The Cowboy Wants a Baby. Jo Leigh

Dylan was glad she’d found happiness. Now all he had to do was bring her back to the arms of the man she loved.

       Failing wasn’t an option.

      LILY RAISED her soda glass. “To us.”

       The rest of the family joined her in the impromptu toast. “To us.”

       They drank their assorted beverages and went on with the birthday dinner. Max and her father were already deep in discussion about the new paddock. Ashley, still in her tennis outfit, ate as if calories didn’t exist. Dylan hardly touched his food.

       She knew Julie’s kidnapping weighed heavily on him—even more so now that he’d agreed to take the case. She wondered again if Dylan knew he was still in love with Julie. It had broken his heart when she married Sebastian, but good old Dylan hadn’t said a word. He’d just stood there as best man and watched his one true love marry his closest friend.

       So much of what had happened to Dylan was connected to that moment. His decision to leave San Antonio and work for the Dallas P.D. His undercover work infiltrating J. B. Crowe’s mob family. The fateful error that had blown his cover.

       Most people wouldn’t tie all those events together, but most people didn’t know Dylan the way she did. Sometimes—she wouldn’t swear on a bible or anything—but sometimes she felt absolutely sure that she could read his mind. And that he could read hers. More than that, she felt his pain. Not to the degree he felt it, but it was there. A dull ache that told her Dylan was in trouble. It didn’t seem to matter how far away he was, she always knew.

       The ache was strong tonight. She wasn’t at all sure he should have taken the case. If he failed…

       And even if he didn’t, the outcome was probably going to devastate him. The odds of Julie being alive after seven months were slim.

       Dylan shoved some food around on his plate. She reached over and touched his hand. Startled, he looked at her.

       “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

       “I don’t know.”

       “I do. Because you’re going to do everything possible. You’re the best man for the job and there’s not going to be one stone left unturned. If anyone on earth can find her, it’s you.”

       He nodded slowly, unconvinced, she thought.

       “Little brother.”

       The appellation always made him smile. Eight minutes didn’t make him her “little” anything. But his smile failed to appear this time.

       “Dylan, I know it’s hard, but for Dad’s sake, try. Eat something, just a little. Smile, even if you don’t mean it.”

       He sighed. “I am pretty good at appearing to be something I’m not. And right now that means being in the mood to celebrate.”

       “After dinner, why don’t we sit down and talk about what we know so far, and what’s next.”

       He smiled, and damned if she didn’t believe the transformation. “Good idea, Lily.” He ate some steak, drank some iced tea, laughed at something Ashley said.

       But the ache was still heavy in Lily’s chest. The ache that told her Dylan was dying inside.

      CHAPTER TWO

      LILY’S FIRST VIEW of Eve Bishop’s mansion came after almost a mile of winding road, flanked on each side with huge chinquapin oaks she’d give a pretty penny to see in the fall. The trees cast shimmering shadows on the road and her car in a windblown ballet.

       The house itself was equally awe inspiring. Two-story Victorian, it was registered with the historic society as one of the original German mansions built in the late 1800s. As she drove closer, Lily could see the facade wasn’t quite up to snuff. It needed paint and the garden was overgrown. But then Eve was in her seventies, and Lily had grown increasingly alarmed over the woman’s frail health.

       She’d met Eve while volunteering for the Texas Fund for Children, a large charitable organization that provided funding for a children’s hospital and rehabilitative center, staff for the two largest orphanages in the state and many other educational and health programs. The whole shebang had been started by Eve and her late husband, and Eve had worked hands-on to build the foundation for over twenty years.

       Lily parked the car in the circular drive and stepped out into the brutal July sun. With a high in the hundreds and the air thick with humidity, it wasn’t a pleasant place to dawdle. But she did. She lingered in the garden for a moment, her mind’s eye seeing what the grounds were meant to be when tended properly.

       At the massive front door, she hesitated once more. Eve had asked her to come by, but had been quite mysterious about her reasons. Lily hoped it wasn’t because she was ill. Aside from admiring Eve for her philanthropy, she liked the woman very much and considered her a real friend.

       She rang the doorbell, hearing its echo inside, then waited. The house was so large, easily ten thousand square feet, that unless Eve had help, it was going to take her a while to get to the door. To Lily’s surprise it was opened almost immediately by a young woman with a welcoming smile.

       “I’m Lily Garrett. Here to see Eve.”

       “She’s expecting you,” the woman said as she pulled the door open further. She was in her twenties, Lily guessed, and of Hispanic heritage. Her dark hair had been pinned up, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt, completing the ensemble with bare feet.

       “Please, come this way.” Her accent was slight, lilting. She led Lily through the broad foyer, her bare soles slapping the white marble floor, then stopped at a door just a few feet down the hallway. She knocked twice but didn’t wait for a response. Lily nodded her thanks as she stepped inside.

       The room captivated her instantly. Very Victorian in style, decorated in different hues of pink and white, it was made perfect by the elegant tea cart holding a silver service. Eve sat on an overstuffed chair, her petite body dwarfed by the chair’s velvet wings.

       “Lily. I’ve made tea.”

       “I see. It looks wonderful.”

       Eve patted the cushion of the love seat next to her chair. “Come. And tell me if you prefer milk or lemon.”

       “Milk, I think.”

       For the next few moments, Eve went through the slow ritual of afternoon tea, complete with tiny crustless watercress sandwiches, pink petits fours with icing that matched the color of the walls exactly, and little lumps of sugar doled out with silver tongs.

       Lily took advantage of the lull to study the decor. Lush bouquets of fresh flowers were on the mantel and an end table. A white upright piano was the centerpiece of the far wall, and a brick fireplace flanked by bookshelves did the honors on the wall to her left. Antique dolls stared wide-eyed from various perches throughout the room, their bright curls adding a bit of life to the old-fashioned library.

       Above the fireplace was a portrait, and Lily knew instantly that it was of Eve. She’d been much younger then, her now silver curls a deep coppery red. Her skin was smooth, her long neck arched and coy. The artist had captured her spirit, especially in her eyes. But the vivid blue in the picture had faded on the older woman.

       Eve handed Lily a plate and a teacup, waited for her to take a sip, then sighed.

       “What is it, Eve? Is something wrong?”

       The old woman’s hand trembled as she put her cup on the tea cart. “Several things, in fact.”

       “Is there something I can do?”

       “I dearly hope so.”

       Lily took another sip of tea, but she hardly tasted it, her curiosity was so great.

       “The simple fact is that I’m dying.”

       Lily nearly dropped her cup at the stark words.