A Baby for Mummy

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“No. And I told you, I’m not going to,” Dan said, his temper rising. “I trust my gut on this.”

Walt paused and shot Dan a telling look. “Make sure it’s your gut and not another part of your anatomy you’re following.”

Dan thought about that as the evening wore on. Why hadn’t he asked for references? He never hired anyone for his architectural firm without a thorough vetting. Walt’s P.I. business was the one that did the work. But in this case, he hadn’t even thought about it and then when prompted, had resisted the idea. Why? Why did he want to just go on emotion where this woman was concerned? He hadn’t done that since Brenda. And they all knew how his refusal to deal with reality had turned out.

Back then, he’d fallen in love with a fantasy of who Brenda was, rather than who she truly was. And three kids and a divorce later, he was still paying the price. Did he really want to go back down that road?

Walt was right.

He had to delve a little deeper, even if it felt uncomfortable. Even though Emily had only agreed to be there through Thanksgiving, he still needed to be sure she was who and what she seemed.

“YOU REALLY DIDN’T NEED to do this,” Emily said when she met Dan at the Starbucks just down the street from her loft on Sunday evening. He looked incredibly handsome in a charcoal-gray suede jacket and slacks, his face ruddy with cold. “We could have settled up tomorrow night after I cook dinner. Besides, it’s my fault for leaving the house last night before giving you the receipt for the groceries.”

Dan gestured amiably as the door to the coffee shop opened and another burst of wintry air swept in. His expression unexpectedly serious, he sat down opposite her, opened a leather portfolio and removed a checkbook. “It’s not the kind of thing I want left undone.”

Emily sensed there was more than that. She had gotten the impression he wanted to talk to her without his family present. She handed over the receipts from the three stores where she had made her purchases, along with the invoice from Chef for Hire, then watched as he wrote out a check. He sat back, his tall form dwarfing the café-style chair, while she slid the check into her purse.

He continued in a brisk, all-business tone. “I don’t know how you normally work, since we got together on the spur of the moment. At my firm, I have employees sign an employment contract. I assume you do the same for your catering gigs.”

“Usually, yes, I do,” Emily said. But this time she hadn’t felt the need to put anything in writing that would have specified her pay and hours. Belatedly, she realized she should ask herself why.

Dan put the checkbook back in the portfolio and pulled out several forms. “I also generally require an updated résumé, completed application, background check and personal references.”

That, Emily knew, could be tricky. “Is it really necessary?” she cut in as smoothly as she could. “Sounds expensive and laborious. And really, considering that I’ll only be working for you a few weeks, quite unnecessary. Unless, of course, you’ve had second thoughts about having me in your home.”

Dan was silent.

Emily knew that what he was asking was routine business procedure. Yet for some reason she felt insulted on a personal level. After all, he had spent enough time with her to be able to tell she was an honorable person.

He seemed to realize he had offended her. He flashed her a crooked smile meant to conciliate. “You’d almost think you had something to hide,” he teased.

Actually, she did. “Ask me whatever you want,” Emily said, hoping to give him enough information that a detailed check into her work history would not be necessary.

His eyes still holding hers, Dan leaned back in his chair. “What’s your background?”

“I grew up in Fredericksburg, Texas. Only child. My parents ran a peach orchard. It was sold a few years after my dad died.” For many reasons, Emily added silently to herself, that still upset me. “College was out of the question at that point, so I started working in restaurants, liked it and went to culinary school, graduated and worked at three different top-tier restaurants in the Dallas-Fort Worth area until I was thirty. I got tired of the grind and long hours and branched out on my own, freelancing as a personal chef. I’ve done that for the last four years. And while being a solo operator has been very lucrative, it’s also very demanding.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Now that I’m starting a family, I want a less hectic life, which is why I was trying to buy the orchard. I want to be able to stay home and take care of my child as much as possible, at least for the first four or five years. I thought I had found a way to do that.” She sighed. “Obviously, I haven’t—since my purchase of the orchard fell through—but I’ll come up with a new plan before December first.”

“What happens then?” Their glances locked and they shared another moment of tingling awareness.

Emily told herself her unprecedented reaction to Dan was really just another surge of pregnancy hormones. She forced herself to get a grip. “I have to vacate my loft. It’s already been rented to someone else.”

“So one way or another…”

“I’ll be going somewhere,” Emily finished, aware her voice sounded a little rusty, and her emotions felt all out of whack, too.

Fortunately Dan had no more questions. Standing up, Emily handed him the jacket she had borrowed from him the evening before, slipped on her coat and gathered her things to leave.

Dan stood, too. “You’re going to walk back to your building?”

Emily told herself not to read anything into the concern in his eyes. “It’s just down the block.” She slipped out the door, Starbucks cup in one hand, keys in the other.

Dan fell into step beside her. “I’d still feel better if I walked you as far as your lobby.”

Ignoring the reassurance his strong male presence provided, she shrugged and turned her eyes to the awning that marked her destination. This could not lead anywhere, not if she was working for him. “Suit yourself.”

They arrived at the front door of her building. Emily waved at the security man behind the desk in the lobby, visible through the double glass doors. He waved back.

“So how do you want to manage the paperwork?” Dan drawled.

Emily rocked back on her heels. “By fax. I can send you my standard agreement tonight.”

Dan rocked back on his heels, too. He braced his hands on his hips, pushing the edges of his jacket back. “So you’re still on for tomorrow evening?” he presumed.

Emily tore her gaze from his rock-solid chest and abs. “Absolutely. Unless we hit a snag in the paperwork, which I’m not anticipating.” It was only the thorough vetting of her résumé that would reveal something Emily would rather forget. But she had an idea how to keep that from becoming a problem she would really rather not deal with. Because what happened with the Washburns was not going to happen with Dan’s family. She was wiser now. Better able to keep that protective force field around her heart…

“I’ll read and sign the contract right away,” he promised.

Glad they had come to an agreement that was mutually beneficial, and as thoroughly professional as it should have been from the beginning, Emily nodded. “Thank you.”

Another peaceful moment passed between them. Emily smiled and began to relax. Maybe this would work out, after all, she thought. And, of course, that was the moment the next unwelcome complication arose.

Chapter Four

Emily went pale as a dark-haired man, roughly their age, climbed out of a pickup truck parked in front of her building and strode toward them. In a white western shirt, jeans and black leather jacket, he appeared to be both sophisticated and affable.

He touched the brim of his black Resistol hat and stopped just short of them. “Emily,” he said, smiling and looking her up and down. “It’s been a while.”

Emily stood her ground and made no move to greet the interloper with anything even faintly akin to the same familiarity and warmth. Instinctively Dan slid a protective arm behind her.

“Ten years,” Emily acknowledged, her voice taut. Turning slightly, her elbow brushing Dan’s ribs, she looked up at Dan and said, “Dan, I’d like you to meet Tex Ostrander.”

Her ex-fiancé. The man who’d bought the orchard out from under her and thrown her life into chaos.

“Tex, this is my, um, friend—” she stumbled slightly over the misnomer “—Dan Kingsland.”

Aware Emily was using him to keep her ex at bay, Dan played along and extended a palm. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Tex said.

As the two men shook hands, Dan noted Tex had a firm, no-nonsense grip.

“What are you doing here?” Emily demanded.

“We need to talk about my purchase of the orchard,” Tex said. “And since you wouldn’t return my calls…”

Emily frowned in warning. “I can’t imagine we have anything to say to each other.”

Tex clearly differed. “Do you really want to discuss business out on the sidewalk?” Tex asked.

A group of teens walked by, talking and laughing.

Emily’s frown deepened. She looked at Dan, a question in her eyes. Getting the hint—she wanted and needed a neutral third party to possibly run interference for her—Dan wordlessly agreed to help her out. He stipulated mildly, “As long as it doesn’t take too long. Emily and I have plans for this evening.” Just not together.

Incorrectly assuming Dan was Emily’s date and he was interrupting something, Tex shrugged. “I’m fine with that. I just want a chance to explain and make my pitch.”

The three of them walked inside and took the elevator to Emily’s loft. The high-ceilinged, brick-walled abode had a bank of windows overlooking the Trinity River. The thousand-square-foot apartment was divided into four areas—work space, living room, kitchen and bedroom. The only space walled off was the bathroom at one end.

She led them to the stylish sofa and a pair of chairs at one end of the room. She sat down on the sofa. Dan sat next to her.

Tex took one of the sling-back chairs opposite them. “I’m here to offer you a job,” Tex said.

Emily looked as if she could hardly believe Tex’s temerity. Nor could Dan, under the circumstances.

Emily stared at Tex. “You really think I’d accept a job from you after what you just pulled?”

Tex nodded. His expression earnest, he continued in a flat, practical tone, “We both know the only reason you wanted the orchard was to bring it back to its former glory. You don’t have the money or the agricultural background to make the sort of improvements required. But I do. And since my parents are retiring to Arizona and have recently sold their orchard to me, and the properties are side-by-side, it makes good business sense to merge the two and have one operation with twice the capacity, rather than two competing businesses.”

As much as Dan was loath to admit it, Tex’s pitch made sense, from a business perspective, anyway. Personally, it was another matter indeed.

Emily frowned, looking tempted despite her earlier refusal. “What are you offering me exactly?”

“A full partnership if you’ll agree to defer most of your salary in exchange for equity, just as I am, until we get the new business up and running. Bottom line—I’m only going to be around part of the time. I need someone I trust to live on the property and run the orchards when I’m not there, and start an on-property restaurant-slash-retail-business that will feature fresh fruit, preserves, pastries, salsas and whatever else you can dream up to produce with our crops.”

“Why me, Tex? Why not someone else?”

“Because you’re the only one who knows how much blood, sweat and tears went into starting these orchards. Together, you and I can make them better than either of our folks ever dreamed. So what do you say, Emily?” Tex leaned forward urgently, hat in hand. “Can I count on you? Are you in?”

“THANKS FOR STAYING,” Emily told Dan several minutes later, after Tex had left.

Dan looked around her loft. The sleek, minimalist space didn’t seem to jibe with her any more than Tex Ostrander did. She seemed much more at home in his traditionally cozy kitchen.

“No problem,” Dan said. He had wanted to make certain she was all right. He watched as she walked to the stain-less-steel island that served as both work surface and dinner table. She plucked an orange from the fruit bowl and began to peel it with single-minded concentration.

“Are you going to accept Tex’s offer?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know.” She offered Dan half the orange. “On the one hand, I’m really ticked off about the way he subverted my dream.”

“But not surprised,” Dan guessed as he popped a section of orange in his mouth.

Emily made a face. “He’s always been ambitious to a fault. It was never going to be enough for him to help run his parents’ orchard until they decided to retire.”

Curious, Dan asked, “Is that why you two never married?”

Emily downed one orange section, then another. “We got together when my mom died and I needed someone to be there for me. He stepped in and provided the stability and direction I needed at a time when just trying to decide whether or not to continue subscribing to the daily newspaper was a quandary.” She met his gaze. “When my grief ebbed and I no longer needed someone to solve all of life’s problems for me, I realized something else that had eluded me. He was always going to put his own needs first and think that his dreams were more important than mine. And that hurt.” Her eyes narrowed. “And he’s obviously still behaving in that manner—for example, thinking he’s doing me a favor by buying the orchard out from under me, because he can run it better than I can.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

She looked in the fridge. It was crammed with all manner of fresh fruit and vegetables. She moved the milk and cheese and withdrew a jar of dill pickles. Dan shook his head at her offer.

She withdrew a pickle for herself and recapped the jar. “Bottom line—I still want a hand in restoring the property where I grew up.” She took a bite of the pickle, catching the dripping juice with one hand cupped beneath the other. Appearing as if the sour taste were heaven—and who knew, maybe it was to a pregnant woman—she continued, “And the thought of having the money to start a restaurant and a line of peach, strawberry, blackberry and plum products with my family’s name on it is tempting.”

Dan studied the glitter of excitement in her eyes. “Even if it means working closely with your ex?”

Emily turned on the spigot and washed her hands with lavender soap. Some of her pleasure faded. “I think I can handle Tex.”

Dan ignored the stab of unaccustomed jealousy and pointed out, “You didn’t seem that sure earlier.” He watched as she dried her hands with a towel, determined to let her have her say. “When you were pretending I was someone of significance in your life.”

Emily flushed, as if guilty as charged. She helped herself to a wrapped candy on the counter, then pivoted toward him. The tantalizing drift of orange-blossom perfume teased his senses. “First of all,” she corrected archly, “I never actually said that.”