To Claim His Own

MARY LYNN BAXTER
To Claim His Own

Published by Silhouette Books America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

One

Calhoun Webster’s mouth fell open, then he slammed it shut.

His attorney and friend, Hammond Kyle, gave a semblance of a smile. “It’s easy to understand why you’re speechless. Under the same circumstances, I’m sure I would be, too.”

“Are you jerking my chain, Kyle?” Cal demanded in a rough tone. “Because if you are, you’re a pretty sorry bastard.”

“Chill, Cal. I wouldn’t jerk your chain about something this serious.” Hammond ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair and narrowed his eyes. “Like I just told you, you’re a father. You have a child. A son, to be exact.”

Cal blew out his breath, feeling the color recede from his face followed by an extreme weariness. Since his stint in Colombia, he wasn’t anywhere back to his normal self. He tired easily. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Actually, I was about to suggest that.” Another smile of sorts crossed the attorney’s lips. “I’d hate to think of a grown man hitting my office floor in a dead faint.”

Cal gave him a go-to-hell look before practically falling into one of the plush chairs in front of Hammond’s massive desk. A million and one questions were charging through Cal’s head, but he couldn’t seem to process them, much less organize them enough to talk intelligently.

He had a son?

No way.

Couldn’t be.

Impossible.

No, not impossible.

A mistake. Pure and simple.

Cal’s mood lightened at that last thought, and, forcing himself up straighter in the chair, he hammered his friend with brighter eyes. “It has to be a mistake.” A blunt statement of fact.

“You know better than that.” Hammond spoke quietly and with conviction.

“But Connie’s dead,” Cal countered in an argumentative and almost desperate tone. “At least that much leaked through to me.”

Hammond gave him one of those exasperated looks. “Your ex was pregnant when she left you but apparently chose to keep that to herself.” He paused with a deep sigh. “Happens all the time, which makes the poor chump of a father feel and look like an idiot, when, and if, he ever finds out.”

Cal gritted his teeth and at the same time he squeezed the padded edges of the chair arms until his knuckles turned white. “That bitch,” he muttered more to himself than to his friend.

“You knew that when you married her,” Hammond pointed out, his brows bunching together, giving him a fierce look.

“You’re right, I did.” Cal battled his weariness. “Still, I don’t know why she chose not to tell me she was pregnant.” His tone had regained some of its vibrancy, reeking with pain and anger.

“We both knew she was a piece of work, especially you,” Hammond added, again with pointed frankness.

“And I married her anyway.” Cal’s tone was bleak.

“Well, at least you didn’t have to find out about her death and the baby simultaneously.” Hammond paused. “If that’s any comfort.”

Cal’s features turned grimmer. “Who was she with when she got killed? I know she wasn’t alone.”

“After Connie left you, she hooked up with some biker. They were both killed in the accident.”

“Were they married?”

“Not that I know of,” Hammond responded. “Rumor had them shacking up together.”

“Then how do I know the kid’s mine?”

“Your name’s on the birth certificate,” Hammond pointed out bluntly.

Cal lunged out of his chair, reaching for the legal document his attorney held out to him. After perusing the birth certificate, seeing his name stare back at him, he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead he walked to the window and stared into the glaring sunshine.

It had been over a year now since he’d been free to do something as simple as stand in front of a window and not fear for his life. Working undercover as a government investigator forced him to live mostly in the underbelly of society, in the dark and dank places of the drug world.

Before he’d gone undercover, he’d thought of himself as a fairly normal guy—maybe wilder and more head-strong than most. But still normal. Then he’d married Connie Jenkins, and immediately he’d begun to question whether he was normal at all, realizing he’d made the biggest mistake of his life so far.

Now, thank God, he was free to begin his life over, to hope that he had rejoined the ranks of normal people living normal lives. But underneath his outward calm, fear festered. Since he’d been living and dealing with the scum of the earth, he was no longer sure where he belonged or even who he was. Hell, maybe he’d become one of the scumbags himself. Only time would tell.

One thing he did know, he would never go back into the dark, which had nearly driven him over the edge. He winced inwardly, recalling the lighted stick of dynamite that had just been dropped in his lap.

Hell, if this child was his—and he wasn’t ready to admit or accept that yet—he wasn’t fit to be a parent. He could learn to be, if it turned out this baby had his blood flowing through its veins.

He might be a sonofabitch in many ways, but he was never one to shirk his duty, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Cal, are you with me?”

He let go of a pent-up breath, then whipped around and met his friend’s inquiring gaze. “My mind’s still trying to process what you just told me.”

“You can get a DNA test done, of course,” Hammond said. “Probably should, since that’s within your rights since she lived with another man.”

“I could forget you ever told me there was a child.” Cal kicked up an eyebrow. “That’s also an option. Right?”

Hammond shrugged. “That’s your call, of course.”

“Only you know I’m not about to do that,” Cal said with force. “If my name’s on the birth certificate, then he’s my child, and I aim to accept the responsibility.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, my friend. You’ve never been one to do things by halves. It’s all or nothing with you. And that ain’t a bad way to be either.” Hammond moved his tall, lanky body out of his chair to the bar where he helped himself to a cup of coffee, then gestured to Cal.

Cal shook his head.

After blowing on the liquid, then taking a swig, Hammond added, “On second thought, maybe this is one time you should let sleeping dogs lie, if you get my drift. Maybe you should just walk away from this, start your life over and simply forget about the child. That wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.”

“For me it would,” Cal said harshly.

“I’m sorry to hit you with this when you’ve only been back in town two days. But I wanted you to find out from me rather than the gossip mill. You know how Tyler, Texas, is. It’s not quite large enough for people to mind their own business.”

“Don’t apologize. I had to know, and I’d rather hear it from you than anyone else. At least, I can trust you.”

“You can trust a lot of people, Cal.” While Hammond’s tone was solemn, it also had a confident ring to it. “You have friends who are delighted you’re back in civilization.”

“I know. It’s just going to take me a long time to convince myself of that.”

“It’s a given you can’t discuss what you went through or even where you were, but was it as bad as it appears?”

“Worse than bad,” Cal said tersely.

“Well, at least you’re done with the whole shebang.”

“If this security company gig works out,” Cal responded, “I will be for sure.”

Hammond sat down and sipped on his coffee. “I thought you’d been hired.”

“I have—if I want the job, that is. I have six weeks to make up my mind.”

“Even before I told you about the child, I got the impression you were hesitating.”

“Hell, Hammond, it’s in a foreign country, albeit a safe one.”

“So?”

“So, maybe I want to stick around the good ol’ U.S. of A. for a while.”

“Which tells me you’ve been out of the country.”

Cal narrowed his eyes on his friend. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay. Again, I know I’m not privy to anything that pertains to your work, that it’s all top-secret mumbo jumbo.”

“You’re right, so stop fishing.”

Hammond’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you might as well put a lid on that curiosity because my tenure with Uncle Sam’s not something we can ever discuss.”

Hammond grinned. “I bet you were damned good at your job, whatever the hell it was. You’ve always had a reputation for being a real bad-ass.”

“You must’ve been talking to my ex father-in-law.” Cal meant that as a sarcastic joke, but when Hammond didn’t smile, an alarm bell went off in his head. But then, his brain was trained to pick up on the slightest thing that seemed out of sync.

“Strange that you should say that,” Hammond drawled, looking away.

Cal went into full alert mode. “Have you been in contact with Patrick Jenkins?”

“Nope,” Hammond said, his gaze returning to Cal.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming, right?”

“Right.” Hammond stared down at his highly polished boots.

“He has the baby,” Cal said in a flat, brutal tone.

“Actually it’s his daughter, Emma, who has him.”

Cal muttered a string of curses.

“I knew you weren’t going to like that.”

Cal cursed again. “That’s an understatement. That bastard hates my guts. And so does his daughter, I’m sure, even though I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her.” Rich sarcasm accented Cal’s every word, for which he made no apologies. He had no use for his ex-wife’s family, either. In fact, he’d planned on never having anything to do with them again. Now, though, the dynamics had changed.

“I’m willing to bet you aren’t exactly at the top of their friends list either. But then I don’t have to tell you that.”

Cal rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles so tight they felt like cords of rope—a feeling he had hoped he wouldn’t experience again, at least not anytime soon. “Personally I could care less what they think, only—”

“Only now they have something that belongs to you.”

“You’re damn right.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Cal.” Hammond rose to full height, then ambled over to the coffeepot and refilled his cup. When he looked at Cal again, his usually pleasant features were grim. “For all my earlier posturing, I was afraid that when I told you who had the child, you actually might turn your back and walk away.”

“I probably should have.”

“No one’s twisting your arm. Certainly not me. I’m sure Logan—”

“So that’s the kid’s name,” Cal interrupted, hearing the wonder in his own voice.

“Yep. Maybe it was fate, or what-the-hell ever, but I ran into Jenkins the other day, and he had the boy with him.”

“Does he look at all like me?” Cal asked in a halting voice, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions stampeding through him. Damn Connie’s hide, he thought, feeling no remorse at all for damning his deceased ex.

If that spoke badly of him, then so be it. He might be a lot of things, but a hypocrite was not one of them. He’d always called a spade a spade, then went for the jugular if the occasion called for it. That was why Uncle Sam had used him to break up one of the government’s toughest international drug rings.

But that period in his life was over, Cal reminded himself. Thus, he had to learn to fit into society, even into his ex’s family, especially now that they had something that belonged to him. However, the thought of having anything to do with Patrick Jenkins and his daughter made his blood pressure rise and his stomach roil.

“It’s hard to tell who a kid looks like, at least for me,” Hammond said at last. “Now that you know where Logan is, what’s your game plan?”

“Don’t have one.”

“You can’t just appear on their doorstep.”

“Why not?”

Hammond rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even deserve an answer.”

“The sister’s never seen me.”

“Which means you’re going to start with her?”

Cal shrugged. “Possibly. Right now, I have a lot to digest before I make any move.”

“Exactly. And know that I’m here to advise you on the legal side of things.”

“Thanks, because I figure it’s going to get nasty.”

“You can count on that.” Hammond set his cup down, then stared directly into Cal’s black eyes. “It was obvious that Jenkins thinks the sun rises and sets on that boy. He’s not about to give him up without a fight.” He paused as if to let those words soak in. “I’m sure the daughter feels the same way.”

“What do you know about her, other than her name?” Cal asked.

“She’s the owner of a successful plant nursery that supplies the landscaping for her father’s works of art.”

Cal snorted. “So Patrick’s still in the construction business?”

“Yep, and making a fortune, too.”

“He was doing that when I was married to Connie. That was part of the problem. She was Daddy’s fair-haired princess who had everything handed to her on a silver platter.”

“Apparently Emma’s not like her at all, but then who knows? I certainly don’t. All I have to go by are rumors concerning the rich and affluent, which includes the Jenkinses.”

Cal snorted again. “Those people are poison and if I had my way, I’d stay as far away from them as possible.”

“I’m sorry you have to step out of one hornets’ nest into another one.”

Cal shrugged again, then strode toward the door. “You do what you gotta do.”

As if he realized the meeting had come to an end, Hammond shot out his hand. “Let me hear from you.”

“Oh, you can bet on that.”

“Meanwhile, take it easy, get yourself reacquainted with the decent people of the world.”

“Yeah, right,” Cal muttered, then made his way out the door.

Only when he was behind the wheel of his new pickup did he take a breath. Even at that, it was a harsh one. Then he slammed his palm onto the steering wheel, frustration washing over him.

What the hell was he going to do? He wanted to see his son, yet he didn’t. God, the responsibility of just knowing he had a child was overwhelming, especially now. After what he’d been through, he was in no shape to take on a child, not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw a gun aimed at his temple while someone laughingly played Russian roulette with his life.

Suddenly Cal broke out in a cold sweat and felt sick. If he hadn’t been driving in a public place, he would’ve pulled over, opened his door, and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. But somehow, he found the wherewithal to pull himself together enough so that the nausea passed and his elevated heart rate settled.

Okay, life had dealt him another blow—a personal one, which made it harder for him to deal with—but he was up to the task. If Connie had truly borne him a son, then hell or high water wasn’t going to keep him from at least seeing him. Anything else—well, he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

The first thing was to get a plan. No big deal. Planning was what he did best. The Jenkinses didn’t know what was about to hit them. He had never backed down from a challenge and he wasn’t about to now. For the first time since he’d surfaced back in civilization, he had a purpose in life.

And it felt damn good.

Two

What a lovely early spring day.

Emma paused and peered at a blue Texas sky that didn’t have one cloud marring its beauty. She could not have asked for better weather, especially for a person who made her living working outdoors with plants. In all honesty, though, she rarely did any of the manual labor. She owned the nursery and the business side of it kept her tied to the desk.

However, there were days, like this one, when she made the opportunity to wander through her domain and smell the roses—so to speak—and tweak plants, wallowing in self-satisfaction over what she had accomplished.

Of course, her father had had a lot to do with the success of Emma’s Nursery. He had given her the capital to get started several years ago—capital that she’d already paid back. But it had been her hard work that had built the business to its present success. Once she made up her mind about anything that was important to her, she wouldn’t give up or give in.

“You’re stubborn and hard-headed to a fault, girl,” her daddy was always telling her, though she knew he admired her tenacity because he was the same way.

“Yeah, girl, you’re a chip off the old block.”

Thinking of her dad, Patrick, brought a wobbly smile to Emma’s lips. While she certainly hadn’t been the fair-haired daughter—Connie had held that honor—at least she, Emma, had always had Patrick’s respect.

He’d made millions in his construction company and was three years past retirement age, but he wouldn’t have any part of retirement. That word wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Work and his grandson were what Patrick lived for.

Thinking about Logan strengthened Emma’s smile. More than any career, that baby was what she lived for, as well. He was everything to her, made her life complete.

At thirty-five she was still single and saw no reason to change that, especially now that she had legal guardianship of her sister’s child. Oh, there had been a few men in her life, even one special man whom she could have probably married if circumstances had been different. They hadn’t been, but she had no remorse or regrets.

If she never had anything else but her work and her sister’s child, she would be content forever.

Yeah, life was good and she saw nothing in her future to change that.

“Hey, girl, how’s your morning going?”

Emma turned and smiled, but not before stripping off her gloves and giving her daddy a big, sunny smile. “Great. How ’bout you?”

“I’m okay.”

Patrick didn’t sound or look it, which put a tight squeeze on Emma’s heart. Ever since Connie had been killed in a motorcycle accident, she’d become fearful of the unexpected. When Patrick Jenkins was anything other than his calm and collected self, then something was amiss.

This morning she sensed something was definitely amiss. For a few seconds, fear rendered her immobile. However, she tried not to let her anxiety show as she stood on her tiptoes and greeted Patrick with a kiss on his leathery-skinned cheek.

Continuing to hold her council, Emma stood back and looked up at him. At sixty-eight, he was a tall, strapping fellow with a spring in his step.

For years he’d worked alongside his men in the hot boiling sun on the construction sites. Hence, his skin bore the mark of the harsh East Texas sun. Wrinkles were grooved deeply in his face and around his eyes; he always seemed to squint as though still trying to block out the sun. His dark mane was thick and without any gray.

Patrick was a good-looking man and had had more than one opportunity to remarry, but he hadn’t. When Emma’s mother had died of cancer several years back, Patrick hadn’t been interested in remarrying, though Emma hoped that might change. Now that Logan had come into their lives, she seriously doubted it.

The baby was Connie’s son and that made him even more special. Patrick had adored his baby daughter and was convinced she could do no wrong, even though she went against his wishes and married a man from the wrong side of the tracks whom he had severely disapproved of. Connie’s untimely death had affected him more severely than her mother’s.

“Got any coffee made?” Patrick asked into the growing silence.

“Sure.” Emma pitched her gloves aside and headed toward the small brick building that housed her office and gift shop.

After entering the large, airy room that smelled of fresh-cut flowers, Patrick pulled up short as a broad smile covered his face. “What’s he doing here?”

Emma’s gaze followed his to the pallet on the floor where her eighteen-month-old nephew lay sleeping, the ear of his worn teddy bear, Mr. Wiggly, tucked in the baby’s mouth.

“He was running a little temp this morning and didn’t want me to leave him.” Emma broke off with a shrug.

“So you and Janet are taking turns seeing about him.” Patrick hadn’t asked a question, but rather made a statement.

“Right, although I really don’t like bringing him to the shop.”

“Once in a while doesn’t hurt anything.” Patrick continued to peer at his grandson, a worshipful look on his face.

“Except give him the idea he can wrap me around his finger and make a habit of it,” Emma countered, also giving Logan an indulgent grin.

Patrick snorted. “That’s a given.”

Emma gave her father a look. “I know I’ve spoiled him rotten, but you’re a fine one to be talking.”

“Hey, you don’t hear me arguing. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black, I know.”

Emma flipped him a grin as she got two cups and filled them with coffee. Once they were seated, they sipped in silence and watched the sleeping child.

Finally, over the rim of her cup, Emma stared at her father. “I sense this isn’t just a social call.”

“It isn’t,” Patrick admitted with gruff bluntness.

Emma was a bit taken aback, feeling another surge of fear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. At least I hope not.”

“Then what’s got that look on your face?” Emma pressed.

“Cal Webster.”

Emma’s hands began to tremble. Before she spilled the contents of the cup, or, better yet, dropped it on the floor, she set the cup down and stared at Patrick through wide, horrified eyes. “What about him?”

“He’s back in town.”

Patrick said the word he as though it were contaminated.

Emma’s hand flew to her heart at the same time her gaze bounced back to the baby who remained sound asleep. “Oh, my God,” she finally wheezed.

Patrick rose, then sat back down.

It had been a long time since she’d seen her father so agitated—not since the day of Connie’s senseless death. He really hadn’t been agitated then. Devastated was a better word. And furious, too—the same fury she saw twist his features now.

“Dad—” The saliva dried up in her mouth, making further speech impossible.

“I don’t think there’s cause for panic,” Patrick said in that same gruff tone. “Not yet, anyway.”

“How can you say that?” Emma’s voice rose several decibels.

“I heard the news from a friend who actually saw him about town.” Patrick paused and gave Emma a direct stare. “I don’t think he knows about Logan.”

“You don’t think?” Emma stood and began pacing the floor, feeling as if jumping beans were having a field day inside her. “Think is not definitive enough for me.”

“I’m working on it, Emma. Just give me time. But from what I know of Cal Webster, if he had the slightest suspicion I had his son, he would’ve already knocked on my door.”

“Oh, Daddy, I don’t mean to panic. It’s just that when I think of losing—”

Patrick held up his hand, aborting the rest of her sentence, then patted her on the arm. “Don’t go there. At least not now. But rest assured, even if he does find out, that bastard won’t get to first base. He’s already taken one person I love away from me, and I can damn well promise you he’s not going to take another one.”

Since Patrick had delivered his news, Emma felt her body relax. One rarely crossed her daddy and got by with it. He had clout in this town and wasn’t afraid to use it. Sometimes she wondered if he played dirty pool in order to get his way or to make a deal, but since she had no proof, she refused to dwell on the negative.

It was fruitless, anyway. She had enough intuitiveness to realize she couldn’t change him or his way of operating. Nor did she want to. In this case, she definitely didn’t. She’d make any sacrifice, or do most anything to keep Logan, which she guessed put her in the same class with her father.

“What do we do?” she finally asked, trapping Patrick’s dark eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s right. It’s up to Webster to make the first move. Why alert him to the fact he has a child? I’m betting a kid is the last thing he’d want to be saddled with. When he was married to your sister, he was wild as a March hare and not afraid of the devil himself.”

“That’s why I can’t believe she married someone like him.” Emma shivered. “A kid off the streets.”

“A hoodlum is what I called him,” Patrick responded grimly. “His dad was a no-good layabout who finally drank himself to death. I think his mother later died from sheer laziness.”

“No wonder he was wild,” Emma said in a sad tone.

“That’s no excuse,” Patrick flared back, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“Still, that’s probably what attracted him to Uncle Sam.” Emma shivered again. “No telling what he did for them.”

“We’ll never know,” Patrick said. “But then, I don’t give a damn. I just don’t want to ever lay eyes on the s.o.b. again.”

Emma sighed deeply. “It’s a good thing I never had the pleasure of meeting him.”

When her sister had hooked up with Cal Webster, Emma had been in Europe studying. By the time she’d returned, the marriage was over and Webster had disappeared.

“The first time your sister brought him home,” Patrick was saying, “I knew he was bad news. He was cocky and arrogant even when he didn’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of.”

Knowing this conversation had dredged up painful memories, Emma crossed the room and placed a hand on her dad’s arm. “It’s okay. Like you said, he’s probably just passing through, then he’ll be gone on another assignment, no telling where.”

“That had better be the case,” Patrick said with twisted features and venom in his voice.

Before Emma could say anything else, Logan cried out. Turning, she ran to the pallet and dropped to her knees beside him. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. “Mommy’s here. And so is Papa.”

“Hey, fellow,” Patrick said, making his way to his grandson where he placed a hand on the child’s head and tousled his dark hair. “Be a good boy for Mommy today, and I’ll take you to get an ice cream cone tonight.”

“Ice cream,” Logan repeated, a grin on his face.

Facing Emma, Patrick said, “I’ll see you two later. I have a meeting in about five minutes.”

She nodded. “Keep me posted.”

Patrick’s features remained twisted. “That goes without saying.”

Once he was gone, Emma clutched Logan so tightly to her breast that he began to whimper. “Sorry, son, didn’t mean to hurt you.” She tweaked him on the chin, then placed a hand on his forehead, which felt cool and free of any fever.

“Mama,” he said with his toothy grin.

“Oh,” she said wide-eyed. “I hear Mickey’s truck.”

“Truck,” Logan mimicked, his grin increasing.

“That’s right, which means Mama has to go. You stay with Janet, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

As if on cue, her helper came around the corner and took the baby, whose lower lip began to tremble. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Janet will play with you.”

Logan kicked his legs, then looped his arms around Emma’s neck and gave her a gooey kiss on the cheek. Emma laughed with joy as she walked outside.

Cal wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all. In fact, it was probably insanity at its highest level. Still, he’d made up his mind to go through with this bizarre plan, and he wasn’t about to change it now. Besides, it was too late. He was already parked in front of his ex sister-in-law’s nursery, his truck loaded with plants.

He was sweating as though he’d been chopping wood, to his chagrin. Albeit the spring day was hotter than usual, but he shouldn’t have been wet with sweat. Dammit, he was nervous. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. He’d been in the worst hellholes one could imagine, and here he was about to face an innocent woman and he couldn’t function.

Only he knew she wasn’t just any woman. She was his son’s guardian.

Dammit, he had to get hold of himself or he couldn’t even get out of the truck, much less rein in his splattered emotions. Losing control was not something he had patience with. That could get him dead.

That sudden trek back into the past brought on a curse as Cal lunged out of the truck, making him aware that while he might be out of the jungle physically, he had a long way to go before he was out mentally.

He’d hold that thought and dissect it another time.

Right now, he had other fish to fry. Grabbing his clipboard, Cal made his way around the front of the vehicle. When he saw Emma coming toward him, he pulled up short.

While she was not nearly as attractive as Connie had been, it was obvious they were sisters. Both had the same shaped face and eyes, though their eyes were different colors. And the mouth—there was a resemblance there, too.

But that was where the likeness ended. The closer Emma came, the closer he stared with far more interest than necessary, especially since he had sworn off women.

Most Southern women he knew would never be caught dead without makeup. Emma Jenkins was the exception, and it served her well. Her skin appeared soft and radiant and wrinkle-free, though he knew she was in her mid-thirties. You go girl, he thought; buck the status quo.

But it was the way she was dressed that really captivated his attention. She had on a pair of bright-purple overalls with loose-fitting straps. Underneath was a skimpily-cut T-shirt that hugged her well-endowed breasts and left a smidgen of her ribs bare. He’d bet his last red cent that she was braless. On closer observation, she didn’t need one.