The Cowgirl's Little Secret(27)

       

No one had a chance to intercept him as Cord came over the top of the conference table, sliding across the polished surface to land on his feet in front of Cash's chair. He knocked Cash backward and twisted his fist in his brother's pristine shirtfront. "You watch your mouth, little brother. Jolie is the mother of my child. You will speak of her with respect."

The room had gone dead silent. Cash had a couple of inches and about twenty pounds on him, and Cord still wasn't back to 100 percent from the accident, but he was so filled with righteous anger that he was positive he could take the other man. He might be mad at Jolie, but no one in his family had the right to say anything about her.

Cash's smirk widened, but he lowered his eyes in a brief display of submission. Cord loosened his grip, straightened and with a deliberate stride, returned to the doorway. "That goes for the rest of you. CJ is my son. I'm dealing with this situation." At least he hoped he could without things escalating further. Due to Jolie's continued stubbornness on the matter, he wasn't too sure.

His gaze zeroed in on his father. "I'm not a stupid frat boy anymore, old man. You keep that in mind. What I do with Jolie and our son is none of your business." He pinned each of his brothers with the same glare. "That goes for the rest of you, as well. We clear?"

Nobody moved. Chase continued to stare at his hands lying clasped in his lap. Cash glared back. Clay briefly met his gaze before looking away. Chance's eyes twinkled, though his expression gave nothing away. This was all the satisfaction Cord would get from his brothers, but he hammered the point home with his father. "I mean it, Cyrus. I know you. I know what you did to Chance and Cassie. I'm warning you here and now. Don't mess with Jolie and CJ. Don't mess with me."

His old man slowly clapped his hands in derisive applause. "You always were a disappointment, boy. I've given you time and enough rope to tie up this deal, but you've always been weak. That boy is a Barron. He belongs with his family. Get it done. Or else." He glanced at Clay. "My study, now." Pivoting, Cyrus headed to the connecting door. Clay exhaled a heavy breath, rose and followed their father. The door closed behind him, the sharp sound like a period ending the conversation.

Cord turned to duck out the door, ignoring the twins, but he offered Chance a brief tuck of his chin in acknowledgment of Chance's support. He needed to grab CJ and get the hell away. Sometimes it really sucked to be a Barron. He didn't believe for a New York minute that his father would back down. Cyrus wanted control-of his companies, his sons and now his grandson, and the old man wasn't squeamish when it came to playing dirty.

Halfway along the hall, a closed door caught his attention. The back stairs to the playroom. The hairs on his neck prickled. He hadn't been up there since...he couldn't remember when. He wanted to go up, look around, but hesitated. Surely Clay would keep their father occupied for a while. He'd have time to satisfy his curiosity before taking CJ back to Jolie. He opened the door and slipped through. The bare-wood stairs were dusty. Considering Miz Beth's almost obsessive need to clean, the neglect surprised him. The steps stopped at a wide landing with a door. A right turn led to a long hallway that curved back toward the bedrooms.

The thick wooden door looked just as he remembered it-odd colors of flaking paint, wrought iron hinges and door handle, grooves embedded in the wood. He traced his fingers over the scratches and spelled out each of their names, carved meticulously with a pocket knife. He still had a scar on his hand from the exercise. He pressed the handle and pushed. The door swung open on rusty hinges. He stepped inside and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. Unerringly, he crossed the floor to the nearest window.

Cord flicked the blinds and watched dust motes dance in the late-afternoon sunlight. He hadn't stepped inside this room in years. Part nursery, part playroom, it contained the detritus of five boys growing up. Clay's bookcase full of biographies and histories. Chance's hard-plastic palomino spring horse, its metal frame rusty. Mud-stained equipment bags full of leather gloves and baseball bats belonging to Cash and Chase. A deep set of shelves under one of the room's windows that held games and a whole motor pool of toy trucks and cars. He smiled and hoped CJ liked trucks as much as he had. He'd bet money half of his collection was still buried out in the yard somewhere.                       
       
           



       

Picking through boxes, he relived memories from childhood. Not all of them were good, which added a layer of melancholy to his search. He glanced around and realized there was something up here he wanted to look at. He found what he'd been searching for over in the corner. The Barron family cradle, the wood carved and shaped by the hands of his great-great-grandfather. Five generations of Barron babies had slept in that cradle. He rubbed dust off with his hand, fingering the spindles turned on a hand lathe. Five generations. But not the sixth. Not his son.

Jolie had robbed him of that by stealing his son away, by running from him without a word. He'd missed almost five years of his son's life. And her pregnancy. A profound sadness settled on his shoulders. Every time he tried to talk to her about it, she threw up walls.

You wouldn't have listened.

She'd flung the words at him as if they shielded her from responsibility. He damn well was listening now, wasn't he? She was the one turning deaf ears to him. Fine. He was a Barron and so was CJ. Cordell Joseph Barron, even if the damn birth certificate listed Davis as his last name.

Tunneling his fingers through his hair, he worked to calm down as he tried to figure out why they continued to fight over this. He still had every intention of asking her to marry him. Even now, the velvet box resided in the pocket of his leather jacket currently hanging downstairs. He wanted official acknowledgment that CJ was his son. He thought he'd made a simple request. CJ is my son. I want to petition the court to issue an amended birth certificate. The kid had his own room at the ranch as well as one at Cord's condo in Oklahoma City. Jolie admitted CJ was his. What was the big deal? But she'd freaked out. Big-time. What was she afraid of?

Cord toyed with his cell phone. He wanted to talk to Jolie. No, he needed to talk to her. He'd been patient. He'd courted her, given her space and done everything he knew how to reassure her. Christmas was just around the corner. He wanted his family together for the holidays. Jolie and CJ were his family. The best Christmas present in the world would be his name on CJ's birth certificate and his engagement ring on Jolie's left hand. What was wrong with that?

Evidently everything, judging by Jolie's reaction. He hadn't even gotten to the proposal yet. She didn't trust him. She'd tossed that little gem into his lap, too. Well, trust was a two-way street, and he realized he didn't quite trust her, either. She'd kept their son a secret from him. Anger swelled, deep and raging as bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it down.

"Getting mad isn't the answer," he muttered. He'd get even. That was what Barrons did, right? He had the results from the paternity test. CJ was his. Chance had the papers ready to file. The devil on his shoulder tempted him to give Chance the go-ahead to file suit. Which would be the worst thing he could do. Inhaling the dust and mustiness in the air, he huffed out a breath. He needed to forgive and forget. And so did Jolie. It would be the only way they could move forward.

A scuffing noise had him whirling. Cash stood in the doorway, a smirk on his face, thumbs hooked in his jeans' pockets, his expression nonchalant.

"I didn't figure you for a nostalgic fool, Cord."

His youngest brother resembled their father more and more every day, a thought that worried him. "What are you doing here, Cash?"

"I live here, too."

Cord just managed to stop the eye roll. "None of us live here anymore. You and Chase have made a point of staying away, in fact."

"Some of us have jobs that keep us on the road."

"You didn't answer my question. Are you spying on me for the old man?"

Lifting one shoulder in a negligent shrug, Cash still wouldn't look directly at him. "Naw. Why bother?"

"But you just happened to wander up here." Yeah, right. Cord eyed his brother and didn't bother to hide his skepticism.

Cash stared at him. "The stairwell door was open." He stepped into the room and looked around. "Can't believe all this stuff is still here." He nudged one of the equipment bags with his foot.

"Miz Beth doesn't throw anything away, especially if it's even remotely sentimental." A lump formed in Cord's throat, and he swallowed around it to add, "Or had anything at all to do with one of us."                       
       
           



       

"Sentimental to who?" Cash delivered a savage kick to the bag.

"Her, I guess, since she pretty much raised us. She and Big John never missed any activity one of us was into. Clay's debates and speech tournaments. Chance's and my rodeos. All of our games from Mighty Mites Football and Little League until we were out of high school. I bet if we dig deep enough, the score books John kept are up here somewhere."