The Playboy's Baby(30)

Annie may not be her child, but Emma’s heart had long ago claimed her. Leaving her felt wrong, like she’d broken a promise to Janey.

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” Dillon turned to face her. His scent enveloped her and the warmth of his body radiated to her.

She should have taken a step back, except the soft honesty in his eyes caught and held her attention. His gentle smile wrapped itself around her heart, soothing the frazzled worry deep in the pit of her stomach.

“I promise.”





“I tell you, I’m not having it!”

Dillon’s father pounded a furious fist into the arm of the chair and Emma sighed. Dillon had been right. His mother jumped at the chance to watch her new granddaughter. His father wasn’t so easily convinced. The old man took one look at Annie and demanded a paternity test.

He then proceeded to run down a war path against what he assumed was the enemy. Dillon sat on the couch with his head in his hands, looking very much like a sixteen-year-old kid getting a scolding.

“Ethan, hush!” His mother’s tone strained with irritation.

His father’s head snapped in his wife’s direction, fury in his eyes. “I will not hush! This has happened once too often and I’m putting a stop to it this time. Janey was trouble, and she will not get away with this!”

“Pop, we’ve known Emma almost all our lives.” Logan, standing behind the sofa with his arms folded across his chest, rolled his eyes. “She’s not the enemy.”

Emma appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t appear to do any good. Mr. James went on like he hadn’t heard a word.

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if that girl got herself pregnant and tried to pin it on you. She was trouble, with a capital T, and she had a well-known track record the size of this state.” Mr. James rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe you got yourself tangled up with the likes of her.”

Dillon’s head snapped in his father’s direction, dark eyes blazing. “Have a little respect, Pop.”

His father shook his head. “We’ve been down this road one too many times, Dillon, and I won’t allow it to happen again.”

Emma bit her lip and managed to hold her tongue, but the look of self-righteous indignation on the old man’s face irritated like the relentless drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. The man had never hid his dislike for her sister, never bothered to hide the fact he considered their family second-class citizens because they struggled financially. He didn’t make any attempt to hide his contempt now either.

She should never have come. To hear him talk that way about Janey niggled at the raw aching pain that still gripped her heart and every word out of his mouth only fueled the anger burning like hot coals in her gut.

His mother rose from the couch, Annie clutched to her chest. Her voice amazingly low and calm, she glared at her husband. “I’ve heard enough. This is not Emma’s fault and I refuse to allow you to talk about her sister that way. In this house, we have respect for the dead. It doesn’t matter how this baby came to be. The fact is she’s here, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

His father glanced at Annie, his gaze softening a bit. A breath later, he turned an icy glare on Emma, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If it’s money you want, I’m afraid you’ve failed. I’m not fooled in the least by this little ploy of yours.”

That was the second time a James had said those words to her. Unable to bear it any longer, Emma surged to her feet and returned the old man’s glare. “I came back to town to tell him—” she jabbed a finger in Dillon’s direction “—because I thought he deserved to know. I could care less what you think. If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.”

She turned to Mrs. James and asked the silent question. When Mrs. James gave a small nod, Emma pivoted on her heel and stormed from the room. She trusted Dillon’s mother. She’d make sure Annie was safe until she got back. Right now, she needed air and space, and she wanted it before the tears burning behind her eyelids made their way to the surface. She would not give that old buzzard the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Shaking with a mixture of nerves and pent-up anger and pain, she shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat, and left the house. She marched across the lawn and down the driveway, the knot of pain and anger in her stomach carrying her forward.

“Em!”

Dillon’s voice called out when she reached the small garden at the center of the driveway, but she didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t stop. Angry tears welled and overflowed. She’d go back when she could go in there and be polite to that old stick in the mud. If she went back now, she’d declare war on that man, take Annie back, and call a lawyer. Annie and Dillon deserved better than that.