Committed to the Baby. Maureen Child

scowled at him, then sighed. “Dude, you broke your leg in three places. You’ve had surgery. The bones are healed but the muscles are weak. You need a physical therapist and you damn well know it.”

      “Don’t call me ‘dude,’ and I’m getting along fine.”

      “Yeah, I can see that.” Jefferson shot a quick glance to Justice’s white-knuckled grip on the wall.

      “Don’t you have some inane movie to make somewhere?” Justice countered. As head of King Studios, Jefferson was the man in charge of the film division of the King empire. The man loved Hollywood. Loved traveling around the world, making deals, looking for talent, scouting locations himself. He was as footloose as Justice was rooted to this ranch.

      “First I’m taking care of my idiot brother.”

      Justice leaned a little harder against the log wall. If Jefferson didn’t leave soon, Justice was going to fall on his ass. Whether he wanted to admit it aloud or not, his healing leg was still too weak to be much good. And that irritated the hell out of him.

      A stupid accident had caused all of this. His horse had stumbled into a gopher hole one fine morning a few months back. Justice had been thrown clear, but then the horse rolled across his leg, shattering it but good. The horse had recovered nicely. Justice, though, was having a tougher time. After surgery, he now carried enough metal in his bones to make getting through airport security a nightmare, and his muscles were now so flabby and weak it was all he could do to force himself to move.

      “It’s your own damn fault you’re in this fix anyway,” Jefferson said, as if reading Justice’s mind. “If you’d been riding in a ranch jeep instead of sitting on top of your horse, this wouldn’t have happened.”

      “Spoken like a man who’s forgotten what it was like to ride herd.”

      “Damn right,” Jefferson told him. “I put a lot of effort into forgetting about predawn rides to round up cattle. Or having to go and find a cow so dumb it got lost on its own home ranch.”

      This is why Jeff was the Hollywood mogul and Justice was the man on the ranch. His brothers had all bolted from the home ranch as soon as they were old enough, each of them chasing his own dream. But Justice’s dreams were all here on this ranch. Here is where he felt most alive. Here, where the clear air and the open land could let a man breathe. He didn’t mind the hard work. Hell, he relished it. And his brother knew why he’d been astride a horse.

      “You grew up here, Jeff,” he said. “You know damn well a horse is better for getting down into the canyons. And they don’t have engines that scare the cattle and cause stress that will shut down milk production for the calves, not to mention running the jeeps on the grasslands only tears them up and—”

      “Save it,” Jeff interrupted, holding up both hands to stave off a lecture. “I heard it all from Dad, thanks.”

      “Fine, then. No more ranch talk. Just answer this.” Justice reached down and idly rubbed at his aching leg. “Who asked you to butt into my life and start hiring physical therapists I don’t even want?”

      “Actually,” Jefferson answered with a grin, “Jesse and Jericho asked me to. Mrs. Carey kept us posted on the situation with the therapists, and we all want you back on your feet.”

      He snorted. “Yeah? Why’re you the only one here, then?”

      Jefferson shrugged. “You know Jesse won’t leave Bella alone right now. You’d think she was the only woman in the world to ever get pregnant.”

      Justice nodded, distracted from the argument at the moment by thoughts of their youngest brother. “True. You know he even sent me a book? How to Be a Great Uncle.”

      “He sent the same one to me and Jericho. Weird how he did this turnaround from wandering surfer to home-and-hearth expectant father.”

      Justice swallowed hard. He was glad for his brother, but he didn’t want to think about Jesse’s imminent fatherhood. Changing the subject, he asked, “So where’s Jericho?”

      “On leave,” Jefferson told him. “If you’d open your e-mails once in a while, you’d know that. He’s shipping out again soon, and he had some leave coming to him so he took it. He’s soaking up some sun at cousin Rico’s hotel in Mexico.”

      Jericho was a career marine. He loved the life and he was good at his job, but Justice hated that his brother was about to head back into harm’s way. Why hadn’t he been opening his e-mails? Truth? Because he’d been in a piss-poor mood since the accident. He should have known, though, that his brothers wouldn’t just leave him alone in his misery.

      “That’s why you’re here, then,” Justice said. “You got the short straw.”

      “Pretty much.”

      “I should have been an only child,” Justice muttered.

      “Maybe in your next life,” Jefferson told him, then pulled one hand free of his slacks pocket to check the time on his gold watch.

      “If I’m keeping you,” Justice answered with a bared teeth grin, “feel free to get the hell out.”

      “I’ve got time,” his brother assured him. “I’m not leaving until the new therapist arrives and I can make sure you don’t scare her off.”

      Wounded pride took a bite out of Justice and he practically snarled at his brother. “Why don’t you all just leave me the hell alone? I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it. Just like I don’t want these damn therapists moving in here like some kind of invasion.” He winced as his leg pained him, then finished by saying, “I’m not even gonna let this one in, Jeff. So you might as well head her off.”

      “Oh,” Jefferson told him with a satisfied smile, “I think you’ll let this one stay.”

      “You’re wrong.”

      The doorbell rang just then and Justice heard his housekeeper’s footsteps as she hustled along the hall toward the door. Something way too close to panic for Justice’s own comfort rose up inside him. He shot Jefferson a quick look and said, “Just get rid of her, all right? I don’t want help. I’ll get back on my feet my own way.”

      “You’ve been doing it your own way for long enough, Justice,” Jefferson told him. “You can hardly stand without sweat popping out on your forehead.”

      From a distance, Justice heard Mrs. Carey’s voice, welcoming whoever had just arrived. He made another try at convincing his brother to take his latest attempt at help and leave.

      “I want to do this on my own.”

      “That’s how you do everything, you stubborn bastard. But everybody needs help sometimes, Justice,” his brother said. “Even you.”

      “Damn it, Jefferson—”

      The sound of two women’s voices rippled through the house like music, rising and falling and finally dropping into hushed whispers. That couldn’t be a good sign. Already his housekeeper was siding with the new therapist. Wasn’t anyone loyal anymore? Justice scraped his free hand through his hair, then scrubbed his palm across his face.

      He hated feeling out of control. And ever since his accident, that sensation had only been mounting. He’d had to trust in daily reports from his ranch manager rather than going out to ride his own land. He’d had to count on his housekeeper to take care of the tasks that needed doing around here. He wanted his damn life back, and he wasn’t going to get it by depending on some stranger to come in and work on his leg.

      He’d regain control only if he managed to come back from his injuries on his own. If that didn’t make sense to anyone but him, well, he didn’t care. This was his life, his ranch and, by God, he was going to do things the way he always had.

      His way.

      He heard someone coming and shot a sidelong glance at the open doorway, preparing