Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out (22 page)

“I’m getting tired.” Sloane stood up, pasted the smile on her face.

“Do you need help with Dani?” Ellen asked, going to stand.

“Let me help.” Tyler caught her with a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t need any help,” Sloane said, forcing a smile. “You should

stay down here with…them.” She covered the minute hesitation quickly. She’d been about ready to say Boone’s name, but feared something in her voice would give her away.

“I want to see my niece,” Tyler said, tugging on her hair. He paused by the bouncer and crouched down, unbuckling it and lifting the baby with competent hands.

Rolling her eyes, she gestured for him to precede her. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

She glanced back behind her, smiled at Ellen and then forced herself to look over at Boone.

He was staring right at her.

The jolt of his gaze sizzled through her and she fought to keep her voice steady as she softly said, “I’m glad you’re okay, Boone.”

“Does her husband work late?”

The question escaped him before he realized he was going to ask it.

“Her…” Ellen looked startled. Then she laughed.

Was it him or did the laughter seem to have a forced edge of humor in it? He didn’t know.

“Sloane’s not married. The…” She smiled. “The baby’s dad is sort of out of the picture.”

“Dead beat,” Boone said, irritated in a ways that didn’t entirely make sense. Oh, he had good reason to despise dead beat dads—and he did—but it was an abject sort of dislike. This felt…personal. Maybe because he knew Sloane—or he had. Maybe that part of him remembered.

“No,” Ellen said quietly, interrupting his reverie. “It’s…complicated, really. But it’s more a matter of, well. A lack of a communication, on both parts.”

“So she didn’t tell him?” Even as he asked it, he told himself to let it go. This didn’t concern him. Yet he didn’t tell her to forget it.

And to his surprise, she had an answer for him.

“She told him—in a matter of speaking. He asked the wrong question and she gave him the best answer.” Ellen nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, as if debating saying anything more. Finally, she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “Sloane and Tyler, they didn’t have the best father figure. When it comes to being a parent, both of them are going to be all in. And if they get the feeling the other person involved isn’t
all in
, they’ll draw back. They’d rather go it alone than have somebody who didn’t want a baby in the picture.” With a shrug, she finished. “Sloane was being cautious. The guy…well, if she’d given him a chance, I think he would have surprised her.”

“He should have made sure,” Boone muttered. Ellen’s vague response didn’t do anything to lessen his irritation at the unknown father. Because he wanted to know more, more than he had a right to, he brushed it off. “It’s none of my business, though. Looks like she’s got a handle on things. Tyler, too.”

“Oh, yes.” Ellen grinned. “Tyler is getting plenty of experience with diaper-changing.”

“Hey.”

Both of them turned toward the man striding into the kitchen. Tyler paused by his wife and tugged on a loose curl. “I’ll have you know, I had
plenty
of experience with changing diapers. Both Pierce and I took our turns helping out with Sloane, thank you very much.”

Ellen’s response was cut off by Boone. Out of the blue, he said, “Your mother should have tried more. I know she was trying to keep the farm going, but…”

He stopped abruptly, red rushing up to heat his cheeks. “I…whoa. Shit. I’m sorry.”

Tyler didn’t look offended, though. He looked intense. Hooking his thumbs in his front pockets, he said, “You remember me talking about her—my mother.”

“No.” Boone scowled, the ever-present frustration rearing its ugly head. He reached up, rubbing at the scar that ran along his head, from the hairline on the left side, all the way past his crown. It was uneven and jagged and even now, he could feel the raised edges caused by

inexpertly placed stitches. “I just…it came to me. Things do that.”

“You’re remembering, though,” Tyler said, eyes gleaming.

“Maybe not all the way—yet—but you’re remembering. That’s gotta be a good thing.”

Boone managed to smile. But in the pit of his gut, he wondered. Was there really any life worth remembering?

It was unsettling as hell, Sloane decided.

Her heart was still hammering in her chest and Danielle made a discontented squeak. Glancing down, she realized she’d subconsciously shifted her hold on the baby, bringing her up to shield her bare breast from the man who’d silently appeared in the doorway.

“Hi,” she said, her voice level despite the chaotic emotions rushing inside her. As Dani started to fuss, she grabbed the blanket from the arm of the chair and threw it over the baby’s head. Guiding Danielle’s hungry mouth to her breast under the concealment of the blanket, she forced herself to smile at Boone. “Did you need anything?”

“No.” He stared, and then, to her surprise, a blush crept up his cheeks.

He’d been staring at her, watching as she nursed the baby, and she had no idea how long he’d been watching her.

It was unsettling as hell.

She finally managed to figure out the right way to phrase her next question—
well, if there’s nothing you need, Dani and I are busy
—but Boone had moved into the quiet library where she liked to feed the baby in the afternoons. She fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Nursing, at least until now, hadn’t bothered her, even if her brother was around. Tyler had gotten slightly red-faced about it at first and then, like somebody had flipped a switch, he’d gotten completely nonchalant about it. More often than not, she had a blanket on hand in case she wasn’t alone, but it had stopped bothering her within a few days of coming home from the hospital.

Boone changed all of that.

She wasn’t
self-conscious
, exactly.

No, more like she was
Boone-conscious
. Too conscious of him and everything he did, so much so that she couldn’t help but notice he was just as aware of her. And damn curious about the baby. She’d seen him, just last night, staring at the bassinet in the living room with

something that looked like longing in his eyes.

Now he was sitting a few feet away.

As a blush crept up her cheeks, she focused on adjusting the blanket that Danielle kept trying to kick away. “How…um. How are things going in the memory department? Anything new?”

“Bits and pieces,” he said, his voice gruff.

She looked at him just in time to see him look away.

He’d been watching her.

Again.

It had been more than a week since he’d arrived and in that time, she’d caught him in the act of staring at her more often than she could count. It was a unique thing, the way he watched her and she wished she could brush it off, forget about it—or even say something to discourage it.

But she liked the feel of his eyes on her. She liked it more than she cared to admit.

She liked
him
.

She’d always thought she would, although their correspondence had always been brief and informal. Something about a quiet, understated sense of humor had captured her interest and she found that his humor wasn’t just understated; it was so dry, most people would have missed it.

She liked the way he had of sitting there, listening as everybody spoke and it was clear he
did
listen. He listened, and he thought, deliberated before offering any insight or opinion.

And she liked the way he could sit in a room without saying a single thing, as if words, to him, didn’t matter all that much.

It was too easy sitting in the silence with him. Intimate, even. As intimate as feeling his mouth brush over her skin, but in a wholly different way.

“She doesn’t cry much,” Boone said, disturbing her reverie.

Dani went oddly still and Sloane had the odd little thought that maybe some part of the child recognized her father. But that was a fanciful, foolish idea.

“No,” Sloane said. She had to clear her throat before she could continue. “No, she doesn’t. She’s a very good baby.”

“Does she look like you?”

Sloane jerked her head up at that, staring into Boone’s pale eyes. “Um…” She tried to shrug nonchalantly and wished she could lie worth a damn. “No, not really.”

Dani
didn’t
look like her. Although she still had that baby plumpness, her chin showed the promise of being sharper, almost pointed and her cute little nose turned up more than Sloane’s. And her eyes…

She blew out a steadying breath.

She had her father’s eyes. The blue of a newborn baby had shifted over the past couple of weeks and was even more noticeable now. Danielle had pale, pale blue eyes and if a person really looked, they might even notice the similarity between the gazes of the small baby and the big, quiet man sitting a few feet away.

I need to tell him
, she thought. Despair and desperation were hot on the heels of that thought.

How did she tell a man who couldn’t remember her that he’d helped her bring a new life into the world? That wasn’t exactly something you could blurt out over after dinner coffee.

She’d brush the idea aside entirely, except…the way he watched her. How he’d look at the baby. Something acute and dark burned in his eyes as he watched them—something that was akin to greed.

Sloane understand that.

She
was greedy.

Greedy for him, greedy for more, greedy for the promise of a family that had eluded her from the very first breath she’d taken. Her mother had been a good mom, she knew that. Georgia Redding had
tried
, raising three kids on her own, struggling to keep the Redding farm going even when it was clear the end was near. She’d tried, but too often, it had been Tyler or Pierce to cook supper, to help Sloane get ready for bed and as she’d gotten older, it had been the twins who’d been there to help with homework or the secret little miseries that too often happened to a young, gawky girl who was too smart for her age.

A family—a real one—was all Sloane had ever wanted.

And the way he watched her tore jagged claws into wounds she’d hope to bury.

“He’s crazy, you know.”

Sloane jerked her head up as Boone rose from his chair.

“Who? What?”

Boone shrugged, the motion almost awkward. “Whoever he is—the dad. He should be here with you. I can’t get why he wouldn’t want…” He made an abstract gesture that seemed to encompass Sloane’s entire world—the baby, the farm, her home. “This.”

Then he left, walking away as a knot formed in Sloane’s throat.

• • •

“I have to tell him.”

Ellen sipped from her glass of wine. “I agree.”

“Good. Okay. I’ll…”

Realizing that Ellen was still watching her, too intently, Sloane stopped. “What?”

Ellen looked down, pondering her glass with a scrutiny that seemed almost out of place. “I do think you should tell him. I just…” She stopped and looked away. “Is now the right time? He still isn’t remembering much.”

“You think telling him would make it worse?” Sloane asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” Ellen frowned, still pondering her wine. “I don’t know anything about what happened to him, his injury, what made him forget. Or what happened to him over the past year.”

Sloane didn’t
want
to know any of those things—or maybe she did, but at the same time, she wanted to pretend nothing
had
happened. She knew he had gone through something awful. He had new scars, including a nick on his chin and a thin, narrow slice that bisected his left eyebrow. The worst one, though, was on his neck. His voice was rougher, too, likely from that scar on his neck. How badly had he been injured? Just
thinking
about it made her heart hurt.

Now more uncertain than ever, she sat down at the table and dropped her head into her hands. Tyler had Dani out in the backyard, relaxing at the end of a long workday. They only had a small percentage of the land they’d had growing up, but owning—and running—a farm was a lot of work. He had a couple of good hands around to help him, but Tyler, being Tyler, jumped right in, taking up the reins of running the place as if he’d never been gone.

From the window, she could see her brother, watching as he rocked with Dani on the heavy wooden swing that hung under a fat, towering oak. He looked completely content, a smile lighting his face as he spoke to the baby.

Even from here, Sloane could see how the small child watched her uncle, as if she understood every word.

“He’s happy here,” she said quietly.

Ellen followed her gaze and in the next moment, she smiled. The smile was so heartfelt, it turned her from beautiful to absolutely breathtaking. “Yes. He is.
We
are,” Ellen said.

“I’d worried…” Sloane trailed off, shrugging.

“I know.”

Sliding her sister-in-law a sidelong look, she waited.

Ellen pushed up from the table and moved to the window, staring outside at her husband. She rested a hand on the window, as though that alone might close the distance between them. “I’d worried, too. After the military, the job with DDX, how was he going to adjust to life on a
farm
?” She laughed and looked back at Sloane, her eyes glinting. “
I
worried about the same thing. You know I grew up on a farm.”

Sloane nodded. Ellen had lived on a farm with her parents up until her mom divorced her father and took off to Nashville—with her fourteen year old daughter—because she needed to
find
herself. Ellen had hated the city, at first.

But then she’d acclimated and became a self-professed city girl.

“It looks like you both found what you were looking for.” Envy curled through her, a sly, slippery little beast and she smashed it.

“We weren’t looking…and found each other anyway.” Ellen turned back to the table, a pleased smile on her face. “Yeah, I’d worried. This place, it’s so calm, so different from the life he’d had

before we got married.”

“I guess that’s what he wanted. This life…you.” Flicking her gaze to her brother, Sloane studied him with the baby. “Now I just wonder how long it will take for him to start talking to you about kids. He’s heads over heels for mine.”

“Um…”

Catching the humor in the other woman’s voice,

Sloane glanced at her. “You’re not…”

“No.” Ellen grinned. “Not yet. But…yeah. We’re trying. We’d talked about it off and on since you told us you were expecting, and then Dani comes along and…well. We need to have one of our own before we steal yours.”

Sloane arched a brow. “Try it.”

A figure passed in front of the window and she groaned as the sight of Boone dragged her thoughts from her family, to the little problem of their stolen night.

She watched as he strode to her brother. He seemed to hesitate before sitting down and a second later, Tyler pushed the baby into his arms.

Sloane caught her breath.

“Oh, my.”

She echoed Ellen’s soft words in her own head and swallowed around the knot that had wedged itself into her throat.

Boone. Holding his daughter.

Spinning away, she closed her eyes.

“I have to tell him—”

She cut the words short when the door swung open.

Panic locked her throat and she turned, eying her brother as he paused in the doorway. “Tell me what?” he asked, clearly having heard her.

“Nothing.” She spoke too quickly and immediately cursed herself as Tyler’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said sourly. “It’s not you—it’s none of your business.”

“What’s wrong?” Tyler asked softly.

Without blinking an eye, Sloane smiled at him and lied. “Not a thing.”

• • •

The military could have trained him as a sniper. Boone could take out a target at two thousand yards in the dead of night and he could defuse a live bomb—he could, and had.

He knew these things because Tyler had told him—and it all felt right. He knew he could kill, and he had done it once or twice down in the hell of that Mexican prison. It was a kill or be killed sort of world and he hadn’t wanted to die in the misery.

Threats of death and dismemberment didn’t make him sweat.

But the small baby in his arms left his hands all shaky.

Little Danielle Redding blinked big blue eyes up at him and then opened her mouth in a huge yawn. The tiny little noise she made reminded him of a bleating sheep. Although Boone had no idea how he knew what sort of sound a sheep made.

The sound of the door had him looking up and he met Tyler’s steady gaze.

“You shouldn’t leave her out here with me alone,” he said scowling, although some part of him already wanted to cuddle the small child closer. “I could drop her.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “You’ve disarmed live explosives—I think you can handle a baby who barely weighs ten pounds.”