the years he’d begged Laura for children…then she’d left and his father had died. Tate refused to give up the only family he had left. Ever since he’d adopted Jake, he’d had that niggling worry in the back of his mind that someone would someday come and claim him. Hadn’t he seen court cases where the mother came back and claimed she’d been wrong to let her child go? Never afraid of anything in his life, Tate feared losing Jake. He stiffened.
No way in hell.
“C.W., help me load this woman into the truck so we can kick her off the ranch.”
C.W.’s lips curled upward. “Gladly.” As he walked toward Sylvia, his grin widened. “If you don’t mind me saying, I wish it had been me touching that birthmark, ma’am.”
Sylvia raised her fists to a fighting position and squared off with C.W. “Touch me, and I’ll break every one of your fingers. I won’t leave until I see my son.”
Tate shook his head. “Lady, I don’t know what happened to your son, but since you’re not going to see my son, you might as well shove off.”
The front door to the house slammed open. “Tate?” Kacee LeBlanc’s heels clicked across the hardwood floors in double time. “What’s with the fire down by the creek?” She jerked to a halt when she spied Sylvia with her fists up. “Who the hell’s she?”
Tate nodded toward Sylvia. “This woman claims to be Jake’s mother.”
“That’s just bull. I was there when the real birth mother signed over the child. She didn’t look anything like this woman. Other than the blond hair.” Kacee whipped out her cell phone. “Have you called the sheriff?”
“We were just about to do that.” Tate stared pointedly at Sylvia. “Care to leave before he gets here?”
“You call him Jake?” Sylvia smiled. “My son’s name is Jacob.”
“I don’t care what your son’s name is. He’s my son.”
“I’m not budging until I see the baby.”
“Oh, you’ll be budging all right.” Tate nodded to Kacee. “Make that call.”
She punched a button on her cell phone. While she waited for an answer, she frowned. “There’s a fire down by the creek. You might want to get some of the ranch hands on it before it spreads.”
“Fire?” C.W.’s brows rose. “Damn, as dry as it is, it’ll spread fast.” He nodded at Tate. “You can handle her on your own?”
“Go. We can’t afford a range fire. Take Dalton, Cody and anyone else who’s back from the south range.”
“Will do.” C.W. ran out of the room.
“Yes, we have an emergency. This is Kacee LeBlanc out at the Vincent Ranch. We have a fire by the highway near Rocky Creek. We also have a trespasser at the ranch house.” Kacee’s steel-gray gaze scraped Sylvia from head to toe. “Send the sheriff. The woman claims to be Jake’s mother and refuses to leave. Thirty? That’s the best he can do? Okay. Thank you.” She flipped her cell phone shut and tilted her head to the side. “The sheriff will be here soon.” She crossed the room to Tate and touched his arm. “Want me to get a gun, Tate? You know you can shoot trespassers, especially if they’re threatening you or a loved one.” Her voice was hard, her words menacing. She meant to scare the woman across the room, dressed in a dirty shirt and jeans, looking like she’d been run through the wringer of his grandmother’s old-timey washing machine.
Despite her threat to his son, Tate didn’t like where Kacee was going. “No. I reckon she’s harmless.”
Kacee leaned in to whisper, her breath warm on his ear. “That’s what you thought about that homeless man who stabbed your father.”
A band tightened around Tate’s chest. “That’s enough, Kacee.” But he wasn’t taking any chances. He walked to the desk in the far corner of the room, removed a gun from the drawer and dropped the clip from the chamber. From another drawer he retrieved bullets, sliding them into the clip. “But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”
“Good grief. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I only want my son.” Sylvia Michaels, eyes wide and face pale, backed toward the door, her hands raised.
“Take one more step, and I’ll shoot,” Tate warned.
She paused for only a moment, her gaze connecting with his, determination hardening her chin. Then she spun around, throwing her parting comment over her shoulder. “Then just shoot me.”
Chapter Three
With a gun pointed at her back, Sylvia’s skin crawled, but she pushed forward, headed for a hallway and the sound of a baby squealing happily.
“Damned woman.” The cowboy cursed behind her, his boots clattering against the wooden flooring.
“Give me the gun, Tate. I’ll shoot her,” the woman Sylvia assumed was the assistant called out.
If Sylvia had any chance at all of seeing Jacob, she’d have to move faster than the two people behind her. She shot away from the man holding the gun, her heart pounding in her chest. Several doors opened off the hallway, only one remained closed and the joyous sounds of a baby could be heard through the wood paneling. Without slowing, she grabbed the handle and opened the door.
A large hand clamped down so hard on her shoulder she jerked to a halt, unable to move another step.
She caught a glimpse of a baby boy sitting in a high chair, a cracker clutched in his fist. All she got was that little peek before Tate Vincent flung her around and shoved her against the hallway wall. “You hurt one hair on my son’s head and I’ll kill you.”
With the door wide-open, the sounds of the baby’s cooing reached her, warmth spreading throughout her body, filling all the cold, empty places she’d endured since Jacob had been stolen away from her in Mexico. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Please.” She sniffed, unashamed of begging for a chance to see her son. “Please. I want to see him. If he’s not mine, I’ll leave.”
For a long moment, the man glared down at her, his heavy hand never leaving her shoulder. Based on his size, he’d probably be ten times stronger than her. More than Sylvia could hope to fight off, but she would do anything to see Jacob again.
“You say your son was abducted six months ago. How will you recognize him besides the birthmark? Babies change a lot in six months.”
“I’ll know,” she said. Didn’t mothers always know the cries of their own babies? After six months of searching, she’d almost given up hope. Could this cowboy be right? Would she recognize her son? Her shoulders pushed back and she wiped the tears from her eyes with an angry hand. “I’ll know.”
Another long moment passed, Tate’s eyes narrowing into slits. “How do I know you’re not here to hurt him?”
“Oh, God.” A nervous, almost hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “I wouldn’t hurt my own son. I’ve spent the past six months looking for him, hoping no one has hurt him. I just want to see him. That’s all I ask.” She’d work on custody once she was satisfied the baby truly was Jacob. “Don’t you see? You could be just as much a victim as I am. My baby was stolen. Your baby could have been signed over to you illegally.”
“I met the mother, she signed the papers, I adopted him. My lawyer went over the paperwork at least a dozen times.”
“Still, you could have been duped. The baby may not have been that woman’s to give.”
He smacked the hand holding the gun flat against the wall. “The contract was ironclad. You’re a liar!”
Sylvia winced, but stared up at him, meeting his glare with a level stare. “I don’t lie.”
“And if my son has this birthmark, that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Maybe