Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby (5 page)

“Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night…” he paraphrased with a teasing note.

“Exactly,” she agreed with a laugh. “Although I do recommend event insurance if a client is putting a lot of money into something or the weather forecast is bleak.”

“Smart move—if folks take your advice.”

For a second, she didn’t respond. Then her eyes narrowed and she said, “Why are you asking so many questions about my business?”

“Can’t I just be curious?” he tossed back as he turned off the main road and onto a much more narrow private drive. Haylie was so engrossed in their conversation, she didn’t seem to take note of the complete lack of traffic and the rougher drive as the Hummer navigated the snow-covered dirt-and-stone path.

Making a noise halfway between a scoff and a snort, she said, “Somehow I doubt you’re ever ‘just curious.’”

He grinned, thinking that even though they’d met for the first time only that morning, she knew him fairly well already.

“You’re probably right about that. I’ve got a sister, though. Half sister, actually, who’s engaged to be married. She and her fiancé were talking about a Christmas wedding, but they’ve put things off for so long and spent so much time waffling back and forth that I don’t think they know what they want to do anymore.”

They were climbing now, the oversize vehicle doing its job of hugging the road and navigating the less than smooth terrain.

“Where are we?” Haylie asked, finally realizing that he hadn’t driven them back to the resort as he’d promised.

Sidestepping the question, he told her instead, “So I was thinking that maybe you could talk with Erica. Maybe give her some pointers or help to allay her wedding jitters.”

“I would be happy to. She can call me anytime, but…” Frowning, she twisted around in her seat just as his house came into view. “This isn’t part of Jarrod Ridge. Is it? Where are we?” she asked again.

He remained silent until they reached the large two-car garage several yards from the main house. Both buildings were done in a dark, almost black wood stain that both stood out and blended beautifully with the rugged mountain terrain surrounding the property.

She was wrong about it not being part of Jarrod Ridge, though. No, it wasn’t connected to the resort, but the small parcel of land he owned privately directly bordered the extensive Jarrod Ridge holdings.

Hitting the remote for one of the wide garage doors, he shifted to look at Haylie while the door slowly rolled upward.

“This is my place,” he told her. “I thought I’d show you around, let you get a feel for the house before you turn me down flat on my invitation.”

He could tell by the flattening of her lips and flare of her nostrils that she was this close to ripping him a new one. His only chance at avoiding a total nuclear meltdown was the hope that, with Bradley asleep in the backseat, she would be reluctant to wake him by launching into a full-blown tirade.

Trevor’s eyes continued to blaze, and Haylie’s jaw worked as though she were grinding her teeth to keep from shrieking.

“Invitation?” she repeated, her tone acid sharp. “Don’t you mean order?”

“So that’s it, isn’t it. You’re ordering us to stay here.”

They were in the living room, logs crackling in the fireplace, the afternoon sun casting a lovely rose glow over the snowcapped evergreens and sleek white mountain slopes through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the west side of the house.

After taking a drowsy Bradley from his car seat, Trevor had given them a quick tour of the first floor while Haylie continued to fume. The baby was settled on a blanket in the middle of the floor now, his diaper changed and another bottle emptied. He was taking turns playing with his feet and a plastic ring of toys Haylie had pulled from her bag of tricks.

Haylie, however, was standing on the other side of the room, fuming. Her arms were crossed at her waist and her toe was tapping, actually tapping, in time with her bottled-up frustration.

“It’s not an order,” Trevor told her, doing his best to mollify her. Yes, he could force her to go along with what he wanted, but he would prefer to have her stay with him willingly. Or at least not as an adversary.

Moving into the open kitchen, he lifted two wine-glasses from the rack hanging over the center island and pulled a bottle of his favorite merlot from the island itself. Then he went in search of a corkscrew. “I’m asking you to stay here for a while,” he continued, keeping his voice mild and hopefully cajoling without sounding patronizing. “So that I can be closer to Bradley. So I can get to know him through you, as well as getting to know you and learn more about your sister.”

As well, keeping an eye on them. If they were under his roof, he could be sure she didn’t do anything stupid like going to the press or deciding to seek her fifteen minutes of fame, along with a hefty payoff from the Jarrod family coffers.

With the cork free, he poured two healthy portions of the rich red wine and carried them back to the living area. He handed one to Haylie and was surprised when she took it—without tossing it in his face.

“If Bradley really does turn out to be my son, then I’d appreciate this time with him. Private time, before the rest of the world finds out that I fathered a son with a woman I don’t remember, and then didn’t find out about him for two months after her death.”

Haylie cringed a bit at the word death, and he immediately regretted his matter-of-fact tone. Regardless of how he might feel about the woman who presumably kept his child from him for four months…and nine months before that, if he counted the full term of her pregnancy…he needed to remember she was Haylie’s sister and that Haylie had loved her.

He took a sip of wine, pleased when she followed suit, then said in a softer voice, “You have no idea how callous the media can be when it comes to a family like mine. They keep us in the crosshairs of their telephoto lenses twenty-four seven, leaving us very little privacy, and turning every tiny occurrence into a major publicity campaign—to their benefit, not ours. They’re especially talented at taking everyday, average events and blowing them completely out of proportion.”

Tunneling his fingers through his hair, he blew out an aggravated breath. “If word were to get out about why you’re here, even before we hear back from the doctor, headlines will be splashed across every gossip rag in the country labeling me a deadbeat dad and your sister a gold digger who intentionally got pregnant with a Jarrod heir.”

Haylie seemed to consider that, swirling the merlot absently in her glass. Firelight reflected off the dark red wine and flickered shadows over her slim form while the muted sunlight shining through the window at her back cast her in an almost angelic glow that brought out the myriad shades of gold and brown and copper in her honey-blond hair.

His fingers itched suddenly to reach out and touch the silky strands, to find out if they truly were as soft and warm as they looked.

“Won’t my staying with you, living under your roof, bring about a media frenzy just as much as if I were to go back to Denver and someone inadvertently found out about Bradley’s parentage?” she asked.

Valid point. “We would keep that under wraps as much as possible, but if the question comes up, you’re a family friend. That’s all. A family friend and her son, staying with me rather than at the resort. We can even make it look as though you’re a paying guest and I’m staying in the family quarters at the Manor so that you have this place all to yourself.”

She cocked her head, looking skeptical, so he glossed over that sticking point and moved on to another of her bigger concerns.

“As for you taking time away from work, I don’t know how long you took off after your sister’s death, but surely folks would understand if you needed a bit more of a mourning period. And as I mentioned before, my sister really is in the process of planning her wedding. I’m sure she’d love having the help of a professional, and we can arrange it so that your stay here is actually a working visit.”

Glancing down into her glass before lifting her gaze back to his, she murmured, “Are you sure your sister hasn’t already hired a wedding planner? I mean, she is a Jarrod, after all, and can afford the very best. I would think hiring a professional is the first thing she’d think to do.”

“I can’t be sure, but I haven’t heard anything about a wedding planner being hired, so I sort of doubt it.” With a shrug, he drained the last of his wine and set the glass on the low, glass-top coffee table in front of the sofa. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll call her right now.”

Haylie opened her mouth to stop him, but he was already headed for the cordless on the kitchen counter.

To be honest, he hadn’t intended to tell even his family about Haylie’s sudden appearance and disturbing claims just yet, but he supposed they would find out soon enough, anyway. It wasn’t as if he could take a few days off work or drag her to the Manor with him without the rest of the Jarrods swooping in to pepper him with questions. Sometimes, he thought wryly, they were worse than the press.

Hitting one of his many speed-dial numbers, he listened to the rings and waited for Erica to pick up. When she did, he greeted her with an upbeat, “Hey, sis, it’s Trevor. I’ve got a question for you.”

A second later, he shot Haylie an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “So how would you like to hire one? I’d consider it a personal favor, actually.”

“Please tell me you aren’t asking me to hire one of your temporary bimbos to plan my wedding,” Erica begged with a groan.

Trevor didn’t know whether to chuckle or be offended by her low opinion of his usual female companions. Not that he hadn’t earned the reputation, he supposed.

But while it had never bothered him before, he found himself suffering a twinge. Of guilt? Embarrassment? He wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t like the sensation.

Letting his gaze drift over Haylie’s straight blond hair, conservative sweater and slacks, and classy but sensible shoes, he knew Erica would never mistake her for a bimbo. Or one of his temporary distractions, either.

“No,” he answered firmly. “She’s a very talented professional event planner, and I need to give her a really solid reason to stick around Jarrod Ridge for a couple of weeks.”

“Why?” his sister asked without a hint of finesse.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, looking down at the floor. “I’ll explain later. So are you interested? Will you at least talk to her?”

“Of course. Frankly, it would be a relief to have someone else worry about the details for a change. And someone to talk to about the wedding other than Christian. I love that man, but I swear he’d fly me to Galapagos if I asked him to, just to be married and done with it already.”

“Great,” Trevor responded, relief washing through him. “You two can arrange a face-to-face later, but for now, will you mind telling her that yourself?”

He held the phone out to Haylie and waited for her to take it. She did, reluctantly putting it to her ear.

“Hello?”

He couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but Haylie nodded and offered his sister her name. For the next minute there were a lot of affirmative sounds and more nodding, followed by, “All right. I’d like that, thank you.”

Hitting the disconnect button, Haylie handed the phone back to him. He knew her chat with his sister had gone well, but her expression was curiously blank.

“So?” he prompted, raising a brow.

“I’m apparently having lunch with your sister tomorrow to discuss the planning of her wedding.”

“Excellent.”

Haylie watched Trevor return the phone to its cradle, then collect the open bottle of wine and cross to the low coffee table where he poured a couple more inches for himself. Her glass was still nearly full, so he didn’t offer to top her off.

Excellent? For him, maybe. She wasn’t so sure about herself. She’d come to Aspen looking for a father for her nephew, not a new job.

Should she even help his sister with her wedding preparations, or should she back out of the impromptu lunch meeting she’d just agreed to? She could definitely develop a decent argument for temporary insanity, since not only her day but her entire life was beginning to feel very surreal and out of control.

On the other hand, they were talking about a Jarrod wedding here. A Jarrod wedding!

Celebrity-event planners would beg, borrow, steal and commit bloody murder to land a Jarrod wedding, and she was standing in the middle of Trevor Jarrod’s living room being handed one on a silver platter. Even if they didn’t pay her a dime, having a Jarrod wedding in her portfolio could take It’s Your Party to a whole new level. From putting together mostly children’s birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, to garden parties, high-society anniversaries and even more high-profile weddings.

The thought was so overwhelming that for a second she couldn’t breathe, and the lack of oxygen caused tiny starbursts to flare in front of her eyes.

Forcing herself to take a deep breath before she did something truly embarrassing like fainting dead away while Trevor stood less than a yard from her, sipping his merlot, she reminded herself that she was projecting, blowing the entire situation way out of proportion. At the moment, the only thing her business future held was a harmless lunch date with Trevor’s sister…and a decision to make.

Steeling her spine and her nerves, she fixed him with a firm glance and said, “I’ll stay the night and meet with your sister tomorrow, but I’m not promising anything more than that.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed with the shrug of one shoulder. “Though I think once you talk to Erica, you’ll decide that sticking around Jarrod Ridge for a couple of weeks isn’t the worst idea in the world. And in case you’re worried about losing profits while you’re away from Denver, rest assured that we’ll pay you well for your services. Very well,” he added, winking at her over the rim of his wineglass.

Agreeing to stay overnight at Trevor Jarrod’s house and actually following through were two entirely different things, Haylie soon learned.

For one, she had packed the car and made arrangements for a day trip, nothing more. She had enough formula and diapers for Bradley to get through the next few hours. If they were lucky.

For another, she had nothing with her for her. No nightgown or toothbrush or makeup remover, and only the clothes on her back to wear to her lunch with Erica the next day.

It was enough to make her reconsider her decision, that was for sure.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” she whispered, standing in the doorway of one of Trevor’s extra bedrooms, staring at a comfortably snoozing Bradley.

He’d fallen asleep while finishing his bottle, and hadn’t stirred while she’d changed him into one of the only remaining diapers. Of course, Trevor didn’t have a crib or anything else that even remotely resembled a proper child-care necessity, so they’d had to improvise.

A soft, thick comforter on the floor in one corner, surrounded by pillows and a couple of the cushions from Trevor’s expensive leather sofa, and she didn’t think Bradley was going anywhere, even if he did wake up in the next few hours, which was highly unlikely.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Trevor asked from directly behind her. “I mean, it doesn’t look great, but he’s safe enough, right?”

Turning from the doorway, she nodded. “He’ll be fine. He doesn’t move around much at all when he sleeps. The important thing is just to make sure he can’t roll anywhere and that there’s nothing nearby that will hurt him if he does wake up.”

Leading her back down to the first floor of the elegant, expansive log cabin, he said, “Then why are you worried this wasn’t a good idea?”

“Not Bradley, staying here. I wasn’t planning to be gone overnight. I’m not prepared to stay anywhere, let alone with you.”

Heat suffused her cheeks when she realized how that sounded, and she rushed on with her explanation in hopes that he wouldn’t catch the slip.

“Bradley is almost out of diapers and formula, I have no personal items with me….” Slipping her hands into the front pockets of her slacks, she hunched her shoulders and looked down at her outfit. “Even if we get through the night, I’m going to end up looking like a bag lady when I meet your sister after having slept in my clothes and makeup.”

One corner of Trevor’s mouth tipped up in a grin. “You forget who you’re talking to,” he told her from across the kitchen island.

Sliding a pad and pen across the marble countertop, he said, “Write down everything you need. Be as detailed as possible—brand names, quantities, your clothing and shoe sizes. I’ll have it all delivered tonight, along with your car.”