Fortune's Special Delivery. Michelle Major

him.”

      “What about Alice?”

      “I’ll prove to her that I deserve to be part of Flynn’s life, if that’s what it takes.”

      “What I meant was, where does Alice fit into all of this? Mothers and babies are kind of a package deal, you know. How do you feel about Alice?”

      “Alice seems...” How did he describe his jumbled feelings for a woman he’d spent only one night with but couldn’t get out of his mind? Alice was not just beautiful on the outside but a truly good person, someone who deserved to be loved and cherished. She was the kind of woman who produced thoughts of rings and bended knees and forever. Charles might be able to manage fatherhood, but that didn’t make him a forever type of chap. “She’s nice, Lucie. Far too nice for someone like me.”

      “You’ve always sold yourself short.”

      “I’m a realist,” he argued. “I know who I am.”

      “You know who you’ve been up until now,” she countered. “You’re not in Britain, Charles. Trust me, Texas is the best place for a new start.”

      “One step at a time.”

      “Just promise me you’ll get to know Alice as well as the baby.”

      He signaled for the check. “Of course. I’ll be spending time with both of them. I can’t very well take a baby gallivanting about town on my own.”

      “You know what I mean.” Lucie rolled her eyes. “You have more walls surrounding you than the Tower of London. Get to know her, Charles, and let her know you. The real you, not only Bonnie Lord Charlie.”

      “Does that mean you believe there’s more to me than ‘the royal treatment’?” he asked. It was meant to be a joke but the question came out in an almost desperate tone.

      “I know there is,” Lucie answered just as gravely.

      He gave a curt nod, hoping his sister was right.

       Chapter Four

      Alice finished giving Flynn his bottle just as the doorbell rang later that afternoon. Charles had texted in the morning, asking if he could stop by to talk about the next steps, and Alice had been teetering on the edge of panic ever since.

      What did that mean? She knew she had rights as Flynn’s mother, but was also aware that her meager resources were no match for the Fortune Chesterfield family’s power and influence.

      She placed the empty bottle in the sink and threw a burp cloth over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. Her legs grew heavier with each step, even though she’d donned her favorite wedge sandals, a black-and-white zebra-print pattern with sparkling crystals embedded in the ankle strap. Alice didn’t need the extra height but somehow wearing heels always gave her a little jolt of confidence. And she needed all the confidence she could get to face Charles again.

      She opened the door slowly, mentally steeling herself for the sight of the tall, dapper Brit. Unfortunately, not even a superhero-level force field could protect her from Charles. Today he wore dark trousers and a crisp tailored button-down shirt. He looked amazing. She bit down on her lip to keep a groan from escaping, and he flashed a quick, almost uncertain smile.

      “Hullo, Alice.” That accent should be illegal for the things it did to her insides. But before the requisite melting could start, Flynn let out a burp that would make a drunken sailor proud. Nothing like a bit of baby reflux for an icebreaker.

      She rubbed a hand along Flynn’s back and stepped away from the door. “Come on in.” Then she glanced at the throng of bags and packages gathered at Charles’s feet. “Did you rob a toy store?”

      He gave her another smile and adjusted his shirt collar. “I hope you don’t mind. I picked up a few necessities for the boy.”

      Flynn belched again and this time she could feel something warm soak into the cloth over her shoulder. She dipped her chin to look at Flynn, whose cheek was now resting in a puddle of spit-up formula. “Let me just clean him up,” she said quickly, noting that Charles’s expression was an equal mix of amusement and disgust.

      She turned for the nursery and made quick work of cleaning Flynn, who gurgled and gazed at her. She changed his outfit, ridiculously wanting her son to make a good impression with Charles this afternoon. She realized if Charles did indeed decide to be a regular part of Flynn’s life, he’d have to get used to the dirty work of taking care of a baby. Still, for now she wanted things to be easy.

      By the time she returned to the apartment’s small living area, it appeared that half the room was filled with toys and space-guzzling baby contraptions. Alice had purchased the bare essentials when she was pregnant, both to save money and because her two-bedroom apartment in the trendy neighborhood west of downtown and close to her work had a lot of charm but not much room.

      “Is that a T-ball set?” she asked, balancing Flynn in one arm as she pointed to a package that held an oversize baseball and plastic T.

      “Baseball is the American pastime,” Charles told her. “I thought Flynn and I could learn together.”

      She couldn’t help her smile. “It will be a few years before he’s ready for a ball and glove.”

      “I have time,” Charles answered, his tone serious. “I want you to know I’m here for the duration, Alice. I’ll admit I have no idea what I’m doing.” He gestured to the mass of packages on the floor, looking hopeful and utterly irresistible. “But I want to try, if you’ll give me a chance.”

      The good news was she’d gone a whole five minutes without melting into a needy, longing puddle at Charles’s feet. The bad news was, with one sentence, he’d completely turned her to mush. She nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.

      She knew he was talking about trying with Flynn, but Alice couldn’t stop herself from wanting more. For a year she’d been fine, proud that she’d risen to the challenge of having a baby by herself, resolved to raise Flynn on her own.

      Charles made her long for things a woman like her couldn’t expect to have. What he was offering had to be enough. It was the right thing for Flynn, and that’s what was important. As much as she’d tried to convince herself otherwise, a boy needed his father. Her own dad was sweet, if a bit distant and bumbling, in the role of grandpa, much as he’d been as a father to her. But Henry Meyers, tenured professor of history at the University of Texas at Austin, was never going to teach Flynn to play baseball or how to catch a fish or any of the things men other than her father seemed to know by osmosis.

      Charles, for all his formal British mannerisms and expensive suits, was a man’s man. She’d seen pictures on the internet of him horseback riding and fly-fishing, things she wanted her son to learn if he was interested.

      “As soon as I discovered I was pregnant,” she said quietly, “my baby became my whole world. I’d do anything for Flynn. I thought it was right not to tell you, Charles. I figured you’d be like the rest of my family and friends, who thought I couldn’t handle being a mother. They said I was too fragile, that it took strength and hard work to raise a child alone.” She pressed a cheek to the top of Flynn’s downy head. “I needed to prove to them, and to myself, that I could do it.”

      “Alice.”

      She shook her head. “You say you don’t know what you’re doing, but many new parents don’t at the beginning. Even if you think you’re prepared, if you’ve read every child-rearing book and article ever published, if every weekend has been filled with classes and workshops, nothing prepares you for the moment you hold the baby. Nothing truly prepares you to take that tiny bundle home, knowing you’re responsible for another life. I’ve learned a lot in just four months, and here’s the one thing that can’t be taught.”

      She took a deep breath, cleared her throat. “It’s