Yuletide Baby Bargain. Allison Leigh

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       Chapter One

       “Are you a social worker or not?”

      Maddie Templeton’s jaw tightened at the impatient words being spat at her through the phone line. She wished she could pretend she didn’t recognize the owner of the voice.

      This was the last thing she needed. She’d already spent the entire day dealing with tying up troublesome details at work before a forced two-week vacation. Then she’d rushed home to change into somewhat date-worthy clothing and driven the thirty miles over winding roads from Braden to Weaver, where she was supposed to meet a man named Morton for dinner.

      Only Morton had stood her up.

      Instead of having a date for the first time in months—which was a generous estimate, if she were truthful—she’d ended up spending the evening with her grandmother. Not that Vivian wasn’t entertaining enough. She just wasn’t the kind of company that Maddie had been hoping for.

      Now, it was after ten o’clock, and after returning to the house she shared with her sisters—knowing they were probably out with guys who’d never dream of standing them up—she just didn’t feel in the mood to deal with Lincoln Swift’s phone call.

      Because she couldn’t stand Lincoln Swift.

      If only she’d let the phone continue ringing as she’d walked in the door. Eventually, it would have gone to voice mail, and she’d be happily trespassing in Greer’s bathroom by now, watching her sister’s claw-foot tub fill with hot water while she decided what task to tackle first on her use-it-or-lose-it vacation time.

      Instead, she leaned against the half-finished kitchen cabinets—the do-it-yourself refinishing job had been stalled for months—and fantasized about hanging up on him. After telling him just how little she thought of him.

      After all these years, turnabout would be sweet.

      But instead of letting every bit of her day’s frustration out on the man, she swallowed it down. “Yes, Linc, I am a social worker,” she said evenly. “What’s the problem?” There would have to be a problem to make Linc ever reach out to the likes of her.

      “I don’t want to get into it on the phone. Just come to the house.”

      “I’m sorry.” Even though her teeth clenched and her hand tightened around the receiver, she managed to channel the dulcet tone that Greer used in the courtroom before skewering someone. “What house?”

      As if Maddie didn’t know perfectly well that he’d moved into the grand old mansion once owned by his grandmother Ernestine Swift after her death. Maddie knew every corner of that mansion, too. But only because as a child, she’d accompanied her mother every week when Meredith cleaned the place for Ernestine.

      That was how she’d met Linc and his brother, Jax, in the first place.

      They’d chased each other all over that place.

      Until Linc had decided he was too old for such nonsense and pretty much seemed to forget Maddie existed.

      Then it had been just Jax and Maddie.

      Until Linc had decided that was nonsense, too.

      “My brother’s gone and done it again.” Linc’s voice was tight. “Are you going to help me or not?”

      When she and Jax had dated, they’d been in high school, but even then Maddie hadn’t been serious about him. He was a lot of fun. But good boyfriend material? Definitely not.

      Aside from her sisters, though, he’d been just about her best friend in the world. Until Linc made sure she knew she wasn’t good enough for Jax in any way, shape or form.

      That had been thirteen years ago, and it still held the record as the single most humiliating moment of her life—far outstripping being stood up by a computer programmer named Morton.

      She dropped the dulcet tones for her usual frankness. “Jax is thirty years old, Linc. He’s a grown man. Whatever he’s gone and done, he can undo.” Jax had had plenty of practice, after all. And it wouldn’t be legal trouble. If it were, Linc definitely wouldn’t have called her. Swift Oil, his family business, had a phalanx of lawyers on the payroll.

      “He’s not here. He’s out of town.” Linc sounded like he was talking through his teeth, too, and it took no effort at all to conjure an image of his face.

      Which annoyed her to no end.

      Even though she ran into Jax fairly often around town, she’d had only a few dealings with Linc since that long-ago mortifying day.

      He ran an oil company.

      She was a social worker.

      Since he’d moved back to Braden when his grandmother died, they’d rarely run into each other. Which was saying something because, on a good day, the population there didn’t break 5,000. The last time she’d seen him in person had been at Ernestine’s funeral. Three years ago.

      She’d offered her condolences and left the very second that she could.

      She squared up the stack of paint chips sitting on the counter that her sisters had been squabbling over for a month, trying to block the memory of the grief that she’d seen in his face that day. “If Jax isn’t there, then what are you even calling me for?”

      “Because his kid is here,” he said even more sharply. “Isn’t that what you deal with? Kids left to fend for themselves because their parents can’t be bothered?”

      She straightened abruptly from her slouch, and felt her red sweater catch on a nail. He could have been describing his and Jax’s parents, but she had the sense not to point that out. She carefully unhooked the threads of her sweater before they unraveled. “Jax has a child?” She knew she sounded shocked, even though it wasn’t such a shocking thought.

      Jax loved women, after all. He’d never been without at least one on his arm from the time he’d entered puberty. But he’d always claimed he’d never get caught by one the way his dad had been.

      Linc made a sound that wasn’t quite an oath. “Just get over here, would you please? I didn’t know who else to call.”

      She grimaced. “You must be desperate, indeed.”

      “I’ll leave the gate open,” he said flatly.

      A moment later, all she heard was the dial tone.

      He’d hung up on her.

      “I’ll leave the gate open,” she muttered, hanging up harder than necessary. Typical Linc. Issuing edicts as if he had a divine right to do so.

      It would serve him right if СКАЧАТЬ