model-thin and petite with skillfully made-up faces and expensive clothing that accentuated their willowy figures. Colleen Applegate was tall and curvy with messy, riotous blond curls and little if any makeup. She was dressed in a red T-shirt, jeans and boots. There were no signs of vanity about her. No smile, either, and her comment clearly indicated irritation.
For some reason that made him want to smile. Maybe because of the interest factor. He’d been raised to command, and people had been tiptoeing around him all his adult life. His employees, his soldiers, apparently even his ex-wife. But this woman wasn’t tiptoeing. Not even slightly.
“Traffic was light,” he said with a smile and a shrug.
She looked instantly wary. He supposed he could understand why. This situation had to be uncomfortable for her at best. If she’d grown attached to the baby, it would be worse than that. He noted that she had brown eyes…expressive eyes that signaled a woman who had trouble hiding her thoughts. “You know why I’m here,” he said.
“You made that clear yesterday.”
Dillon studied those pretty brown eyes. He had seen a lot of pain in the past year, his own physical pain the least of it. This woman was in pain.
He closed his eyes and tried to pretend she was the enemy. No use. Damn Lisa for bringing another person into this. If she’d wanted to punish him for neglecting her when he traveled for work and went to war, that was fine, but a child? This woman who was clearly emotionally affected by all this?
He looked at Colleen. “I want my child.” His voice was low, quiet, a bit raspy. “Can you blame me?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. Those eyes looked even sadder. “No.” The word was barely a whisper. “Come in. He’s sleeping.”
“Just like that? Don’t you want proof that I am who I am? Identification?”
Something close to a smile lifted her lips. “You’re a millionaire and a war hero, Mr. Farraday. That makes you easy to find on the Internet. I don’t actually need proof that you’re who you say you are.”
He nodded.
“But I’ll look at your identification. To verify your address and any other particulars I might not have thought of. I want all of this done right. Every i dotted and every t crossed. I have questions. Lots of them, but none of them have to do with a photo ID.”
“What kinds of questions are they, then?”
“Whether you’ll be a good father, whether Toby will get everything he needs.”
The obvious, automatic answer would have been to say that Toby would be given all that money could buy, but Dillon knew all too well that money was never enough. His upbringing and his failed marriage were proof of that. Colleen Applegate was right on the money with her qualms. He couldn’t even argue with her.
And despite her invitation to come inside, she was still standing in front of the door as if to guard his son from him.
“I intend to be a good father,” he said, and prayed that he could live up to his intentions. Children were fragile in so many ways.
Colleen still didn’t budge.
“I meant that,” he said.
“I’m not doubting your word, but—”
“But you don’t know me,” he suggested. “You know my public history, but you don’t know what kind of man I really am. Is that it?”
She hesitated. “Something like that. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve gotten used to worrying about Toby. I have to live with myself after I turn him over to you, and he’s still so little.”
“Understood,” Dillon said, even as a small streak of admiration for Colleen Applegate’s determination to guard his child crept in.
She needed reassurance. He needed his child. The fact that so much time had already passed, that he’d missed so much…
Anger at these circumstances shot straight through Dillon. Disregarding his appearance and his own embarrassment at his weakness, he struggled up onto the porch and moved to within a foot of Colleen, towering over her despite her height.
“I understand your reticence,” he assured her. “I see your point. Here’s mine. Toby is my son. And while I have no experience whatsoever at being a father, I intend to do everything in my power to make sure Toby is happy.”
Dillon held her gaze. He noted the small flutter of her pulse at her throat. He knew that his height and stoic demeanor often intimidated people, but while Colleen was noticeably nervous, she was still standing tall and proud. However reluctant he was to give ground to this woman, he had to admire her for not wilting before his anger. Still, the worried look in her eyes eased. Just a bit.
“He’s sleeping,” she reminded him, as if she had to get the last word in.
He fought not to smile. “I won’t wake him.”
Colleen sighed. “He’s a light sleeper, but his naptime is almost over, anyway. Come inside.” She finally turned and opened the door, leading him into the house.
There was something about the way she moved that immediately attracted his attention. It wasn’t a sway, the kind of thing that other men reacted to. It was both less and more. Tall and long-legged, she moved with confidence, sleekly and quietly making her way through the house.
Instantly, his male antennae went on alert. The attraction was surprisingly intense. Also wrong, given the situation. Obviously his months in a military hospital out of the mainstream were having an effect.
That was unacceptable. He was here for one reason only, to find his child. And even if he weren’t, he’d been betrayed by women too many times to jump in blindly again. A man who had been betrayed by his mother, his first love and his wife should have learned his lesson by now.
I have, he thought. Women were out, at least in any meaningful way.
So he concentrated on being as silent as Colleen, trying not to knock his cane against anything. The baby was asleep in the depths of this rambling house. This very old, and in need of repairs and paint, rambling house, Dillon noted, as Colleen came to a stop outside a door.
“Here,” she whispered, touching her finger to her lips.
Dillon came up close behind her. The light soap scent of her filled his nostrils. He ignored his own body’s reaction and stared into a room unlike the others he’d passed through. The walls were a robin’s egg blue. Clouds and stars and moons were stenciled on a border that circled the room just below the ceiling. A sturdy white crib with a mobile of dancing horses hanging above it sat in the corner, and in the crib lay a chubby little child in a pale yellow shirt and diaper, his skin rosy and pink, his fingers and toes unbelievably tiny.
Toby Farraday, Dillon thought. His child. His heir. He had had many people in his life, but none, not even his parents, certainly not his wife, who had truly been his.
He glanced down at Colleen, who, despite the fact that she had been living with Toby for months, seemed totally entranced by the sight, too. She glanced up at Dillon. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” she whispered.
Her voice was soft and feminine and the way she had looked at the baby, the fact that they all seemed to be closed up in this cozy, warm, safe cocoon…
Was an illusion, Dillon knew. Safety and security of that type weren’t real. He couldn’t afford to fall into that kind of thinking, not now when he had someone other than himself he was responsible for. Reality was key to avoiding disillusionment for his son…and for himself.
“Is that one of your questions?” he asked.
She blinked. “Pardon me?”
“You told me you had many questions. Is asking me if my son is beautiful a test? If I should say no…”
Anger