Daddy Wore Spurs. Stella Bagwell

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      He moved a step closer and Mariah’s nerves twisted even tighter.

      “I don’t think you ought to be worrying over Aimee’s motives anymore,” he said. “Harry’s future is the main issue now. And that brings us to the DNA test. Do you think we can get that taken care of tomorrow?”

      Her throat went tight as she glanced over at him. “You’re not wanting to waste any time, are you?”

      “Dallying around won’t tell us anything. And my job on the Horn is—well, pretty demanding. I need to get back there as soon as possible.”

      “I suppose I can call the school and let them know I need to take a couple hours off in the morning. Long enough for us to go to the health department and get the samples taken,” she said guardedly. “That way you can go on back to Nevada. And receive the results in the mail.”

      “That isn’t going to happen.”

      His instant retort had her dropping the sponge and squaring around to face him. “What does that mean?”

      “It means I’m not about to leave here without Harry.”

      The determination in his voice sent a chill slithering down her spine. “And what if you’re not his father? All that waiting will be wasted.”

      His clear blue gaze traveled over her face in a way that made Mariah forget about breathing.

      “Let me be the judge of that,” he said quietly.

      Shoving a hand in her hair, she pushed it off her forehead, while silently yelling at her heart to slow down. Otherwise, she was going to faint right at his feet.

      Drawing in a steadying breath, she said, “You must be feeling confident that Harry is your child.”

      “I am. And deep down you believe I’m his father, too. Don’t you?”

      Clamping her jaw tight, she was determined not to let him see her cry, to let him know that the thought of losing Harry was shattering her whole being.

      Turning back to the sink full of dishes, she picked up the sponge and twisted it until soapy foam covered both hands. “I’ll believe what the DNA test says,” she said hoarsely. “Nothing less.”

      She was fighting back tears when she felt him move behind her and place his hand on her shoulder. Mariah squeezed her eyes shut as heat raced up the side of her neck and down her arm.

      “Mariah,” he said gently, “I’m not an ogre. I can see how much you love Harry. But a man who could leave his son—well, he wouldn’t be much of a man. Would he?”

      Swallowing hard, she turned to face him, but the moment her gaze met his, her self-control crumbled and she began pounding her fist against his chest. “No, damn you! I wished I’d never called you! I’d have my baby and you’d never know the difference!”

      By the time he grabbed her flying fists and anchored them tightly against his chest, she was sobbing, her cheeks drenched with tears. But what this man thought about her no longer mattered. All she cared about was Harry.

      “Hush, Mariah. Please, don’t cry.”

      He gently drew her forward, until her wet cheek was pressed against the middle of his chest and his hand was stroking the back of her head.

      Even if Mariah had wanted to resist, the solid comfort of his arms, the tender touch of his fingers upon her hair, was a balm to her raw nerves. A man hadn’t touched her this way in ages. She hadn’t wanted one to touch her. Until now.

      Eventually, the warmth of his arms eased the chill inside her and dried the tears in her eyes. By then, his masculine scent and the hard muscle beneath her cheek were turning her thoughts in a totally different direction.

      He murmured against the top of her head. “Better now?”

      The husky note in his voice shivered through her like a cold drink on a hot day. So good. So perfect. But she couldn’t keep standing here in his arms, letting her erotic thoughts get out of control.

      Quickly, she stepped back from his tempting body and wiped fingers against the traces of tears on her cheeks.

      “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I’m behaving like a shrew. But I—” Her gaze met his and her heart very nearly stopped as she spotted a sensual gleam in his blue eyes. Had the embrace they’d just shared affected him, too? Or were her scattered senses making her see things that weren’t really there?

      His lips took on a wry slant. “Forget it, Mariah. I can take a few punches. Besides, you made your point. You chose to call me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known anything about Harry. Unless by some chance I ran across some of her old friends at a horse show, and even then, I probably wouldn’t have made the connection of me being her child’s father.”

      His expression softened. “I’m grateful that you made that call, Mariah. Even though I understand how much it’s breaking your heart.”

      Blinking at a fresh wave of tears, she turned back to the sink and thrust her hands into the water. Better there than pounding them against Finn’s chest and making a complete neurotic fool of herself, she thought dismally.

      A shaky breath shuddered past her lips. “Harry deserves a father,” she said bluntly.

      He moved a few steps away and Mariah went limp with relief. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t trust herself near a man.

      “The afternoon is getting late,” he said, “and I haven’t gotten a room in town yet. Can you recommend a good place to stay?”

      She glanced over her shoulder at him and suddenly without warning, she heard herself saying, “You don’t need to drive back to town. You’re welcome to stay here. There are plenty of empty bedrooms and you’d be close to Harry.”

       And to me.

      The voice in her head came out of the blue. Just as her unplanned invitation had come from a place inside her she hadn’t known existed. Dear Lord, she must be cracking up. Earlier, she’d wanted rid of this man. Now she wanted to get closer to him. This cowboy was putting some sort of hypnotic spell on her.

      “It’s nice of you to offer, Mariah, but I don’t expect you to put me up for the night.”

      The arch of his brows said her invitation had surprised him. But it couldn’t have surprised him any more than it had her.

      “Dad would’ve already insisted you be our guest,” she reasoned. “I wouldn’t feel right doing any less.”

      “But you live here alone.”

      She frowned. “What’s that got to do with it?”

      “I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

      Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I trust you to be a gentleman. And you look like a strong guy—you can help me with the barn chores.”

      The broad smile he gave her was like a dazzling ray of sunshine. It warmed Mariah as nothing had in a long time.

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