The Marriage Command

The temptation to throw herself at Logan Pierce’s feet and beg to be allowed at least a miniscule part in the boy’s future was pitifully strong. If she could somehow keep the child from being devastated, she was willing to do whatever it took to spare him.

And yet she knew instinctively that she couldn’t show even a particle of emotion. A man who apparently had no feelings wouldn’t respect anything but the cool poise she’d shown him so far.

She’d already determined that the best course would be to convince Logan Pierce that her ongoing contact with Cody would benefit Logan Pierce. He didn’t impress her as a man who tolerated upset or insubordination of any kind, much less any ripples in his otherwise rigidly ordered life. Little boys were inherently disruptive and not given to rigid order. They should be expected to behave, but children were still learning. Mistakes and little problems were inevitable.

Suddenly every reasoned point she’d considered making to him about the wisdom of allowing her frequent, regular contact with the boy seemed doomed to fail. Her limited experience with Logan Pierce had more than convinced her that he considered her just as shiftless and troublesome as Farrah.

But the boy considered her his mother. Farrah herself had encouraged Cody to call Claire “Momma.” Though Claire had worried about that from the start, she had been Cody’s momma in every way other than actually giving birth to him. The tragedy for her, but now especially for the boy, was that she hadn’t.

As if he’d sensed her upset, Cody moved restlessly in her arms and drew back to rub his eye with a back of his hand. His soft whimper was a strong signal that he was out of sorts. He’d not slept well in the car, and the lack of a good nap would leave him cranky until he felt more fully awake. This wasn’t the best time for him to meet his uncle.

The housekeeper had offered no real welcome to the boy, though most people did. Cody was a handsome child, with black hair and blue eyes, and he was usually well behaved. It helped to remember that he’d had his little arms fastened tightly around Claire’s neck when they’d come in, so perhaps the housekeeper hadn’t thought he was awake enough yet to cope with a stranger.

Claire so hoped that was the reason the woman had all but ignored the boy. At least she’d brought a carafe of cold orange juice with the pitcher of iced tea, so perhaps that was an indication of the woman’s thoughtfulness.

Cody began to fuss a little then, and Claire tried to distract him.

“Would you like some orange juice, sweetheart?”

That got his attention and she scooted forward on the sofa with him on her lap to reach for the small glass. Cody seemed to perk up a bit after he’d had a sip, but he refused a second sip. He’d noticed a small bronze sculpture of a wild horse on the table at the end of the sofa and immediately wiggled out of her arms to investigate.

And promptly knocked the small, weighty piece on its side!

Horrified, Claire put the glass of juice on the tray then jumped up to right the sculpture. The moment she picked it up, she saw that the rippling mane of the horse had gouged the fine, high gloss tabletop. The whitish cut stood out starkly on the dark wood.

How would Logan Pierce react to this? The question made her nauseous, and her heart began to race with real fear. But then her fear shot up what must have been miles as she heard heavy bootsteps coming from some unseen hall outside the wide doorway of the living room.

There was no way to fix or conceal the damage to what was surely a very expensive table. She would gladly pay for the damage whatever it cost, but a two-year-old was bound to have other small accidents in a home filled with fine furniture, and she wouldn’t be around to intervene with those.

As the steady bootsteps grew closer, she sent up a desperate prayer.

Please, God, let him be tenderhearted with this boy. And understanding and wonderfully patient…

That was the moment Logan Pierce walked into the room. Claire looked up from the damaged table and tried to read his somber expression as she clutched the small sculpture.

There was nothing even remotely tender or understanding or patient about the way this man looked. His rugged face was all planes and angles and harshness. He looked almost ruthless. She doubted he’d ever smiled in his life.

And then he leveled that cold black gaze on her and she felt the sharp impact of it. She could tell he didn’t like her—that had been obvious from the moment she’d seen him at the funeral—but her worries about his bad opinion of her were a distant second to her fear that Cody’s accident just now might cause him to have a bad opinion of the boy.

Pierce was clearly not a man to cross or aggravate or inconvenience in any way, which made him the last person Claire would pick to raise her beloved Cody. Just the fact that he’d deemed her unimportant to the child was enough to convince her that he wouldn’t care about Cody’s feelings in any other circumstances. Particularly furniture gouges.

That hard black gaze dropped to note the bronze horse she still held in her hands. He hadn’t greeted her, not even to make a token welcome, so she didn’t offer one, though she was compelled to speak.

“There’s been a small accident, Mr. Pierce. I’m afraid your table has been damaged, and I apologize for not being quick enough to prevent it. If you’ll send me the bill, I’ll gladly pay for either a repair or a replacement, whichever you prefer.”

Claire held her breath, so terrified of how he’d react that she felt almost faint. Cody’s voice carried a cranky whine.

“I want the horse, Momma.”

Claire glanced down at him, relieved to be spared a few seconds of the intensity in Logan Pierce’s gaze. She set the sculpture on the coffee table next to the tray.

“The horse isn’t a toy, honey,” she said softly as she took the boy’s hand to redirect his attention. “You need to say hello to your uncle.” She gave the child an encouraging smile.

Cody glanced over his shoulder to see the giant of a man who stood a few feet away, then promptly turned back to Claire and launched himself against her. Claire picked him up and his little arms went tightly around her neck. There was no mistaking his fear, and Logan’s disapproval was evident.

“Does he act up like that all the time?”

The question was a criticism of the boy that was almost impossible to tolerate, though she managed to do it.

“He’s very well behaved, Mr. Pierce. He didn’t get a good nap on the way out, so he’s out of sorts. And this is a new place. He’s shy with people he doesn’t know, and I’m glad of that. I hope you’ll be patient. He’s really a very good little boy. Very good.”

She took a shaky breath, compelled to win some sign of softening on Pierce’s harsh face. “He’s only two years old.”

Her voice broke on the words so she went silent and tried not to look as terrified for Cody—and as worried about Logan Pierce’s obvious displeasure—as she felt.

“Why are you glad?”

The odd question threw her for a moment, but he helpfully supplied a reminder.

“You said he’s shy with people he doesn’t know. Why are you glad?”

Claire sensed more than a trace of anger behind the question, as if he’d taken her remarks personally.

“I’m sure you read the papers and listen to the news, Mr. Pierce. A child who’s too friendly with strangers is at risk, so yes, I’m glad he’s leery of strangers. I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets to know you. Please don’t be offended.”

The heavy silence that descended was rife with undercurrents. As intimidating as Logan Pierce was, Claire couldn’t seem to keep from staring.

The man wasn’t handsome, at least not in the conventional way. His weathered tan gave the impression of Native ancestry that went with his almost black hair and midnight eyes. And yet it was his very ruggedness that would make him a standout anywhere he went.

He was tall and wide-shouldered, with strong arms and long, powerful legs. He obviously spent the bulk of his time outdoors doing hard physical labor, and the blue plaid shirt he wore with the cuffs folded back, his jeans and scuffed black boots were clearly work clothes.

The overall impression was raw masculinity unrelieved by any trace of softness. Claire knew already that he was a tyrant who was used to getting his way, either by the sheer overpowering force of his will or by buying it. He’d used both to stake his claim to Cody and he’d been soundly successful.

But did he have it in him to extend some small particle of mercy to the woman he’d so decisively trounced in court? Claire would gladly forego any possible concession to her in exchange for his pledge to be gentle and understanding with the boy.

Cody’s whispered, “Wanna go home, Mommy,” wasn’t quite enough of a whisper.

If it was possible, Logan Pierce’s harsh expression went harsher. Claire sensed right away that he blamed her for the boy’s eagerness to leave. She broke contact with his cold gaze to speak with the child.

“We came to visit your uncle Logan, sweetheart. Remember? We brought your toys so you’d have plenty to play with in case your uncle didn’t have many toys.”

Claire persuaded the boy to loosen his hold on her neck so he could see her face. She made herself smile. “Maybe we can have Uncle Logan help us bring in a few things. Would you like that? I’m sure he’d like to see your cars.”

“No, Momma,” Cody said, his little face the picture of distress before he cuddled close again. “I wanna go home,” he said, then burst into tears.

The sound wounded her and she looked over at Logan. “Do you have a rocking chair?” If she could get Cody to settle down enough to finish his nap, it would make all the difference.

Logan didn’t reply to that, but instead turned to walk to the wide doorway he’d entered the room by moments ago. He obviously expected her to follow, so she gathered up her handbag and the large cloth bag of Cody’s things. She awkwardly balanced her hold on the sobbing child with one arm as she swung the long straps of both bags over her shoulder and started around the long sofa.