The Paternity Promise. Merline Lovelace

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СКАЧАТЬ Delilah herself was in knee-length leopard tights topped by an oversize black T-shirt with a neon message urging folks to come out and be amazed by Oklahoma City’s new gorilla habitat—a habitat she’d coaxed, cajoled and strong-armed her friends into funding.

      “Don’t just stand there,” she snapped at Grace. “Get the blanket out of the diaper bag.”

      Even the blanket was a riot of green and yellow and jungle red. Grace spread it a safe distance away from the glass coffee table. Molly was just learning to crawl. She could push herself onto her hands and knees and hold her head up to survey the world with bright, inquisitive eyes.

      Delilah deposited the baby on the blanket and made sure she was centered before pointing an imperious finger at Grace.

      “You. Sit.” The older woman plunked herself down in the opposite chair, keeping the baby between them. “Now talk.”

      “You sure you wouldn’t like some coffee first?” Grace asked with a hopeful glance at the suite’s fully equipped kitchen. “I could make a quick pot.”

      “Screw coffee. Talk.”

      Grace blew out a sigh and raked her fingers through her unbrushed hair. Obviously Delilah had no intention of making this easy.

      “I don’t know how much Blake told you…” She let that dangle for a moment. Got no response. “Okay, here’s the condensed version. Molly’s mother was my cousin. When Anne worked at Dalton International, she had a brief affair with your son. She died before she could tell me which son, so I brought Molly to you and finessed a job as her nanny while Alex and Blake sorted out the paternity issue.”

      Delilah pinned Grace with a look that could have etched steel. “If one of my sons got this cousin of yours pregnant, why didn’t she have the guts or the decency to let him know about the baby?”

      Grace stiffened. Shielding Hope—Anne!—had become as much a part of her as breathing. No one knew what her cousin had endured. And Grace was damned if she’d allow anyone, even the formidable Delilah Dalton, to put her down.

      “I told Blake and I’ll tell you. Anne had good reasons for what she did, but she wanted those reasons to die with her. She didn’t, however, want her baby to grow up without knowing either of her parents.”

      Delilah fired back with both barrels. “Don’t get uppity with me, girl!”

      The fierce retort startled the baby. Molly swung her head toward her grandmother, wobbled and plopped down on one diapered hip. Both women instinctively bent toward her, but she was already pushing back onto her knees.

      Delilah moderated her tone if not her message. “I’m the one who bought your out-of-work schoolteacher story, remember? I took you into my home. I trusted you, dammit.”

      Grace didn’t see any use in pointing out that she hadn’t lied about being a teacher or temporarily out of work. The trust part stung enough.

      “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about my connection to Molly.”

      “Ha!”

      “I promised my cousin I would make sure her child was loved and cared for.” Her glance went again to the baby, happily drooling and rocking on hands and knees. Slowly, she brought her gaze back to Delilah. “And she is,” Grace said softly. “Well cared for and very much loved.”

      Delilah huffed out something close to a snort but didn’t comment for long moments. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character,” she said at last. “Even that horny goat I married lived up to almost everything I’d expected of him.”

      Grace didn’t touch that one. She’d heard Delilah say more than once she wished to hell Big Jake Dalton hadn’t died before she’d found out about his little gal pal. His passing would’ve been a lot less peaceful.

      “Is all this you’ve just told me true?” the Dalton matriarch demanded.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Molly’s mother was really your cousin?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, I guess we’ll have proof of that soon enough. Damned lab is making a fortune off all these rush DNA tests we’ve ordered lately.”

      She pooched her lips and moved them from side to side before coming to an abrupt decision.

      “I’ve watched you with Molly. I don’t believe you’re some schemer looking to extort big bucks from us. You’ll have to work to convince Blake of that, though.”

      “I can’t tell him any more than I have.”

      “You don’t know him like I do. He has his ways of getting what he wants. So do I,” she added as she pushed out of the chair and adjusted the sling. “So do I. C’mon, Mol, let’s go see your daddy.”

      Without thinking Grace moved to help. Swooping the baby up, she planted wet, sloppy kisses on her cheeks before slipping the infant’s feet through the sling’s leg openings. While Delilah tightened the straps, Grace folded the jungle blanket back into the diaper bag and handed it to the older woman.

      “I’m sorry Blake doesn’t want me to help with Molly.”

      “We’ll manage until this mess gets sorted out.”

      If it got sorted out. Grace grew more antsy as one day stretched into two, then three.

      Blake had her things packed and delivered along with her purse. She tried to take that as a good sign. Apparently he wasn’t afraid she would pull a disappearing act like her cousin had.

      He didn’t contact her personally, though, and that worried Grace. It also caused an annoyingly persistent ache. Only now that she’d been banished from their lives did she realize how attached she’d become to the Daltons, mother and son. And to Molly! Grace missed cooing to the baby and watching her count her toes and shampooing her soft, downy blond hair.

      She’d known the time would come when she would have to drop out of Molly’s life. The longer she stayed here, the greater the risk Jack Petrie might trace her to Oklahoma City and wonder what she was doing here. Yet she felt a sharp pang of dismay when Blake finally condescended to call a little past 6:00 p.m. with a curt announcement.

      “I need to talk to you.”

      “All right.”

      “I’m downstairs,” he informed her. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

      At least she was a little better prepared for this face-to-face than she’d been for their last. Her hair was caught up in a smooth knot and she’d swiped on some lip gloss earlier. She debated whether to change her jeans and faded San Antonio SeaWorld T-shirt but decided to use the time to take deep, calming breaths.

      Not that they did much good. The Blake Dalton she opened the door to wasn’t one she’d seen before. He’d always appeared at his mother’s house in suits or neatly pressed shirts and slacks sporting creases sharp enough to shave fuzz from a peach. Then, of course, there was the tux he’d donned for the wedding. Armani should wish for male models with builds like either of the Dalton twins.

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