Claim Me, Cowboy. Maisey Yates
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with a billionaire. She didn’t have anything. Obviously.
She snorted, feeling like an idiot for thinking she could find something relatively appropriate in that bag of hers. A bag he thought had scabies.
She turned her snort into a growl.
Then, rebelliously, she pulled out the same pair of faded pants she had been wearing yesterday.
He had probably never dealt with a woman who wore the same thing twice. Let alone the same thing two days in a row. Perversely, she kind of enjoyed that. Hey, she was here to be unsuitable. Might as well start now.
She looked in the mirror, grabbed one stringy end of her hair and blew out a disgusted breath. She shouldn’t care how her hair looked.
But he was just so good-looking. It made her feel like a small, brown mouse standing next to him. It wasn’t fair, really. That he had the resources to buy himself nice clothes and that he just naturally looked great.
She sighed, picking Riley up from his crib and sticking him in the little carrier she would put him in for dinner. He was awake and looking around, so she wanted to be in his vicinity, rather than leaving him upstairs alone. He wasn’t a fussy baby. Really, he hardly ever cried.
But considering how often his mother had left him alone in those early days of his life, before Danielle had realized she couldn’t count on her mother to take good care of him, she was reluctant to leave him by himself unless he was sleeping.
Then she paused, going back over to her bag to get the little red, dog-eared dictionary inside. She bent down, still holding on to Riley, and retrieved it. Then she quickly looked up scabies.
“I knew it,” she said derisively, throwing the dictionary back into her bag.
She walked down the stairs and into the dining room, setting Riley in his seat on the chair next to hers. Joshua was already sitting at the table, looking as though he had been waiting for them. Which, she had a feeling, he was doing just to be annoying and superior.
“My bag can’t have scabies,” she said by way of greeting.
“Oh really?”
“Yes. I looked it up. Scabies are mites that burrow into your skin. Not into a duffel bag.”
“They have to come from somewhere.”
“Well, they’re not coming from my bag. They’re more likely to come from your horses, or something.”
“You like my horses,” he said, his tone dry. “Anyway, we’re about to have dinner. So maybe we shouldn’t be discussing skin mites?”
“You’re the one who brought up scabies. The first time.”
“I had pretty much dropped the subject.”
“Easy enough for you to do, since it wasn’t your hygiene being maligned.”
“Sure.” He stood up from his position at the table. “I’m just going to go get dinner, since you’re here. I had it warming.”
“Did you cook?”
He left the room without answering and returned a moment later holding two plates full of hot food. Her stomach growled intensely. She didn’t even care what was on the plates. As far as she was concerned, it was gourmet. It was warm and obviously not from a can or a frozen pizza box. Plus, she was sitting at a real dining table and not on a patio set that had been shoved into her tiny living room.
The meal looked surprisingly healthy, considering she had discovered his affinity for Pop-Tarts earlier. And it was accompanied by a particularly nice-looking rice. “What is this?”
“Chicken and risotto,” he said.
“What’s risotto?”
“Creamy rice,” he said. “At least, that’s the simple explanation.”
Thankfully, he wasn’t looking at her like she was an alien for not knowing about risotto. But then she remembered he had spoken of having simple roots. So maybe he was used to dealing with people who didn’t have as sophisticated a palate as he had.
She wrinkled her nose, then picked up her fork and took a tentative bite. It was good. So good. And before she knew it, she had cleared out her portion. Her cheeks heated when she realized he had barely taken two bites.
“There’s plenty more in the kitchen,” he said. Then he took her plate from in front of her and went back into the kitchen. She was stunned, and all she could do was sit there and wait until he returned a moment later with the entire pot of risotto, another portion already on her plate.
“Eat as much as you want,” he said, setting everything in front of her.
Well, she wasn’t going to argue with that suggestion. She polished off the chicken, then went back for thirds of the risotto. Eventually, she got around to eating the salad.
“I thought we were going to talk about my responsibilities for being your fiancée and stuff,” she said after she realized he had been sitting there staring at her for the past ten minutes.
“I thought you should have a chance to eat a meal first.”
“Well,” she said, taking another bite, “that’s unexpectedly kind of you.”
“You seem...hungry.”
That was the most loaded statement of the century. She was so hungry. For so many things. Food was kind of the least of it. “It’s just been a really crazy few months.”
“How old is the baby? Riley. How old is Riley?”
For the first time, because of that correction, she became aware of the fact that he seemed reluctant to call Riley by name. Actually, Joshua seemed pretty reluctant to deal with Riley in general.
Riley was unperturbed. Sitting in that reclined seat, his muddy blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. He lifted his fist, putting it in his mouth and gumming it idly.
That was one good thing she could say about their whole situation. Riley was so young that he was largely unperturbed by all of it. He had gone along more or less unaffected by their mother’s mistakes. At least, Danielle hoped so. She really did.
“He’s almost four months old,” she said. She felt a soft smile touch her lips. Yes, taking care of her half brother was hard. None of it was easy. But he had given her a new kind of purpose. Had given her a kind of the drive she’d been missing before.
Before Riley, she had been somewhat content to just enjoy living life on her own terms. To enjoy not cleaning up her mother’s messes. Instead, working at the grocery store, going out with friends after work for coffee or burritos at the twenty-four-hour Mexican restaurant.
Her life had been simple, and it had been carefree. Something she hadn’t been afforded all the years she’d lived with her mother, dealing with her mother’s various heartbreaks, schemes to try to better their circumstances and intense emotional lows.
So many years when Danielle should have been a child but instead was expected to be the parent. If her mother passed out in the bathroom after having too much to drink, it was up to Danielle to take care of her. To put a pillow underneath her mother’s head, then make herself a piece of toast for dinner and get her homework done.
In contrast, taking care of only herself had seemed simple. And in truth, she had resented Riley at first, resented the idea that she would have to take care of another person again. But taking care of a baby was different. He wasn’t a victim of his own bad choices. No, he was a victim of circumstances. He hadn’t had a chance to make a single choice for himself yet.
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