Unexpected Mommy. Sherryl Woods

She’d never met a more honorable man than the one who’d adopted her when he’d married her mother.

      She supposed she ought to tell Chance Adams just how far off base he was, but the angle of that stubborn chin suggested she’d be wasting her breath. She studied that chin for just a moment and concluded there was a distinct resemblance between it and every other male in the entire Adams clan. The discovery shook her a little, because it lent just the tiniest bit of credence to his preposterous claim.

      Rather than start an argument over who owned what, she said sweetly, “Perhaps I should leave you to work out those details with my father when you finally meet. I’m actually here to discuss Petey.”

      The man sighed and some of the arrogance drained right out of him.

      “What’s he done?” Chance asked as if expecting the worst. He glanced at his son. “Petey?”

      Since Petey remained stoically silent, Jenny described that morning’s escapade.

      “I’ll pay for the girl’s haircut,” Chance said readily enough.

      “Perhaps Petey should pay for it,” Jenny suggested. She gestured toward the firewood. “Maybe chopping wood, for instance, would work off some of those aggressive tendencies. Physical exertion can be very healthy.” She ought to know. Harlan Adams had worked her butt off after she’d stolen and wrecked his pickup.

      Chance scowled at her suggestion, clearly resenting it and her.

      “I’ll deal with Petey the way I see fit,” he responded stiffly. “Maybe you should concentrate on getting control of your class. If you can’t cope with a bunch of nine-year-olds, maybe it’s time to look for other work.”

      Petey shot her a triumphant look. He’d predicted his father would say that very thing. Jenny refused to concede to either of them that she’d said very much the same thing to herself just a few hours earlier.

      She wondered what Chance would think if he discovered that one of the ideas she’d considered was working at White Pines, the very ranch he intended to seize as his own. Maybe she’d tell her father this very afternoon that she wanted to learn everything there was to know about ranching. Then she could flaunt her own claim to White Pines in this man’s face. She hadn’t had a decent mental and verbal skirmish since she gave up leadership of a Native American rights organization to move back to Los Piños. Something told her that Chance Adams would prove to be a fascinating challenge.

      She sighed. Her father, of course, would see straight through her. From the day he’d made her one of his heirs he’d known that what she really wanted to do with her share of White Pines acreage was put a Bloomingdale’s on it. Not that she’d ever make good on the threat, but it had been a running joke between them for too many years now for him to believe she’d suddenly developed a taste for ranching.

      Her future wasn’t the immediate problem, though. Petey’s was. She regarded Chance Adams evenly. “It’s entirely up to you what you do about your son’s behavior,” she said. “But I will tell you now that I will not tolerate a repeat of this in my classroom. The next incident will result in a suspension. Have I made myself clear?”

      His blue eyes, the exact same shade possessed by every single one of her stepbrothers, sparkled with amusement. That hint of laughter was enough to make her want to spit. Yes, indeed, Chance Adams would be a challenge and then some.

      Fortunately for her, Luke, Jordan and Cody had the same kind of arrogance, the identical streak of stubbornness. She’d learned long ago to give as good as she got with the three of them. She’d even learned to do it with words, instead of fists, since not one of them would ever have dared to brawl with their much younger stepsister as they did among themselves.

      Chance was once again eyeing her speculatively. “Darlin’, you are the cutest little thing when you’re mad,” he said in a tone clearly calculated to infuriate her. “You sound all prim and fussy. I had an old-maid schoolteacher once who sounded just like that.”

      Acid churned in her stomach as she fought yet another urge to retaliate with the kind of response that would have been instantaneous only a few years earlier. She was an adult now. A teacher. She was supposed to be setting an example, for goodness’ sake, not rolling around in the dirt pummeling a man who’d just insulted her.

      Unfortunately Chance Adams was the sort of man who would test the self-control of a saint. She hoped there wouldn’t be many more encounters like this one to provoke her, at least not in front of an impressionable boy.

      Maybe her desire to belt the man was plain on her face. Or maybe he knew just what the limits of her patience were likely to be, because suddenly out of the blue he sent Petey into the house. The boy scurried off so fast he left dust whirling in his wake.

      It was exactly the circumstance Jenny had been hoping for. She could take an unobserved shot right at the man’s chin, she thought wistfully, then gave a little sigh of resignation. She wasn’t going to do it, of course.

      Still regarding her with amusement, Chance Adams rocked back on his heels and looked her over again. Her skin burned every single place his glance skimmed over.

      Well, two could play at that game, she thought with defiance of her own. And he was showing a whole lot more skin.

      She fixed her gaze squarely on his bare chest and ogled. She let her gaze drift slowly up to that sexy stubbled jaw, then down to the golden hair arrowing below the waistband of his jeans, then up again to broad shoulders. Looking him over, no matter what her purpose, turned out to be more fascinating than she’d anticipated. Her pulse fluttered, then ran wild. He was quite a specimen.

      The technique worked, though. She had a suspicion that not all the perspiration on Chance’s gleaming muscular chest was the result of the hot sun and chopping wood. The muscles in his throat worked as if he might just be having the teensiest bit of trouble swallowing. If she’d had some water with her, she would have offered him a cool drink for his parched throat.

      Or doused him with it.

      When she’d concluded her survey to her satisfaction and his discomfort, she forced herself to look smack-dab into his eyes. “As you can see, I give as good as I get Shall we declare a truce, Mr. Adams?”

      If she’d thought her little challenge was going to end it, she could tell at once from the amusement again sparkling in his eyes that she’d made a terrible mistake. He shook his head very slowly, his gaze locked with hers.

      “Not on your life, darlin’,” he said slowly. “I’d say the fireworks are just getting started.”