Son of a Gun. Joanna Wayne

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       That was no longer a concern, since Blake was happily married and the father of three. Damien had practically given up hope of finding a woman he wanted to roll in the hay with until they were too old for rolling or pitching hay.

       Other than his brothers, there wasn’t a man on earth Damien trusted more than Blake. Now that Emma was stitched and back in the kitchen with Carolina, Damien was eager to hear what Blake had to say about her and her injury. But first, the necessary small talk.

       “How’s the family?” Damien asked as he walked Blake to his black pickup truck.

       “Sylvia’s great. She’s deliriously excited about the prospect of helping the twins build their first snowman.”

       “And the baby?”

       “Jenna’s a handful. She’s teething, and little miss prima donna is making sure we all know that she doesn’t like discomfort.”

       “Isn’t she a little young to get teeth?”

       “She’s six months. Scooting around at the speed of light and with an attitude.”

       “And has her dad wrapped around her finger.”

       “You know it. So tell me about Emma Smith.”

       “You know as much as I do,” Damien admitted.

       “A sexy phantom who appeared in your pasture on a snowy night? That’s the stuff of fantasies.”

       “If you leave out the part about having a baby and the suspicious tale of a ditched car and tearing her arm on the barbed wire.”

       “I have to admit that I’ve never seen that exact kind of injury from getting caught on a barb.”

       “I thought the same thing,” Damien said. “I questioned her about it, but she didn’t budge.”

       “What do you think happened?” Blake asked.

       “My guess is that she had a fight with a violent husband or boyfriend who kicked her out of the car.”

       “That would have to be a mean son of a bitch to toss a woman and a baby out on a night like this,” Blake said.

       “Or someone so high on booze or drugs that he didn’t realize the seriousness of his actions.”

       “Emma seems too classy to hang out with trash like that,” Blake said. “Good manners, better grammar than me, a lady all the way. Mysterious and damn good-looking.”

       “You noticed.”

       “I’m married, not dead.”

       “I’m not dead, either, but I’m not buying her story.” He was intrigued by Emma, though, and not sure why. In his book, lying was one of the biggest turnoffs around—unless she had a very good reason. Like fear of the man who had sliced his brand into her arm.

       “One thing for sure, Carolina is taken with that baby,” Blake said. “She even called Sylvia and asked her to send over some of Jenna’s outgrown baby clothes. Sylvia had me bring a boxful with me.”

       “You know Mother. She can’t resist a good charity case—or a baby.”

       Blake opened the truck door and tossed his black satchel to the passenger seat. “I don’t look for Emma to have any trouble with the arm, but she should probably get it checked out tomorrow just in case. She might even appreciate a people doc.”

       “I’ll take her into urgent care out on the highway once the roads clear up.”

       “And keep me posted on the continuing saga of Cowboy Rescues Mysterious Woman and Child.”

       “You mean, like whether or not there really is a car in a ditch on a road Emma should have never been on?”

       “That, and what it’s like sleeping with a beautiful stranger.”

       “You are into fantasies tonight.”

       “Snow makes me a romantic, which is why I’m heading straight home to my own gorgeous wife.”

       Damien stood in the falling snow as Blake drove away, his mind cluttered with the strange turn the evening had taken. The birth certificate that created troubling doubts. A rescue in the snow.

       The first could hopefully be cleared up with a conversation when things settled down and he had some time alone with his mother. As for the mystery surrounding Emma Smith, that wasn’t really his concern.

       He’d brought her and her baby to the house. They were warm and safe. That should be the end of his involvement.

       So why couldn’t he shake her and her problems from his mind?

      * * *

      CAROLINA OPENED THE DOOR and ushered Emma into the first-floor guest suite. It was in the west wing of the sprawling house, away from the living area and the noise that entailed, and with a terrific view of the swimming pool and its surrounding gardens.

       The suite had been two small rooms when she’d married Hugh, and the pool had been an ugly concrete hole in the ground with no redeeming features. Still, the house and everything about the Bent Pine Ranch had seemed incredibly luxurious to Carolina.

       Emma paused in the doorway, a sleeping Belle cradled in her arms. “This is where you want me to spend the night?”

       “Is something wrong, dear?”

       “No. I’m awed. This is like something from a home-decorating magazine—only far more inviting.”

       “I like to make my guests comfortable,” Carolina said, pleased that Emma appreciated the efforts she’d put into creating the hideaway.

       “I’m afraid I’m more an intruder than a guest,” Emma said.

       “Nonsense. You were unexpected, but you and Belle brightened a cold, snowy night. I shudder to think what might have happened if Damien hadn’t gone out one last time and run into you. It was meant to be.”

       Carolina crossed the room and touched the back of the antique cradle that had been handed down through three generations of Lamberts. “I hope Belle likes her accommodations.”

       Emma stared at the cradle, obviously noticing it for the first time. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and Carolina could see the moisture glistening in her soft violet eyes.

       “I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s fit for a princess.”

       “My husband’s grandfather made it for his children, and every Lambert offspring since has slept in it. It’s had to be repaired and refinished a time or two over the years, but it’s held up amazingly well. I thought it would be perfect for Belle.”

       “You surely didn’t get it out of storage just for one night?”

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