.

other time in his life. Losing Jake ranked right up there with losing his father. Jake was family. He couldn’t lose him. “What other proof do you have that you ever had a child?”

      Sylvia reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a tattered photograph. “His birth certificate and a photograph of him when he was four months old.” Her lips twisted in a semblance of a smile and she shook her head. “They are the only things I have left of Jacob. Everything else was in my car.” Tears filled her eyes, making them a shimmering blue, so like Jake’s when he didn’t want to lie down for his nap.

      Rosa always told Tate to let Jake cry himself to sleep, let him learn to soothe himself. But Tate couldn’t, not when the child looked up at him through those liquid blue eyes. He wanted to hold him, make the fear go away, make him know that nothing on the earth would take this child away from him.

      Tate’s fists tightened and he resisted the draw of Sylvia’s blue, watery eyes. He snatched the paper and the photograph from her hands. Prolonging the inevitable, he bent to read the words on the document, etched in permanent ink with the state seal of Texas embossing the corner.

      Mother’s Maiden Name: Sylvia Leigh Michaels. Father: Miguel Tikas. Baby’s Name: Jacob Paul Michaels. The birth date indicated ten months ago.

      Ignoring the knot twisting in his gut, Tate handed the paper back to Sylvia, telling himself it was just a piece of paper. It didn’t prove anything. Then he stared down at the picture of a baby with golden hair and bright blue eyes. The baby could be Jake six months ago. He had the same smile, the same halo of golden hair. Damn it! Jake was his son!

      He clutched the photograph in his hand, his gaze rising to lock with the woman in front of him. “How do I know you really are Sylvia Michaels? That you aren’t lying and that you didn’t steal this document?”

      The dusty blonde fished in her back pocket, pulled out a card and handed it to him. He stared down at the hard plastic of a Texas driver’s license. An image of a blond woman smiled up at him. Less gaunt, her hair neatly combed into long, straight lengths, she looked happy, healthy and different than the woman standing in his living room. But the resemblance was there. On the license, the name read Sylvia Leigh Michaels, just like on the birth certificate. The address that of San Antonio, Texas.

      Again, Tate forced himself to remain calm. This was all just a bad dream. He inhaled a full, deep breath and let it out slowly, handing the card back to Sylvia, his hand still curled around the photograph. “What do you want from me?”

      She folded the driver’s license into the birth certificate and shoved them into her back pocket. “I only want my son.” She held out her palm. “May I have my picture back? It’s the only one I have left.”

      Strangely reluctant, he handed her the photo, their fingers touching briefly, the impact sending a jolt of something he couldn’t describe through his veins.

      “So what now?” she asked.

      “I won’t let Jake go without a fight.”

      “Then you admit there might be truth in what I say?”

      “You present a good argument, but anyone can forge documents. You could have had a child. There’s no guarantee my son is the son you had stolen.”

      “But you agree that there is a possibility that someone might have forged the birth certificate you have?”

      “I’m not agreeing to anything until I have my lawyer check into it.”

      Sylvia nodded, her shoulders rising and falling on a sigh. “I didn’t expect you’d give up without a fight. But I’m not, either.”

      “Please leave. My lawyer will be in touch with yours.” He moved toward the front door, holding it open. “And I need to know where you will be staying.”

      Sylvia stared across at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. That little display of uncertainty doing funny things to him. She didn’t answer.

      “I’ll need an address to forward any documents from my legal staff.”

      “I don’t have an address.”

      Tate shook his head. “What do you mean you don’t have an address? Don’t you live in San Antonio?”

      “I did. I don’t. Oh, hell.” She threw her hands in the air. “I haven’t lived anywhere but hotels and my car since Jacob was stolen. I let my apartment go.”

      “I’ll have my foreman drop you at the hotel in Canyon Springs.”

      “Wouldn’t do much good,” she muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

      “What did you say?” Tate asked.

      “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll accept that ride since my car is toast.”

      “Answer me first. What did you say?”

      When she stood in stony silence, refusing to answer him, Tate grabbed her shoulders. “You try my patience, woman. You’ve barged into my life, threatening to take my son from me, the least you can do is answer my question.”

      Sylvia threw off his hands, dull red spreading up her neck into her cheeks, her eyes flashing. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Everything I owned went up in flames in my car. What little money I had left with it. I’m broke, I’m homeless and I’m tired of you yelling at me! All I want is my son back.”

      Her hand lifted to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Don’t think lack of money will stop me from getting Jacob back. I can provide him a good stable home. I can. No judge or jury in the state of Texas will deny my right to Jacob. He’s my son!”

      She stood trembling, her fists clenched at her sides, her blue eyes turning stormy.

      If Tate wasn’t facing losing Jake, he’d find her defiance attractive, her flashing blue eyes beautiful and the tilt of her breasts appealing. But damn it, she wanted to take his son away from him. “You’ll stay here for now.”

      Sylvia gasped. “What did you say?”

      “You heard me. Now don’t make me change my mind.”

      “I can’t stay here.”

      “Take it or leave it.” He walked to the edge of the room and leaned out into the hallway. “Maria!”

      “But…” Sylvia’s brow creased, her head tipped to the side. “But I want to take Jacob away from you. Why would you do this?”

      “Maria!”

      “Sí, Señor.” The older Hispanic woman hurried toward Tate, breathing hard, her forehead knitted in a concerned frown.

      “Prepare a room for Ms. Michaels.”

      Her brows rose into her graying hair. “Porqué?”

      “She’ll be staying here.” Tate frowned. “Now, please prepare the room.”

      “Sí.” Maria shot another confused stare at Sylvia and turned away.

      “Get this straight…” Tate directed his attention to Sylvia. “I’ll be watching you. If you attempt to take Jake before any of this mess is legally settled, I’ll kill you.”

      Sylvia’s hand went to her throat, her face blanching. “How do I know you won’t try to kill me anyway?”

      “All you have is my word.”

      “I don’t know you, Mr. Vincent. Is your word enough to go on?”

      “You’re asking me to go on your word that Jake is your son.” He gave her a challenging look, all the while wondering what he was getting himself into.

      “But you should hate me,” Sylvia whispered. She didn’t think he’d heard until he turned back to her with a pointed gaze.

      “I have a philosophy of keeping my friends close, and my enemies