Runaway Lone Star Bride. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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      “When is the next event?” Hart asked softly.

      A brief rustling sound echoed in the silence of the hall.

      Maggie watched as Hart tensed even more and doubled back, toward the door. Brawny arms still folded in front of him, he stuck his head around the opening and peered out.

      “At the end of next week,” she said.

      She watched him frown, tense all the more, while still lingering there in the doorway looking at whatever was out there before finally turning back to her.

      Drawing a deep, stabilizing breath, Maggie gestured at the stack of ivory placards and calligraphy pens on her desk. “I’m prepping for the next wedding now.”

      He nodded. His expression indicated he wasn’t really interested in the details, but still he asked, “What about the rest of the staff? Where are they?”

      Another thorny question. There had previously been four full-time time employees in addition to herself and his parents, as well as a number of part-timers. “They still show up for events, but right now they are working other jobs,” Maggie said.

      “But you’re here.”

      As the lone person on staff who had so little personal life she could afford to be constantly on call, Maggie confirmed lightly, “Twenty-four, seven.”

      This caught his attention “You’re kidding, right? You’re not really still living here on the ranch?”

      Aware her accepting one of the guest suites at the sprawling ranch house had initially been only a temporary measure, Maggie said stiffly, “Hate to break it to you, but yeah, I am.”

      He looked her over critically, head to toe. “You do realize you can’t hide out here forever. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face the fallout of your ‘big mistake’ and rejoin the world.”

      Leave it to Hart to be hopelessly blunt. “Thank you, Dr. Ruth,” Maggie bit out sarcastically.

      Mischief sparkled in his dark brown eyes. “Funny, I would have thought you would’ve referenced Dr. Phil. But Dr. Ruth works.” He squinted. “You know you’re blushing.”

      Probably because I just referenced a renowned sex therapist instead of a relationship expert. Maggie winced. “You have that effect on me.”

      He gave her another long, steady look. “Get you all hot and bothered?”

      Ignoring the tautening of her nipples, she allowed sweetly, “Hot under the collar, maybe.”

      He chuckled, his eyes holding hers for a disreputably long moment. “I’m all for that, too.”

      Maggie held her breath to avoid releasing a wistful sigh. Reaction shimmered through her, along with a deep-seated need that had gone too many years without sating. The merriment in his eyes faded, replaced by something stronger, hotter, more provoking still.

      Then, without warning, there was another faint noise in the hall.

      Hart appeared to tense, and glanced in that direction again.

      Hopelessly curious, Maggie rose and moved around the desk. If Hart Sanders did have a ladylove out there, and he’d been in here flirting with her, she really would kick him in the shin.

      “What about you?” she asked casually, edging closer to the door. “Doesn’t Monica Day have her new movie debuting all over Europe soon? Won’t you be going with her to handle security?”

      Hart shifted, his warrior frame deliberately blocking her exit to the hall. “Which is something else I need to talk to my parents about,” he drawled.

      Then there were two things that had brought him back to Texas—giving Maggie more food for thought. Although why any of this should matter to her, she didn’t know. They might have shared a special connection the day she decided not to marry Gus, but in reality, they barely knew each other.

      “What’s the first item on your agenda?” she asked, as the faint rustling noises in the hallway steadily increased.

      “This,” Hart said shortly.

      He walked out of the office, just as a long, loud, enraged wail broke the office silence. He returned with an adorable baby boy cradled in his arms.

      * * *

      MAGGIE COULD NOT stop staring. For one thing, the little fella, who looked to be approximately eighteen months old, appeared to have been crying for a good long time before drifting off to sleep. His forehead bore a crease on one side, where he had pressed against something. His big blue eyes were swollen and puffy, his cherubic little face an indignant red and streaked with a mixture of the same crumbly matter Hart had stuck to his shirt. The tyke’s sandy brown curls were sticky and tangled, matted with what appeared to be a combination of spit-up, crushed crackers and apple juice. All in all, Maggie couldn’t help but note, the baby boy in Hart’s arms was having a terrible day. Evidenced by the way he continued to sob, as if his little heart were breaking.

      Instinctively, Maggie drew nearer. She knew it was none of her business, and certainly not her responsibility, but she could not bear to see a little one in such distress. “Who is this?” she cooed, gently touching the back of the child’s head.

      “My son. Henry,” Hart had to shout to be heard above the loud wailing.

      Hart had a baby? Maggie thought in shock, resisting the strong maternal urge to take the tyke in her arms and soothe all his unhappiness away. Since when? “He apparently hates traveling,” Hart continued, shifting the inconsolable little boy carefully in his arms. With his free hand, he dragged a stroller and diaper bag from the hallway. “And it feels like he’s got a really soggy diaper.”

      No kidding, Maggie thought, looking at the dampness dripping out of the little boy’s summer overalls onto Hart’s shirt.

      Deciding the time for politeness had passed, she said officiously, “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” Maggie grabbed the diaper bag from the handle of the stroller and carried it over to a small sofa in the corner of her office. Then she plucked a rolled plastic mat from the bottom of the bag and laid it across the upholstery. After adding a few other essentials, she gestured for Hart to put his son down.

      Henry, who had been struggling incessantly in his daddy’s arms, went willingly onto the temporary changing area.

      Maggie stepped back to let Hart do the honors.

      A mistake.

      Henry used the time to flip over onto his stomach and crawl swiftly to the other side of the sofa.

      Worried he was going to fall off the edge and tumble onto the hardwood floor, Maggie dove after him. She caught Henry just as he neared the slipping point, and with her hands tucked gently but firmly about his midriff, she brought him up into her arms.

      The baby stopped crying long enough to stare at her warily, as if thinking: Friend or Foe?

      Maggie wrinkled her nose and said softly, “Hey there, Henry, I’m Maggie.”

      Henry shoved the СКАЧАТЬ