She’d always felt like the responsible one. When Delia Baron left her kids, Brock had been on his own, and Lizzie had stepped in and mothered her younger siblings. Then her dad had married Peggy and adopted her boys, Jacob and Daniel. Those years had been pretty good. They’d all lived together out at Roughneck Ranch—the name a deliberate hat-tip to the oil industry that had put the Baron name on the map. Lizzie had cared for Peggy a lot, which meant Peggy’s death had been especially hard to take.
Now her father was married again, this time to a much younger wife. Lizzie might have resented Julieta, who was only ten years older than herself, except Lizzie had found an unexpected friend and support in her stepmother.
Telling her would probably be the easiest of the family. Julieta never judged. She was always after Lizzie to get out and enjoy life more. Lizzie was fairly sure, though, that this wasn’t what Julieta meant.
For one night only she’d allowed herself to cut loose. What a fool she’d been for thinking she could work out her frustrations by being so self-indulgent, that she could be irresponsible without repercussions and consequences. It was totally out of character.
But sometimes she felt as though she was the one who took on all the heavy lifting in the family, was the rock for all her brothers and sisters when they went through stuff. She was tired of being Lizzie who never made mistakes, Lizzie who did everything right. Lizzie, Brock Baron’s firstborn.
Yeah, Jacob was pretty much the same age as she was, but he was her stepbrother. Lizzie was the oldest and her brother Jet was the baby. Sometimes she wished they were reversed in the birth order, because Brock wouldn’t give up the idea that Jet would take over Baron Energies one day. Problem was Jet wasn’t remotely interested.
Lizzie, on the other hand, had missed out on her fun years because she had been too busy getting her education and stepping into a role at the family company. She was supposed to set an example.
It was a lot of pressure.
Lizzie sighed and shut the car door, feeling the heat of the sun soak through her tailored jacket. What she really needed was a coffee. A nice, big, strong coffee with two sugars and real cream. Sadly, since the moment the test was positive, she’d given up the caffeine and cut back on the sugar. The result had been three days of caffeine withdrawal headache and irritability.
And through it all one thought had stuck in her brain. Lizzie needed to talk to him. The baby’s father.
There was no question about that. Christopher Miller deserved to know the truth and deserved to hear it from her—not from anyone else. What if the media got a hold of the story? They’d been quick to report the lost contract in the biz pages, and she already felt extra scrutiny from all sides as she sat at the boardroom table. Only thirty and vice president of a major energy corporation—not to mention being the boss’s daughter. The old boys’ club was just waiting for her to screw up.
Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to be able to hide her condition forever. She was already almost eight weeks along. Another couple months and she’d be showing. It would be far better to do damage control right now and get on with things.
She looked up at the attractive stucco condos and wished there was a way to make this look like less of a disaster. But no matter how she spun it, the bald truth remained. She’d been stupid. Impulsive. She’d let the family down—especially her dad. She knew how it would look to the shareholders and the press.
Mark Baker, Baron’s CFO, would practically be crowing about it. He was dying to get his chance to be in the driver’s seat at Baron, urging Brock to retire. It burned her biscuits that he might have any leverage on her, the pompous jerk.
Her headache was starting to come back, so she made her way over to one of the low stone walls by the building where there was some shade under a sycamore tree. All she had to do was remember her plan. Plans were good. Plans were soothing. Plans gave the illusion of control in the midst of chaos.
She gathered herself together and walked purposefully to the front door of the building, stepping into a blessedly cool air-conditioned foyer. The second set of doors was locked for security, so she scanned the panel of residents for his name. There it was—C. Miller, unit 406. She pressed the buzzer and waited.
As the seconds ticked past, she looked around. The complex was quite nice. The buildings were well kept, the grass cut neatly and urns of flowering plants flanked the entrance. It was definitely not what she’d expected from the dusty bronc rider she’d met two months ago. He wasn’t that high up in the standings, either, so how on earth did he afford this place? Momentarily she wondered if she’d gotten the wrong Christopher Miller. What if she’d come all this way for nothing?
There was a click and then a voice. “Hello?”
Something stirred inside her at the sound of his voice. It was just one word but it was familiar—the low grit of it skimming over her nerve endings. She swallowed. “Uh...hi. I’m looking for Christopher Miller?”
“That’s me.”
“It’s...uh...” She scrambled to think of what she’d said to him that night. How much she’d revealed. Plans, she reminded herself. Just stick to the script. “It’s Elizabeth.”
There was a pause.
“From the bar in Fort Worth.”
The words came out strained.
“Come on up. Elevator’s through the doors and to the left.”
There was a click—and a buzzing sound as he let her in.
She pulled open the door and stepped inside. The tiled floor of the lobby gleamed as if freshly waxed and potted trees were spaced throughout the small area. There was a small table flanked by two chairs to the right, adding a homey yet classy touch. An elevator waited and she pushed the up arrow button. Seconds later the door opened and she stepped inside the car.
She could do this. She could see him and speak to him in a businesslike way and explain what she intended to do. She didn’t need anything from him. Didn’t want anything from him. He was completely and utterly off the hook.
The doors slid open at the fourth floor and she ran her hands down her skirt and then over her hair, making sure the knot at the back was smooth and neat. Stepping out, she started down the hallway. Number 401 was on the left, 402 on the right. Two more doors to go. She would knock. Smile. Begin with “you must be surprised to see me...”
A door opened and Christopher stepped into the hall. Her feet halted and she stared at him awkwardly, her practiced words flying out of her head. She’d definitely gotten the right guy. Around six feet, with dark hair that curled around his collar and gorgeous chocolaty eyes that crinkled in the corners. He wore jeans and a T-shirt but was in his bare feet, and his hair was glistening, as though he’d recently got out of the shower. Oh boy.
He was staring at her, too, like she was a stranger. “It really is you,” he said, shaking his head a little. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “What the hell are you doing here?”
* * *
FOR WEEKS, CHRIS had been wondering if he should try to find out who she was. She’d only said her name was Elizabeth. They’d met at a honky-tonk in Fort Worth after a less-than-stellar rodeo performance on his part. She’d been sitting at the bar, sipping a beer right from the bottle. His first impression had been surprise. Despite wearing jeans and boots and a T-shirt, there was a look of class about her. She looked more the wine-and-cheese type rather than beer and chips.
He’d had a good first round that weekend, but then he’d drawn Devil’s Spawn. The horse was aptly named, it turned out, because Chris had been launched into the stratosphere in the second round after 4.6 seconds. He’d missed out on the money. No buckle bunnies had followed him to the bar and that had been just fine with him. He’d figured he’d nurse his wounds with a beer and head back to the motel where he was staying. Take a hot bath to soothe his sore muscles.
And