The Billionaire And The Baby
Dominic held the baby while she finished her bottle.
She still hadn’t closed her eyes. He smoothed her delicate brows with his thumb, marveling at each sweet feature that reminded him of Hannah.
“You know something important is going to happen tomorrow, don’t you, petite? That’s why you’re still awake.”
After laying her down and covering her with a light blanket, he sat on the edge of the bed where she could still see him. Her eyelids were getting heavier and kept fluttering. In a few seconds they’d be closed.
Instead of an icy-cold shower, maybe he ought to read the latest parenting tips to keep his mind off his bride-to-be. Hannah was as close as the other side of the wall. If he joined her, he doubted she would refuse….
Meet
Dominic, Alik and Zane
Three firm friends…
Three successful business partners…
Three dedicated bachelors…
But life is full of surprises, and these gorgeous men are about to discover the joys of fatherhood—and of marriage—sooner than they think!
Surprised by fatherhood and ready for love!
Find Alik’s story in His Very Own Baby,
coming up next month,
and Zane’s unexpected encounter with fatherhood
in The Baby Discovery
THE BILLIONAIRE AND THE BABY
Rebecca Winters
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
DOMINIC GIRAUD finally came upon the tiny historical museum and store. He’d been told he would find it about twelve miles outside of Laramie, Wyoming. A busload of tourists appeared to have laid siege to the place.
Though he pulled his topless four-wheel drive to a stop, he didn’t immediately get out of his vehicle. Instead, he took advantage of the beautiful, warm June evening to look around him.
The rugged beauty of this Western landscape was so at odds with the skyscrapers of New York City where he lived, or the Mediterranean ambience of his French birthplace in Vence, he could hardly credit he was on the same planet.
However, because he’d been born in the land of the orange tree, jasmine and lavender, he could appreciate more than most the aromatic scents of sage and Indian paintbrush in the dry air wafting past his nostrils. A man native to the sunny French Midi, he thrived under this cloud-dotted blue sky where the sun had disappeared below the horizon some time ago.
Realizing it might be a while before he could talk with the person running the place to discover the name of the owner, he decided to go off-road and explore the property behind it. He needed this section of land to link the two neighboring properties for a project he’d undertaken in the last year, and probably wouldn’t see completed for several more years at least.
The idea of running a bullet train from the east to the west coast of the U.S. had consumed him for years. Now it was on its way to becoming a reality, thanks to a seminar he’d attended in England celebrating the completion of the Channel Tunnel, an unrivaled engineering feat.
Those without vision had said it couldn’t be done.
They were wrong. Just as they would be wrong about the eventual completion of his bullet train.
At that momentous conference he’d met two Americans, a geologist from New York, Alik Jarman, and an engineer from San Francisco, Zane Broderick. They were men who dreamed the same kinds of dreams Dominic dreamed.
Each being pressed because of heavy work schedules, the three of them had only intended to stay in London for the day, the length of the conference. But once the other two heard his idea, all other commitments were put on hold.
For three weeks they spent literally twenty-four hours a day in a hotel suite working out the intricacies of such a massive project, one that had caught hold of their imaginations and wouldn’t let go.
No longer alone with his ideas, Dominic could concentrate on raising the money and procuring the land while he marveled at the genius and speed with which the others put their scientific contributions to paper. Those weeks marked the turning point in all their lives. They came out of the experience not only firm colleagues in the greatest adventure they would ever undertake, but best friends.
Because of that chance meeting in London he was here now, doing his part to ensure the realization of their dream.
Shifting gears to four-wheel drive, he drove around the back of the store where he discovered a small barn and a vintage one-horse trailer. Nearby, a blue compact car stood parked. In the adjacent corral, a saddled chestnut sorrel quarter horse munched on some hay. All the land beyond the two buildings was an untouched vista of sage, grass and wildflowers.
The place looked lonely, or maybe he only thought that because there was this strange sense of loneliness he’d been feeling since driving out here from town. It echoed somewhere deep inside of him, disturbing him in ways he didn’t care to analyze…not when he’d thought himself totally fulfilled by his work.
Impatient, he shrugged it off and headed toward a ridge he could see in the distance overlooking the river.
By the time he reached the top, his mind was once more immersed in thought over his future plans, and he reacted too slowly as his vehicle began the descent. Almost colliding with a medium-size boulder, he swerved to avoid it, then swore softly when the right rear tire caught the side of it. The next thing he knew the world was spinning and he saw lights.
Hannah Carr frowned when the sound of the departing tour bus faded and another sound took its place. Someone’s horn was honking and wouldn’t stop.
She finished changing her little niece’s diaper, then walked outside the museum to see if the car was anywhere in sight. That’s when she realized the noise was coming from the river area behind them.
Someone was out on her property, which had no road and could only be reached by walking, on horseback, or in an off-road vehicle. They could be in real trouble. Unfortunately there were no other people around for several miles.
If she called the emergency number, it would still take the paramedics a good ten to fifteen minutes to reach the museum. On her horse, Hannah could make it to the river in one fifth of the time.
Haunted by the sound of the horn, which continued its mournful blaring din, Hannah went back inside and put the baby in the playpen. By the time she’d given the six-month-old her favorite donut-shaped toy, Hannah had made a decision.
“Elizabeth? I’ve never left you unattended before, but I’m afraid there’s something terribly wrong outside. I have to go see what it is, but I’ll come right back. Please be my little sweetheart and don’t cry. All right?”
It was a wrench to leave her, but Hannah didn’t feel she had a choice. If someone were injured, there wasn’t a second to lose.
Saying a little prayer that Elizabeth would be safe, Hannah crept across the museum and left for the corral, locking the door behind her so no one could get in to hurt the baby.
Her horse, Cinnamon, walked over to the gate and waited for her to open it. Hannah grabbed the reins and hoisted herself in the saddle. “Come on, girl. Let’s find out why that horn is stuck.”
More at home on the back of the horse she’d raised and trained from a foal than in her own car, she took off at a gallop and raced toward the rise, which she reached in no time at all.
She cried out when she saw a Jeep lying against an outcrop of rock near the bottom of the hill. A few feet away a man’s body lay face-up in the grass, not moving.
Urging her horse forward, they made a careful descent. As soon as they got close enough, she jumped off and hurried over to the inert male who looked to be in his mid-thirties. The well-honed body dressed in faded jeans and a cream-colored polo shirt had to be several inches over six feet. His bronzed face and hard-muscled arms attested to a lot of time spent in the sun.
She sank to her knees and reached for his wrist to find a pulse. Her touch produced a moaning sound and eventually his eyelids opened. Though the pupils were enlarged, she could tell his eyes were as dark brown as his hair.
In terms of male beauty, Hannah thought him the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on in her life.
When he tried to sit up, she held him down. “Please lie still for a minute. You’ve had an accident and I’m afraid you might be suffering from a concussion.”
He muttered something indistinct and made a determined effort to get to his feet. After a struggle he succeeded, but the second he put his weight on his left foot, he almost collapsed. If she hadn’t been there to hold him up, he would have fallen. Either his foot or ankle, or possibly both, could be broken.
“Come on. I can’t leave you out here. Let’s get you on my horse. Lean on me.” Though this man might be tall and powerfully built, he needed her help if he planned to go anywhere.
Hannah stood five feet four inches, but she’d performed in rodeos and had done trick riding all her life.
More recently she’d been trained in fire fighting and rescue work through her association with Laramie’s Indian Paintbrush Brigade. The group of fifty female volunteers rode horses together for pleasure. They could also be called upon to assist in an emergency.
With a low whistle she summoned her horse. Cinnamon immediately walked up to her. After adjusting the right stirrup to hang as low as possible, she urged the stranger to hoist himself up using his sound leg for leverage.
Standing on tiptoe, she eased his injured limb over the back of the horse and up onto its neck. The man made no noise, but she saw his striking features form a grimace and knew he had to be in excruciating pain. Dazed as he was, she considered it a miracle he didn’t fall off her horse.
With the reins in one hand, she mounted Cinnamon from the left stirrup. Straddled behind the stranger, she used one arm to circle his waist while she guided the horse with the other.
This close to the injured man’s virile physique, she could feel his warmth and smell the pleasant scent of the soap he’d used in the shower. Surprised at the direction of her thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on the crisis at hand. Cinnamon obeyed Hannah’s clicking sound and started up the hill for the corral.
Soon the man’s body slumped over the horn of the saddle, yet she felt him stiffen with every movement of the horse.
Anxious to encourage him, she whispered, “The museum isn’t far from here. Just a few more minutes.”
Again she heard something unintelligible escape his lips. Only semi-coherent right now, the foreign-sounding words coming through clenched teeth attested to his pain. He needed a doctor as soon as possible.
In a short time the buildings came into view. With the blare of the horn still rending the night air, she half expected to hear Elizabeth wailing from the annoying sound. To Hannah’s relief, all was quiet.
The second the horse stopped, she slid off its rump and hurriedly reached to help the stranger dismount. With him sagging heavily against her, she fumbled in her pocket for the key, then unlocked the front door.
Half dragging him, they reached the bunk at one end of the room. He fell into it with a muffled groan and didn’t open his eyes again, beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip and hairline.
To Hannah’s relief the baby had fallen asleep and all seemed well. She muttered another prayer, this time in gratitude because residue guilt still plagued her for having left Elizabeth at all. But Hannah had sensed a crisis and was glad she’d been able to help the stranger.
Worried about the man’s head, she examined his skull with her fingers. There was a small lump on the back beneath his dark, vibrant hair, but no open wound. It was possible he could have sustained internal bleeding.
Carefully she eased his long, powerful legs onto the thin mattress. With all the gentleness she could muster, she rolled up the hem of his jeans to examine his injured limb. The area around the outside of his ankle looked swollen, unfortunately, she couldn’t tell if it was sprained or broken.
Thankful he wasn’t awake to fight her, she took another peek at Elizabeth who slept on undisturbed, then reached for the first-aid kit beneath the counter. In a few minutes she’d lightly wrapped his ankle with a roll-around elastic bandage.
Looking about her, she took down one of the saddle blankets from the wall and propped his leg to keep down the swelling. If she just had some ice! Not for the first time did she wish there was electricity out here so she could keep a little fridge with a freezer compartment.
Throughout her ministrations, he groaned several times but still didn’t come to.
“That’s just as well,” she murmured to herself as she once more reached beneath the counter for her cell phone. Satisfied that both the baby and the stranger would stay asleep for some time, she tiptoed out the door of the museum, then called for an ambulance.
After a short discussion, it was agreed they would turn off their siren so as not to alarm the baby or Hannah’s patient.
Next, she phoned Jim Thornton at home. He ran one of the local garages in Laramie. When he heard what had happened, he promised he’d be out first thing in the morning to deal with the Jeep.
After she’d made her calls, Hannah walked Cinnamon to the barn. With the aid of a lantern, she removed the horse’s trappings and provided her with fresh water and feed. “You deserve a reward after all your hard work at the river,” she murmured, rubbing Cinnamon’s forehead affectionately. The horse whinnied in response.
With Cinnamon taken care of, she carried the lantern back to the museum. Little had Hannah guessed she would need it tonight. But since finding the stranger, darkness had crept over the sage-dotted land. Lack of electrical power made it necessary for her to supply enough light for the ambulance attendants to do their job.
When Dominic opened his eyes this time, he let out a moan to discover himself alone on a hard bunk bed inside a tiny log cabin, his head and ankle hurting like hell.
His bleary gaze surveyed the dim interior in an attempt to focus. By the time he could see one image instead of three, a poster hanging on the wall right above his feet, stared back at him.
Wanted For Pony Express
Young, Skinny, Wiry Fellows. Not Over Eighteen.
Must Be Expert Riders. Willing To Risk
Death Daily. Orphans Preferred.
Apply Before April 3, 1860, To
The Central Overland California Express Company.
At first the words had him truly confused, but he gradually became aware of his surroundings and remembered the museum. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten from the river to here, but someone had brought him. How else could he account for his wrapped ankle which was now elevated! Had he dreamed up the exquisite-looking angel with golden curls and green eyes who’d spirited him away on her horse?
When he tried to sit up, the room spun again. On a groan of defeat, he lay back and closed his eyes. Unfortunately he couldn’t shut out the odd ringing in his ears.
“He’s right in here,” he heard a voice say sometime later. It was the same voice Dominic had heard earlier. A woman’s voice, slightly husky and breathless.
It belonged to the angel.
He opened his eyes to make sure she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. To his disappointment, a man about thirty-six, his own age, was on his haunches staring at Dominic. Another man had brought in a stretcher and placed it near the bunk.
“Hi, there. Glad to see you’re awake. What’s your name?”
“Dominic Giraud,” he muttered, expelling a deep sigh of frustration.
“I’m Chad. We heard you had an accident out by the river. Just rest easy while I take your vital signs, then we’ll drive you into the Laramie hospital where a doctor will examine you.”
“I’m all right,” Dominic groaned his protestation as the paramedic gave him an on-the-spot physical.
“That’s probably true, but you have a small lump on the back of your head, and you might have suffered a broken ankle, which needs to be X-rayed.”
It was one of the few times in Dominic’s life when he didn’t have the physical strength to walk away from a situation he wanted no part of.
“Where’s the angel?”
“You mean the one who rescued you and gave you expert first aid?”
“So I wasn’t dreaming…”
“I’m afraid I’m just a mere mortal, Mr. Giraud.”
He liked the sound of her voice, especially the way she tried to say his name in good French. Most Americans didn’t bother.
Intrigued by this telling bit of insight into her psyche he said, “Move around so I can see you to thank you for saving my life.”
“Later.” Chad grinned. “She’s a looker, and I might get the wrong blood pressure reading from you. Besides, I need her to stay where she is and keep holding the lantern for me.”
Dominic muttered another epithet. He would have tipped his head back to get a glimpse of her if it weren’t for the fact that every time he tried to turn or sit up, the room swam.
“I was in a pileup on the freeway a while ago and know exactly how you feel,” Chad commiserated. “Give yourself twenty-four hours and you’ll be a new man again.” The two paramedics helped ease Dominic onto the stretcher.
He still couldn’t see the woman who walked behind them to the door before she said good bye and wished him a speedy recovery. To irritate him further, the ringing sound in his ears grew worse the second they moved him outside. It took him a moment to realize the noise wasn’t coming from inside his head.
“Mon Dieu!— That’s a horn!”
“It’s your Jeep. The battery will die soon.” Chad spoke up as they placed him in the back of the ambulance. “I understand Thornton’s Garage will be out to get it in the morning. We’ll leave all the details at the hospital with you.”
For the moment Dominic had no choice but to give in to his fate. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back tomorrow or the next day to thank his rescuer properly. She couldn’t possibly be as beautiful as he’d imagined.
Early the next morning, after Hannah had opened the museum for business, a tow truck from Jim’s garage drove up in front. With Elizabeth propped against her shoulder, she walked outside and gave the men directions to the accident site.
It reminded her to phone the hospital later in the day and find out the condition of the dark-haired stranger who’d dominated her thoughts since last night. She supposed he might be living in Laramie, but she doubted it very much.
He didn’t mention notifying a family member or a friend about his accident. Maybe he was married, but she hadn’t seen any rings on his fingers. Of course that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Some people couldn’t wear rings or didn’t choose to.
Though he spoke beautiful English, his name was French and she’d heard him mutter in French several times on the ride back to the museum from the river. Even in his dazed state, there was an undeniable sophistication about him that made him different from the other men she’d known in her life.
“He’s what you call a gorgeous man, sweetheart.” She spoke to the baby as she settled Elizabeth in the playpen with a noisy rattle to distract her. “I’ve seen them in films and magazines, so I know they exist. But I never met one in the flesh until last night. Whoever he is, I’m afraid I’ll never forget him.”
Up until the last Christmas recess, Hannah had been in graduate school at the University of Laramie where she’d dated various men on campus who’d seemed anxious to get to know her better. But over the holidays her younger sister Lisa had given birth to Elizabeth, and then had run away from home. She’d left no message where she was going or when she would be back.
In order to care for the baby who’d been virtually abandoned and needed her aunt desperately, Hannah’s whole life had been turned around in a matter of hours. It meant putting her studies and social life on hold, but she wasn’t complaining.
Compared to the welfare of a beautiful, innocent child, any sacrifice was worth it, especially when the baby was Hannah’s flesh and blood. She would think about her own personal needs and desires at another time. Right now Elizabeth was her number-one priority.
After pressing a kiss to the baby’s silken blond head, she hurriedly took advantage of the time to get the store part of the museum ready for business.
To her consternation, the stranger’s image continued to haunt her all morning while she waited on customers. Finally, when Elizabeth went down for her afternoon nap and there was a lull in tourist activity, Hannah phoned the hospital for information.
She should have been relieved to learn that Mr. Giraud had already been discharged with nothing more than a headache and a sprained ankle. For his sake she was relieved.
What she couldn’t understand was this unfathomable sense of disappointment that he’d already left the hospital. Not that she would ever have seen him again. Of course she wouldn’t have. But it was just the idea that he’d come and gone so quickly from her life.
In ways, she wished the accident hadn’t happened at all. She wished she’d never looked into the velvety-brown depths of his eyes, never felt the strength of his incredible physique, never held him close enough to breathe in his masculine scent, never touched his luxuriant hair, never memorized the strong lines of his darkly handsome features.
What a magnificent man…
The more she thought about him, the more she wondered what kind of business had brought a person like that out to Wyoming of all places. Even more puzzling, why had he been driving around on her property, especially when there was no road? None of it made sense.
At one point she chastised herself for allowing thoughts of him to impinge on her consciousness. All they did was remind her that for whatever reason he’d ventured into Wyoming territory, he probably wouldn’t be staying here long. It was absurd to even entertain the hope of seeing him again or getting to know him better.
In fact she was so angry at her foolish, ridiculous imaginations, she intentionally exhausted her strength by spending the rest of the afternoon between customers unloading a week’s work of saleable merchandise from the trunk of her car.
The latest stack of printed flyers needed to be scrolled and put out on the counter. They’d been made to look like authentic want ads. She tied each one with a thong to add the finishing touch. The flyers, along with the Pony Express Rider outfits and the colorful maps of the Pony Express Trail, were the items tourists always bought first. In fact they sold faster than anything else at the historic Sandhill way station museum.
It filled Hannah with pride that Sandhill stood on Carr property, one of the few stations across the country still remaining and still preserved in its original state since the 1860s.
Literally a crude log hut where the riders of old changed horses and bedded down for the night in a bunk, Hannah’s deceased father, a rodeo champion turned postal worker who’d retired early due to a medical disability, had constructed a counter so they could turn the place into a shop as well as a museum.