stuck out her chin. “What are you going to do,
Sheriff
Brand? You going to kill me the way you did my sister?”
He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly from side to side. “Damn. I give up.” He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
She knew it had been a cheap shot. Because she really didn’t have a reason in the world to suspect that big man of murder.
G arrett stood in the hallway outside Jessi’s room and took a long, deep breath. It had been a long time since anyone had tested his temper as sorely as that hellcat, Chelsea Brennan, was doing.
Worse than that, she was beautiful. All of her. And there hadn’t been much hidden with nothing over her but that thin pink sheet of Jessi’s. It had clung to her. There’d been a little indentation over her belly button, and her breasts might as well have been exposed.
They were small and firm and….
He clamped his jaw against the tide of reaction that tried, once again, to sweep him away, tried not to think about the soft, pale color of her skin, or the satin texture of her neck and shoulders, or those pine-tree green eyes. He tried not to feel that small, china-doll hand, cool and trembling underneath his big callused one.
He couldn’t afford to have tender feelings for her. Hell, she’d come here to take little Bubba away to Lord only knew what kind of life! She was accusing Garrett of murder, to boot.
Easy enough to solve the latter problem. The former one bothered him, though. If she turned out to be Ethan’s aunt after all, then he’d have no right to keep that boy here.
Garrett sneaked into the guest bedroom where Ethan’s cradle was, and saw that the little pudge had decided to wake up at last. He was playing with his toes and drooling. A crooked smile tugged at Garrett’s mouth, and he went to the cradle. “Morning, Bubba.”
“Ga!”
He bent to pick up the baby, then thought better of it and removed the diaper first. Then the little T-shirt. He laid a fresh diaper under Ethan, but didn’t tape it up. “You lie there and kick for a minute while I run a baby-size bath for you.” Ethan’s huge smile and gurgles of joy followed Garrett into the bathroom. “Never did know a fella who enjoyed being buck naked the way you do, Bubba.”
He turned on the water.
C helsea heard splashing, and the enthusiastic coos and chirps that went with it. Ethan! God, she’d come so far, waited so long to finally see him. That big lug of a sheriff might be able to keep her from taking him home, for the moment at least, but he couldn’t keep her from seeing him.
She got out of the pink bed, holding the sheet around her in case anyone barged in, and went to the closet. She found a satin robe. Pink, of course, and a bit too long for her, but she belted it around her waist anyway, tying the sash nice and tight. Then she left the bedroom, barefoot, and followed the sounds into the big bedroom down the hall. A cradle stood empty beside a made-up bed with a wagon-wheel headboard. And farther inside, another door stood open.
Chelsea moved toward it, then stood stock-still just beyond the doorway, staring in utter shock at what she saw. The fat, laughing baby slapping his hands against the water in the tub so that sprays of droplets exploded all over the place. And the big man kneeling on the floor beside the tub, one hand firmly around the baby for support, while the other ran a washcloth over a round little belly.
Garrett had stripped off his T-shirt. Not in time, by the looks of it. It lay on the floor in a wet ball. Water dripped from a brick-wall chest and bodybuilder arms, and from his hair. Its thick, dark waves hung in straggles, some clinging to his face.
And he was laughing as much as the baby. A deep, rich sound that made her shiver.
Ethan. Her little Ethan. He was staring up at Garrett Brand with adoration oozing from his deep blue eyes.
Damned if the big cowboy wasn’t looking back at the baby with something very similar
Sheriff
Brand? You going to kill me the way you did my sister?”
He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly from side to side. “Damn. I give up.” He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
She knew it had been a cheap shot. Because she really didn’t have a reason in the world to suspect that big man of murder.
G arrett stood in the hallway outside Jessi’s room and took a long, deep breath. It had been a long time since anyone had tested his temper as sorely as that hellcat, Chelsea Brennan, was doing.
Worse than that, she was beautiful. All of her. And there hadn’t been much hidden with nothing over her but that thin pink sheet of Jessi’s. It had clung to her. There’d been a little indentation over her belly button, and her breasts might as well have been exposed.
They were small and firm and….
He clamped his jaw against the tide of reaction that tried, once again, to sweep him away, tried not to think about the soft, pale color of her skin, or the satin texture of her neck and shoulders, or those pine-tree green eyes. He tried not to feel that small, china-doll hand, cool and trembling underneath his big callused one.
He couldn’t afford to have tender feelings for her. Hell, she’d come here to take little Bubba away to Lord only knew what kind of life! She was accusing Garrett of murder, to boot.
Easy enough to solve the latter problem. The former one bothered him, though. If she turned out to be Ethan’s aunt after all, then he’d have no right to keep that boy here.
Garrett sneaked into the guest bedroom where Ethan’s cradle was, and saw that the little pudge had decided to wake up at last. He was playing with his toes and drooling. A crooked smile tugged at Garrett’s mouth, and he went to the cradle. “Morning, Bubba.”
“Ga!”
He bent to pick up the baby, then thought better of it and removed the diaper first. Then the little T-shirt. He laid a fresh diaper under Ethan, but didn’t tape it up. “You lie there and kick for a minute while I run a baby-size bath for you.” Ethan’s huge smile and gurgles of joy followed Garrett into the bathroom. “Never did know a fella who enjoyed being buck naked the way you do, Bubba.”
He turned on the water.
C helsea heard splashing, and the enthusiastic coos and chirps that went with it. Ethan! God, she’d come so far, waited so long to finally see him. That big lug of a sheriff might be able to keep her from taking him home, for the moment at least, but he couldn’t keep her from seeing him.
She got out of the pink bed, holding the sheet around her in case anyone barged in, and went to the closet. She found a satin robe. Pink, of course, and a bit too long for her, but she belted it around her waist anyway, tying the sash nice and tight. Then she left the bedroom, barefoot, and followed the sounds into the big bedroom down the hall. A cradle stood empty beside a made-up bed with a wagon-wheel headboard. And farther inside, another door stood open.
Chelsea moved toward it, then stood stock-still just beyond the doorway, staring in utter shock at what she saw. The fat, laughing baby slapping his hands against the water in the tub so that sprays of droplets exploded all over the place. And the big man kneeling on the floor beside the tub, one hand firmly around the baby for support, while the other ran a washcloth over a round little belly.
Garrett had stripped off his T-shirt. Not in time, by the looks of it. It lay on the floor in a wet ball. Water dripped from a brick-wall chest and bodybuilder arms, and from his hair. Its thick, dark waves hung in straggles, some clinging to his face.
And he was laughing as much as the baby. A deep, rich sound that made her shiver.
Ethan. Her little Ethan. He was staring up at Garrett Brand with adoration oozing from his deep blue eyes.
Damned if the big cowboy wasn’t looking back at the baby with something very similar
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