A faint smile curved his lips.
âIâm a curious man and youâre a beautiful woman. A plus B equals C.â
âThatâs not the way algebra works.â
Finn chuckled lowly. âYouâre right. Thatâs not algebra. Thatâs my own special equation.â
He was making light of the whole thing and it would be best if she did, too. But his kiss had shaken her to the very depths of her being. And she was sick of men never taking her seriously, tired of being considered a pleasant pastime and nothing more.
âVery cute,â she muttered, then quickly turned away from him and walked over to Harryâs playpen. âBut Iâve had enough laughs for one night. Iâm putting Harry and myself to bed.â
Mariah was bending over to pick up Harry when Finnâs hands caught her around the waist and tugged her straight back into his arms.
âIf you thought that was for laughs, then maybe Iâd better do it over.â
Before she could react heâd already fastened his lips over hers. And this time there was no mistaking the raw hunger in his kiss.
***
Men of the West:
Whether ranchers or lawmen, these heartbreakers can ride, shootâand drive a woman crazyâ¦
Chapter One
Was this baby his son?
Finn Calhoun stared in wonder at the four-month-old boy cradled in the womanâs arms. The childâs hair was curly, but it wasnât bright copper like his own. Still, it was a light shade of auburn. Finnâs eyes were the color of the sky, while the babyâs eyes were a much darker blue. There were also the dimples creasing his fat little cheeks. Finn possessed those same dimples, too. But that was hardly proof the little guy belonged to him.
A man was supposed to have nine months to adjust to the idea of becoming a dad, Finn thought. Heâd had all of two days to ponder the notion of having a child. And though he liked to consider himself a man with his boots firmly planted on the ground, the idea that he might be a father had left him feeling as if heâd been shot out of a cannon and hadnât yet landed.
âWould you like to hold him?â
The gently spoken question broke through Finnâs dazed thoughts, and he lifted his gaze to Mariah Montgomery, the babyâs aunt.
Gauging her to be in her midtwenties, he noted that her slender frame was concealed beneath a pair of worn blue jeans and a sleeveless red checked blouse. Crow-black hair waved back from a wide forehead and was fastened at the nape of her neck with a white silk scarf. Cool gray eyes regarded him with cautious regard, while a set of pale pink lips pressed into a straight line.
Since meeting him at the door five minutes ago and inviting him into the house, Finn hadnât seen any sort of pleasurable expression or welcoming smile cross her face. But Finn could overlook her somber attitude. Sheâd surely gone through hell these past few weeks.
A month ago, her sister Aimee had died in a skiing accident. Since then sheâd had to deal with grief and instant motherhood. Now she was meeting Finn for the first time. And she had no idea if he was a worthless bum whoâd taken advantage of her late sister, or a nice guy whoâd been caught up in a long-distance love affair. She only knew that Finnâs name was listed on the babyâs birth certificate as the father.
His head whirling with questions and reservations, Finn stepped forward. âDo you think holding him would be all right?â
She shot him an odd, almost suspicious look. âWhy wouldnât it be all right? Fathers do hold their sons. And Aimee named you as the father.â
Her voice held a thread of skepticism. As though she was far from convinced he was the boyâs father. Well, Finn couldâve told her that for the past two days, heâd also been swamped with doubts. No matter that the timing of the childâs birth calculated perfectly back to the weekend heâd spent with Aimee, a two-day affair hadnât necessarily created a baby. Even so, he wasnât about to dismiss the possibility that he was the father.
Keeping these thoughts to himself, he said, âSome babies donât appreciate being handed over to a stranger. And I donât want to make him cry.â