The Paternity Proposition. Merline Lovelace

over most of the Dalton International’s operations to her sons, Delilah had taken to sleeping more than the four or five hours a night she’d grabbed while she was raising her boys and building the corporation from the ground up almost single-handedly. Molly had rekindled old habits, however. Delilah was once again up with the sun and crashed as soon as she tucked the baby in for the night.

      She sipped her first cup of coffee while she listened to Alex’s plan. When he hung up, she sat for a long time in the kitchen of her sprawling mansion. She would never admit to either of her sons that she felt more comfortable in this cheerful kitchen with its watermelon striped wallpaper and collection of dented copper tea kettles than in any of the other seventeen rooms, all decorated by outrageously expensive interior designers.

      She’d wanted more for her sons than the shack she’d grown up in. More than the tar-paper shanty their father had called home before hiring out to Conoco-Philips Petroleum when he turned thirteen. Neither she nor Big Jake had finished high school. Yet their sons had not only racked up several advanced degrees, they’d acquired a sophistication that secretly thrilled Delilah almost as much as it frustrated her. Alex and Blake should be married by now, damn it. Should be giving her the grandbabies she craved. Babies like Molly.

      “Ah, Jake,” she murmured as she nested her coffee cup in both hands and looked out onto a multi-terraced and elaborately landscaped garden. “You ought to see the little one. She has your eyes.”

      A familiar ache pierced Delilah’s heart. She could only pray that the shape of her eyes was all Molly had inherited from her irresponsible, incorrigible, irresistible grandfather. Then one of the monitors she’d had installed in every room of the house recorded the sounds of the baby waking to a new day and she catapulted out of her chair.

      Alex’s second call that morning was to Agro-Air. He wanted to make sure the company’s senior partner was present when he made the return drive to the Panhandle and presented his offer.

      Dusty Jones was folded into the desk chair when Alex arrived at the hail-dented hangar that housed the company’s office. Julie Bartlett and the craggy-faced mechanic she’d been working with yesterday were also in the office. The two men eyed Alex with varying degrees of interest when he walked into the hole in the wall that constituted Agro-Air’s office. Julie’s expression was considerably less friendly than her partner’s.

      She wasn’t wearing coveralls today. What she was wearing almost stopped Alex in his tracks. It took some effort but he managed to keep his gaze from skimming down the long, fluid legs showcased by her cut-offs. He also allowed himself only a brief glance at the scoop-necked tank top, but the image of the high, firm breasts showcased by the stretchy tank stirred the beast within him. Ordering himself to get a grip, he focused instead on the dark red hair looped through the back of her ball cap and the destructive eyes leveled directly at him.

      “I was going to call you,” she stated almost before he was in the door.

      “Were you?”

      He did his best to disguise the sudden spike in his adrenaline. Was she going to admit the truth? That she’d given birth to his child? Or flatly deny it and provide the requested DNA sample as proof?

      In that moment, Alex was damned if he could decide which option he preferred. This woman had eaten a big hole in his sleep last night. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility that a child might link them together for the rest of their lives, but the idea was inching its way into his psyche.

      “You have something you want to tell me?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers.

      “Yes, I …”

      “Hold on there, missy!”

      Alex’s gaze shifted to the white-haired, weather-beaten man who popped to his feet and deposited his dirigible excuse of a cat atop the littered desk. So this was the Dusty Jones who’d locked horns with his mother sometime in the past. Alex sized him up, wondering what caused Delilah and this banty rooster to go toe to toe.

      “Dalton here called us,” Jones reminded his partner. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

      “I know what he has to say.” The anger Alex had glimpsed yesterday flared in her unusual eyes again. She banked it with a visible effort. “He wants me to provide proof positive that I am or am not the kind of woman who would abandon her own child.”

      Dammit! Julie had promised herself she wouldn’t get all hot under the collar again. Dalton had a legitimate need to know the identity of his child’s mother. Yet she could feel the steam building as his blue eyes sliced into her.

      “Are you?”

      “Now just hold on a dang minute!” Swift as a snake, Dusty drew their fire. “You said you had a revised proposal you wanted to discuss with us, Dalton. What is it?”

      “We’re not interested in any revised proposal,” Julie snapped.

      “We might be, missy. We might be. Let’s just hear what the man has to say.”

      The look she shot the old reprobate should have cut him off at the knees. He ignored her.

      “Why’d you want all of us here?” he asked Dalton. “Why me ‘n Chuck as well as Julie?”

      “I realize I might have come across a little heavy-handed yesterday,” Dalton began.

      “Ya think?” Julie drawled.

      “But I’ve had time to reconsider,” he continued coolly. “Instead of a cash settlement, I’m thinking we might …”

      “Cash is good,” Dusty interrupted. “Cash works for me.”

      “… work out a business arrangement.”

      “What kind of arrangement?”

      Dalton responded to Dusty’s question but his eyes remained on Julie. “Dalton International hasn’t moved into the agricultural aviation sector. With the upsurge in the crop production, this may be the right time. We’re prepared to make a substantial investment in Agro-Air.”

      “How substantial?” Dusty asked eagerly.

      “Enough to purchase another, newer plane. I checked and found a used Lane AT-602 on the market, available immediately. It only requires one load to spray a 125-acre circle at five gallons per acre. With this increased capacity and spread ratio, you could double your business base.”

      He’d done his homework. Julie had to give him that. Despite herself, she felt a bump of excitement at the thought of the 602’s powerful engine.

      “In the meantime,” Dalton continued, “I’ll have our engineers look at current applications systems. With Dalton International’s resources and Agro-Air’s expertise in the field, we should be able to come up with an even more efficient spread ratio.”

      “And what does DI get in return for this investment?” Dusty wanted to know.

      “We take fifty percent of the profits until we’ve recouped the cost of the initial aircraft. We’ll negotiate a percentage for the purchase of additional aircraft. As for the design and possible manufacture of a new application system, we’ll bear the research and development costs but will pay for technical input and flight testing.”

      Dusty stroked his unshaven chin and peered at Dalton through eyes permanently reddened from dust and cigarette smoke. “That’s it? DI takes a cut of the profits from the new plane and Agro-Air helps design and test possible new application systems?”

      “No. There’s a precondition to the deal.”

      “Ha!” Julie huffed. “I knew it.”

      “Did you?” Dalton’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then you won’t be surprised when I ask you to spend a week in Oklahoma City as my guest.”

      “Right.” Forgetting that she’d already decided to call the man and assure him she was a non-mom, Julie made a moue of disgust. “I camp