tate? You know you can shoot trespassers, especially if they’re threatening you or a loved one.” Her voice was hard, her words menacing. She meant to scare the woman across the room, dressed in a dirty shirt and jeans, looking like she’d been run through the wringer of his grandmother’s old-timey washing machine.

Despite her threat to his son, Tate didn’t like where Kacee was going. “No. I reckon she’s harmless.”

Kacee leaned in to whisper, her breath warm on his ear. “That’s what you thought about that homeless man who stabbed your father.”

A band tightened around Tate’s chest. “That’s enough, Kacee.” But he wasn’t taking any chances. He walked to the desk in the far corner of the room, removed a gun from the drawer and dropped the clip from the chamber. From another drawer he retrieved bullets, sliding them into the clip. “But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“Good grief. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I only want my son.” Sylvia Michaels, eyes wide and face pale, backed toward the door, her hands raised.

“Take one more step, and I’ll shoot,” Tate warned.

She paused for only a moment, her gaze connecting with his, determination hardening her chin. Then she spun around, throwing her parting comment over her shoulder. “Then just shoot me.”

Chapter Three

With a gun pointed at her back, Sylvia’s skin crawled, but she pushed forward, headed for a hallway and the sound of a baby squealing happily.

“Damned woman.” The cowboy cursed behind her, his boots clattering against the wooden flooring.

“Give me the gun, Tate. I’ll shoot her,” the woman Sylvia assumed was the assistant called out.

If Sylvia had any chance at all of seeing Jacob, she’d have to move faster than the two people behind her. She shot away from the man holding the gun, her heart pounding in her chest. Several doors opened off the hallway, only one remained closed and the joyous sounds of a baby could be heard through the wood paneling. Without slowing, she grabbed the handle and opened the door.

A large hand clamped down so hard on her shoulder she jerked to a halt, unable to move another step.

She caught a glimpse of a baby boy sitting in a high chair, a cracker clutched in his fist. All she got was that little peek before Tate Vincent flung her around and shoved her against the hallway wall. “You hurt one hair on my son’s head and I’ll kill you.”

With the door wide-open, the sounds of the baby’s cooing reached her, warmth spreading throughout her body, filling all the cold, empty places she’d endured since Jacob had been stolen away from her in Mexico. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Please.” She sniffed, unashamed of begging for a chance to see her son. “Please. I want to see him. If he’s not mine, I’ll leave.”

For a long moment, the man glared down at her, his heavy hand never leaving her shoulder. Based on his size, he’d probably be ten times stronger than her. More than Sylvia could hope to fight off, but she would do anything to see Jacob again.

“You say your son was abducted six months ago. How will you recognize him besides the birthmark? Babies change a lot in six months.”

“I’ll know,” she said. Didn’t mothers always know the cries of their own babies? After six months of searching, she’d almost given up hope. Could this cowboy be right? Would she recognize her son? Her shoulders pushed back and she wiped the tears from her eyes with an angry hand. “I’ll know.”

Another long moment passed, Tate’s eyes narrowing into slits. “How do I know you’re not here to hurt him?”

“Oh, God.” A nervous, almost hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “I wouldn’t hurt my own son. I’ve spent the past six months looking for him, hoping no one has hurt him. I just want to see him. That’s all I ask.” She’d work on custody once she was satisfied the baby truly was Jacob. “Don’t you see? You could be just as much a victim as I am. My baby was stolen. Your baby could have been signed over to you illegally.”

“I met the mother, she signed the papers, I adopted him. My lawyer went over the paperwork at least a dozen times.”

“Still, you could have been duped. The baby may not have been that woman’s to give.”

He smacked the hand holding the gun flat against the wall. “The contract was ironclad. You’re a liar!”

Sylvia winced, but stared up at him, meeting his glare with a level stare. “I don’t lie.”

“And if my son has this birthmark, that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe not. If the birthmark is there, then we do a DNA test.” How she’d come up with the money, she didn’t know, but she’d get her baby back if she had to sell her soul to the devil himself.

The baby giggled in the next room, so joyous and innocent.

All the motherly longing she’d buried deep inside surged into her chest, squeezing her lungs so hard she couldn’t breathe. “Just let me see him.”

The man’s eyes narrowed even more. “I don’t trust you.”

“Search me. I’m not carrying any weapons. I only want to see if he has the birthmark. I won’t try to take him away. I won’t hurt him.” Her voice caught on a sob, rising up to choke her. “I need to know.”

“You’re not buying this crap are you?” The woman in the business suit stood with her hands held out in front of her, a small pistol clutched between her fingers.

Tate Vincent shot a stern look at her. “Put the gun down, Kacee.”

The beautiful assistant pouted. “You take away all my fun.”

“Put it down.” Tate stared at Sylvia, his words directed at Kacee. “I can handle this. I don’t want my son injured by a stray bullet.”

The other woman’s hand lowered. “Good point. Besides, the sheriff should be here any moment.”

“Why don’t you go watch for him.”

Kacee frowned. “But, what if…”

“Just go,” Tate bit out. “I can handle this.” He stared down at Sylvia, his steely brown-eyed gaze boring into her. When Kacee rounded the corner, he growled, “Why should I believe any of this?”

Tired, dizzy and beyond her endurance, Sylvia stared back at the millionaire who could have had her physically removed by now, but for some unknown reason hadn’t. “If you had your child stolen from you, would you just let him go?”

The man holding her arm continued to glare, the silence lengthening between them. When Sylvia thought he wouldn’t respond to her question, the man sighed, his grip loosening. “No, I would never stop looking.”

“Exactly.” Hope blossomed in her chest, a smile trembling on her lips. “Then you’ll let me see him?”

His hold stiffened. “I didn’t say that.”

She raised her hand to peel his fingers loose from her arm. “Please. I’ve been searching for so long. If there is any chance the baby in there is mine…”

For a brief moment, Tate’s face grew haggard, then his mouth tightened, the expression returning to the cold hard mask of a harsh businessman. “Are you prepared if the boy isn’t yours?”

“If he has the birthmark—”

“I repeat, the birthmark proves nothing.” Tate’s hand squeezed tighter. She’d have a bruise there by morning.

“If he has the birthmark, will you agree to a DNA test?” To be this close was killing her. “Look, I know this can’t be easy for you, either. You’ve had Jacob for the past six months. I only had him for four.” She gave a watery smile. “But I remember what a good baby he was, always laughing and happy. If he’s like he was back then, anyone would fall in love with the little guy. His smile could light up a room.”

“I’m going to let you go. Don’t try anything.” Tate’s hand loosened and dropped to his side.

Sylvia closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the heavens. Then she opened them again. “Then, you’ll let me see him?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You can’t touch him. I don’t want you anywhere close to my son.”

Sylvia dragged in a deep breath and let it go. Her arms ached with the need to hold her son, but she could wait a little bit longer. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Tate sensed that by showing the woman his son everything would change. But the look in her eyes, the desperate plea to see the boy tugged at Tate’s heart. This dusty woman who’d defied his no trespassing signs, crossed long distances, chased leads and finally made it to his home showed a courage he hadn’t seen in the women he’d known. If everything she said was true. Not that he believed any of it, yet.

The thought of having Jake stolen from him made his stomach clench into a bigger knot than he could have imagined.

“Señor Vincent?” Rosa, clutching Jake against her chest, peered around the door. “Is everything okay?”

The golden-haired child spied him, squealed and reached out for Tate. Instinctively, he held out his arms for his son. Jake fell into them, giggling.

Over the top of his son’s golden head, Tate could see the trespasser’s eyes fill with tears, spilling over and running down her cheeks. Her hand rose as if to touch Jake.

Tate stepped back, out of reach.

Her hand fell to her side. “Will you look?” she whispered.

He told himself it didn’t matter if his son had the star-shaped birthmark. Nothing short of a DNA test would convince him. But the pale blue of his son’s gaze reflected through the sheen of tears in the woman’s eyes. The bright gold cap of silky smooth hair resembled that of the woman with the long, straight, blond locks.

“Please,” she said, her voice a quiet entreaty in the hallway.

His heart heavy, Tate pulled the tape tab from the right side of Jake’s disposable diaper and pushed the plastic and cotton aside.

There on his right hip was a light red birthmark in the shape of a star.

Sylvia gasped. “Oh, God, oh, God…I’ve found him.” Then she sank to the floor, burying her head in her hands, silent sobs shaking her narrow frame.

“Tate, the sheriff’s here.” Kacee’s heels clicked a sharp staccato on the smooth, Mexican terra-cotta tiles. “He wants to talk to you. I told him about her.” His assistant’s brows rose as her gaze found Sylvia on the floor. “Good Lord, did she pass out again?”

“Rosa, take Jake to the kitchen and let him finish his meal there.” Tate handed his son to his caregiver and squatted beside the overcome interloper. “You come with me.” He held out his hand.

When she placed her hand in his, he couldn’t ignore the spark of electricity, the flare of desire he’d felt. She was just a crazy woman out to take his son away from him. Most likely, she was after more. Maybe she wanted to blackmail him.

But the watery blue eyes staring up at him were just like Jake’s and had a similar melting quality that affected him more than he’d likely admit. Angry with himself for feeling anything for this person who claimed Jake was hers, who threatened to take away the only family Tate had left, he jerked her up off the floor.

Sylvia came up so fast, she slammed into his chest. His arm came up around her narrow waist, steadying her against him.

Her breath caught on a gasp, her fingers laying flat against his shirt, her eyes wide. “I…I can stand on my own.” She gave a light push to free herself.

“Sure you can.” For some reason he couldn’t let go, his arm slipping around her waist. Mistake, his brain warned. “You’ve already fainted once. I refuse to give you another opportunity to bring a lawsuit against me.” The lawsuit of his life loomed like a dark cloud of doom. If Jake truly was her child, he’d be in a hellacious court fight like no other.

He steered her toward the living room. Her gaze darted toward the kitchen doorway as they passed, Jake’s giggles carrying through. “I’ve found him,” she whispered, a smile curving her lips.

“Don’t count your chickens, lady,” Tate grumbled. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

Sheriff Thompson stood in the living room, his hat in his hand. “Mr. Vincent.” He nodded.

“Sheriff.” Tate guided Sylvia to a seat and pressed her into it.

“Ms. LeBlanc tells me you have a trespasser.” He tipped his head toward Sylvia. “This the one?”

Tate didn’t look at Sylvia. “Yes.”

The woman in question gasped. “I only wanted to see my child. How can that be a crime?”

“You want to file charges, Mr. Vincent?” Sheriff Thompson crossed the living room and stood in front of Sylvia, his feet parted, his hands fiddling with the case containing the handcuffs attached to his utility belt.

The blonde stared across at Tate, that same desperation in her eyes gnawing away at the knot in his gut. Damn it! He didn’t need this. “No,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” Kacee marched over to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Remember what happened to your father? Are you willing to let something like that happen to Jake?”

Tate finally turned and stared into Sylvia’s eyes. “I really don’t think she’ll hurt Jake.”

“You willing to bet Jake’s life on that?” Kacee planted hands on her hips. When Tate refused to meet her eyes, his gaze still on Sylvia, Kacee threw her hands in the air. “Don’t get mad when I tell you I told you so.”

Sylvia stood, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “If you don’t feel comfortable my being around Jacob, I’ll leave with the sheriff. But I promise I’ll be back for my son.”

Tate’s gaze nailed hers. “For the moment, she can stay.”

Sheriff Thompson shrugged. “Okay, then maybe you can tell me whose car it is burned up in the creek outside your property?”

Sylvia’s gaze shifted to the sheriff. “A car in the creek? Was it a Ford Escort?”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s my car!” Sylvia’s hand rose to her mouth.

“Sorry, lady. It’s totaled. Looks like someone didn’t like where you parked.”

“What do you mean?”

The sheriff shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “Someone lit a rag and stuffed it in the gas tank. By the time we got to it, it was already history.”

Chapter Four

Sylvia sank onto the couch, suddenly light-headed. “That’s all I had left,” she whispered. Worse, it confirmed her worst fears. Someone had been following her since she’d left San Antonio. Burning her car had been a message.

Dear God, the car had been her home for the past few weeks. She’d let her apartment go, sold her furniture and everything else to allow her to continue her search. Now that she’d found Jacob…what next?

How could she start over when she didn’t have enough money in her bank account for a cup of coffee and all her credit cards were maxed out? She didn’t have enough money to hire a cab to take her back to town, much less hire a lawyer to sue for custody. Despair, fear, joy, the emotions drained every last bit of fight left in her.