“You Think This Is About Money?” Letter to Reader Title Page CHRISTY LOCKHART Acknowledgments Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Epilogue Copyright

“You Think This Is About Money?”

“Isn’t that what all women want?” Zach scrawled her name on the blue check.

“Put that away,” Cassie said. “This is about...love and belonging. Have you ever known what it’s like not to belong?”

The darkness of his past descended on Zach. Time thundered with expectancy.

“I’m sorry.... It’s just that you’ve got a family, so much. You can’t possibly know—”

“I can and I do,” he corrected. “I’ve been poor enough not to know what it’s like to have a fire in the hearth. And now we’re comfortable enough that some people will do anything to get a piece of the action.”

Her mouth dropped. “You think I’m the kind of woman who’s only here for a piece of your fortune?” she whispered. “You don’t know anything about me...don’t know what kind of woman I am.”

“So tell me,” he challenged. “What kind of woman are you?”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to a new year with Silhouette Desire! We begin the year in celebration—it’s the 10th Anniversary of MAN OF THE MONTH! And kicking off the festivities is the incomparable Diana Palmer, with January’s irresistible hero, Simon Hart, in Beloved.

Also launching this month is Desire’s series FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE BRIDES. So many of you wrote to us that you loved Silhouette’s series FORTUNE’S CHILDREN—now here’s a whole new branch of the family! Awardwinning author Jennifer Greene inaugurates this series with The Honor Bound Groom.

Popular Anne Marie Winston begins BUTLER COUNTY BRIDES, a new miniseries about three small-town friends who find true love, with The Baby Consultant. Sara Orwig offers us a marriage of convenience in The Cowboy’s Seductive Proposal. Next, experience love on a ranch in Hart’s Baby by Christy Lockhart. And opposites attract in The Scandalous Heiress by Kathryn Taylor.

So, indulge yourself in 1999 with Silhouette Desire—powerful, provocative and passionate love stories that speak to today’s multifaceted woman. Each month we offer you six compelling romances to meet your many moods, with heroines you’ll care about and heroes to die for. Silhouette Desire is everything you desire in a romance novel.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

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Hart’s Baby

Christine Pacheco

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTY LOCKHART

was born in England and spent her early childhood traipsing through castles and dreaming of princes. She moved to Colorado when she was eight and fell in love with the rugged mountains and wide-open spaces.

She always wanted to be a writer, and Silhouette made that dream come true. She also married her own prince, Jared, and together they have two children, two cats and two dogs.

Christy loves hearing from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 448, Eastlake, CO 80614.

With thanks to my wonderful critique group: Lisa, Merrie, Althea and Debbie. And to Pam, Robin, Debbi, Cathy and Kathy.

A special thanks to my editor, Karen Taylor Richman, who always believed. Karen, you’re the best!

One

Under any other circumstances, Zach Hart would have allowed his gaze to travel down the length of her, noticing her as a woman. As it was, her eyes lassoed his attention.

Green as the summer grass, honest as a first snow, but shaded by a hint of weariness that showed past hurt. For a second Zach wondered what...or who...had put that expression there.

He had an urge to reach out and stroke it away. Just as quickly though, he dismissed the ridiculous thought. The Wind Song Ranch wouldn’t run itself. Zach didn’t have time for women, no matter how tempting.

Standing, she folded her hands in front of her. Was it to keep from showing more of the nerves she’d already betrayed by licking her lower lip?

“Your mother said it was okay for me to wait in here.”

Zach nodded. It wasn’t the woman’s fault he’d arrived home exhausted after spending a long and lonely night on the road. The only things he wanted were a cold beer, a cool shower and crisp sheets. Specifically, he wanted them in that order. Maybe if she managed to get straight to the point, he’d be up the stairs in less than fifteen minutes, asleep in thirty. “I’m Zach Hart.”

“Your mother told me.”

He arched a brow when she didn’t immediately supply her own name. “And you are?”

She offered a tentative smile, one that cracked and fell before fully forming. “Cassandra Morrison.”

Cassandra. Nice name. Soft, feminine, dignified. More than likely Cassandra Morrison was another of his mother’s causes. Widows and orphans were her latest. The car seat with a baby sleeping in it lent credibility to that thought.

Zach had always possessed a weak spot for his mother’s charities—after all, Margaret didn’t want any of her boys to forget where they had come from and how fortunate they were now. The fact that Cassandra was a beautiful woman would only entice him to open his wallet a little wider.

Because it was the polite thing to do, he offered his hand. Cassandra accepted, slipping her much smaller, delicate palm against his hardened, callused one. Smooth, he mused, imagining the slide of her hand against the knots of tension bunched in his shoulders.

Slowly he released her. The road must have been longer and lonelier than he realized. He’d been without a woman for months, but that wasn’t long enough to make him fantasize about a woman who was likely a widow with her own orphan. Carving a living from Wyoming’s reluctant land provided trouble enough. “What can I do for you, Cassandra Morrison?”

She stalled a couple of seconds before saying, “I am...was...Jeanie Morrison’s sister.”

She’d supplied the information breathlessly, a husk of hurt in her words. Her brows drew together when she looked at him with those powerfully green eyes, as if she expected him to recognize the name. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Cassandra moved back a couple of steps. When she looked at him squarely again, her arms were folded across her chest, a self-protective gesture if ever he’d seen one.

“You’ve never heard my sister’s name?”

He shook his head.

Even though she’d moved back a couple of steps, she still stood near enough for him to catch the scent of wildflowers interwoven with determination.

“I was hoping that you would already have heard, that this wouldn’t be so difficult,” she said.

Zach frowned. “Go on.”

She dropped one arm, curving her hand around the top of the child seat. A protective mother. His gaze flickered to the bundle beneath a blue blanket. Instantly his throat dried.

He knew with sudden clarity that Cassandra Morrison wasn’t here as a representative of any charity.

“Then this must come as a terrible surprise to you...” Her voice trailed off into a clammy, uncomfortable silence.

Surprise was a hand women dealt well, and the remaining cards in the deck were a dance of deception. It had been his unpleasant experience that a lot of women pulled their aces straight from the bottom of the pack.

Zach did nothing to relieve the tension. Instead, he reached behind him and drummed his fingers on the mantel, allowing the pressure to stretch and grow, becoming elastic. He wondered, would it snap?

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, but...” She touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, a second betrayal of that tension she struggled to suppress.

The one-two combination of her eyes and her voice nearly did him in. A haunting lilt rippled through her words, reminding him of the whisper of the wind, the seduction of a moonlit night.

Yet this woman, a stranger, stood in his family’s living room, hesitation in her tone and defiance in the tilt of her chin. The wind wasn’t whispering and the sun had obliterated the moon along with the romance of night. He wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

He stopped drumming his fingers, forcing the silence to roar.

“My sister...” She took a deep breath. “My sister was involved with a Hart.”

“Excuse me?” The words fell with the iciness of a Wyoming winter. How dare she stand in his home...the home he’d fought for, protected...and fling accusations?

She squared her shoulders as if for battle, her naked lips pressed together.

Hands clenched at his sides, he clipped, “Are you accusing me of fathering this child?”

“Jeanie apparently slept with—”

“Good day, Ms. Morrison. If you have anything further to say, call my attorney.”

“Wait!”

His family had fallen victim to a woman’s deceit twice. He’d be damned if it would happen a third time. Pivoting, he moved past her and reached for the door handle.

“Please, wait. Hear me out.”

He stopped. Her quiet desperation got to him. It shouldn’t, and just as surely, it did.

“Jeanie was dating your brother.”

“My brother?”

“Chad. He is your brother, isn’t he?”

Zach turned and nodded curtly. Of the three brothers, Chad was the youngest, the wildest, the most reckless.

An unnatural pause pulsed in the air.

Cassandra tucked her hair behind her ear, then dropped her hand in front of her. Not flinching as she looked him in the eye, she stated, “Jeanie had Chad’s baby.”

Zach’s immediate and earthy response earned him a wince.

“Are you trying to tell me that child is my nephew?” he demanded, struggling to rein in his temper.

Her expression fell at his reaction, but Zach was beyond caring.

“Our nephew, yes,” she managed to say.

“You’re insinuating my brother fathered a baby and turned his back, walking away?”

“It’s not an insinuation—” she struggled for a breath “—it’s a fact.”

“A fact. I see. And the child’s mother, your sister, where is she, why isn’t she here?”

Cassandra’s eyebrows had drawn together, and the depths of her eyes had turned stormy with anguish, a layer of tears teasing at her eyelashes. He refused to be swayed by the intensity of her emotion; too much was at stake.

When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Why did she send you? Are you perhaps the better liar of the two?” His angry words hummed in the air.

Cassandra sucked in a shallow breath and stared at him intently. “A liar?” she asked, her voice cracking on the second word.

Fortifying himself with the heat of her accusation, Zach answered her. “Yes, Ms. Morrison. I’m calling you a liar.”

Hurt radiated from her eyes, nearly turning his internal winter into spring.

Slowly she shook her head. “I am not a liar.”

“Then perhaps you misunderstood the situation.”

“How could I have misunderstood?”

Seeing the genuine layer of anguish his words had caused, he formed his hands into fists. Leashing his own frustration, he searched for a position somewhere between calm and controlled. “Then maybe your sister lied to you.”

“How dare you?” Cassandra’s lips thinned as he watched the hurt vanish. Her spine stiffened and she became a warrior, a defender. “My sister wasn’t—”

“If your sister is a saint, then you’re implying my brother has no moral values?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she said quietly.

“How much?” he asked, growing weary of her game. He’d do anything it took to protect his family from Cassandra’s false allegations, even if it cost half his bank account.

Eyes wide, she echoed, “How much?”

“To get you and your sister to drop the unfounded accusation.” He reached for the checkbook in his back pocket.

Her mouth fell open. For a moment they stared at each other, adversary to adversary.

“You think this is about money?”

“Isn’t it?” He crouched, placing the checkbook on the coffee table and flipping open the leather cover. Then, looking up at her, he asked, “Isn’t that what all women want?” Clicking his pen, he scrawled her name and the date on the blue check.

“Put that away,” she said, the words carefully clipped. “And, please, extend me the courtesy you haven’t shown so far.”

Zach’s back teeth locked together as he stood and faced her. No one, not ever, had accused him of a lack of common courtesy. Until now. Until Cassandra. His temper ratcheted up another notch. It took all his infamous control to keep the blaze locked away.

“This isn’t about money, Mr. Hart.”

“No?”

“It’s about—”She took a deep breath and tipped up her chin.

Zach had always admired guts. And Cassandra had them, in commanding amounts. And for a brief second he wondered what it might be like if they were on the same side of an issue.

“It’s about love and belonging.”

“Love and belonging?” he repeated. Surely his ears deceived him.

She exhaled deeply, as if frustrated by his singular lack of understanding.

“Yes,” she said softly, primly.

Zach wondered what it would take to shake that primness from her. A bold statement? A rash promise? A soul-deep kiss? Maybe running his fingers through the rich brunette strands of her hair? Immediately he dismissed his thoughts. He didn’t give a damn what it took to loosen her up. She’d be out of his life—permanently—within minutes.

“Have you ever known what it’s like not to belong?” she asked.

The darkness of his past descended on Zach.

He knew what it was like not to belong, knew what it was to scrape and struggle, knew how it felt to wear handme-down shirts and jeans with holes in them. He knew what it was like to exist on the same fare night after night, to have no presents on his birthday and to use a tumbleweed in place of a Christmas tree. More, he knew what it was like to have no respect or friends, to stand alone on the playground, watching, as others tossed a baseball or football.

Oh, yeah, he knew better than most what it was like not to belong.

Time thundered with expectancy.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, folding her arms in front of her.

Her eyes met his, and he noticed their color had lightened, as if she read his pain and, more, understood its intensity.

“I had no right...”

He nodded tightly.

“But you’ve got a family...so much. You can’t possibly know—”

“I can and I do,” he corrected, knowing his words were spiked by the anger he’d used more than once to cover the hurt. “I’ve been on both sides of the fence, Ms. Morrison. I’ve been poor enough to know what it’s like to have no fire in the hearth and certainly no chicken in the pot.” He paused. “And now we’re comfortable enough that some people will do anything to get a piece of it.”

Her mouth dropped. “And you truly think I’m the kind of woman who’s only here for a piece of your fortune?” she whispered.

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“You don’t know anything about me...don’t know what kind of woman I am.”

“So why don’t you tell me,” he challenged. “What kind of woman are you?”

“I’m one who wants to see the right thing done by our nephew.”

Zach frowned.

She didn’t back down. Her apology didn’t mean she would back off. “I want Billy to belong, to have a family to call his own.”

The frown deepened to a scowl.

“I want Billy to know his father.”

“If Chad is his father.”

“Look, Mr. Hart, can you let go of the distrust long enough to even consider the possibility that—”

“No, Ms. Morrison, I can’t.”

She feathered her fingers through her hair, leaving a riotous disarray framing her face. It wasn’t prim any longer; it was wild and free—and heaven help him, tempting as the tease of sin.

Right now, though, he needed to fight for sainthood, pretending that wasn’t as far away as reality told him it was. “Put yourself in my shoes for a moment,” he said. “I walk through the door after driving all night. I’m tired and want nothing more than to climb between the sheets.”

She looked away momentarily.

“But instead of a bed, I find a woman I don’t know from Eve standing in my living room. Not only that, but she has a baby with her, a baby she claims was fathered by my youngest brother. A man, I might add, who isn’t here to defend himself.”

“I understand your concern.”

“Does my mother know your story?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“And I suppose you have her believing the baby is her grandson.”

“Billy is her grandson.”

He drew a breath, then with restrained frustration said, “You have to understand, ma’am, when we were growing up, family was all we had—and I mean that quite literally.”

A quiet threat whipping through his voice with the sting of a crop, he added, “I’d cut off my branding arm before I’d allow anyone, anyone, to harm any member of my family, especially my mother.”

She inclined her head to the side, as if heeding his words of caution. When she spoke, it was with the same careful control he was using. She was an adversary, yes. A worthy one. He’d do well to remember that.

“It’s not my intent to harm anyone, Mr. Hart, least of all Margaret.”

Margaret? Margaret? In the short time she’d been here, Cassandra had managed to move from Mrs. Hart to Margaret, forming a relationship with his mother? The danger doubled. He needed Cassandra gone before she caused any more damage. “In that case, name your price. I’ll meet it.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I won’t go away quietly. I can’t. Not for any amount of money. As I said, I don’t want anyone hurt.” She looked toward the carrier, and her expression softened, all traces of the warrior who’d faced him vanishing. “Especially not Billy.”

Zach’s sigh was bone deep. A confrontation with a stubborn female wasn’t his idea of a good time.

“You should know that I hired a private investigator,” she added.

Weariness clashed with wariness, then disappeared, leaving warning in its wake.

“I have the file in my car.”

“Get it.”

Obviously hesitating near the door, she stopped, her hand curled around the brass doorknob. After looking at Zach, she cut a quick glance toward the sleeping child. Zach struggled to tamp down a torrent of irritation.

“Don’t worry,” he said, no trace of mirth in his tone. “I don’t hurt innocents.”

The remaining, unspoken words hung in the air, resounding with importance equal to the ones he had said. He could and would use any means at his disposal to destroy anyone who threatened his family.

He walked as she slowly opened the door and left it that way. Wanting to make sure she could hear if he didn’t keep his promise?

Zach dropped onto the couch, the stiff cushions suiting his mood perfectly.

He stretched out his legs and crossed well-worn boots at the ankles. Then, leaning forward, he drummed his fingers on the coffee table, impatience swelling, tiredness all but forgotten.

The thought of the woman bringing in a file containing personal information and details about Zach’s family, about his family for God’s sake, chased away any attempt at relaxation. He surged to his feet and paced, stopping, inevitably, in front of the car seat.

It wasn’t possible the child belonged to the Harts.

- Or was it?

And what if Billy truly was a Hart? What, then, were the ramifications? A dozen thoughts crowded into his mind, each struggling for supremacy.

No matter what, a fight loomed, maybe even a court battle. Because if facts revealed Billy was their flesh and blood, the child automatically fell under Zach’s protection, too. He’d make sure Chad fought for custody. Family was the only thing of real importance. It didn’t much matter who stood in the way.

It’d be easier for everyone if she was lying, if she was the fortune hunter his instincts insisted she wasn’t.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Zach frowned. When he opened them, she stood there, a vision of femininity.

He hadn’t heard her approach.

She was silhouetted by the morning sun streaming through the window. Her eyes were wide, focused on him and Billy. Her breaths came in short, uneven bursts, and a file was clutched against her chest, her fingers nearly white from the pressure she exerted.

Despite his earlier promise of not hurting innocents, Zach saw the darkness of distrust in her verdant eyes.

Suited him fine. It worked both ways.

Like a gauntlet, she placed the folder on the table. The manila was well-worn, he noticed, as if it had been handled hundreds of times. And what was in there that made her so certain the Harts owed her something? Words. Maybe pictures. Weapons to hurt, maybe destroy?

The baby stirred and Cassandra moved quickly. Her eyes narrowed a bit, reminding him of a mother protecting her young.

Realization hit Zach square in the heart.

He was determined to defend his family from a third attack. But Cassandra possessed powerful resolve to fight for her family, too.

The baby whimpered, and Cassandra unlatched the safety straps, scooping the infant from beneath his blankets, crooning as she studied the baby’s small features.

For a moment Zach stood there, transfixed. He had little experience with children, next to none with babies. But as tiny fingers closed around a long, slender one, an odd feeling, one he had no intention of naming or claiming, assailed him.

Just then a knock sounded on the door and Margaret entered, a smile for her son and another for Cassandra and the child.

“Welcome home, son,” Margaret said.

He wished he could say it was good to be here.

Cassandra looked at his mother, and Zach’s sixth sense raised yet another warning flag. A soft, apparently sincere smile crossed Cassandra’s features. Lord help her if it was fake, though—a front ultimately meant to harm. If that was the case, she’d need all the protection she could find. Because she sure wouldn’t be able to run, and he sure as hell wouldn’t allow her to hide from the swift wrath of his retribution.

“Oh my, is the little one finally awake?”

Cassandra nodded and asked Margaret, “Would you like to hold him?”

“May I?”

In his mother’s two words, Zach heard hope...hope and excitement.

Damn Cassandra Morrison’s hide, anyway, for doing this to him, to Chad, and worse, to their mother.

Margaret Hart had a soft spot inside for any cause, for any stray. Attachment to this new baby would spell emotional tragedy. A tragedy that pride bound him to avert.

Needing action, he grabbed the folder.

He wasn’t going to like what he saw, not if the tightening in his gut served as any indication.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Margaret lower herself into a high-backed wing chair. Cassandra lovingly placed the bundle of blankets and baby in Margaret’s arms.

Focusing his attention away from the all-too-domestic scene, he thumbed back the corner of the file. Then he scowled. On the top, strategically clipped to the secured papers, was a picture of a woman smiling up at Chad. His arm was slung around her shoulder and he grinned at the camera. A cowboy hat rode low over his eyes and a championship rodeo belt buckle hung around his middle, along with the woman’s arm.

Zach’s jaw tightened. “Jeanie?” he asked unnecessarily.

Cassandra moved to stand near him, and he noticed the sheen of tears clouding her eyes. “Yes.”

“Except for the eyes, you don’t look alike.” He wondered if the difference extended to morals, as well.

He flipped the picture, found another beneath. Jeanie and Chad were out to dinner this time, a carafe of wine on the table, a long-neck bottle of beer in front of Chad—his favorite brand. This time their faces were close together and so were their lips.

He was aware of Cassandra’s perfume and another, more subtle scent—her anxiety.

“You’re not going to like everything in there,” she told him in a whisper, repeating the words he’d already told himself. Then she added, “I didn’t.”

He knew Chad wasn’t perfect. Hell, thankfully none of the Hart brothers had that heavy burden to bear. But they did know their obligations.

He skimmed the first report. Pertinent details leaped out, details that incriminated Chad.

Chad had been dating Jeanie. She’d been seen leaving his hotel room, a seedy little place off the highway in Montana, at seven o’clock in the morning. Chad’s team-roping partner called Chad’s room one night and the phone had been answered by a sleepy-sounding Jeanie.

“Well?”

Zach’s hope that Chad, and the Harts, would be completely cleared had vanished. Zach felt backed into a corner.

He despised corners.

Still, there was no proof. Circumstantial evidence didn’t hold much weight. And he clung to that.

Zach looked at Cassandra, his nostrils pinched. She appeared so expectant, so damn hopeful, it stuck in his craw. Everything and everyone seemed to recede, except them and their problem. “This report proves nothing.”

“Proves—” her hands fisted “—nothing?”

“Chad may have had some involvement with your sister, but apparently he wasn’t the only man she showed an interest in.”

Cassandra’s eyes lost some of their spark, and he hated himself for being the one to extinguish it. Still, if she caused any pain to his mother, he’d hate himself even worse. He wouldn’t back down, would do what he had to do. “The report states she was a rodeo groupie, that—”

“I’m well aware of every word in there.”

“In that case...” Zach saw his checkbook where he’d left it on the table, already open and waiting.

“You’re disturbing the baby,” Margaret reprimanded. “Go into your office, Zachary. I’ll baby-sit.”

The tone of his mother’s voice brooked no argument. With a tight nod, he said, “My office, Ms. Morrison.”

“But...”

“Young William will be all right with his granny,” Margaret assured Cassie.

Zach’s hold on his temper frayed at the edges. “My office. Now.”

“Maybe we can just—”

“Now.”

“Go on,” Margaret said. “His bark is worse than his bite. He’s harmless.” Looking at her son, she warned, “Zachary, behave yourself, young man.”

He held open the door for Cassandra, indicating she should leave the room. He led the way through the entryway and down the hall and she followed, her reluctance seeming to disappear as they drew closer to his office. When she brushed by him, her shoulders were squared in confrontation and not a single ounce of capitulation.

His pulse quickened. He looked forward to the challenge... and especially the triumph.

Two

“Have a seat,” Zach said, sliding into the leather chair behind his desk.

Fear and frustration warred within Cassie. This was his office, his territory, and she was the interloper. Control and power hung in the air, as if the walls bore his stamp of authority.

Was it too late to change her mind, say she didn’t want a private conversation in a room so vividly marked by his masculinity?

A few pictures dominated the walls, mostly of racehorses he’d raised. Several framed photos sat on his desk, the backs toward her. She’d learned that pictures revealed a lot about their owners. What story did Zach’s tell? That he cherished his family, a girlfriend, or a wife?

She hadn’t noticed a ring on his hand, but having grown up in a rural community, the absence didn’t seem remarkable. A lot of men refused to wear rings in case they got caught in farm equipment.

“Ms. Morrison?” he prompted.

Cassie slipped into the chair, then realized it hadn’t been designed for comfort. The leather depths swallowed her whole. Sitting there in front of him, she felt small and defenseless, just the way, she imagined, he wanted her to feel.

But she wasn’t defenseless, nor was she small. Stiffening her spine, she resolved to prove that to him, along with the fact she was right about her sister and he was wrong about his brother. Calling on fortitude, she scooted to the edge of the seat and perched there.

He’d obviously found a comfortable position, leaning back with one ankle perched atop the opposite knee. He waited silently, studying her intently. His hands were steepled, his fingers resting near his mouth. He looked every inch an enemy...her enemy.

This definitely wasn’t the way she’d hoped the meeting would go. She’d dreamed of Billy being welcomed like a long-lost relative, brought into the protective fold of familial relationships. She and Billy had made the long, hot trek from Nebraska to Wyoming, and she’d kept that vision clearly in mind the whole way. Margaret had been all Cassie could hope for. But Zach...he was a law unto himself.

Closing her eyes for a second, she offered a silent thanks that Margaret had answered the door rather than him. If it had been Zach who’d turned the handle, Cassie knew she would have been tossed on her rear, the threat of a lawsuit nipping at her resolve.

When she opened her eyes, it was to find the same expression of infinite patience on his face. She easily imagined him in a tough negotiation to buy land or horses. He would never flinch, she knew. He’d remain calm until the deal was cut to his advantage.

“Mr. Hart, I understand, and more, I respect your need for caution.”

He inclined his head, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. The unruly hair made him seem less perfect, not vulnerable, but human. She wondered if looks truly were deceiving.

Judiciously she chose her next words. “Your mother mentioned you have reason to distrust women.”

“Did she?” He forced his shoulders back a fraction of an inch, farther into the soft and supple leather. “And what else did my mother share while you two were enjoying a cozy chat?”

“That’s all she told me,” Cassandra assured him, recognizing she’d already said too much. In the oppressive quiet, she twisted her hands in her lap, then abruptly stopped fidgeting when she realized he’d neatly noted her every movement.

She promised herself she’d push on, even though she realized he wouldn’t provide anything but a hindrance. And the sooner this was all over, the better.

She hated disagreements of any kind and would have preferred to spend her summer vacation at home, tutoring the kids who counted on her during the summer. Instead, she was in a man’s office who at best distrusted her, at worst thought she wanted a piece of his heritage. But the things she’d been through left her no choice. She was Billy’s only hope. She wouldn’t forget that. “I’m not the woman who hurt you. I’m not out to get you or your family.”

His brow arched, a dark motion of skepticism.

“I’ll prove it,” she said rashly, wondering how she’d ever keep her promise. “Let’s work together.” Leaning forward, she met his gaze. Right now, his blue eyes were frosted over, reminding her of clouds gathering across the sky. “We both want the same thing.”

“Do we, Ms. Morrison?” He emphasized the Ms., as if the title were worthy of nothing but derision.

Her sense of justice prickled.

“I assume it’s not Mrs. or Miss?”

She preferred to be addressed by her first name, and her students called her Miss Cassie. Still, she didn’t want Zach to have any ammunition to encourage intimacy. Intimacy with Zachary Hart was the last thing she wanted, especially since her long-neglected feminine instincts had already started cataloging him as a handsome man.

But handsome didn’t mean anything. Good looks didn’t disguise a deceptive soul, as Steven, her ex-fiancé, had painfully taught her. Tamping down the ache that always accompanied the thought of the man she’d nearly married, she reached out toward Zach, hoping against hope that he’d give her a chance. “I’ll ask for nothing, make no demands, until you find your brother.”

Zach tapped his index fingers together.

“Maybe Chad doesn’t even know about the baby,” she offered.

“Maybe your sister doesn’t know who the father really is,” he countered.

As if slapped, she recoiled. After everything she’d been through, the knot she’d made at the end of the rope in a desperate attempt to hold on, this was too much. “She knew all right.”

Raw determination seized her and she leaped to her feet, smacking her hands on the wooden desk and leaning toward him. She’d been willing to give his family the benefit of the doubt, making the assumption that Chad hadn’t abandoned Jeanie. But Cassie was rapidly approaching her tolerance level with arrogant males—Zach Hart topping the list. “I’ve had enough of your insinuations about my sister’s character when it’s your brother we’re discussing.”

Zach stood then and braced his palms on top of the desk, bringing them face-to-face. “Are you implying my brother is a bad person?” His words were whisper soft and delivered with the stinging intensity of electricity slashing the sky.

. Civility had just been a front, she realized. She forced herself to breathe, but couldn’t take in more than a quick gasp. Carefully she considered her next move. Margaret’s feelings notwithstanding, Zach wanted her out of his life. But Cassie couldn’t, wouldn’t, give him the chance to get rid of her and deny Billy the chance to know his father. “I’m not making any accusations, Mr. Hart,” she said, fighting for control. “I don’t personally know your younger brother.”

“Then?”

He had leaned so close she inhaled the scent of undisguised resolve. A thick shadow shaded his face, not a polite day’s growth, but more the beginnings of a beard. His hunter green Western shirt had lost its starch, if it had ever seen any. The material conformed to the breadth of his shoulders and tapered into faded gray jeans. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open and for a horrifying moment, she wondered what lay beneath.

The reckless thoughts threw off her concentration, and she regretted her words the moment she said them. “I’m wondering if any of the Hart men are willing to face their obligations.”

Fury blazed. She saw it in his eyes. She realized her mistake too late.

Before her muddled senses formed an apology, he’d rounded the desk and grabbed her shoulders.

“For my mother’s sake, I was attempting to be a gentleman.”

His fingers bit into her flesh, searing her with his heat. “Your accusation nullified that need.”

She inhaled sharply, vainly fighting fear to find solid ground

“I promise you, lady,” he said, words dangerously clipped and as cold as his icy gaze, “there hasn’t been a Hart yet who’s walked away from responsibility. And Chad isn’t about to be the first.”

Frantically she worked her hands between them, pressing her palms against the solid barricade of his chest She waited for him to shake her but he didn’t, apparently holding his anger in check by the thinnest thread. He stood a good five inches taller than she, outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. In his arms, she was as inconsequential as a rag doll, and they both knew it.

“I want you out of my house, out of my life. Now. Name your price and get out.”

Tears swam in her eyes and she valiantly blinked them away. He could have hurt her, but he didn’t, giving her the barest hint of hope. In desperation she clung to that. “Mr. Hart, please. I don’t want your money.”

She heard a beseeching tone in her voice, begging him to understand. She didn’t like the sound of it, but there it was. Cassie knew she would never do this for herself, but for Billy...

She’d never experienced this depth of emotion before, had never understood what drove people to do anything to defend their own, but now, now she did.

Her palms were still pressed against Zach. She felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest, saw a pulse ticking in his temple. Still, Cassie knew she would push further if she had to, as far as she had to, take any gamble, any risk.

After all, Billy was the only family she had left.

She fought away fear, trying desperately to believe Zach had heart. “All I’m asking for is time, for a chance.”

He didn’t respond.

“Doesn’t Billy deserve at least that much from you?”

“Does he?” Zach countered.

She was in as deep as it got and knew the only way out was straight ahead. He hadn’t thrown her out yet. Even though he still gripped her shoulders, he no longer squeezed tightly. His eyes were still narrowed, danger still throbbed in his temple, but she had his complete attention, if not his agreement.

Trying to drag in a deep breath and only succeeding in finding enough for a few miserly words, she said, “Yes, he deserves this. You see, he’s already lost his mother.

“My sister,” Cassie continued, swimming through her own loss, “had her share of problems. She wasn’t perfect—maybe she wasn’t even cut out for parenting, but that’s something we’ll never know. One thing is for sure, though, she loved Billy more anything. She was trying to turn her life around—” Cassie broke off as a sob lodged in her throat.

“Loved?” he asked into the unnatural quiet.

Cassie fought back tears and anguish, along with the lump in her throat. Lord, this wasn’t going anything like she’d planned. She’d wanted to keep her emotions in check. Yet Zach seemed able to plow past each of her defenses. “She was killed in a car accident.”

Zach swore. “I’m sorry.”

She dashed the back of one hand across her eyes. “I am, too.” She blinked rapidly. “Jeanie was a special person. I wish you could have known her.”

He didn’t respond.

“I had no idea what to expect when I arrived at your ranch. But I agonized over the decision to come here and believed it was the right thing to do.” In his arms, she became more and more aware of him as a man, at the way he looked at her with single-minded concentration.

His cotton shirt lay beneath her hand, warm and soft, a studied contrast to the man himself. He still held on to her, but not with rigid anger, rather with something that bothered her far more than his frustration.

“I wondered whether this would be a terrible shock to everyone,” she said, trying to regain her equilibrium, trying not to notice the things she had no choice but to notice. “I didn’t know what else to do. I know this is hard for you, but it is for me, too. I hadn’t planned to become a mother quite so suddenly.”

“You’ve apparently got all the right maternal instincts.”

His quiet words made her heart constrict. They were so unexpected, so welcome. She told herself that maybe it was a tactic to disarm her, yet even still, she had trouble just passing off his kindness, pretending he’d said nothing. “It must be the schoolteacher in me.”

“Schoolteacher?”

She figured he’d probably seize any opportunity to change the subject, but it didn’t matter. “I teach kids with learning disabilities, kids some people say are unteachable. I’ve seen them lost and alone, hurting and needing.”

Silence surrounded them, seeping with meaning. “And do you fight for them, too?”

She looked at him. “Every one of them. I made a promise to myself that no child of mine would have to struggle that way, and that includes my nephew.”

“You’ll see to it.”

“Yes.” Cassandra nodded. “I will. Can you blame me?”

Silence fell again, but this time it settled rather than roared. She wanted to tell him about Jeanie, about Billy. “My sister came for a visit, bringing along Billy, my nephew. I never knew she was pregnant, let alone that she’d given birth.”

“Go on.”

“Three days later, the coroner came to the door. Jeanie had gone to the store to buy more formula, and—” Cassie swallowed “—and she’d swerved to miss an oncoming car. She hit a tree.”

Pain traipsed across the memory, opening the unhealed wound yet again. “I went from being an aunt to being a mother. Billy started to cry. It was like he knew something was wrong...I’d never made a bottle, I’d changed his diaper just once, and I was working as a teacher.

“I had to find a substitute while I handled the...the funeral arrangements.” She tilted her chin back, hoping it would be more difficult for tears to fall that way.

“Those first few days were the hardest. He cried constantly. Cried and cried. My arms weren’t familiar. I didn’t know the best way to hold him, to feed him. I think...I think he wanted his mommy.” She paused for a couple of beats, then whispered, “Billy was left all alone, an innocent, against the world.”

“Except for you.”

She swallowed. “Except for me,” she agreed.

“I don’t know,” Zach said. “Billy’s got you on his side. I think he’s probably luckier than some kids.”

His hold on her loosened. Instead of pain, she experienced reassurance and confidence. Heart. It confused her, left her adrift. She needed to get away, escape.

She pushed against his chest, half-surprised when he released her.

“I’ll find my brother, Ms. Morrison, soon.”

“There’s one more thing....”

“More surprises?” He arched a brow.

“I know you’d want to see this. I’d almost forgotten I had it.” She reached into the back pocket of her jeans.

He took the paper, unfolding the crisp folds, then scowling as if he could will the condemning words to change. “Billy’s birth certificate,” he said.

She didn’t see the sense in responding.

“A mother can list any name she wants.”

She fought the impulse to defend again.

“I could burn this.”

“You could. But I trust you not to do that.”

He looked at her over the top of the paper. “Why?”

“You haven’t thrown me out.” She wrapped her hands around her shoulders. Cassie didn’t add that it would be easy enough to get another copy. “You didn’t harm me. And I’m taking a risk that you have the integrity to at least find out the truth.”

“You assume a lot.”

“Am I wrong?”

He exhaled. With obvious reluctance, he folded the document and offered it back to her. “You’re welcome to stay in Laramie. There’s a couple of fine hotels. Have them send the bill to me. In the meantime, I’m sure you need to be on your way.”

Nerves attacked suddenly and swiftly. “Your mother has invited us to stay here.”

“Here?”

“She said...she said you have plenty of room and insisted on having our bags sent upstairs.”

Cassandra pulled back her shoulders, taking courage in the face of the tail end of the storm. “If you ask us to leave, I’ll understand.”

A vein throbbed in his temple. “My mother would have my hide if I kicked you out. But be warned, Ms. Morrison, if I find out this is a scam, that you’ve uttered one false word to me or especially to my mother, playing with our emotions and trying to win her favor, you’ll answer to me.”

Her pulse pounded in her throat.

“I guarantee you, lady, you won’t like the consequences.”

She could only imagine.

Without even the barest hint of a smile, he said, “Welcome to the Wind Song Ranch.”

In the sanctuary of her upstairs bedroom, Cassie dropped onto the edge of the bed. In the living room she’d kept a facade of cheerfulness for Margaret’s sake, but eagerly escaped as soon as Billy settled for his afternoon nap.

As stress slithered from Cassie’s shoulders, she pressed a hand over her heart, willing the beat to slow.

The confrontation with Zach had unnerved her completely.

When she’d faced him, she’d fought not to betray how difficult each word was, and worse, her awareness of him as a man.

Zach Hart wore power like an aura. His presence branded the entire house, and she’d been spellbound by it, by him.

“Welcome to the Wind Song Ranch,” he’d said, no emotion behind the words or in his expression. She’d almost imagined the ending to that statement, “Now go home.”

Drinking in fresh oxygen, she felt it burn its way back out.

Cassie’s expectations had been few when she had loaded her fourteen-week-old nephew in the car and headed for Wyoming...few expectations and one hope, that the Harts would live up to their name.

Margaret had heart. But Zach? Cassie wondered if one beat inside his chest.

No, that wasn’t exactly true, she realized, a flush flooding her face. She’d felt the commanding throb of Zach’s heart thud beneath her palm.

He was a flesh and blood man, yet he held all the advantages and left her scrambling for footing.

For a few seconds she contemplated the cowardly route—zipping closed her suitcase and dragging it back downstairs. It would be easier to run and hide. When he’d spoken, Zach’s words had rung with the steel of promise and threat. If his family was hurt, he’d exact the price...from her.

She shuddered, recalling the way his eyes had darkened, from blue to slate.

But what of her family? She was all Billy had left, the only one who could defend him, fight for what he deserved. He’d been through so much, more than any baby should have to endure. In this, Billy was the innocent...she vowed to make Zach remember that.

Before leaving Nebraska, she had spoken to an attorney about trying to adopt Billy. The process still might take months, maybe more, the lawyer had told her. And first she’d have to find out if Chad was his father, and if he’d fight for custody. But if she won...

When she won, she’d be his mother in all senses of the word, and the two of them would have a legal and spiritual bond nothing could sever.

The echo of a masculine footfall on the steps made her pulse jump, missing a beat or two.

Zach.

She knew their rooms were next to each other, his just the door beyond hers, but until now she hadn’t considered all the implications.

Silence thundered. Had he stopped in front of her door? Her eyes closed again, and breath timidly clung to her lungs. She needed to regroup before facing the awesome force of his personality again.

He continued on, away from her room, and she exhaled in a ragged rush. Then a door slammed and a painting on the wall jumped in its frame, taking her confidence with it.

Water rushed through pipes, and she realized he was showering. That meant taking off his shirt and stripping away denim and cotton.

Her mouth dried, but she didn’t dare analyze why: She was in deep—deeper than she’d ever imagined or dreamed.

After offering a silent prayer for strength as well as resolve, she pushed to her feet again. Margaret had planned dinner for four, including Zach’s older brother, Nick.

Nick wasn’t a regular guest, Margaret had said, rather an infrequent one. He lived in Denver with his own family, but he’d been in Cheyenne bidding on a job. The Wind Song wasn’t that far out of his way, as if that was meant to have made Cassie feel better.

She only hoped she had something left to defend a second assault from a Hart brother. Zach had showered, would likely be fortified again before meeting with her. Thank goodness for Margaret’s support. Cassie didn’t know what she would have done without it.

Five minutes later, when silence shrouded the upstairs, she opened her door. Cowardly she checked the hallway before tiptoeing toward the makeshift nursery.

Billy slept soundly, the rise and fall of his steady breaths never failing to amaze her. With a slight smile, she went into the bathroom, where evidence of Zach overwhelmed her.

Steam clung to the mirror like a mystical cloud, and the scent of soap melded with the spice of mountain air cologne. A damp towel draped the tub. She saw his jeans peeking from beneath the laundry hamper’s lid and more—a scrap of material lay on top of them.

Navy blue briefs.

Forcing herself to look away, she placed her makeup kit on the counter, next to the razor he’d left lying there. She moved aside the can of shaving cream, unable to resist the temptation of wiping off the white foam that still clung to the nozzle.

Zach Hart might have been many things, but neat wasn’t among them. Somehow, the small flaw lightened her insides. It gave her more equal footing with him.

Right.

Ignoring the many reminders of Zach in the room, she freshened up, then returned to her room.

Billy started to squirm and whimper, so she made him a bottle and curled up with him on a chair. He settled into her arms, softly and sweetly, taking her away from her concerns. Truth to tell, she needed the distraction.

When the infant was warm, fed and dry, she cuddled him, repeating her promise that he’d never be abandoned again.

As she did almost every day, Cassie counted his perfect fingers and toes. It wasn’t possible for this beautiful baby to be hers to raise and look out for, was it?

The distant reverberation of a doorbell jolted her, and Billy startled, his eyes opening wide. “Well, kiddo, it’s time to meet another uncle.”

Billy kicked. Maybe it was more of a stretch, but Cassie was certain it was in answer to her statement, making him, in her opinion, the smartest baby in the world.

Now all she needed to do was convince Zach of the same thing.

With Billy nestled in the cradle of her arms, Cassie headed downstairs, her tummy tightening with each step she took. The drone of discussion from the living room gave her pause. She heard Zach’s voice over the others and it didn’t take a genius to figure out she and Billy buzzed as the topic of conversation.

If only Zach understood she had no desire to hurt anyone.... But he didn’t. And that meant she had to prove him wrong. She just wished that were easily accomplished.

She stepped inside, and when they saw her, quiet draped over the formal room, like the doom accompanying the words, “The principal wants to see you.”

Her steps faltered, and Zach looked across at her, eyes narrowed.

“So glad you could join us, my dear.” Margaret’s greeting scattered the tension to the corners of the room.

Nick’s eyes, however, glinted dark and cold like his brother’s. A chill chased down Cassie’s spine, despite the lightweight sweater she’d pulled over her silk shirt.

Zach said nothing, but lifted his beer can without taking a drink.

“Nicholas, dear, I’d like to introduce Cassandra Morrison.” Her pause accompanied the regal tilt of her chin. “And the infant she holds may be none other than Chad’s baby.”

“Mother...” Zach warned.

Cassie’s mouth dried.

Zach slammed the can on the table. When he spoke, his tone was as bleak as the future. “You’re making assumptions.”

“Posh,” Margaret retorted. “He has Chad’s nose. Don’t you agree, Nicholas?”

“Mother,” Zach started, “I suggest—”

Margaret waved away the rest of Zach’s protest. “He looks just like all my boys did.”

Nick moved closer, and Cassie noted that the Hart stamp of power didn’t belong exclusively to Zach. Nick was blessed with it, too. She was doubly cursed.

Zach had moved closer to his mother, the brothers forming a semicircle of protection around her.

“I don’t see a resemblance,” Zach stated firmly, lips tightened.

“All babies look alike to me,” Nick agreed.

Tears threatened for the second time that day. Had she made the right decision by coming here? She’d debated whether to seek out Billy’s birth father or not. But she knew how awful it was to grow up without a father.

Embarrassment had forced her to skip the annual Girl Scout father—daughter dance. Instead, she’d stayed home and tried to pretend it didn’t matter. But it had. Kids needed to know they were loved and wanted by their parents.

Selfishly she knew that a big part of her had wanted to keep Billy all to herself. But that would have been the wrong thing to do.

So why did doing the right thing now seem so wrong?

Zach’s gaze collided with hers and he held it for ransom. A speculative gleam dominated his eyes, and his jaw was set in a firm line. Clearing her throat, she looked away, but she was pulled, against her will, back into his hypnotic stare.

What was it about him that so unnerved her, made her lose her poise and calm? She’d faced angry parents, skeptical administrators, stubborn kids. None of those experiences prepared her in the least for the chilly condemnation that emanated from Zachary Hart.

Finally Margaret spoke, shattering the spell. “Now that the introductions are over, we’ll go in for dinner.”

Staying away from Zach in the close quarters of the dining room proved difficult. Margaret had strategically placed herself at the foot of the table, leaving Zach at the head. No matter where Cassie chose to sit, she would be next to him.

Zach pulled back her chair. Already experienced at holding a baby while accomplishing a host of other duties, she took her seat, placing her free hand on the chair to wiggle it closer to the table.

A jolt of electricity seemed to zap her when Zach’s fingers skimmed her shoulders and he bent toward her to say, “Allow me.”

He took far too long in pushing in her chair, and his touch lingered over her, unfurling ribbons of awareness through her. Dam it, she couldn’t afford to notice him, didn’t dare succumb to his charms and become distracted.

Stilted conversation played about the table, making Cassie wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if she’d taken Zach’s suggestion to stay in town. In her fight for Billy’s heritage, she hadn’t factored in the cost to herself. The baby was too young to understand the tension that zinged around him, but she was far from immune to its effects.

And while the meal dragged on for Cassie, Zach, in spite of his numerous faults, expertly played the role of attentive host.

It was the enthusiastic and loving interaction with his family that shocked her most. As coffee was brought in by the housekeeper, he leaned back, listening attentively to stories Nick told about the booming construction business in Denver.

This new side of Zach, one totally at odds with the one he’d shown in his office, was alternately alluring and frightening.

After coffee, Nick asked if Cassie needed a lift to town.

“Cassandra is staying here,” Margaret said firmly, sliding her cup and saucer toward the middle of the table. “If you’ll excuse us,” Margaret said to Zach and Nick, “we ladies will be in the parlor.”

Cassie adjusted the sleeping Billy as she tried to find the best way to rise from the table. Zach stood before she did, pulling back her chair and offering a steady hand.

His fingers cupped her elbow, and the unsettling sensation of attraction curled through her once more, chasing awareness into the base of her stomach and spreading lower with tantalizing, dizzying warning.

Her legs felt wobbly and weak. Warmth seeped into her. She moved a fraction of an inch, but his grip remained firm.

“Need any help?”

“No,” she lied. Then she compounded it by adding, “I’m fine.”

Right then she realized Zach’s tender masculinity posed a far greater threat than his hostility ever could.

And, she thought as want wound through her, his gentle courtesy might prove her undoing.

Three

“You’ll wear a hole in the wood.”

Zach, unaware he’d betrayed the tension coiled in the pit of his stomach, responded to his brother’s statement and stopped drumming his fingers on the oak dining room table.

He turned away from the doorway, but Cassie’s womanly presence still lingered there, mixed with the scent of her wildflower perfume. It had remained behind, a tantalizing tease.

“She’s getting to you,” Nick stated, reaching behind him to the buffet and grabbing two mugs. Shoving aside the porcelain their mother always insisted on, Nick poured two cups of coffee and pushed one toward Zach.

Without thinking, he took it and wrapped his hands around the stoneware.

No doubt Mother had orchestrated the past few minutes...better than any Hollywood director. She was a master at getting what she wanted. And she wanted the boy she already thought of as her grandchild to be a part of this family.

None of this would have happened if Cassie hadn’t shown up, unexpected and uninvited. Damn it. Damn her.

And why did she have to be so appealing? If she had been a shrew, he could have sent her on her way, despite his mother’s objections. But with haunted eyes, desperation in her tone and honesty in her demeanor, he was hardpressed to deny Cassie a single thing.

“I don’t like it,” Zach said flatly.

“No,” Nick agreed. “I don’t imagine you do.”

“So what do we do about her?”

“Throw her in the street,” Nick suggested mildly.

“Go to hell.”

A few beats of silence marked the hostility in the air. Then Nick spoke. “So that’s how it is.”

Zach hadn’t experienced an urge to throw a punch at his older brother in a dozen years. Right now, though, a telltale tingle itched in the tips of his fingers.

“Been a while since you were wound up about a woman.”

Zach’s jaw tightened. “I’m not interested in Cassandra Morrison.” The words were flat and hollow—a lie wrapped around the truth.

He was interested and, just as certainly, shouldn’t be.

At one time Zach had had a weakness for women. Smaller, more vulnerable than he, he’d wanted to shelter them, care for them. Trouble was, trust had been shattered into tiny pieces when his wife slept with another man, betraying his trust. He’d walked away wiser, perhaps bitter. He’d never let another woman close.

Even if the instinct hadn’t been destroyed, he’d already determined Cassandra wasn’t weak, nor was she vulnerable. She stood tall and strong. Sure as winter followed fall, she didn’t want anything resembling protection from him. Fact was, maybe she needed to be protected from him.

“Mother’s certain this kid belongs to Chad.”

Nick nodded. “And you’re certain he doesn’t.”

Zach’s sigh came from the diaphragm. Plowing his fingers through his hair, he admitted, “Hell, Nick, I don’t know.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Chad’s no saint, but he wouldn’t turn his back on his son. His son. None of us would.” Standing, he said, “I’ve got an investigator’s report in my office.”

Wordlessly Nick gathered his mug and followed.

After handing the tattered folder to Nick, Zach settled behind his desk, watching as a mirror expression of his own reaction played across Nick’s features.

Nick closed the folder and nodded. “The father could be anyone.”

“Yeah. But the birth certificate lists Chad as the father.” That knot of tension tightened in Zach’s shoulder again. “And you heard Mother, the kid looks like Chad.”

“He looks like a baby,” Nick countered.

“But she’d know.” Doubts crept in, along with the ramifications. “If he is Chad’s kid, he’s a Hart.”

Nick took a long drink. “Okay, little brother, lay it on the line. What have you come up with?”

Growing up, their mother always called Zach her thinker. Nick acted, Chad reacted and Zach contemplated. From an early age, responsibility had befallen him. Nick had worked his guts out, sending home every penny he could spare, but Zach had parlayed the earnings into something substantial, the heritage they deserved.

He’d watched Nick lose half his worldly goods and a chunk of his salary to a woman he’d briefly married. And Zach himself had struggled to hang on to everything they’d accumulated after Vanessa tried to do the same when he filed for divorce.

No woman, ever again, would come between the Harts and their heritage.

“I offered her a payoff.”

Nick’s brow arched.

“She refused it. Said she doesn’t want money. She wants our time and, for Billy, love.”

“You don’t believe her.”

Zach shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe.”

Following a long pause, Nick said, “We’ll have to get to the bottom of it.”

“And hope no one gets hurt.” Most of all their mother. “So, I’ve hired an investigator.”

Nick nodded. “Good.”

The brothers looked at each other, measured gaze for measured gaze. Unspoken words hung in the air, poised like the tip of a knife blade.

The moment the men strode into the room, Cassie’s senses swam. Zach’s commanding attitude swamped her, demanding her full attention.

His gaze flicked to the Hart family album on her lap and guilty heat suffused her face.

Suddenly feeling like an interloper, she slammed the cover closed. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her guilty reaction. Right. She should have known better. In the short time she’d known Zach, she’d realized he missed nothing.

His eyes were slate again, cold and hard, chilling her as they accused.

“I was showing off pictures of you boys when you were children,” Margaret said, using her cane to stand. “Young Billy has the Hart nose. No doubt about it.”

Tension, so hot it sent a shiver sliding through Cassie, crackled in the room.

Margaret, either oblivious to, or ignoring the effects of her statement, stood and reached for the photo album. “Nicholas, dear, do help me put this away. We’ll have a chance to look at others later.” She paused to look at one last picture. “Here’s one of my boys swimming in the pond.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Seems our Zachary had lost his trunks in the water.” With a little wink, she moved away.

Cassie’s smile died when Zach descended on her. His strides long, he managed to obliterate her comfort zone in three steps. She should have stood up before he’d gotten so close. Or maybe she should have escaped. But it was too late. She was trapped in her seat.

“My mother wants your baby to be her grandchild.”

Having no other choice, Cassie tipped back her head. A crick froze one of the muscles in her shoulder, holding it rigid. Absently she stroked the knot while searching for the right words. “I know.”

Zach crouched, knees wide, stretching his jeans taut across the crotch. For a brief, horrifying second, he snared her attention, her imagination and more.

“Have you considered what it might do to her if you’re wrong?”

Forcing herself to focus on him, on his question, she slowly answered, “Believe me, Mr. Hart—”

“Zach.”

She blinked.

“If you’re going to be sleeping in the room next to mine, we might as well dispense with the formality.”

“But—”

“The name’s Zach.”

The solidness of the name rolled around in her mind, but she didn’t think she’d be able to bring herself to think of him on a friendly first-name basis for quite a while.

Still, with him crouched so near to her, his words whisper soft and the scent of mountain spice permeating the air, she wondered what it might be like to be more, so much more, than opponents.

Thinking became a task demanding effort and she returned to the topic of baby Billy’s future. “I’m a helper, a teacher, not a destroyer.” The voices around them had lowered and she matched the pitch. “If I believe, for one moment, that I’m going to hurt your family, I promise you I’ll leave.”

They regarded each other warily, and she swore she heard the rush of her own pulse, as much from his reaction to her statement as from her own recognition of him.

“I’ll make sure you do,” he said, placing his hands on his thighs and pushing to a standing position.

That brought him, for a brief second, closer to her, skipping her pulse forward a beat.

Billy started to whimper.

“I’ll hold him while you make a bottle,” Margaret said from across the room.

Relief cascaded through Cassie.

Her breathing was still irregular when she mixed water and formula in the kitchen. The situation was becoming more difficult by the minute. And it didn’t appear that relief loomed on the horizon. Finding Chad might take weeks. According to her investigator, Chad was riding rodeos somewhere in South America.

By the time she’d mixed the powder and water, Billy’s whimpers had reached squall force. She was standing just outside the living room door when Margaret’s words stopped Cassie in her tracks.

“Zachary, dear,” Margaret said, “come here and hold young William while I show Nicholas out.”

Nick and Zach’s conversation ceased. Rooted to her spot, Cassie anticipated Zach’s negative reaction.

Without ever looking in her direction, he turned to face his mother. His tone even, he asked Margaret, “You’re going to show Nick out?”

“Now, darling, that’s the polite thing to do.”

“I’m leaving?” Nick chuckled. “All right, Mother, show me out.”

Zach moved toward the couch and his mother. Cassie, debating what to do, bit back her urge to jump in and care for her nephew. Swallowing a nervous lump, she saw Zach accept the unhappy bundle.

Billy seemed so small in Zach’s large arms. And Zach appeared as uncomfortable as any first-time father.

But she knew from experience how incredible it was to hold your own flesh and blood in your arms, feel the warmth, experience the headiness of blind trust.

If only Zach could bond with Billy like she had, see what she saw.... For a few seconds, her body forgot its basic functions.

In Zach’s arms, Billy quieted.

“It’s okay, big guy,” Zach said. “We’ll have that bottle in a sec.”

She’d never heard such mellowness from a big man before. Nuances ran through his rich voice as he dropped it to a level she hadn’t imagined possible. For a frightening moment she wondered how she might respond if he spoke to her in that same gently hypnotic tone.

He glanced in her direction then, his harsh expression tempered by wonder.

Her breath caught, and hope flared for the first time since she arrived. His heart might be encased by distrust, but he did have one, nonetheless.

Even as Cassie watched, steel edged back into his features. If she hadn’t seen the look on his face, she might have doubted his ability to be a sensitive man. Now that she had... Her tummy tightened. Now that she had, she believed Billy might have a chance.

Margaret pushed on the top of her cane and said, “Nicholas, dear, lend your mother a hand.”

A patient look passed between the brothers, then Nick took two steps and proffered his arm.

When they approached Cassie, Nick and his mother stopped. “It was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Nick said. The words were polite, yet a cold undertow rippled beneath them.

No matter how outwardly accepting the Harts might be, she still had a long way to go. Success would be measured in tiny increments.

Still, she and Billy had advanced slightly, evidenced by the fact that Zach now held his nephew.

Billy fussed again, galvanizing her into action.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said.

She moved toward Zach and offered to take the baby.

Shaking his head, he instead said, “Give me the bottle.”

“The bottle?”

“I would assume that’s why he’s exercising his vocal chords.”

Her hand shook as she offered the bottle. She’d had precious little help since Billy arrived in her life. Receiving it from unexpected quarters made her nervous.

Zach ended up squirting formula on Billy’s face. Closing his eyes, he screamed.

“Like this,” Cassie said softly, placing her hand over Zach’s. The heat from his hand jolted her, igniting nerve endings. They looked at each other, the communication having nothing to do with the child and everything to do with simmering awareness.

Wresting her thoughts back under control, she gently moved his hand. Together they stroked Billy’s lip with the nipple. He continued to cry, then suddenly stopped and latched on, sucking with greedy abandonment.

Zach’s smile of triumph rocked her down to her toes. For an instant the connection between them seemed real and honest, tempting.

Her senses in a whir, she released her grip on Zach, moving away to grab a cloth from the diaper bag. When her breaths weren’t as quick, she returned to wipe the drops of milk from Billy’s face. His eyes fluttered open, then blissfully closed again.

“His eyes look like yours,” Zach observed.

She tamped down her first reaction to toss back his words, telling him babies didn’t resemble anyone. “Jeanie’s were the same. It’s the one feature we shared.”