A Baby of Her Own

CHAPTER TWO

CONNER ARMSTRONG KNEW what fun was. He’d spent a good portion of his thirty-one years trying to destroy himself with good old-fashioned reckless living, but he doubted he was going to find any excitement here. That, of course, was why the old man had sent him to Boise. Clive Armstrong was trying to teach him a lesson, trying to force the illegitimate son of his adopted daughter to straighten up at last—and Conner figured the only way his grandfather thought he’d be successful was to remove all temptation.

He glanced around the small hotel bar, which was nearly empty, and frowned, figuring it just might work.

Hell, who was he kidding? It had to work. Conner had run out of second chances, and although he’d never admit it to Clive or anyone else, he secretly embraced the challenge his grandfather had placed before him. He was ready to grow up, deal with the past, move on. He’d been ready for some time, but old habits died hard.

A work-roughened man with big hands and a whiskery jaw came in through the street entrance. Shaking off the snow clinging to his hat and clothes, he settled at the bar next to Conner, then nodded. “You new in town?”

He was wearing a dirty pair of Wranglers, a red flannel shirt over long johns, and no coat. Because of his ruddy appearance and seeming indifference to the cold, Conner took him for a local.

“What gave me away?” Conner asked.

His new friend ordered a beer and pushed his cowboy hat back on his head. “You look like a city fella.”

Shrewd dark eyes flicked over Conner’s turtleneck sweater, his jeans, faded but clean, and his pristine leather hiking boots. “You come up to go skiing?”

“No.” Conner considered telling him what he’d really come to Idaho to do, then decided against it. He hardly looked the type, and didn’t want to get laughed out of town on his first night.

“Where ya from?”

“Napa Valley wine country.”

“Where?”

For a moment, Conner had forgotten that he’d been relegated to the American equivalent of Siberia. “California,” he said.

“That explains it.”

“What?”

“You look like a Californian. Must be the tan.”

Conner didn’t have California to thank for the tan; he had his old UC Berkeley buddies, who’d just accompanied him to the Caribbean. But he wasn’t too grateful, because he probably had his affiliation with those same people to thank for the lifestyle that had brought him to this point.

The cowboy downed half his beer, then wiped his foam mustache on his sleeve. “How long’re you staying?”

“That depends on how long I last.”

He chuckled. “Don’t let the snow scare ya away.”

Conner wasn’t worried about the weather, miserable though it was. His family—his mother’s adopted family—owned a three-million-dollar condo in Tahoe, so he’d been exposed to cold and snow, at least on occasion. It was the boredom he feared in Idaho, the lack of contact with the real world. From what he remembered, there weren’t many people where he was going. In Dundee most folks were ranchers. They went to bed early, got up early, worked hard and rolled up the sidewalks on Sundays. How was he going to fit in there? How was he going to succeed?

His uncles, of course, were hoping, betting, he wouldn’t.

“What do you do?” Conner asked to keep the conversation going.

The man told the bartender to bring him some chips and salsa. “I’ve done just about everything,” he said. “Right now, I work for the county driving a plow.”

Snow removal. That sounded exciting. Maybe he’d underestimated this place, Conner thought sarcastically.

“What about you?” his friend asked.

“I’m a dissolute heir to a great fortune,” Conner told him, making himself into the joke he thought he was, even though he doubted he’d ever inherit a dime. His multimillionaire grandfather had no reason to give him anything—not when he had three sons and several legitimate grandchildren.

“A disso—what?” the man asked.

“A bum,” Conner supplied.

The other man shrugged. “Least you’re honest.”

That was the one thing Conner had always been—painfully honest. But he didn’t see it as a virtue. If only he could hide from the truth as well as his mother did, pretend the past had never occurred…

But he couldn’t dwell on Vivian or Clive or anyone else. Idaho was a test to see if he really was the no-good, lazy individual his uncles claimed him to be. Could he beat his genetic legacy? Compete with the great Armstrongs? Only time would tell.

His cowboy friend started on the basket of chips, and Conner ordered another beer. He was almost finished with it and thinking about heading up to his room to see if hotels in Boise had Pay-Per-View, when the street door behind him opened again.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” a woman murmured. “There’s hardly anyone here.”

“It’s getting late and it’s storming. There’s not going to be a big crowd anywhere,” another female voice replied, this one more clearly. “Besides, hotel bars might not be the busiest in town, but you won’t have to go anywhere to rent a room if you happen to get lucky.”

Get lucky? Conner turned to see a tall redhead with a petite brunette. The redhead was saying something about the clientele of a hotel being transient and how perfect that was, but her words fell off the moment she noticed him.

“Omigod, there he is!” she cried.

Conner stiffened in surprise, wondering if the redhead thought she knew him from somewhere. Not very likely, he decided. He would have remembered her. This woman wasn’t exactly the type to get lost in a crowd. Nearly six feet tall and bone-thin, she was dressed in a floor-length, fake leopard-skin coat, wore bright red lipstick, nail polish and high heels and had dyed her hair to match. She was mildly attractive despite all the fashion handicaps, but she certainly didn’t look like anything he’d expected to find in Idaho.

She immediately started prying off the brunette’s coat. Though the brunette obviously didn’t want to relinquish it, she finally let go, probably hoping to save herself the humiliation of an all-out brawl.

At that point, Conner turned away. The redhead was sending him overtly interested looks, and he didn’t want to be singled out by a woman who reminded him so much of Cruella De Vil. He had only one night in Boise, which made it pretty pointless to socialize. And he’d long since grown bored with easy women.

“I think someone’s got her eye on you,” his neighbor said with a chortle.

Conner shook his head and lifted his glass. “I’m not interested,” he said, but then he caught a good look at the brunette in the mirror behind the bar and wasn’t so sure. She had wide blue eyes, creamy white skin, a slightly upturned nose and a full bottom lip. Except for her eyes, which were striking because they were so light against the contrast of her dark hair, she wasn’t stunningly attractive. But there was something about her that was wholesome, almost sweet, and it certainly had nothing to do with her dress.

Conner sucked air through his teeth in a silent whistle as he let his eyes wander lower. Dresses like that should be outlawed, he decided, noting that she’d already turned every male head in the place, including the cowboy’s. Black, short and clingy, the skimpy number she had on left little to the imagination, and this woman definitely had the figure to pull it off. Conner couldn’t help admiring her firm, trim shape and some of her softer curves—until he met her eyes in the mirror. Then she looked at him like a rabbit caught in his headlights, blushed and tried to reclaim her coat.

The redhead would have none of it. They moved across the room, where Conner could no longer hear what was being said, but some sort of argument ensued. The redhead rolled her eyes, and the way she kept glancing at him suggested he played some part in the conversation.

A prickling at the back of his neck told him it was time to go. He’d had his wild days. He’d put them behind him and was ready to find something more meaningful in life. But the distress on the brunette’s face kept him in his seat. Most women who wore such revealing clothes wanted male attention. This one seemed completely out of her element.

Letting curiosity get the better of him, Conner decided to stick around for a few more minutes. He even ordered another beer. He could usually trust his instincts, and his instincts told him the excitement level in Idaho was about to spike.

DELANEY HAD NEVER BEEN more embarrassed. She wanted to cover the scandalous dress she’d borrowed from Rebecca’s sister, drag Rebecca outside and head straight home, snowstorm or not. But now that they’d come this far, Rebecca wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

“Why are we sitting way the hell over here?” she demanded when Delaney led them to a far corner table.

“Because I need a moment to collect myself.”

“Collect yourself? Why? We just got here.”

“I want to sit back and check out the scene, all right? Can I have some say over what happens tonight?”

“I guess.” Rebecca conceded this small victory to Delaney by finally taking a seat, but that didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder every few seconds at the guy they’d spotted when they first came in.

“Would you quit being so obvious?” Delaney muttered. There were only twelve or fourteen other people in the whole place, mostly along the perimeter, but Delaney felt as if they were all staring at her. “You’re drawing too much attention!”

“I’m not drawing attention. That dress is drawing attention. I’m just making sure our man doesn’t go anywhere while you ‘collect’ yourself. He’s so hot. He looks just like Hugh Jackman, don’t you think? I love the way his hair curls above his collar.”

The guy at the bar did look like Hugh Jackman. He had coffee-colored eyes and hair, with short sideburns. Plus high cheekbones, a narrow nose and square jaw. His body type seemed similar, too—all muscle and no fat. But that was half the problem. Why did Rebecca have to choose someone so intimidating?

“If you think he’s so cute, you sleep with him,” Delaney grumbled.

“I’m not the one who wants a baby,” Rebecca reminded her. “At least, I’m not in any hurry.”

Because Rebecca wasn’t the one who’d been taken in but not legally adopted, who was going to be alone, who’d always been alone. “Well, I’m not ready for this,” Delaney said. “We should’ve waited until tomorrow night or next week or—”

“Or never? You would’ve chickened out. I know you. You would’ve started thinking about how unfair it is not to be completely up front about your intentions and—”

“Because it is unfair.”

“Except that it won’t cost the guy you sleep with anything to make you the happiest woman on earth.” Rebecca checked over her shoulder again. “Now, go talk to him.”

Delaney’s stomach plummeted to her knees. “Just like that?”

“Why not? What are you waiting for?”

A personality transplant. This just wasn’t her. She’d never come on to a guy before. Which was probably why she’d die a virgin if she didn’t make some changes soon, she told herself. Rebecca had managed to find a husband and was going to get married. Maybe she should take Rebecca’s advice on this. But why did her friend have to choose a guy who looked like he could be Hugh Jackman’s twin brother?

“He’s at the bar,” she told Rebecca. “A guy who sits at the bar is interested in serious drinking, not socializing. We’d better find someone else.” But when Delaney surveyed the lounge, she realized how hopeless that would be. Of the fourteen or so patrons, more than half were women. The men consisted of an elderly gentleman, a barrel-chested, bearded guy somewhere in his forties, two nerdy computer types who had their hair greased down and gave Delaney the creeps, and a redneck cowboy sitting next to the Hugh Jackman look-alike.

Rebecca cocked an eyebrow at her. “If there’s someone here you’d rather sleep with, go for it. But it looks to me like Hugh’s our most eligible donor. He’s only drinking a beer. That’s hardly ‘serious drinking.’ And he seems friendly enough. He sort of smiled when we came in.”

“Sort of smiled? He ducked his head and turned away the second you zeroed in on him.”

“Well, he definitely smiled at us in the mirror afterward.”

Delaney didn’t remember a smile. She remembered his eyes, though. They’d followed her, appraised her boldly.

“Go,” Rebecca prodded. “The worst that can happen is he tells you he’s married. Then you politely excuse yourself and we try someone else.”

“I’m never going to get over this experience,” Delaney moaned. “I just know it.”

“Do you want a baby or not?”

She did. And she wanted to be pregnant before Rebecca left, so she’d have something positive to look forward to.

Taking a deep breath, she stood and forced herself to approach the bar. Better to get this over and done with, right?

She saw his gaze flick over her in the mirror, guessed he’d been expecting her—and felt like a complete fool. Especially since the guy sitting next to him was watching her far more eagerly, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep with him if he was the last man on earth.

Relax. Pretend you’re someone else, someone chic and bold and—she gulped—easy.

“Hi,” she said, sliding onto the empty stool next to him. She’d been planning to order a drink to make her approach a little less obvious, but her timing wasn’t good. The bartender had turned around and was busy fiddling with the television in the corner.

She glanced forlornly at his back, then braved a smile at the man she hoped would father her child.

He studied her for several seconds before responding. “Hi,” he said, but he didn’t return her smile or swivel toward her or do anything else to encourage her. It stung Delaney’s pride enough to make her sit up and pretend confidence in what she was doing.

“You live around here?” she asked, keeping her focus strictly on him because the man in the red flannel shirt kept leaning forward to entice her with a battered grin. He might as well have been holding a sign that read “Take me,” but Delaney simply wasn’t interested. She’d do the artificial thing first.

“No, I’m just in town for the night,” the younger man said. “What about you?”

Now that she was so close, she could tell his eyes weren’t entirely brown. Gold flecks made them appear almost amber, and there was something inside them that seemed more worldly wise than Delaney would have expected for a man who seemed to be about her own age. After only a few seconds in his company, he reminded her much less of Hugh Jackman. He didn’t possess the same relaxed smile or laid-back attitude. This man came across as intense, shrewd, even unforgiving, which added significantly to Delaney’s anxiety.

I don’t have to worry about his ability to forgive. I’m never going to see him again.

His eyes fell to the cleavage revealed by her dress, and she instinctively moved to cover herself. Rebecca had insisted she go without underwear—there wasn’t any way to hide the lines and straps beneath the stretchy fabric—but the lack of her most basic apparel made her feel completely exposed. Leaning forward, she folded her arms on the bar and hid her chest behind them, just as Rebecca came to her rescue by engaging the leering cowboy and drawing him away to their table.

“I live a couple of hours from here,” she responded automatically, then wanted to kick herself for being so truthful. The less he knew about her the better.

“Oh, really? Where?” Unless it was her imagination, his voice revealed a spark of interest.

“Jerome,” she lied, picking a town on the opposite side of Boise.

“Oh.”

The spark died, and an awkward silence followed, during which Delaney curled her fingers into her palms and thought of all the ways she planned to torture Rebecca for pushing her into this. She was going to tell Buddy that Rebecca had a snoring problem. She was going to hold Rebecca to her promise to quit smoking, starting immediately. She was going to unscrew the lid on their salt shaker and—and what? Delaney couldn’t think of anything terrible enough, not while she was feeling like such a fool, but she knew Rebecca deserved whatever she came up with. If not for her, Delaney would be safe at home dreaming about a baby…and doing absolutely nothing to make it a reality.

That thought sobered her enough to keep her where she was. One night, one man, remember? No big deal.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, finally making his way over.

Delaney ordered a club soda and opened her purse to get her money, but the man surprised her by paying for it. “What are you and your friend doing in town?” he asked, once her drink had been delivered.

Delaney took a sip and focused on his hands, which circled his beer glass. They were big, strong hands. And he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Uh, it’s a business trip,” she said.

“And you’re looking for something to relieve the boredom, is that it?”

Evidently he wasn’t much for small talk. But Delaney didn’t mind. Being direct could save a lot of time. Besides, if she had her guess, his type would be selfish and quick in the bedroom, which suited her just fine. She didn’t want to enjoy the experience. That would make what she was doing seem even worse than it already was.

“I suppose so,” she said, wishing her heart would quit jumping around in her chest. “You game?”

He took a drink of his beer. “What’s your name?”

Delaney thought about using a false name, then decided against it. She didn’t want the added worry of having to remember it, and as long as they remained on a first-name basis, she couldn’t see any harm in telling him the truth. “Delaney.”

“Delaney’s some name. And that’s some dress.”

The way he said it, she couldn’t be sure it was a compliment. He wasn’t easy to read, but she was sort of grateful for that. His lackluster response made the initial contact difficult, but if she could just get him into a room, she wouldn’t have a lot to worry about. He was too aloof to connect with her on a personal level. And he definitely seemed the type to take a brief encounter in stride. Rebecca might have been judging him on different criteria, but she was right—he was perfect for their purposes.

“And your name is…”

“Conner.”

He didn’t offer a last name, either, and Delaney took that as a sign that they were thinking along the same lines. “So, Conner,” she said. “Do you want to…” She couldn’t complete the question, but she figured he’d understand what she meant.

He raised his brows and looked over his shoulder. Rebecca was sitting with the cowboy, having a drink and talking while watching them surreptitiously. “Are you sure you know what you want?”

“What do you mean? Doesn’t this dress say it all?”

“It says a lot,” he admitted, “but the way your hands are shaking says even more.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Then, why are you starting now?”

Delaney hadn’t expected such frank questions. All she’d hoped to do was catch a man’s eye and dazzle him to the point that he’d give her what she wanted. Obviously Conner didn’t dazzle easily.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Fair enough, but I’ve got to get up early. I think I’ll pass,” he said.

He stood, and she knew that in a moment, he’d leave and her best chance of making her plan work would disappear with him.

Swallowing hard, she caught his arm. “Okay, would you want to be a virgin at thirty?”

SO THAT WAS DELANEY’S STORY. Conner had known something was up. All the warning bells in his head had been going off. But now that he understood her agenda, he could definitely see her point. He wouldn’t want to be a virgin, not with one-third of his life already over.

Hesitating, Conner stared down at the hand that held him, then at the honest appeal in the woman’s face. He didn’t want to be tempted, but he was. He’d been tempted since he’d seen her in the mirror, because of her eyes, not her dress. But he knew he was only setting himself up for more self-defeating behavior. One-night stands didn’t do anything for him. He always woke in the morning feeling empty inside, as though he was missing something important. And yet here he was, hovering at the brink of taking the uninitiated Delaney to his room and giving her exactly what she was looking for, probably more than once.