Baby's First Homecoming (6 page)

Halfway there, Jamie started fussing again. Given that it was nearly six o’clock and two hours since he’d last eaten, he was probably hungry. She reached into the diaper bag. Too late, she remembered she was out of animal crackers.

“What’s wrong with him?” Clay asked.

“He’s hungry.”

“Should we go back to the house and feed him?”

Prolonging her visit was the last thing she wanted. “He’ll be okay if we don’t take too long.”

“He doesn’t sound okay,” Clay observed as Jamie’s wailing gained conviction. “I have some instant oatmeal in the office.”

“You eat breakfast in your office?”

“I like to tackle the paperwork before my day gets away from me.”

Considering how late he’d worked the last two nights, he put in some mighty long hours.

They rounded the side of the barn. A flimsy plastic office sign was mounted beside a brown steel door.

Clay opened it.

Sierra made a face, recalling the barn office at her family’s ranch with its perpetually grimy windows, scuffed floors and dust-blanketed desk. Not that she faulted her brothers. Who could keep an office clean in a barn?

Clay lifted the stroller’s front wheels over the raised threshold. Jamie stopped whining—momentarily, Sierra was sure. If she’d learned anything about her son these last several weeks it was that he possessed a voracious appetite.

“Here we are.”

Sierra prepared herself for the worst and stepped inside. She let out a small gasp. The office was not only spanking clean, it was attractive and housed state-of-the-art equipment. Framed photographs decorated the walls. A few featured Clay as a teenager, roping calves and riding bulls. Three photos were of the rodeo arena at various stages of construction. A large portrait of Prince hung over a cabinet.

As she had when she’d viewed his house, Sierra found herself stammering as she commented, “This is nice.”

“I’m not the most organized person in the world.”

She’d barely noticed the piles of papers and folders on the desk. “Who does your office work now?”

“Me, mostly. I also use a temp agency. They send someone out once or twice a week.”

Despite her conviction not to be, Sierra was curious. “How many hours a day do you think would be enough?”

“Four, for sure. Maybe more the week before an event. We have a bull-and-bronc-riding jackpot next month.”

As they talked, Clay went to a cupboard where he removed a bowl and package of instant oatmeal. Using water from a cooler, he prepared the oatmeal and heated it in the microwave.

Sierra lifted Jamie from the stroller and sat with him in the visitor chair. A minute later, Clay handed her the bowl of oatmeal and a spoon. Jamie ate as if he was starving.

Clay sat behind the desk, facing them. “I hope we’re not spoiling his dinner.”

“Are you kidding? This is just the appetizer. He’ll have the main course at home.”

“You’re really good with him.”

She couldn’t look at Clay, afraid he’d see the blush warming her cheeks. Why in the world did his praise embarrass her?

“Thanks. I’m trying.”

“I’d like to try, too. Feeding him, that is.”

“Now?” She didn’t want to give up Jamie. “He’s almost done.”

“So I see.” Clay chuckled. “He definitely has my appetite.”

Clay did eat a lot, Sierra remembered that about him. One would never know it to look at him, however. He didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on his lean, athletic frame.

Enough already with the personal thoughts about Clay, Sierra chided herself. Their relationship was already confusing enough.

While Jamie played with the spoon, Clay rambled on about the day-to-day office operations. Sierra listened, wishing she didn’t like the sound of the job so much. If not for having to leave Jamie with a caretaker, and Clay being her boss, it would be a perfect job for her. Flexible hours, lots of customer contact and a variety of duties, some easy, some challenging.

“Then there’s the mustang sanctuary,” he said. “We’re moving it from your family’s ranch to here. I’m donating the pasture space, water and any feed and medical care above and beyond donations. Your brothers will still supervise the training. I’d like to organize a wild-horse auction to raise awareness and, hopefully, money. We’re running low. I’d also like to investigate any potential government grants. You could be in charge of that.”

“What about Sage?”

Sierra’s future sister-in-law had founded the sanctuary shortly after Prince’s capture in order to place formerly unadoptable feral horses in good homes. It was her hobby and her passion.

“Between the wedding, her full-time job and the baby due this summer, she’s had to step down. You’d make an excellent replacement.”

Clay couldn’t be holding a more tempting carrot in front of Sierra. Part of her former job had been planning client-appreciation luncheons, annual charity campaigns and employee retreats. She’d not only enjoyed the work, she’d shown a real knack for it.

“Babies are time-consuming,” she agreed, thinking of those four-plus hours a day she’d be away from Jamie.

She didn’t trust anyone to watch him, with the exception of her family, and they were far too busy with their own lives and livelihoods for her to ask such a huge favor.

Better she decline Clay’s offer and find a job she could do from home. Then, once she’d saved enough money, she could locate her own place—and be miserably alone on the days Clay had Jamie.

Unless she moved into the casita.

Resentment, a frequent companion recently, built inside her. Clay had done nothing. Nothing
more,
anyway, than offer her a charming place to live and a great job. Yet she felt pressured again.

“Is there a sink where I can wash this?” She rose from the chair, Jamie in one arm, the empty oatmeal bowl in her free hand.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?”

“I can wash dishes.” He flashed that disarming smile again. “In fact, I do it pretty regularly.”

One good quality didn’t cancel out all the bad ones.

“Clay…about the job. I appreciate the offer, but I have to say no.”

“Why?”

She shifted Jamie to her other hip. “I need something I can do from home. So Jamie doesn’t have to be left with a sitter or in day care. He’s had so many disruptions these last few weeks, one more is just too much.”

“Day care?” Clay stood up as well and came out from behind the desk. “I thought you understood.”

“Understood what?”

“You can bring Jamie with you to work.” He gestured to the corner. “Put a playpen over there. One of those bouncy-chair things. I don’t care. This isn’t exactly a professional office.”

She stared blankly at him. “I can bring Jamie to work with me?”

“I told you that, didn’t I?”

If he had, she hadn’t heard him.

Clay moved closer, and Jamie reached for him. “I’d like it if you brought him. That way, I get to see him even more.”

Another attempt to control her, or was he just being thoughtful and considerate?

Sierra wished she knew. Maybe then making a decision wouldn’t be so hard.

Chapter Six

“He’s forcing you,” Gavin insisted, “and he has no right!”

Sierra loved that her brother was sticking up for her. She’d half expected him to support Clay, considering how traditional Gavin could be in his thinking and his past experience with Cassie’s mother. Because of his ex, Gavin had missed out on most of Cassie’s childhood and wouldn’t wish the same on any father.

But he was also Sierra’s big brother and for him blood was thicker than water.

“I don’t know if he’s forcing her as much as sweetening the pot.” Ethan sat back, taking a sip of his coffee. While he was also concerned for her and Jamie’s welfare, he happened to be best friends with Clay and would try hard to see both sides.

Gavin glared at Ethan. “You sound like you think she should do it.”

“I think she should consider it. She said herself she freaks out if she has to be apart from Jamie. Even for a few minutes.”

“He has a point,” Sierra’s father agreed. The four of them sat around the kitchen table, the dirty dinner dishes still in the sink waiting to be washed.

“She shouldn’t have to be apart from him.” Gavin pushed to his feet.

Ethan, the more easygoing of the two, stacked his hands behind his head and stretched out his long legs. “With joint custody, she’d get Jamie half the time. But if she lived with Clay, she’d get him
all
the time.”

“I wouldn’t be living with him,” Sierra was quick to add. “The casita is entirely separate from the house.”

“It’s still on his property,” Gavin grumbled.

“Technically, yes.” She questioned how much of his annoyance at Clay was for her sake and how much was left over from when Bud Duvall sold their family’s land out from under them. She’d thought Clay and Gavin had settled their differences when they became business partners.

Maybe not.

She was glad the rest of the family had driven into Scottsdale for some last-minute wedding preparations—which is what her brothers should be doing, too. The big day was Saturday, and there was precious little time left to handle the hundred and one details still needing attention.

Sierra glanced around the kitchen, her heart bursting with love. No way was she going to let her suit with Clay interfere with what should be the happiest day of her brothers’ lives. She and Clay would have to get along, simple as that.

The debate between Gavin and Ethan continued with Jamie interjecting his two cents every now and then. He perched on his grandfather’s lap, banging his toy pony on the table. Little by little he was warming up to his grandfather, uncles, aunts-to-be and cousins, which pleased Sierra immensely.

“Da, da, ba, be.” Jamie pushed the toy pony into his grandfather’s face.

“Hey, there.” Wayne grimaced and averted his head. “Isn’t it past your bedtime yet?”

“Bath first,” Sierra said.

“Clay always thinks he’s right.” Gavin clearly wasn’t letting the subject drop.

“And you don’t?” Ethan slanted a good-natured grin at his brother.

“Sierra’s place is with her family, and Jamie’s place is with his mother.”

“A father has a right to his child. You should know that better than anyone.”

That shut Gavin up. There was nothing he wouldn’t do, no lengths he wouldn’t go to, to keep Cassie with him.

Was he any different from Clay?

Was she any different from Cassie’s mother?

“I think you should move into Clay’s casita.” Her father’s announcement brought a sudden halt to his brother’s heated discussion.

“Are you serious?” Gavin demanded.

“Yes. For just the reason Ethan brought up. You went through hell those years you were separated from Cassie. We all did. It wasn’t fair to you, to Cassie, and it wouldn’t be fair to Clay.”

“I’m not taking Jamie and moving across country,” Sierra interjected. “Wherever I live, Clay will… He’ll have Jamie half the time.” Her mouth went dry at the prospect.

“The boy needs stability,” her father persisted. “He’s gone from home to home, parent to parent. You think shuffling him back and forth between you and Clay is going to provide him that stability?”

“No.” Sierra reached over and patted Jamie’s smooth cheek. “Which is why I’d rather have full custody and for Clay to have only visitation. For a while. Until Jamie adjusts.”

“He can adjust perfectly fine at Clay’s place.”

Sierra wasn’t sure she could, however.

“And you’d get to take him to work. How many employers will let you do that?”

“Day care wouldn’t be an issue if I found a job I could do from home.”

“Right. You look into that yet?”

“Some.”

“Find anything that isn’t telephone sales?”

“It’s a tough job market. Something good will come along eventually.” Hopefully her meager savings would hold out till then.

“Don’t you want Sierra and Jamie here with us?” Gavin demanded of their father.

“’Course I do. But Clay’s place is practically within walking distance. Riding distance, for sure. I can see my grandson every day if I want.” Wayne lightened his tone. “Clay deserves the chance to raise his son. Just like you deserved the chance to raise Cassie.”

“I like Clay, don’t get me wrong.”

“Then what is it?”

“Seems like the Duvalls are always taking from us.”

Sierra thought her father might react more strongly to Gavin’s statement, but he didn’t. “Clay isn’t his father. He’s a good man.”

“What about Sierra?”

“She’ll be fine,” her father said confidently. “Done pretty well on her own since college.”

He was wrong on two counts. She hadn’t done well on her own, especially during her pregnancy. And as far as being fine, the dispute was taking a terrible toll on her and that would continue even after it was settled.

She covered her father’s hand with hers. “I’ll always need you.”

“And we’ll always be here for you, sweetie pie.”

Why hadn’t she come home when she first found out she was pregnant instead of closing herself off?

Because her family had hated Clay until last fall when he and her brothers had reconciled after capturing Prince.

It still seemed strange to Sierra that he was treated the same as before Sierra’s mother died—like a member of the family.

What would Louise Powell have wanted for her daughter and grandson if she were alive today?

Sierra didn’t have to think twice. Her mother was as traditional as the rest of her family and believed a child’s parents should be married. She’d insist Sierra move into Clay’s casita on the chance the living arrangement would lead to a marriage proposal. And she’d have had Blythe’s support. Sierra could just see the two women putting their matchmaking heads together.

Was her father also counting on Clay proposing? She wouldn’t put it past him.

Jamie let out a whiny cry.

Sierra reached for him. “Sounds like one of us is getting tired.”

“Can’t he stay up a few more minutes?” Her father attempted to distract Jamie without success.

“I want to finish in the bathroom before Cassie and Isa get home.” She was acutely aware of how big a disruption she and Jamie were to the girls’ established routine. They’d been patient so far, but it was only bound to get worse.

“Whoa, there,” Wayne said when a full-fledged cry erupted from Jamie’s mouth.

“Sorry, Dad.” Sierra stood and took Jamie, snuggling him close to her chest in an attempt to quiet him. “When he cries like this, he’s reached the point of no return.”

“I can give him a bath if you want,” her father offered.

“What? And leave me with these two?” The look she sent her brothers said,
Talk about something other than Clay.

They ignored her.

If she didn’t dread more fallout, she’d tell them she’d mostly made up her mind hours ago. She’d just needed that last little push and to be reminded of what was most important. Jamie.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, she’d call Roberto and inform him of her decision. He could tell Clay; she didn’t think she could handle it.

* * *

C
LAY
HESITATED
JUST
INSIDE
the door. The noisy bar and grill was packed for a Thursday night. Then again, when wasn’t it? He didn’t frequent the Saddle Up Saloon for the very reason he’d come here tonight.

His father.

Bud Duvall could be found on his favorite bar stool most evenings from six to nine. Later on Fridays and Saturdays. He didn’t have a drinking problem, none that Clay knew about anyway. Bud typically nursed two draft beers for as long as he stayed, always leaving a generous tip in exchange for “rent” on the bar stool. He often joked about the Saddle Up being his second home.

An unfortunately true situation that was no one’s fault but his own.

Clay searched the large room, his gaze skimming a sea of cowboy hats and teased hairdos. He spotted his father in his usual place, center of the bar and, when the band wasn’t playing, center of attention. Flanked by his regular cronies, Bud acknowledged everyone who passed by with a howdy or a firm handshake or, in the case of the fairer sex, a wide grin and appreciative once-over.

Some things never changed.

Clay crossed to his father, weaving right and left to skirt tables. Bud didn’t see Clay until he was standing directly in the older man’s line of vision.

“Lookie here, fellows,” Bud boomed, his friendly voice a contrast to his wary eyes. “See what the cat drug in.”

His father’s friends greeted him warmly.

“Hey, Clay.”

“Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Luke. Artie.” Clay nodded, smiled. “How you doing?”

They exchanged small talk for several minutes before Luke and Artie offered flimsily concocted excuses and left. They probably figured if Clay had sought out his father after years of sporadic contact, it was probably an important and private matter.

“Buy you a drink?” Bud offered when the bartender made a pass.

“Club soda.”

The bartender left to fill Clay’s order.

“Since when you quit drinking beer?” His father studied him curiously.

“I haven’t. Just not in the mood tonight.” He didn’t want any alcohol, even one beer’s worth, dulling his senses. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“Some place less loud and less crowded?”

His father shrugged. He didn’t relish abandoning his bar stool for any reason, including talking to his estranged son. “I’m free tomorrow.”

Clay ignored the sarcasm. “This is important, Dad.”

“Whatever you say.” Bud drained the last of his beer and heaved himself off the stool. The same height as Clay, he carried an extra thirty pounds, most of it in the form of a spare tire hanging over his belt buckle.

Clay remembered when his father had been lean and muscled and strong enough to wrestle a full-grown steer to the ground one-handed. In those days, the Duvalls’ cattle operation had been in full swing, and Clay and his father toiled twenty-four hours straight if necessary.

Bud sold the cattle operation when Clay was twenty-two. Clay had used his share of the proceeds, a share he felt he’d rightfully earned, to purchase the land on which he eventually constructed his rodeo arena. When his father sold the Powells’ land two years later, Clay refused to take even one dime, though Bud had tried to convince him. They’d spoken rarely since then, Clay unable to get past what he considered his father’s betrayal of a sacred trust.

In the span of a single day, the Duvalls had gone from being the Powells’ dearest friends to being their hated enemies.

Was it any wonder Sierra had feared telling her family he was Jamie’s father?

“There’s an empty booth in the corner.” Bud walked ahead of Clay.

Not exactly quiet, but the location was marginally more private. At least Clay wouldn’t have to shout his personal business in order to be heard over the din. He and his father had already created quite a stir with the regulars.

They sat on opposite sides of the booth, the ancient cushioned seat beneath Clay giving in some places and lumpy in others.

“How’s your mother?”

Bud’s question didn’t come out of the blue. He always asked after Blythe whenever he and Clay talked.

“She’s good.”

“Still liking her job at the title company?”

“Very much.” Clay wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Dad, I have some news. Good news.”

“You’re not moving again?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He scraped a knuckle along his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. “Heard you’re doing well with the rodeo arena.”

Clay almost asked his father to repeat himself. The remark was the closest Bud had come to praising Clay since the day he’d brought home the state bronc-riding championship. Not long after that, Clay had cursed Bud and told him he didn’t care if they ever crossed paths again.