The Pregnant Heiress. Eileen Wilks
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of the Fortunes. They were well-known in Texas, but that was one of the few western states Emma hadn’t lived in. “She was only seventeen, dead broke and estranged from her family. Miranda is your mother, Emma. And she wants very badly to meet you.”
He wouldn’t have thought a face like hers could look stony. But it did. “So you say, but your client is a man, not a woman. You said he already knew where I was.”
“My client is Lloyd Carter, Miranda’s ex-husband.”
The rest of her face still wasn’t giving much away, but something uncertain moved behind the blue of her eyes. She blinked once, slowly. “My…father?”
“No.” He spoke as gently as he could. “Miranda didn’t meet Carter until several months after you were born. I don’t know who your father was.”
She swallowed. “This man—this Carter—are you sure he’s who he says he is?”
Flynn had been putting some things together. Emma had gotten pregnant while she was living in San Diego. She’d left town in a big hurry, changed her name and was running scared. Scared of the man who got her pregnant? Afraid of a custody battle—or of the man himself? “I check out all my clients. Carter’s on the slimy side of handsome, but he’s definitely who he claims to be.”
She was stiff all over—her shoulders, her back, her expression. “How old is he? What does he look like?”
“He looks like a two-bit actor—weathered face, lots of smile lines, good cap job on his teeth. Wiry, fairly fit for his age—which is fifty-three, despite what he claims. Dark hair, gray eyes.”
Tension sighed out of her, leaving the slim shoulders slumped. “That’s not Steven.”
“Who’s Steven?”
She made a vague gesture. “Never mind. You say he hired you to find me? Was he acting for his ex-wife?”
“More or less.” Mostly less, but the situation was complicated. Flynn didn’t think this was the time to go into details.
She was looking dazed now. “So she’s alive. I’ve wondered…but it doesn’t really change anything.”
“Of course it does. Maybe your mother didn’t do right by you when you were a baby, but she wasn’t much more than a child herself then. She’s got a bucketful of regrets now, and the money to do something about them. I’m to make whatever arrangements are necessary to get you to come to her for a visit—or to stay, if you like. She’s living in Texas now, close to her family.” He paused. “Your family, too. The Fortunes.”
“Well…” She didn’t think about it long before shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t…this is awfully sudden.” Her smile crept out shyly. “She could write to me if she wants, though. You can tell her my address.”
Appealing to sentiment hadn’t worked. Flynn was conscious of feeling disappointed in her, which was absurd. He switched tactics smoothly. He’d hit her where it counted with most people: the wallet. “One thing I haven’t mentioned. The Fortunes are rich. Not your garden variety rich, either. Buying-small-countries rich.”
“Oh. Yes, I think I’ve heard of them,” she said vaguely, as if it weren’t important. “I don’t pay a lot of attention to gossip columns and such.”
“Miranda wants to settle some money on you.”
That got a reaction, but not the one he expected. Instead of greed lighting a spark in her eyes, impatience made her snappish. “I don’t need her money. I do just fine on my own.”
He glanced at the car beside them. Three bald tires and peeling paint didn’t equal “doing just fine” to him. “Maybe so. But what’s fine for you might not be fine for that baby you’re expecting.”
Her chin tilted up. “I can take care of my baby. And myself. And now,” she said, haughty as a duchess, “if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to work.” She turned away.
Yeah, that’s one great ass, he thought as she walked away from him and several million dollars. Pretty face, too, in spite of those smudges beneath her eyes, and what a smile she’s got. Pity she’s a flake.
He had one last thing to try. “Maybe you forgot what I said about there being two babies,” he called out. “Are you at all interested in meeting your brother, Emma?”
She stopped and turned slowly to face him. “You’re just saying that to get me to…a brother? I don’t…do I really have a brother?”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted it so badly he could taste her yearning in the air between them. This was the reaction he’d expected when he’d told her about her mother. He walked up to her and said quietly, “His name is Justin. He’s your twin. I found him, too. Last week I told him about you and your mother, and he’s making arrangements to fly there to meet her. He’s expecting to see you there, too.”
“He’s in Texas?”
“He will be, in another day or two.”
“I have a brother. A twin brother.” Wonder filled her eyes.
“A fraternal twin.” Amusement lightened his voice. “Obviously.”
She hugged her arms around herself tightly. “All right. I’ll go.”
One
April: San Antonio
There were thirteen different lip colors on the dressing table in front of Emma. Four were pencils, three were tubes, four more were in little pots and two of them looked like a kindergartner’s crayons. She even had accessories for them: a teensy brush and two sizes of sharpeners.
Emma generally owned one or two lipsticks that she forgot to use. What was she doing with thirteen lip colors that needed their own accessories?
“Emma?” The voice that drifted up the stairs was raised enough to be heard, but fell far short of being a yell. Miranda Fortune never did anything as crude as yelling. “Are you almost ready?”
That’s how she’d ended up with thirteen lip colors. Emma sighed. “Almost!”
Which was almost true. She had her dress on. She just had to do her hair and her makeup and find some shoes, and she’d be ready…ready for a party she didn’t want to attend.
Emma grimaced and reached for one of the crayon-type lipsticks. It was appropriate; she felt like a kindergartner playing with makeup as she drew an outline on her lips with a purply-red crayon and then colored it in.
She wasn’t exactly dreading the party. She didn’t expect to fit in, but she was used to that. And her brother would be there. Two brothers, actually—she had a half brother, too, and a half sister. But it was her twin she thought of. Justin.
She smiled at her reflection, noticed the dimple in her left cheek and smiled wider. Her brother had a smile just like hers, dimple and all. The first time she’d seen him smile she’d laughed in delight. Not that she got to see his smile often—or him, either. This was his second trip to Texas, though, his second trip to see her. And Miranda, of course. Justin Bond was a very successful businessman based in Pittsburgh; he was always busy, usually too serious and very private.
But when he did smile, the sun came out. Oh, how she was looking forward to seeing him again!
Flynn Sinclair might be there, too.
Anticipation took on another note, a deeper, less certain chord that resonated in places Emma didn’t want to notice.
She heard the light tread on the stairs and tensed. Stay with your breath, she told herself, and focused on the slow in and out of her breathing the way the monk at the temple in Taos had taught her.
Her muscles were relaxed again by the time Miranda spoke from the doorway. “Kane and Allison are here to take us to the ranch.”