That part of her plan was complete. This was the next step. Maria intended to tell the whole world who had fathered her child, and claim what was rightfully hers. A piece of the Fortune pie. A big piece.
She slipped through the old pantry to the back stairs and went up them, knowing every inch of this estate by heart. The nursery was at the end of the hall, and that was where Maria headed, on tiptoe, careful not to be seen.
When she stepped into the lavish nursery, she grimaced. ¡Dios! That Ryan’s grandchild Bryan should have all this while her own son had nothing! While her own brother had worked his tail off for everything he’d ever achieved. While her own mother had gone without all these years….
The crib at the farthest end of the nursery was hand-tooled light oak, and probably worth a bundle. The walls had been elaborately decorated with bright colors, and building blocks and teddy bears. The rocking chair was an antique. And the bassinet… God, the bassinet…
Maria went to it and ran her hands over the gleaming wood. It wasn’t a piece of furniture. It was a work of art. “This is where you belong, James,” she whispered to her son as she laid him gently inside it. “That’s right, darling. Sleep. Just sleep. Mamma will be back for you when the moment is right.” Bending closer, she kissed her son’s silken cheek, then straightened, and stepped back into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.
She paused there, took a breath, and wondered briefly if she were making a mistake. But no. This was right. She had to do something. She couldn’t let her mother go on sleeping with Ryan Fortune, believing that he loved her, believing that he would divorce that barracuda wife of his and marry Lily. He wouldn’t. He’d leave her high and dry…just like before. He still hadn’t acknowledged Cole as a Fortune. If he loved Lily, he would at least have owned up to having fathered her firstborn. Because even though Lily had never told him, he must at least suspect the truth. The man could add, couldn’t he? Lily had given birth to Cole only eight months after running away from the Double Crown Ranch—only seven months after marrying Maria’s father, big, gentle Chester Cassidy.
Well, Ryan Fortune would acknowledge James as his grandson. Maria would force him to.
It was the perfect setting for her revelation. A lavish, no-holds-barred christening party for Matthew’s child, Ryan’s grandchild, Bryan Fortune. But this whole clan would soon find out that they had another child to celebrate. Maria’s child. James.
And he was here to take his rightful place in the world. Her son was a Fortune. And he would not be denied!
Holden Fortune was not amused. His uncle Ryan had paraded no less than a dozen “nice young ladies” past him tonight in a thinly veiled effort at match-making that was doomed to failure. He’d just introduced yet another; a petite little thing that reminded Holden of a mouse. Holden’s brisk greeting had sent her skittering off in search of someone friendlier. Uncle Ryan was scowling at him in a fairly good impersonation of Heston’s scowling at Brynner in The Ten Commandments.
“I don’t understand you, Holden. We all know you like women—”
“Ever the king of understatement,” Holden remarked dryly, taking another sip of bourbon and branch.
“So, what’s the problem? Every girl I’ve brought over here has been attractive, and nice and—”
“I don’t want attractive and nice, Uncle Ryan. I want drop-dead gorgeous and very, very naughty. Especially tonight. ‘Nice’ just isn’t gonna cut it tonight.”
Around him were more people than he’d seen at the last cattlemen’s convention. Two-thirds of them family. All the colorful Mexican rugs had been rolled back and the double patio doors thrown wide. The crowd spilled out into the courtyard where Rosita had piled food on tables and Matthew manned the barbecue pit. The smells were damned mouthwatering. Yet Holden had no appetite.
“You’re going to have to stop this,” Ryan ordered in his head-honcho tone.
“Stop what?”
“You know damned well what. Holden you are not your father. You don’t need to go through life trying to live up to his reputation as a playboy. You can settle down, find a good woman, make a life—”
“Yeah, dear ol’ Daddy made sure I would, didn’t he? Went so far as to write it into an ironclad will that I can’t inherit my fair share until I do.”
Ryan nodded solemnly. “And just why do you think my brother did that, Holden?”
Holden shrugged. “Because he was a bastard?”
Ryan lowered his head quickly, probably to hide a hint of amusement. “I like to think my brother realized the error of his ways, in the end. I like to think he wrote those conditions into his will so his firstborn son wouldn’t make the same mistakes he did.”
Holden sighed deeply and shook his head. “Therein lies the problem, Uncle Ryan. If I marry some decent woman, I will be doing just that. Repeating my father’s mistakes. Ruining a good woman’s life by tying her to me. For God’s sake, look at my mother.”
Ryan did. He glanced up, scanned the crowd. Holden followed his gaze and found Mary Ellen Fortune standing alone, a drink in her hand, staring up at the portrait of her dead husband. Fifty-six, and still a knockout. She’d kept her figure. Her red hair didn’t have a streak of gray in it, and since Cameron’s death, she’d even had it cut into a more modern style that bobbed just above her shoulders and moved when she did.
“She was wasted on him,” Holden said. “He made her miserable. And I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps by making some other good woman equally unhappy. Unfortunately, unless I do, I don’t inherit a dime.”
Ryan looked back at Holden again. “Your lawyers…”
“I spoke to them an hour ago. It’s over. The judge upheld the will as is. No more appeals, no more contesting it. It’s over.”
Ryan sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Holden.”
“Yeah. So am I.” Holden took a long pull from his glass.
“But just because your father was a womanizing louse, doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“Too late, Uncle Ryan. I already am.” He glanced up at his father’s portrait. The golden boy looked down at him. His smile seemed to Holden almost mocking. Blond hair, blue eyes, clean-cut, all-American, rich SOB. It was like looking into a mirror. Holden lifted his glass in mock salute. “You win, Dad.” Then he downed the contents. As he did, he spotted exactly what he’d been looking for. Someone he could take home, take to bed, and ravage in every possible way until he got this will stuff out of his system.
She was standing near the barbecue pit, talking to Matthew and his wife Claudia. Her back was to Holden, but he could see enough. She was…exquisite. Jet hair, so black it seemed almost blue in the slanting afternoon sun. So smooth…like satin. He’d bet her eyes were dark, too. Ebon, and slanted. Native American eyes, to go with that bronze skin. Slender, yeah, with just the right curves to her. She was hot. Dressed to hide it, sure. Forest-green silk suit. But that skirt was short, and tight, and her legs looked as if they never ended. She’d be a wild woman in bed.
“Now there’s someone I’d like to meet,” he muttered to Ryan, and when his uncle didn’t answer, Holden turned to see he’d lost Ryan’s attention. It had been stolen the second Lily Cassidy had entered the room. As usual, Uncle Ryan only had eyes for the dark beauty who’d captured his heart thirty years ago, and only recently come back into his life. Lily’s heart was in her eyes as she crossed the room and Ryan took her hands. If anyone in the world deserved to be happy, it was those two. Holden wished for the millionth time that Sophia would just agree to the divorce and set his uncle free. Everyone knew it was the money she’d been after all along.
With a sigh, he returned his attention to the other dark beauty, the one out in the courtyard with his cousin the doctor. He supposed he ought to be grateful for at least one of his father’s