A Billionaire and a Baby

Of course, he didn’t attempt to delude himself that he was the thriving descendent of some savvy, resourceful frontier backwoodsman. He liked his creature comforts along with his solitude. Although he had to admit that he had toyed with the idea of not having a phone here. But in the end his sense of practicality had won over his need to be alone. The compromise was that only Mrs. Farley had his phone number here.

He trusted her implicitly. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his privacy. Privacy had become paramount for him. That was why the cabin he chose to stay in was registered to John Fletcher in the county books. No one suspected he was here today.

Mrs. Farley and he went way back. Far further than anyone suspected. Certainly a lot further than his years as a corporate raider. Other than his uncle, Edna Farley had been the first person to make a positive impact in his life, the first person who had made him feel that he mattered.

Who knew what path his life would have taken if not for her, he mused.

He owed her, owed her a great deal. Though not very vocal, he’d told her as much years ago. All she had ever asked of him was to let her earn her keep. He would have been more than willing to set her up with a lifetime trust fund in any place of her choice. She would have been set for life, but she’d chosen to work at his side. That was typical of her.

He had to admit, he rather liked that. In a way she was the mother his own mother had never been, although Edna Farley never blatantly displayed maternal feelings. They were alike that way, each shut inside with their own emotions. But she took care of him nonetheless. As he did her.

Sin-Jin looked at the gray flagstone fireplace, debating building a fire. The air was nippy up here, a hundred miles away from where he usually resided. It was barely fall, but cold weather found its way faster to this part of Southern California. There was no snow on the mountains yet, but prospects looked good, he thought. The local shopkeepers would be happy.

Maybe someday he’d retire here, he mused. It would be an idyllic life. His mouth curved. As if he could stand a life with no challenges for more than a few days.

The sound of barking in the distance alerted him. Striding across the hardwood floor, Sin-Jin went directly to his gun cabinet and took out a rifle. As he moved to the front door, he loaded the weapon. That was Greta barking. His Irish setter was his flesh-and-blood alarm system and as far as he was concerned, she did a far more effective job than any state-of-the-art laser beams. There were other advantages as well. A high-tech system couldn’t curl up at his feet in the evening and look up at him with soulful brown eyes that helped to ease the building tension of his everyday life.

Pulling the door open, Sin-Jin looked around. The woods were some three hundred feet to his right, but from this vantage point, he saw nothing.

“What is it, Greta?”

At the sound of his voice, the barking increased. As he listened, he placed the direction of origin. It was coming from several yards away. Sin-Jin strode toward the sound, his fingers wrapped around his weapon, ready for anything.

Anything except for what he found.

It was that woman again, that reporter who’d jumped into the elevator with him the other day and tried to waylay him for a story.

Damn it, how the hell did she find this place?

He scowled as he went toward her. She wore a white parka that hung open around her. He doubted that she could even come close to zipping it up around her stomach.

Something Campbell, that was it. Cheryl? No, Sherry.

He grew angrier with every step he took. She had the face of an angel and the body of a lumbering bear all primed for hibernation. Why wasn’t she hibernating?

“You’re trespassing!” he called out to her. “What the hell are you doing up here?”

Sherry struggled to catch her breath. The all-terrain vehicle she’d borrowed from a friend had decided that it wasn’t altogether happy traversing this terrain and had given up the ghost about half a mile down the road. Walking had never been a problem for her, even while carrying around the extra pounds that her baby had brought with it, but this particular half mile had all been uphill. The dog appearing out of nowhere hadn’t exactly helped matters any. Her heart was still pounding wildly. Luckily the dog had decided to be friendly.

“Right now, having car trouble,” Sherry managed to get out.

Yeah, right. You’d think that someone who wrote for a living would be more original than that. “If you expect me to believe that—”

“Go see for yourself.” Turning, Sherry pointed behind her down the mountain. “It’s about half a mile down the road.”

He had half a mind to call the sheriff and have her arrested. That would put the fear of God into her. Fuming, Sin-Jin glared at her. The woman was panting. He eyed her stomach. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating from the effort it had taken to get here.

“Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. Pregnant women were supposed to stay near hospitals, not hike up mountainsides.

“Probably.” She stopped to draw in more air. Her lungs were finally beginning to feel as if they weren’t about to explode. She tried to smile and succeeded only marginally. “I’ve been accused of that on occasion.”

Sin-Jin glanced down at Greta. The dog was prancing around the woman who kept insisting on intruding into his life. It was as if Greta and the reporter were old friends. The barking, now that he thought about it, had been the friendly variety, the kind he was apt to hear when Greta wanted to play. Obviously the animal didn’t see the woman as a threat.

He wondered if Greta was getting old.

Sherry tried to wet her lips and discovered that she couldn’t. Her mouth felt as dry as dust. “I hate to trouble you, but would you mind getting me a glass of water?”

“Yes.” Disgusted, Sin-Jin paused. It would serve the woman right if he sent her on her way just as she was. He sincerely doubted that there was anything wrong with her car. But she was obviously pregnant, and there were beads of perspiration along her brow despite the cold temperature. The walk up here, for whatever reason, had cost her. He glanced back at the cabin. Sin-Jin didn’t relish the idea of taking her in there. “I don’t suppose you want it out here.”

Sherry was beginning to feel very wobbly, as if her legs were turning to the consistency of cotton after being soaked in water. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down.” She glanced at her surroundings and second-guessed what he was about to say. “Preferably not on a rock.”

She raised her eyes to his, the blueness assaulting him. In the light of day they looked even more intense than they had in the elevator. There was something really unsettling about the way she looked at him. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he gazed into her eyes.

Probably just the altitude getting to him, Sin-Jin reasoned.

“What a surprise,” he muttered. “All right, come on.” He waved her forward. “But once you’re rested, you’re going back.”

She didn’t bother trying to keep up. Walking was now a challenge.

“My car died,” she reminded him.

“I’m pretty handy with a car. I’ll get it going.” There was no room for doubt in his voice. He glanced over his shoulder to see if she’d heard him. Her mouth was curved. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’ve learned something about you already.” She struggled not to huff as she followed. “I don’t recall reading anywhere that you were handy with cars.”

Sin-Jin blew out a breath, saying nothing. Instead he glanced at Greta, who was prancing excitedly from foot to foot as she ran alongside of the woman, only to backtrack and then begin again. She gave the impression of trying to shepherd the reporter into his cabin.

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath.

Chapter Four

Trying to contain his anger, Sin-Jin slammed the door the second the woman was inside. The Irish Setter jumped. Greta looked up at him accusingly. The feeling was mutual.

Taking out the ammunition, he parked his rifle in the corner and deposited the shells on the coffee table. “You’re lucky I don’t call the sheriff.”

Sherry took in her surroundings. The ceiling in the living area was vaulted, with heavy wooden beams running across it. The look of massive wood was everywhere. It was a man’s retreat, built by a man for a man. If Adair brought women to his friend’s cabin, they hadn’t left any telltale marks. Even the framed photograph on the mantel had no people in it, just a scenic panorama of what looked like the Lake Tahoe area.

She turned to look at him, fighting an odd wave of discomfort unlike any she’d experienced in the past nine months, a passage of time marked with a great many moments of discomfort. Sherry tried to focus on his face. His expression was as cold as the weather outside.

“You didn’t call the sheriff because you don’t want to be laughed at, Mr. Adair.” She pointed toward the framed photograph. “Is that Lake Tahoe?”

“Yes.” Impatience echoed in his voice. “As for calling the sheriff—”

Feeling suddenly woozy, Sherry collapsed in the nearest chair without bothering to ask if she could. It took effort to complete her thought. “Not many people would see their way clear to your feeling threatened by a pregnant woman.”

He looked down at her and glared. The woman was making herself right at home, wasn’t she? “You don’t threaten me, Ms. Campbell, you annoy me.”

As if to defuse the moment, Greta eased herself into the space formed by her arm and the chair, the setter’s indication clear. She wanted to be petted. Sherry obliged the dog, taking comfort in the soothing act.