Committed to the Baby: Claiming King's Baby / The Doctor's Secret Baby

“On leave,” Jefferson told him. “If you’d open your e-mails once in a while, you’d know that. He’s shipping out again soon, and he had some leave coming to him so he took it. He’s soaking up some sun at cousin Rico’s hotel in Mexico.”

Jericho was a career marine. He loved the life and he was good at his job, but Justice hated that his brother was about to head back into harm’s way. Why hadn’t he been opening his e-mails? Truth? Because he’d been in a piss-poor mood since the accident. He should have known, though, that his brothers wouldn’t just leave him alone in his misery.

“That’s why you’re here, then,” Justice said. “You got the short straw.”

“Pretty much.”

“I should have been an only child,” Justice muttered.

“Maybe in your next life,” Jefferson told him, then pulled one hand free of his slacks pocket to check the time on his gold watch.

“If I’m keeping you,” Justice answered with a bared teeth grin, “feel free to get the hell out.”

“I’ve got time,” his brother assured him. “I’m not leaving until the new therapist arrives and I can make sure you don’t scare her off.”

Wounded pride took a bite out of Justice and he practically snarled at his brother. “Why don’t you all just leave me the hell alone? I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it. Just like I don’t want these damn therapists moving in here like some kind of invasion.” He winced as his leg pained him, then finished by saying, “I’m not even gonna let this one in, Jeff. So you might as well head her off.”

“Oh,” Jefferson told him with a satisfied smile, “I think you’ll let this one stay.”

“You’re wrong.”

The doorbell rang just then and Justice heard his housekeeper’s footsteps as she hustled along the hall toward the door. Something way too close to panic for Justice’s own comfort rose up inside him. He shot Jefferson a quick look and said, “Just get rid of her, all right? I don’t want help. I’ll get back on my feet my own way.”

“You’ve been doing it your own way for long enough, Justice,” Jefferson told him. “You can hardly stand without sweat popping out on your forehead.”

From a distance, Justice heard Mrs. Carey’s voice, welcoming whoever had just arrived. He made another try at convincing his brother to take his latest attempt at help and leave.

“I want to do this on my own.”

“That’s how you do everything, you stubborn bastard. But everybody needs help sometimes, Justice,” his brother said. “Even you.”

“Damn it, Jefferson—”

The sound of two women’s voices rippled through the house like music, rising and falling and finally dropping into hushed whispers. That couldn’t be a good sign. Already his housekeeper was siding with the new therapist. Wasn’t anyone loyal anymore? Justice scraped his free hand through his hair, then scrubbed his palm across his face.

He hated feeling out of control. And ever since his accident, that sensation had only been mounting. He’d had to trust in daily reports from his ranch manager rather than going out to ride his own land. He’d had to count on his housekeeper to take care of the tasks that needed doing around here. He wanted his damn life back, and he wasn’t going to get it by depending on some stranger to come in and work on his leg.

He’d regain control only if he managed to come back from his injuries on his own. If that didn’t make sense to anyone but him, well, he didn’t care. This was his life, his ranch and, by God, he was going to do things the way he always had.

His way.

He heard someone coming and shot a sidelong glance at the open doorway, preparing himself to fire whoever it was the minute she walked in. His brothers could just butt the hell out of his life.

Footsteps sounded quick and light on the wood floor, and something inside Justice tightened. He had a weird feeling. There was no explanation for it, but for some reason his gut twisted into knots. Glancing at his brother, he muttered, “Just who the hell did you hire?”

Then a too-familiar voice announced from the doorway, “Me, Justice. He hired me.”

Maggie.

His gaze shot to her, taking her in all at once as a man dying of thirst would near drown himself with his first taste of water. She was wearing blue jeans, black boots and a long-sleeved, green T-shirt. She looked curvier than he remembered, more lush somehow. Her hair was a tumble of wild curls around her shoulders and framing her face with fiery, silken strands. Her blue eyes were fixed on him and her mouth was curved into a half smile.

“Surprise,” she said softly.

That about covered it, he thought. Surprise. Shock. Stunned stupid.

He was going to kill Jefferson first chance he got.

But for now he had to manage to stay on his feet long enough to convince Maggie that he didn’t need her help. Damn it, she was the absolute last person in the world he wanted feeling sorry for him. Lifting his chin, he narrowed his gaze on her and said, “There’s been a mistake, Maggie. I don’t need you here, so you can go.”

She flinched—actually flinched—and Justice felt like the bastard Jefferson had called him just a moment or two ago. But it was best for her to leave right away. He didn’t want her here.

“Justice,” his brother said in a long-suffering sigh.

“It’s okay, Jeff,” Maggie said, walking into the room, head held high, pale blue eyes glinting with the light of battle. “I’m more than used to your brother’s crabby attitude.”

“I’m not crabby.”

“No,” she said with a tight smile, “you’re the very soul of congenial hospitality. I just feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Then she took a hard look at him. “Why are you standing?”

“What?”

Beside him, Jeff muffled a laugh and tried to disguise it with a cough. It didn’t work.

“You heard me,” Maggie said, rushing across the room. When Justice didn’t move, she grumbled something unintelligible, then dragged a chair over to him. She pushed him down onto it, and it was all Justice could do to hide the relief that getting off his feet gave him. “Honestly, Justice, don’t you have any sense at all? You can’t put all your weight on your bad leg or you’ll be flat on your back again. Why aren’t you using a cane at least?”

“Don’t have one,” he muttered.

“He threw it across the room,” Jeff provided.

“Of course he did,” Maggie said. She spotted the cane, then walked to retrieve it. When she came back to his side, she thrust it at him and ordered, “If you’re going to stand, you’re going to use the cane.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Maggie,” he said.

“You do now.”

“In case you didn’t notice the lack of welcome, I’m firing you.”

“You can’t fire me,” she told him, leaning down to stare him dead in the eye. “Jefferson hired me. He’s paying me to get you back on your feet.”

“He had no right to.” Justice sent his brother a hard glare, but Jefferson was rocking back and forth on his heels, clearly enjoying himself.

Maggie straightened up, fisted her hands at her hips and stared down at him with the stern look of a general about to order troops into battle. “He did hire me, though, Justice. Oh, and by the way, I’ve heard about the other three therapists who’ve come and gone from here—”

Justice looked past her to glare at his brother but looked back to Maggie again when she continued.

“—and you’re not going to scare me off by throwing your cane. Or by being rude and nasty. So no need to try.”

“I don’t want you here.”