LITMIR.BIZ

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and me in a cave—Oh, here I am with a cheetah. You find the damnedest things in terrorist camps.”

      “Okay, okay, so you proved you’ve been somewhere in the Middle East, but as for you being a SEAL? Let’s get real. If I had a dollar for every time some guy in a bar told me he was a fighter pilot or spy—or in your case, bull rider—I sure wouldn’t be selling real estate in the middle of nowhere, North Dakota.”

      “Case in point.” He stashed his phone in his back pocket, then winked. “You sure didn’t have a problem with my line the night we made our son—if he even is mine.” He said the words, but Logan’s churning stomach recalled that split second of condom doubt. He could deny it all he wanted, but in all probability, this baby was his.

      She rolled her eyes.

      “Ready to reach an amicable arrangement?”

      “No. Because not only do I not believe you’re from Maple Springs, but I think you’re lying about the navy and your rodeo glory days and probably damn near everything else you’ve ever told me.”

      “That’s it.” Jaw clenched, he leaped to his feet, planted his hat on his head, then rounded to her side of the desk. Hand on her upper arm, he barked, “Get up. There’s someone you need to meet.”

      “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

      “Oh, yes, you are.”

      “No, I’m not.”

      “Look...” Even though he’d released her, she could have sworn his each individual fingertip scorched her skin through her dress. He knelt so his gaze landed dead even with hers. He was close enough for his warm, coffee-laced breath to flare her nostrils and raise achingly familiar goose bumps up and down the length of her arms. To compensate for the fact that her lungs forgot how to breathe, she gasped—unfortunately making her sound like a flopping fish. Good God, he was a fine-looking man. “I understand why my showing up like this would catch you off guard, but promise, I have nothing but you and our baby’s best interests at heart. If you want to share custody, I’ll happily pay child support. If you want to go the old-fashioned route and get hitched, I’d hardly say I’m thrilled with the idea, but we could work something out. Come back to Virginia with me. I’m damned good-looking and you’re a stone-cold fox. This baby’s gonna be a heartbreaker. We’ll make things legal. You stay home with the rug rat and I’ll provide you both with a decent living. I get why you might not trust me, but since we already have an appointment, at least come with me to my parents’ ranch. Meet my mom and dad—they’ll vouch for me. Give me a chance to prove I’m a stand-up guy.”

      His speech made Tiffany more than a little miffed.

      Their looks were irrelevant.

      Besides, she had a plan. A good plan. He’d been out of her picture for months. How dare he barge in here and act like he was now in charge?

      “What do you say? It’s nasty outside, but Dad’s got a fire going and Mom makes crazy-good hot chocolate. Toss in one of her homemade cinnamon rolls and I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

      What if I already am? Not by any of what he’d just proposed, but by the fact that it was far too late to put on the brakes and start over with their relationship. She never would have slept with the guy if something about him hadn’t drawn her in. He was smart-mouthed and cocky and no doubt a pain in the ass to deal with in everyday life. But his green eyes made her feel as warm as if she were back home in Dallas, relaxed and happy, strolling hand in hand barefoot across a sumptuous grass lawn she hadn’t had to mow.

      “Tiff?”

      “What happened to you thinking I’m lying about you being my baby’s father? Plus, I don’t even know your full name.”

      “Sorry. Now that I’ve seen you, I remember how we both went more than a little crazy that night. As for my name, it’s Rowdy Jones. Right there on your appointment sheet.” He nodded to the memo on her desk. Mr. Jones. He hadn’t lied about his name?

      “Show me your ID.”

      He shook his head at the imposition but did as she asked.

      Sure enough, unless he’d spent a fortune on a fake, that was his real name. He stood six-two, weighed 220 and was even an organ donor.

      “Now that you know I’m official, ready to meet my folks?”

      She lurched when the baby gave an extra-hard shove to her appendix.

      “Whoa...” Rowdy stared at her enormous belly. “Was that our little guy?”

      She had a spiteful retort on the tip of her tongue about the baby technically no longer belonging to either of them, but Tiffany instead nodded.

      “Mind if I...you know...” He hovered his hand above her bump.

      “Knock yourself out.”

      When he touched her, all sense of logic short-circuited.

      His fingers were big and warm and reminded her of that night when they’d both been very naughty, yet that poor behavior had felt so very good. She hadn’t been with another man since.

      The sad truth was that she hadn’t wanted to.

      This guy—the one she’d been reunited with for all of fifteen minutes—was already making her head swim with all manner of delicious possibilities for a brighter, better life.

      But she didn’t have just herself to consider. Even if she did, she had to remember men were the enemy—on all fronts. Her dad had been a ticking time bomb for a decade before exploding her and her mother’s lives. Then there was her ex, Crawford. Just when she’d needed him most, he’d emotionally shredded her heart. He hadn’t even had the cojones to tell her in person that he wanted a divorce. He’d had some random court-appointed suit show up at their Dallas home to serve papers. She’d tried calling him, certain there had been a mistake, but his secretary had told her Crawford was no longer accepting her calls and that the house, the furnishings, her jewelry and a sizable chunk of cash were hers free and clear.

      The only stipulation?

      Crawford William Ridgemont IV wanted his precious, unsoiled family name back.

      Devastated didn’t begin to describe how she’d felt. She’d given him what he wanted, then proceeded to sell the house and everything in it to help pay Big Daddy’s legal fees.

      The baby kicked again—jolting her from the past and right back into her confusing present.

      “Damn...” Rowdy whistled. “He’s a tough little guy. We’ll need to start thinking of names. My mom’s already got a half dozen, but what would you think about John Wayne—of course, as a tribute to the legend.”

      “John Wayne Jones? Really?” Tiffany pushed her wheeled desk chair back so abruptly that Rowdy, who still had his hand pressed to her belly, lost his balance and fell onto his knees.

      “Hell, woman.” He rubbed his lower back. “What’s your problem? A little advance notice of your move might’ve been nice.”

      “So would returning my call.”

      He groaned. “Are we back to that? I already told you about my phone and the well.”

      “Look,” she said as she examined her sadly painted pink nails. “There’s much more going on here than you could possibly understand. It’s complicated.” All her life, she’d had a private manicurist, and she still hadn’t mastered the art of doing it herself. But she was trying—just like she was giving all she had to this real estate job. All she’d need was one good commission to build her savings and ensure Gigi and Pearl would be comfortable and warm for at least a few months if that was how long it took for her to make her next sale. “All my life, I’ve depended on men, and they’ve always, always let me down. Now the only person I trust with my well-being is me.” She hugged her belly. “Don’t think for one hot second I wouldn’t love being a stay-at-home mom, but I’ve

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