The Cowboy's Lullaby. Judy Duarte
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Grief? Compassion?
Whether it was sincere or not, he couldn’t say. “I’m sure you can understand why I wanted to come and check on her. And why I want to take her home.”
“She is home.”
Before he could object, Brianna ran back and grabbed one of each of their hands. “Are you going to spend the night with us? We’re having brownies for dinner. Chloe and I made them all by ourselves.”
“I, uh…” He glanced at Chloe, feeling as awkward as an adolescent on hormone overdrive.
“It would be nice if you stayed for dinner with us,” she said. “But from what I understand, you’re a very busy man. So maybe we ought to take a rain check. Brianna and I will be flying to Dallas on Thursday evening and will be staying for a while. You can spend some time with her then.”
She’d welcomed him to dinner politely, then blew him off at the same time, making it clear that she wasn’t going to allow him to take Brianna without him making a scene—something he wasn’t about to do.
Not if it caused Brianna any unnecessary sadness. She’d had far too much already.
“Maybe we can go to Buckaroo Roundup for dinner on Friday night,” he told the child.
She brightened. “That will be so fun. I like to ride the pony in the game room. Will you get me a bunch of tokens?”
“You bet.” A grin tweaked his lips. Score one for the home team. He’d make up for lost time as soon as they got back on his turf. Maybe he’d have to throw in a visit to the toy store, too. There was a lot he needed to make right.
In his attempt to avoid Brianna’s mother, he’d inadvertently steered clear of his little sister, too. And he regretted it. Especially now.
“You’ll like Buckaroo Roundup, too,” Brianna told Chloe. “They have ponies and other rides in the back room.”
His gaze locked on Chloe’s, and he sensed a don’t-underestimate-me vibe.
He wouldn’t. But she’d better not underestimate him, either. If she messed with the bull, she’d have to watch for the horns.
It was out of character for him to step down from a fight, to fly all the way to California, then leave without taking Brianna with him. But he didn’t want the little girl to sense the power struggle brewing. He’d just bide his time—until Friday.
So he tossed his adversary a what-the-hell grin. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, then.”
Jake might have lost this minor skirmish, but he was determined to win the war.
And win custody of his sister.
After all, Chloe shouldn’t be looking after—or influencing—a little girl.
What kind of woman wore a bikini to the park and fed brownies to a child for dinner, anyway?
As he strode toward the rental car he’d parked near the entrance of the condominium complex, he fought the urge to take another look at his pretty opponent. She had an attractive face and a dynamite body, but he doubted she had one maternal bone in her.
He just hoped she didn’t have much fight in her, either. He planned to put a stop to this foolish custody thing by the end of the week.
In spite of his determination to climb into his vehicle and not look back, curiosity won out, and he turned, only to find her eyes locked on him.
He tipped his head, acknowledging her. And in return, she lifted her hand and fluttered her fingers in a wave. Then she crossed her arms, causing her breasts to stretch the limits of that bikini top.
The summer breeze blew a corkscrew strand of red hair across her face and she swiped it away.
He couldn’t deny that looking at her caused his hormones to pump or his blood to heat. Heck, she’d have that effect on any man, he supposed.
But Jake had learned to control his impulses.
His old man might have fallen gray-head-overboot heels for a topless dancer, but Jake had more sense than that.
Still he had to tear his gaze away from her and force himself to head for his car.
On Friday, at a quarter to twelve, Chloe and Brianna sat at a table in the restaurant of the Dallas hotel in which they’d stayed last night, waiting for Mrs. Davies to arrive.
Barbara Davies was the housekeeper at the Brad-dock ranch and had been hired by Desiree’s husband shortly before he passed away. Since Brianna would need a sitter while Chloe was at the attorney’s office, Barbara was asked to meet them at the hotel.
Believing Brianna should be around people she was familiar with during this difficult time, Desiree had given the housekeeper a raise and secured her services through a three-year employment contract.
“Barbara comes across as stuffy and snooty,” Desiree had said, “but she’s good with Brianna. And she’s loyal.”
Chloe didn’t care for snobs, but she would have to trust Desiree on this one.
“There she is.” Brianna waved at a salt-and-pepper-haired matron in her late fifties.
The pleasantly plump woman smiled at the child and strode toward their table, waddling as she approached.
Chloe stood to introduce herself, but decided to wait until Barbara had addressed Brianna.
“Welcome back to Texas,” the woman told the child. “I’ve missed you, honey. That big old house isn’t the same without your smile.”
“I missed you, too. Did you feed my fish while I was gone?”
“I most certainly did. And I cleaned their bowl again this morning.” The woman turned to Chloe, her gaze assessing her in rapid fashion, her nose drifting upward in a self-righteous manner. Or had that only been Chloe’s imagination?
Either way, she reminded herself of Desiree’s acceptance of the woman and reached out her arm in greeting. “How do you do?”
Mrs. Davies took her hand in a firm grip. “Very well, thank you.”
“You’re a bit early,” Chloe said.
“Mr. Braddock always insisted on punctuality, and fortunately, I pride myself on being timely.”
“Well, good. Why don’t you join us for lunch?”
“I had a late breakfast, but maybe I’ll have a cup of tea.” The housekeeper took a seat and placed her black handbag at her feet. Then she glanced at her wristwatch. “From what I understand, the meeting is in an hour. Will you have time to eat, change clothes and drive to the office?”
“I’m only going to have a salad,” Chloe said. “And I’m already dressed.”
The woman’s brow twitched and her lips tensed. She fingered the silver cross on her necklace. “I see.”
Apparently she didn’t agree with Chloe’s choice of apparel—a form-fitting black dress. The stuffy/ snobby type rarely did. But then again, Desiree had given the woman her stamp of approval, so Chloe would reserve judgment.
“I suppose it might be more appropriate to wear something a bit more conservative,” Chloe admitted. “But I gave up dressing to impress others years ago.”
And she had the emotional scars to prove it, although she kept them hidden. Still, every now and again, they crept to the forefront, reminding her of who she was and where she’d come from.
In spite of the money her father had managed to parlay in his dealings and the prestigious private school he’d sent her to, life had been tough for her as a child. Her classmates at Preston Prep had not only been cliquish, but mean. And no matter how hard Chloe had tried to conform, dressing to their standards, it hadn’t mattered one bit. So she’d given up and had decided to wear