The Maverick's Baby-in-Waiting
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Melissa Senate
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15
Chapter One
“Have you picked out a name for the baby?”
Twenty-six-year-old Mikayla Brown looked from the display of baby photos on the wall of the Rust Creek Falls Clinic, where she was waiting for her ob-gyn appointment, to her friend Amy Wainwright. Names? Oh, yeah, she had names. Mikayla’s life might be entirely up in the air at the moment, but names were easy. Late at night, when she lay in bed, unable at this point—seven months along—to get all that comfortable, she’d picture herself sitting in the rocking chair on the farmhouse porch with a baby in her arms and she’d try out all her name ideas on the little one.
Problem was, she had too many possibilities. “I have six if it’s a girl,” she told Amy. “Seven if it’s a boy. And ten or so more I’m thinking of for middle names. Can I give my child four names?”
Amy laughed, putting the Parenting Now magazine she’d been flipping through back on the table. “Sure, why not? You’re the mama.”
Mikayla shivered just slightly. The mama. Her. Mikayla Brown. She barely had her own life together these days, and soon she’d be solely responsible for another life—a tiny, helpless little one with no one to depend on but her. Mikayla had always been a dependable, do-the-right-thing kind of person, and she’d fallen in love with a man she’d thought was cut the same way. Then, boom—her life exploded like a rogue firecracker. One moment, she’d been working happily at a local day care in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and in love with her boyfriend, a good-looking, ambitious lawyer, with her entire future ahead of her. The next moment, she was a single mother-to-be. No engagement. No marriage. No loving father-to-be beside her, just as excited about her prenatal checkup as she was.
But who was here today? A good friend. Mikayla was so thankful for Amy Wainwright she could reach over and hug her, and she would if her belly weren’t in the way. Her belly was always in the way these days.
Hey, you in there, she directed to her stomach. Are you a Hazel? A George? Mikayla loved the idea of honoring her late parents, who’d always been so loving and kind. Or her maternal grandparents, also long gone—Leigh and Clinton, who’d sent birthday and Christmas cards without fail but had moved to Florida when Mikayla was young. Then there was her dear aunt Elizabeth, her mother’s sister, who went by Lizzie, and her hilarious uncle Tyler, and their one-of-a-kind son, Brent, Mikayla’s cousin. Brent was the one who’d suggested Mikayla move up to Montana—to Rust Creek Falls—for a fresh start. Which was how Brent’s name had ended up on the possibilities list. She owed him big.
Moving to this tiny town in the Montana wilderness had sounded crazy at first. Population five hundred something? More than a half hour’s drive from the nearest hospital—when she was now seven months pregnant? No family or friends?
You’ll make friends, Brent had assured her. Sunshine Farm will feel like home.
Brent had been right. Mikayla had been a little worried that she’d get the side-eye or pity glances from the town’s residents. Pregnant and alone. But from the moment she’d arrived at Sunshine Farm three weeks ago and met the owner, Brent’s friend Luke Stockton, she’d been invited to Luke and his fiancée’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party held that very day. Since the recent wedding, she’d become good friends with Luke’s wife, Eva, and Amy, who’d also lived at Sunshine Farm at the time.
Now Amy was engaged, with a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring on her finger. Mikayla sighed inwardly while ogling the rock. She’d over-fantasized like a bridezilla in training about a ring on her own finger and a fairy-tale wedding. Hell, even a city hall wedding would have been fine. But all that was before she’d caught her baby’s father having sex with his paralegal in his law-firm office.
The more Mikayla admired Amy’s ring and thought about how her friend had reconnected with her first love, Derek Dalton, the man she’d married and divorced when they’d both been teenagers (long story!), the more Mikayla thought anything was possible. Even for seven-months-pregnant single women far from home and trying to figure out where to go from here.
A door opened, and a woman with a baby bump exited, followed by a man carrying a pamphlet. Your Second Trimester. Both their gold wedding rings shone in the room. Or maybe Mikayla’s gaze just beelined to rings on fingers these days.
A nurse appeared at the door and smiled at Mikayla. “Mikayla Brown? Dr. Strickland is ready to see you now.”
Well, where she was going right now was Exam Room 1. That was all she needed to know at the moment. One step at a time, deep breaths, and she’d be fine.
Mikayla and Amy stood and followed the nurse into the examination room. Mikayla sat on the paper-covered table and Amy on the chair in the corner. The nurse took Mikayla’s vitals, handed her a paper gown to change into, then let them know Dr. Strickland would be in shortly.
“You’re the absolute best, Amy,” Mikayla said, her voice a little clogged with emotion, when the door closed behind the nurse. She quickly shimmied out of her maternity sundress and into the gown, Amy tying the back for her. “Thank you for coming with me today.” It meant a lot not to come alone. Her ex had accompanied her to her first appointment back in Cheyenne when she discovered she was pregnant, but he had made it clear he didn’t want a baby, wasn’t ready for a baby and wasn’t sure of anything. He’d added that he was a man of deep principles, a “crusading” attorney (read: litigator for a major corporation), and wouldn’t leave Mikayla, “of course.” Apparently, he’d been cheating even before she told him she was pregnant. I have strong feelings for you, Mik, but I am who I am, and I’m not ready for any of this. Sorry.
Who needed a lying, cheating, no-good rat sitting in the corner chair?
“That is what friends are for, my dear,” Amy said, flicking her long auburn hair behind her shoulder. “And honestly? I might have ulterior motives of finding out what goes on at these appointments. One day I hope to be sitting exactly where you are. Okay, maybe no woman loves putting her bare feet into those metal stirrups...”
Mikayla laughed. Amy would make an amazing mother.
And so would she. Mikayla had had to give herself a few too many pep talks over the past several months, that she could do this, that she would do this—and well.
There was a gentle knock on the door and a tall, attractive man wearing a white lab coat entered the room with her chart and a warm smile. He introduced himself as Dr. Drew Strickland, an ob-gyn on temporary assignment here from Thunder Canyon, but he let Mikayla know he would absolutely be here through her delivery.
Fifteen minutes later, assured all was progressing as it should with the pregnancy, Mikayla sat up, appreciating the hand squeeze from Amy.
A minute after that, her resolve was blown to bits. The doctor’s basic questions were difficult to answer, which made her feel like a moron. He asked if she was staying in Rust Creek Falls long-term, because he could recommend a terrific pediatrician here and a few out in Kalispell if she didn’t mind the drive. But Mikayla wasn’t too sure of anything.
She felt as though her empty ring finger was glowing neon in the room. No partner. No father for her baby. No family for the little one. Just her. A woman who had no idea what the future held.
“Will the baby’s father be present for the labor and delivery?” Dr. Strickland asked.
Were those tears stinging the backs of her eyes? Hadn’t she cried enough over that louse? When she first held on to hope that Scott would come around for her and the baby, she’d pictured him in the delivery room—or tried to, anyway. Not that she’d actually been able to imagine Scott Wilton there for the muck or the glory. Another reality check—which helped her rally. She and her baby would be just fine. She blinked those dopey tears away and lifted her chin.
“Nope. Just me.”
“And me,” Amy said with a hand on her shoulder. “Here if you need me. I’ll even coach you through Lamaze, not that I’d know what I’m doing.”
Mikayla smiled. “Thank God for girlfriends. Thank you, Amy. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Between Amy and then Eva, her landlady at Sunshine Farm, Mikayla had truly comforting support.
“You know what?” Mikayla added, nodding at the doctor. “I might be on my own, but I have great friends, a very nice doctor, and I’m going to be a great mama to my little one. That’s all I need to know right now.”
Dr. Strickland beamed back. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Mikayla smiled. Why did she have a feeling the doc had been waiting for her to come to those conclusions?
“See you in two weeks for the ultrasound,” the doctor said. “Call if you have any questions. Even if it’s after hours, I’ll get back to you right away. That’s my promise.”
Feeling a lot better about everything than she had an hour ago, Mikayla and Amy left the exam room. Mikayla checked out, and then Amy had a really good idea.
“Of course, we have to go to Daisy’s Donuts,” Amy said, linking her arm with Mikayla’s. “A gooey treat and a fabulous icy decaf something or other. To celebrate an A-OK on the little one,” she added, gently patting Mikayla’s very pregnant belly.
Mikayla laughed. “Lead the way.” She’d been to Daisy’s a few too many times since she’d arrived in town, the call of lemon-cream donuts and crumb cake irresistible. It wasn’t as if she was going to crave salad, so Mikayla let herself have a decadent treat when she really wanted one.
She was sure the baby appreciated it.
* * *
“Jensen Jones, you listen to me! I want you out of that two-bit, Wild West, blip-on-the-map town this instant! You’re to fly back to Tulsa immediately. Do you hear me? Immediately! If not sooner!”
Jensen shook his head as his father ranted in his ear via cell phone. Walker Jones the Second was used to his youngest son doing as he was ordered by the big man in the corner office, both at home and at Jones Holdings Inc. But Jensen always drew the line where it needed to be. When his dad was right? Great. When Walker the Second was wrong? Sorry, Dad.
“No can do,” Jensen said, glancing around and wondering if he was headed in the right direction for Daisy’s Donuts. Apparently, that was the place to get a cup of coffee in Rust Creek Falls. Maybe even the only place. “I’ve got some business to take care of here. I should be back in Tulsa in a few days. Maybe a week. This negotiation is going a bit slower than I thought it would be.” Translation: it wasn’t going at all. And Jensen Jones, VP of New Business Development at Jones Holdings, wasn’t used to that.
His father let out one of his trademark snorts. “Yeah, because you’re in Rusted Falls River or whatever that town is called. Nothing goes right there.”
Jensen had to laugh. “Dad, what do you have against Rust Creek Falls? The land out here is amazing.” It really was. Jensen was a city guy, born and bred in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and he liked the finer things in life, but out here in the wilds of Montana, a man could think. Breathe. Figure things out. And Jensen had a lot to figure out. He hadn’t expected to like this town so much; hell, he’d been as shocked as his father was that three of his four older brothers had found wives in Rust Creek Falls and weren’t coming home to Tulsa. This was home now for Walker the Third and Hudson. Even jet-setter Autry had come to visit, fallen madly in love with a widowed mother of three little girls and moved the lot of them to Paris to finish a Jones Holdings negotiation. But Autry had made it clear he’d bring his wife and daughters back to Rust Creek Falls when his deals were done.
But just because Jensen liked the wide-open spaces and fresh air didn’t mean he’d settle down here. As the youngest of the five Jones brothers, each one a bigger millionaire than the next, he’d always had something to prove. Now three of his brothers had become family men and had given up their workaholic ways. Autry used words like balance. Walker the Third wanted to invest in an ergonomically correct toddler-chair company for the day care business he’d added to the Jones Holdings lot. And Hudson knew the middle names of all his nieces and nephews. Middle names! This, from three of the formerly most confirmed bachelors in Tulsa.
“What do I have against Rusted Dried-Up Creek?” his father repeated. “I’ll tell you what,” he added in one of his famous Jones patriarch bellows. “That town is full of Jones-stealing women! There are sirens there, Jensen. Just like in the Greek myths. You’d better watch out, boy. One is going to sink her claws into you and that’ll be the last your mother and I will see of you. Jones Holdings can’t operate remotely! I want my sons here in Tulsa where they belong. If not all, then you. You’ve always been the one I could count on to listen to reason.”
His poor father. The man hated not getting what he wanted. And it was rare. His mother said the man-stealing in Rust Creek Falls couldn’t be helped, that there was something in the water—literally. Apparently, at a big wedding a couple years ago, some local drunk had spiked the punch with an old-timey potion or something and no man was safe from the feminine wiles of Rust Creek Falls women. Especially the millionaire Jones brothers.
“Dad, I assure you, I’m not about to fall for anyone. The last thing on my mind is marriage. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He wasn’t exaggerating for his father’s sake, either. Jensen was done with love. So there would never be a marriage.
“Yeah, I think that’s what Autry said right before he proposed to that mother of seven.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “Three, Dad. Three lovely little girls. Autry is very happy with Marissa. So is Walker with Lindsay. As is Hudson with Bella.”
His father made a noise that sounded like a harrumph. “They were happy running Jones Holdings right here in Tulsa until those women got to them! Just come home now. I’m thinking of buying a major-league baseball team. You can help me decide which one.”
“I’ll see you in a few days, Dad,” Jensen said. “Speaking of buying pricey things—what are you getting Mom for your fortieth anniversary?” Forty years was something to celebrate. Hell, five years was something to celebrate.
“That woman will be the death of me!” Walker the Second bellowed. “I—Oh, Jensen, my assistant is signaling me that Nick Bates from Runyon Corporation is on line two. Time for a takeover. Get home quick or I’ll come get you myself. And I’m not kidding.”
Before Jensen could say a word, a click sounded in his ear.
Now it was Jensen’s turn to harrumph. His parents’ anniversary was in two weeks and his mom and dad were barely speaking. There had always been rifts among the Jones boys and their parents over the years, but Walker the Second and Patricia Jones had always been such a strong team, bossy and snobby and trying to order around their sons as a united front. Now there were cracks in the forty-year marriage. Lately, Jensen had heard the strain in their voices, seen it on their faces, and once he’d caught his mother crying when she thought she was alone in the family mansion. Of course, she’d refused to acknowledge those were tears and insisted she was just allergic to their cook’s “awful perfume.”
As the youngest, Jensen had always fought for his brothers’ respect and his parents’ attention and had barely been noticed in the big crew. But he was the one who’d watched his brothers grow up one by one and go their own ways, even if that way was the family business. The five Jones brothers might as well be living and working on different continents for how close they were, and that included Walker and Hudson, who lived here in town and worked together, though they had gotten more brotherly, thanks to their wives.
But Jensen was the one who cared about family dinners and holidays and birthday celebrations, insisting, even as a teenager, that his older brothers come home for his big sports games. When he was seventeen, his parents had taken him to a therapist, insisting that Jensen be cured of “caring too much,” that it would make him soft when family in the Jones world meant business.
He still cared. And his parents still didn’t get it.
But there was one thing his father would get his way on. Jensen would be coming home in a few days—once he finally convinced the most stubborn old coot in Montana to sell a perfect hundred acres of land to him for a project very close to his heart. The man, a seventy-six-year-old named Guthrie Barnes, was holding out, despite Jensen upping the price well past what the land was worth. But Jensen was a Jones and a skilled negotiator. He’d get that land. And then he’d go home.
Because no woman, siren or otherwise, could tempt him beyond the bedroom. Adrienne, his ex, had made sure of that. He wasn’t even sure if he could count her as an ex, since she’d never really been his; she’d been after his money and had racked up close to a million dollars on various credit cards she’d opened in his name, then fled when he’d confronted her. The worst part? She’d admitted she’d done her research for weeks before setting her sights on him, reading up on him, asking questions, finding out his likes and dislikes, what made him tick. When she’d engineered their meeting, the trap had been set so well he’d fallen right into it. He’d walked away from that relationship in disbelief that he could have been so stupid. She’d walked away with his ability to trust.
The only thing he had, really had, was his family, and hell, he barely had that. If his snobby, imperious, stubborn father and his snobbier, refuses-to-talk-about-her-feelings mother thought they were going to throw away forty years and the family because they were too set in their ways or too stubborn to deal with each other, well, then they didn’t know what was coming.
Jensen was coming. Well, more like he was packing a wallop for the Jones patriarch and matriarch. Family was supposed to be there. Should always be there. Disagreements, problems, rifts, whatever. You worked it out. So, hell, yeah, he was going to unite the Jones family and save his parents’ marriage. They were damned lucky and had no idea, no clue how blessed they were for all they had.
But Jensen knew. He knew because he’d been so willing to go there, to love, to open up his heart and life to another person—before Adrienne had destroyed all that. And three of his brothers knew—they’d surrendered to love and were now truly happy. And he’d need their new family-men status to help him work on the parents. That meant Autry flying in from Paris. He had no doubt the jet-setter would. Because when it came down to it, Jensen could count on his brothers. And it was time for the whole family to be able to count on one another.
The bell jangled over his head as he entered the donut shop, the smell of freshly baked pastries mingling with coffee. A large, strong blast of caffeine, some sugary fortification and he’d be good to go on his plans.
Except when he looked left, all thought fled from his head. His brain was operating in slow motion, his gaze on a woman sitting at a table and biting into a donut with yellow custard oozing out. She licked her lips. He licked his, mesmerized.
Was it his imagination or was she glowing?
She had big brown eyes and long, silky brown hair past her shoulders. There was something very...lush about her. Jensen couldn’t take his eyes off her—well, the half of her that was visible above the table, covered by a red-and-white-checked tablecloth. And he was aware that he was staring. Luckily, the beauty in question was more interested in her donut and the woman sitting beside her than in anything else. She put down the donut and picked up an iced drink, then laughed at something her companion said.
He even loved her laugh. Full-bodied. Happy.
Oh, yeah, this was a woman who knew how to have a good time. If a donut and a joke or whatever her friend had said could elicit that happiness and laughter, then this was someone Jensen would like to whisk off to dinner tonight. Maybe to Kalispell, about forty-five minutes away, to an amazing Italian restaurant his brother Walker had told him about. Kalispell had a nice hotel where they could have a nightcap before spending the night naked in bed, taking a soak together, and then he’d bring her home in the morning and go meet Guthrie Barnes with a better offer on the land to get the man to sell. A great night, a deal and back in Tulsa midweek. Now that was the Jones way. His father would be proud.
A woman behind the counter, her name tag reading Eva, smiled at him. He was pretty sure he’d met her at her and her husband’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party a few weeks ago. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to send refills of whatever is making those women so happy,” he said, nodding his chin toward the brunette beauty.
Eva slid a glance over and raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
Was that challenge in her voice? Jensen loved a challenge. “I’m a man who knows what he wants.”
Eva grinned. “Well, then. I’ll just ring you up and then bring over their refills.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “You can add a café Americano and a chocolate cider donut for me.”
She’d raised another eyebrow after the ma’am; she couldn’t be more than midtwenties, but he was a gentleman born and bred.
After handing him his much-needed coffee and donut, Eva went over to the women’s table with two more donuts and two more coffee drinks. She whispered something, then lifted her chin at him. Two sets of eyes widened, and they looked over.
He locked eyes with his brunette. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The woman he planned on spending the night with. He’d show her an amazing evening, treat her like a princess, give her anything her heart desired, and then they’d go their separate ways, maybe not even knowing each other’s last names. They’d each get what they needed—a night of pure fantasy—and then they’d go back to real life.
He froze, mentally slapping his palm to his forehead. He hadn’t even checked her ring finger. The auburn-haired woman she was with wore an engagement ring; he could see that a mile away. But now that he was looking at his brunette’s hand, he was relieved to see there was no ring.
Which meant she was his. For the night. Maybe for the few days it would take him to convince Guthrie Barnes to sell.
Eva waved him over, and he sidled up. The brunette was staring at him. The auburn-haired friend seemed delighted by the turn of events. “Mikayla Brown, Amy Wainwright, I don’t even have to ask this man’s name to know he’s a Jones brother. I’m right, right?” she said, looking at him.
He laughed. “Was it the diamond-encrusted J on my belt buckle that gave me away?”
“That and the fact that everything you’re wearing probably cost you more than rent on this place for a few months. And I’m pretty sure I saw you with your brothers at our party at the manor a few weeks ago. We didn’t have a chance to meet then—I think the whole town was there. I’m Eva Stockton.”
He smiled. “Jensen Jones. And yes, I was there. Great party. Congratulations on your marriage.” He bit into the donut on his plate. Chocolate cider, his favorite. “Mmm—this donut is so good you should charge a thousand bucks for just one.”
“You’d probably pay that,” Eva said, shaking her head with a smile.
“Hey, my family might have done all right in business, but we’re not idiots. Two thousand.”
The three women laughed, and then the bell jangled, so Eva went back to the counter.
“Mikayla,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “I know this is going to sound crazy. We just met. We don’t know a thing about each other. But I’m going to be in town for a few days and would love for you to show me around, show me the sights—if you’re free, of course.”
His fantasy woman looked positively shocked. Her mouth dropped slightly open, that sexy, pink lower lip so inviting, and she glanced at her friend. Both their eyes widened again, as if his asking her out, politely couched in terms of a sightseeing guide, was so unusual. The woman was beautiful, her lush breasts in that yellow sundress so damned sexy. Surely she was hit on constantly. Maybe not by millionaires, though.
Ah, Jensen thought, disappointment socking him in the gut. That was it. That was what was so unusual about his interest. She probably wasn’t used to attention from a man with so many commas in his bank account.
Another gold digger? Oh, hell, what did it matter if she were? Jensen wasn’t going there—never again. His heart wasn’t up for grabs. Mikayla Brown was gorgeous, not wearing a ring, and he had a few days to enjoy her company—around town and in bed. He’d wine and dine her, she’d give him her full attention and then they’d both go their separate ways, maybe hooking up once or twice a year when he came to Rust Creek Falls to visit his brothers. Perfect.
The more he looked at her, the more he had another thought: Forget Kalispell. I’m whisking her away to Ibiza or a Greek island for the weekend. No harm in a decadent no-strings weekend romance if they were both for it, right?
She was staring at him. About to say yes. Of course she was. C’mon.
“Oh, I don’t think I’m your type, Mr. Jones,” Mikayla said. She took another bite of her donut, a hint of pink tongue catching a flick of errant custard.
He held her gaze, able to feel his desire for her in every cell of his body. “Trust me. You are.”
She took a breath, lifted her chin and stood up.
Which was when it became obvious that she was very pregnant.
