Daddy Wore Spurs. Stella Bagwell

sure you could do with some coffee or something.”

      “Coffee sounds good,” he agreed. “Lead the way.”

      * * *

      With the baby cuddled safely against his chest, Finn followed Mariah out of the nursery and down a hallway that eventually intersected a small breezeway. Once there, she turned left down another short hallway until they reached a wide arched opening.

      “We used to have a cook, but we had to let her go,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Hopefully, you can tolerate my coffee-making.”

      They stepped into a rectangle-shaped kitchen with a ceiling opened to the rafters and a floor covered with ceramic tile patterned in dark blues and greens. To the right side of the room a round oak table and chairs were positioned near a group of wide windows covered with sheer blue curtains. To the left, white wooden cabinets with glass doors lined two whole walls, while a large work island also served as a breakfast bar.

      Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Have a seat at the bar or the table. Wherever you’d like. I’ll get the coffee going, then heat Harry’s bottle.”

      Since he was closer to the bar, Finn sank onto one of the padded stools and propped the baby in a comfortable upright position against his left arm. So far the tot seemed to be a good-natured boy. He hadn’t yet let out a cry or even a fussy whine, but living in the same house with Rafe’s two children, Colleen and Austin, had taught Finn that a baby’s demeanor could change in an instant.

      “What was wrong with the cook?” he asked curiously. “Burned the food?”

      Greta, their family cook back on the Silver Horn Ranch, had been with them for more than thirty years. He couldn’t imagine anyone but her making their meals and ruling the kitchen.

      Over at the cabinet counter, Mariah was busy pouring water into a coffeemaker. He was still trying to grasp the fact that she was a teacher. Apparently, being in a classroom full of kids was a more comfortable job to her than sitting atop a horse.

       You’re wondering too much about the woman, Finn. It doesn’t matter what she does for a living or for fun. Once you take Harry away from here, you probably won’t see her again. Unless she comes to the Horn to visit Harry from time to time.

      Was that the way it was going to be? Finn asked himself. Was it already settled in Finn’s mind that Harry belonged to him? That the baby belonged on the Silver Horn with him?

      Mariah’s voice suddenly interrupted the heavy questions pushing through his thoughts.

      “Cora was a great cook. She’d worked here for years. But after Dad died, money got tight. We had to start cutting corners.”

      There was an embittered tone to her voice. One that shouldn’t belong to someone so young and pretty, he decided. Sure, she’d obviously had to deal with her fair share of raw deals. But that didn’t mean she needed to keep dragging those disappointments behind her.

      “Aimee talked about your father passing away,” he told her. “I could see she was still pretty cut up about his death.”

      “Aimee and Dad were very close. She was just like him—obsessed with horses. Especially the wild ones,” she added bluntly.

      Was Mariah trying to say that Aimee had possessed a wild streak? Had Aimee shared her bed with Finn because she’d liked living recklessly? Or had she, as Mariah had implied, used him to get pregnant? Whatever the reason, it was clear that Aimee hadn’t been completely honest with him, and that left Finn feeling like a fool for ever getting involved with her in the first place.

      The baby let out a short cry and Finn looked down to see that the child was gnawing on his fist. “Harry, you must be hungry or teething,” he said to the boy.

      Finn’s voice caught the baby’s attention and Harry went quiet as he stared curiously up at him. Finn used the moment to touch his forefinger to the baby’s hand, and instantly the tiny fingers latched tightly around his. Harry’s response filled Finn with a fierce love and protection he’d never experienced before. Father or not, the baby needed him.

      As another thought suddenly struck him, he glanced over to where Mariah was gathering mugs from the cabinet. “Do you have a copy of Harry’s birth certificate?”

      “I have the original. It’s safely stored with my important documents. Harry’s name is registered as Harrison Ray Calhoun—the Ray being our father’s name.” She turned a pointed look on him. “So where do we go from here? A DNA test?”

      He’d been waiting for her to say those three little letters. The birth certificate stated Finn as the father, but Mariah wasn’t yet ready to accept that as complete validation. And perhaps she was right. After all, a child’s parentage was a serious matter. Yet seeing Harry and holding the little guy in his arms had caused some kind of upheaval inside Finn.

      He didn’t understand what had come over him. All he knew was that this child had suddenly become everything to him. The idea that a clinical test could say otherwise chilled Finn to the very bottom of his being.

      “I suppose that would be the logical thing to do. That way his parentage would never be in doubt,” Finn said with slow thoughtfulness. “I just wish it wasn’t necessary. I don’t want Harry to grow up and learn that the identity of his father was ever in question.”

      Forgetting her task, she walked over and placed a hand on Harry’s back. “I don’t necessarily want that for him, either. But I want him to have the ‘right’ father.”

      He slanted her a wry look. “Don’t you mean you want him to have the right ‘parent’?”

      Her long black lashes lowered and partially hid the thoughts flickering in her gray eyes.

      “What do you mean?”

      The threads of his patience were quickly snapping. “Don’t act clueless. You want to keep Harry for yourself. You’re hoping like hell that I won’t be the father.”

      Her mouth fell open. “I never said that.”

      “You didn’t have to. I can see it all over your face. Hear it in your voice.”

      Shaking her head, she turned her back to him. “If that were true, then why did I call you? I didn’t have to, you know,” she said, her voice heavy with resentment. “I could’ve kept Harry all to myself.”

      He instinctively cradled the baby closer to his chest. “Yeah, you could’ve left me in the dark. But then you couldn’t have lived with your conscience. Or with Harry, once he grew old enough to start asking about his father. You’d have to make up a lie to tell him why you didn’t make an effort to contact me. Then one lie starts leading to another. You’re not that kind of woman. The kind that can live on a bed of lies.”

      She whirled around to face him and Finn was struck by the moisture collecting in her eyes. He didn’t want to hurt this black-haired beauty. She’d already been hurt enough. But she needed to understand that he wasn’t a fool. Or at the mercy of her wants and wishes.

      “You don’t know what kind of person I am! We’ve only just met.” A sneer twisted her lips as she raked a disapproving gaze over him. “But then I need to remember you jumped into bed with Aimee right after you met her. I suppose you thought you knew her, too!”

      His jaw tight, he said, “Your crude observations don’t embarrass me, Mariah. But they do have me wondering. Maybe you’d like an invitation into my bed.”

      Her eyes widened with disbelief, then turned to cold steel. “That’s the most insulting, despicable thing I’ve ever heard!”

      “Is it?” he asked softly.

      A scarlet blush crept over her face. “Look, Mr. Calhoun, the only thing you need to concern yourself with is the result of Harry’s DNA test. And the faster we can get those done, the happier I’ll be!”