Claiming King's Baby / Wyoming Wedding: Claiming King's Baby. Maureen Child

about what was happening. His big eyes looked watery, and his lower lip trembled as if he were getting ready to let a wail loose.

      Justice barked out a harsh laugh. “You think he understood that?”

      She glanced at the baby’s big blue eyes, so much like his father’s, and stroked a fingertip along his jaw soothingly. “I think he understands tone,” she said quietly. “And I don’t want you using that tone in front of him.”

      He blew out a breath, scowled ferociously for a second, then said, “Fine. I won’t cuss in front of the kid. But you quit playing games.”

      “I’m not playing.”

      “You’re doing something, Maggie, and I can tell you now, it’s not going to work.”

      She stared up at him and shook her head. “I knew you were stubborn, Justice, but I never imagined you could be this thick-headed.”

      “And I never figured you for a cheat.” He turned and started to painstakingly make his way out of the room into the hall.

      Just for a second she watched him walk away and her heart ached at the difficulty he had. Seeing a man as strong and independent as Justice leaning on a cane tore at her. His injuries weren’t permanent, but she knew what it was costing his pride to haltingly move away from her.

      But though she felt for him, she wasn’t about to let him get away with what he’d just said.

      “Cheat? A cheat?” Maggie inhaled sharply, cast another guilty glance at her son and gave him a smile she didn’t feel. She wouldn’t upset her baby for the sake of a man who was so blind he couldn’t see the truth when it was staring him in the face. “I am not a cheat or a liar, Justice King.”

      He didn’t look back at her. He just kept moving awkwardly down the hall, his cane tapping against the floor runner. If his plan was to escape her, he’d have to be able to move a lot faster than that, Maggie told herself. Quickly, she walked down the hall, stepped out in front of him and forced him to stop.

      “Get out of the way,” he murmured, staring past her, down the hall at his open bedroom door.

      “You can think whatever you like of me, but you will, by God, not ignore me,” she told him, and the fact that he kept avoiding meeting her eyes only further infuriated her. This had so not gone the way she’d hoped and expected.

      When Jefferson called her, asking her to come help Justice, she’d taken it as a sign. That this was the way they would come together again. That the time was finally right for Justice to meet the son he didn’t know about. Apparently, she had been wrong.

      “Are you too cowardly to even look at me?” she demanded, knowing that the charge of coward would get his attention.

      Instantly, he turned his dark blue gaze on her and she saw carefully banked anger simmering up from their depths. Well, good. At least he was feeling something.

      “Don’t push me, Maggie. For both our sakes. If you want me to watch my tone around your son, then don’t you push me.”

      He was furious—she could see that. But beyond the anger there was hurt. And that tore at her. He didn’t have to be hurt, darn it. She was offering him their son, not the plague.

      “Justice,” she said softly, smoothing one hand up and down her baby’s back, “you know me better than anyone. You know I wouldn’t lie to you about this. You are my son’s father.”

      He snorted.

      Insulted and stung by his obvious distrust, she stepped back from him. How could he believe that she was lying? How could he have ever claimed to love her and not know that she was incapable of trying to trick him in this way? What the hell kind of a husband was he, anyway?

      “I’m trying to be understanding,” she said, but her temper simmered just beneath the words. “I know this is probably all a surprise.”

      “You could say that.”

      “But I’m not going to say it to you again. I won’t argue. I won’t force you to admit your responsibilities—”

      “I always face my responsibilities, Maggie. You should know that.”

      “And you should know I’m not a liar.”

      He blew out a breath, cocked his head to one side and stared into her eyes. “So what? We call it a draw? A standoff? An armed truce?”

      “Call it whatever you want, Justice,” Maggie said, before he could say something else that would hurt her. “All I’m going to say is that if you don’t believe me about Jonas, then it’s your loss, Justice. We created a beautiful, healthy son together. And I love him enough for both of us.”

      “Maggie…”

      She placed one hand on the back of her son’s head, holding him to her tenderly. “And in case you were wondering why I waited until now to tell you about Jonas…It’s because I was worried about how you’d react.” She laughed shortly, sharply. “Imagine that. Wonder why?”

      He muttered something under his breath, and judging by the expression on his face, she was just as happy she’d missed it.

      “The sad truth is, Justice, I never wanted my son to know that his own father hadn’t wanted him.”

      His eyes went colder, harder than before, and Maggie shivered a little under his direct gaze. A second passed, then two, and neither of them spoke. The hall light was soft and golden, throwing delicate shadows around the wide, empty passage. They were alone in the world, the three of them, with an invisible and apparently impenetrable wall separating Maggie and her son from the man who should have welcomed them with open arms.

      At last, Justice turned his gaze to the boy who was watching him curiously. Maggie watched her husband’s features soften briefly before freezing up into that hardened, take-no-prisoners expression she knew so well. After several long moments he lifted his gaze to hers, and when he spoke, his voice was so soft she had to hold her breath to hear him.

      “You’re wrong, Maggie. If I was his father, I would want him.”

      Then he brushed past her, the tip of his cane making a muffled thumping sound as he made his way to his room. He didn’t look back.

      And that nearly broke Maggie’s heart.

      Chapter Five

      “Run the calves and their mamas to the seaward pasture,” Justice told Phil, his ranch manager, three days later. “You can leave the young bulls in the canyons for now. Keep them away from the heifers as much as you can.”

      “I know, boss.” Phil turned the brim of his hat between his hands as he stood opposite the massive desk in Justice’s study.

      Phil was in his early fifties, with a tall, lanky body that belied his strength. He was a no-BS kind of guy who knew his job and loved the ranch almost as much as his boss. Phil’s face was tanned as hard and craggy as leather from years spent in the sun. His forehead, though, was a good two shades lighter than the rest of him, since his hat was usually on and pulled down low. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, as if eager to get outside and back on his horse.

      “We’ve got most of the herd settled into their pastures now,” he said. “There was a fence break in the north field, but two of the boys are out there now fixing it.”

      “Okay.” Justice tapped a pen against the top of his desk and tried to focus the useless energy burning inside him. Sitting behind a desk was making him itchy. If things were as they should be, he’d be out on his own horse right now. Making sure things were getting done to his specifications. Justice wasn’t a man to sit inside and order his people around. He preferred having his hand in everything that went on at King Ranch.

      Phil Hawkins was a good manager, but he wasn’t the boss.

      Yet even as he thought it,