The Boss's Special Delivery. Raye Morgan

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      She shook her head. Now he was being plain old annoying and he had to know it was bugging her. Was he doing it to put her down? Somehow she didn’t really think so. It seemed more like teasing, like he thought he was being playful. Like he was attracted to her and—

      No. Now that was going too far. Why would a man like this be attracted to a woman in ugly green who was carrying someone else’s baby? That was just her fantasy side coming out again. She was going to have to learn to turn that little talent off.

      “I should have known you were an Allman. I guess that explains it.”

      “Explains what?”

      She flushed, not sure what to say. The Allmans had been one of the founding families of the town, but their reputation hadn’t been good when she’d been here in the past. She always had the idea the Allmans were “this close” to being outlaws. Of course, that might have been pure gossip at the time, but something about the family always seemed to signal danger of one sort or another.

      “That explains why you look as much like a rebel without a cause as you do a doctor,” she said a bit lamely, knowing he was waiting for an answer.

      “A rebel.” He savored the word, eyes narrowing as though he saw himself from a distance. “I kind of like that.”

      “Of course you do. You’re an Allman.”

      He thought for a moment, his penetrating gaze clearly taking stock of her. She stared right back at him, not giving an inch. But inside, she quivered, wondering what he saw. A mouthy waitress who ought to be more grateful for what he’d done to tend to her? A pain in the neck? A pitiful ragamuffin, her dark hair a tangled mess?

      None of those things were good and she wished, suddenly, that she knew a way to act that wouldn’t put her at odds with him. Sometimes it seemed she only had two speeds, mad attraction or complete hostility. And since she’d vowed she would never let herself get fooled by an attraction again, the tough-girl pose was just about all she had left.

      But maybe that was okay. It gave her armor against falling for the sort of charm that had left her pregnant and alone. It helped let a man like this doctor know his handsome face and hunky physique weren’t going to bowl her over any time soon. If she had to be hard and caustic to make that plain, so be it. Better he know right up front. Better they all know. And better that she keep in mind the consequences of letting silly romantic notions creep into her thinking.

      “So I’m an Allman,” he was saying, looking quizzical. “What exactly does that mean to you?”

      She drew herself up a bit. “Do you really want to know?”

      “Yes.”

      She sighed. “Okay. To me, growing up around here, the Allmans were cowboys, trending toward the wrong side of the law. The Allmans always seemed to be starting fights or causing trouble. Especially for the McLaughlins.”

      He laughed, and she flushed, not sure what he found so funny. He couldn’t possibly know her relationship to the McLaughlins. No one knew. So that couldn’t be it. Frowning, she went on.

      “Now I come back to town and find the Allmans are the movers and shakers of the place. What happened?”

      It was a remarkable transformation from what she’d seen. Those low-life Allmans now had a thriving company and the high-and-mighty McLaughlins had hit hard times. That had to be difficult for everyone concerned.

      She’d been thirteen when her mother had finally told her that her father had been William McLaughlin, from the family she’d worked for years ago. And because that family was so important in Chivaree, she’d held the secret close and been proud of it. Watching McLaughlins whenever she came to town, she’d felt an identification with them that she couldn’t communicate—and they had fascinated her.

      Now, all alone with a baby coming, she’d come back instinctively to the place where her “family” lived, to find out a few things. First, was it true? Did she really have blood ties to these people? And second, would they accept her? Or would they want to deny that she had any right to their attention at all?

      So far she hadn’t decided exactly what she was going to do—which McLaughlin she would approach and what she would say when she did so. The man she’d been told was her father had died a few years before, so that bit of closure would be forever denied to her. But he’d had other children, three sons. What would they say when she showed up on their doorsteps?

      Soon after she’d arrived in town, she’d found a way to insert herself into the McLaughlin consciousness. She’d seen a wanted notice for a once-a-week housekeeper at the McLaughlin Ranch, and she’d applied for the job right away. Since she was only working part-time here at Millie’s, she had plenty of time for it, and the housekeeping job gave her a sort of foot in the door. The fact that she was working in a position very like what her mother had once had with the family was a little troubling. But she couldn’t be choosy at this point. She needed to get the lay of the land. Time was moving on and a baby was coming. And she knew she was going to have to do something about that very soon.

      “What’s your name?” he was asking.

      “Annie Torres.” The first name was pinned to her uniform, but she wondered if he would recognize the last name. Probably not. After all, why would he remember the name of the McLaughlin housekeeper from so many years ago? The McLaughlins themselves hadn’t.

      “Nice to meet you, Annie,” he said casually. “In time I hope you’ll come to see that Allmans aren’t so bad.”

      “But that doesn’t mean you’re now the good guys,” she said hastily. “Just because you’re rich and all.”

      “Oh? Why not?”

      She shrugged, turning her palms up. “Leopards and zebras.”

      He looked as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “What?”

      “Spots and stripes don’t change that easily.”

      “Ah.” He nodded wisely. “Wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

      “Exactly right.” She gave him a skeptical look. “For all we know, you could be playing possum.”

      He groaned. “Are you always this glib with the animal aphorisms?”

      A small spark of satisfaction flared in her chest. She finally felt as though one of her barbs had hit home. “Not always. I’m as game for a good sports metaphor as the next girl.”

      “Good.” He rose and held out a hand to her. “Because you’re being traded.”

      “What?” For some reason, maybe because she was still trying to figure out what he was talking about, she meekly let him take her hand and pull her to her feet.

      “How do you feel?” he asked, studying her eyes.

      She took a deep breath. He hadn’t let go of her hand, but maybe that was to help her steady herself. Frowning, she pulled her hand out of his and rubbed it against her skirt, trying to erase the delicious feeling his touch had given her.

      “I’m fine,” she said crisply. “I need to get back to work.”

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