Bundle of Trouble

The other woman’s hand lowered. “Good point. Besides, the sheriff should be here any moment.”

“Why don’t you go watch for him.”

Kacee frowned. “But, what if…”

“Just go,” Tate bit out. “I can handle this.” He stared down at Sylvia, his steely brown-eyed gaze boring into her. When Kacee rounded the corner, he growled, “Why should I believe any of this?”

Tired, dizzy and beyond her endurance, Sylvia stared back at the millionaire who could have had her physically removed by now, but for some unknown reason hadn’t. “If you had your child stolen from you, would you just let him go?”

The man holding her arm continued to glare, the silence lengthening between them. When Sylvia thought he wouldn’t respond to her question, the man sighed, his grip loosening. “No, I would never stop looking.”

“Exactly.” Hope blossomed in her chest, a smile trembling on her lips. “Then you’ll let me see him?”

His hold stiffened. “I didn’t say that.”

She raised her hand to peel his fingers loose from her arm. “Please. I’ve been searching for so long. If there is any chance the baby in there is mine…”

For a brief moment, Tate’s face grew haggard, then his mouth tightened, the expression returning to the cold hard mask of a harsh businessman. “Are you prepared if the boy isn’t yours?”

“If he has the birthmark—”

“I repeat, the birthmark proves nothing.” Tate’s hand squeezed tighter. She’d have a bruise there by morning.

“If he has the birthmark, will you agree to a DNA test?” To be this close was killing her. “Look, I know this can’t be easy for you, either. You’ve had Jacob for the past six months. I only had him for four.” She gave a watery smile. “But I remember what a good baby he was, always laughing and happy. If he’s like he was back then, anyone would fall in love with the little guy. His smile could light up a room.”

“I’m going to let you go. Don’t try anything.” Tate’s hand loosened and dropped to his side.

Sylvia closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the heavens. Then she opened them again. “Then, you’ll let me see him?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You can’t touch him. I don’t want you anywhere close to my son.”

Sylvia dragged in a deep breath and let it go. Her arms ached with the need to hold her son, but she could wait a little bit longer. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Tate sensed that by showing the woman his son everything would change. But the look in her eyes, the desperate plea to see the boy tugged at Tate’s heart. This dusty woman who’d defied his no trespassing signs, crossed long distances, chased leads and finally made it to his home showed a courage he hadn’t seen in the women he’d known. If everything she said was true. Not that he believed any of it, yet.

The thought of having Jake stolen from him made his stomach clench into a bigger knot than he could have imagined.

“Señor Vincent?” Rosa, clutching Jake against her chest, peered around the door. “Is everything okay?”

The golden-haired child spied him, squealed and reached out for Tate. Instinctively, he held out his arms for his son. Jake fell into them, giggling.

Over the top of his son’s golden head, Tate could see the trespasser’s eyes fill with tears, spilling over and running down her cheeks. Her hand rose as if to touch Jake.

Tate stepped back, out of reach.

Her hand fell to her side. “Will you look?” she whispered.

He told himself it didn’t matter if his son had the star-shaped birthmark. Nothing short of a DNA test would convince him. But the pale blue of his son’s gaze reflected through the sheen of tears in the woman’s eyes. The bright gold cap of silky smooth hair resembled that of the woman with the long, straight, blond locks.

“Please,” she said, her voice a quiet entreaty in the hallway.

His heart heavy, Tate pulled the tape tab from the right side of Jake’s disposable diaper and pushed the plastic and cotton aside.

There on his right hip was a light red birthmark in the shape of a star.

Sylvia gasped. “Oh, God, oh, God…I’ve found him.” Then she sank to the floor, burying her head in her hands, silent sobs shaking her narrow frame.

“Tate, the sheriff’s here.” Kacee’s heels clicked a sharp staccato on the smooth, Mexican terra-cotta tiles. “He wants to talk to you. I told him about her.” His assistant’s brows rose as her gaze found Sylvia on the floor. “Good Lord, did she pass out again?”

“Rosa, take Jake to the kitchen and let him finish his meal there.” Tate handed his son to his caregiver and squatted beside the overcome interloper. “You come with me.” He held out his hand.

When she placed her hand in his, he couldn’t ignore the spark of electricity, the flare of desire he’d felt. She was just a crazy woman out to take his son away from him. Most likely, she was after more. Maybe she wanted to blackmail him.

But the watery blue eyes staring up at him were just like Jake’s and had a similar melting quality that affected him more than he’d likely admit. Angry with himself for feeling anything for this person who claimed Jake was hers, who threatened to take away the only family Tate had left, he jerked her up off the floor.

Sylvia came up so fast, she slammed into his chest. His arm came up around her narrow waist, steadying her against him.

Her breath caught on a gasp, her fingers laying flat against his shirt, her eyes wide. “I…I can stand on my own.” She gave a light push to free herself.

“Sure you can.” For some reason he couldn’t let go, his arm slipping around her waist. Mistake, his brain warned. “You’ve already fainted once. I refuse to give you another opportunity to bring a lawsuit against me.” The lawsuit of his life loomed like a dark cloud of doom. If Jake truly was her child, he’d be in a hellacious court fight like no other.

He steered her toward the living room. Her gaze darted toward the kitchen doorway as they passed, Jake’s giggles carrying through. “I’ve found him,” she whispered, a smile curving her lips.

“Don’t count your chickens, lady,” Tate grumbled. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

Sheriff Thompson stood in the living room, his hat in his hand. “Mr. Vincent.” He nodded.

“Sheriff.” Tate guided Sylvia to a seat and pressed her into it.

“Ms. LeBlanc tells me you have a trespasser.” He tipped his head toward Sylvia. “This the one?”

Tate didn’t look at Sylvia. “Yes.”

The woman in question gasped. “I only wanted to see my child. How can that be a crime?”

“You want to file charges, Mr. Vincent?” Sheriff Thompson crossed the living room and stood in front of Sylvia, his feet parted, his hands fiddling with the case containing the handcuffs attached to his utility belt.

The blonde stared across at Tate, that same desperation in her eyes gnawing away at the knot in his gut. Damn it! He didn’t need this. “No,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” Kacee marched over to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Remember what happened to your father? Are you willing to let something like that happen to Jake?”

Tate finally turned and stared into Sylvia’s eyes. “I really don’t think she’ll hurt Jake.”

“You willing to bet Jake’s life on that?” Kacee planted hands on her hips. When Tate refused to meet her eyes, his gaze still on Sylvia, Kacee threw her hands in the air. “Don’t get mad when I tell you I told you so.”