Better him than me.
It was a motley, somewhat sad procession as the brothers drove six trucks to the bus stop, but it was the right thing to do.
They left them in the station, having paid for tickets and making sure they had enough money for snacks. He handed the clump of tickets to the woman he dubbed the spokeswoman, tipped his hat to their silent faces, and feeling guilty as hell, slunk out with his brothers.
“I’m gonna kill Mimi and Mason for this stupid stunt,” he muttered to Fannin. “Reckon they planned this?”
“What for?” Fannin glanced at him as they walked through the parking lot.
“I don’t know. I just know that when those two get together, there’s always hell to pay.”
“I know. That’s why they can’t stay together in one room very long. It’s spontaneous combustion.”
“I’m going home to have a beer,” Frisco said. “And then I’m going to bed.”
“No poker tonight?”
“Heck no. I’m all played out.” That baby wasn’t going to enjoy a long bus ride back to Lonely Hearts Station, he knew. And the little mother had looked so tired.
Damn Mason and Mimi anyway. “See ya,” he said to Fannin, surly again. Then he got in his truck and drove home, deciding to skip the beer and go right upstairs.
He’d been up since 4:00 a.m., and a lot had happened. If he went to sleep now, maybe he could forget all the events of the day.
Stripping to his boxers, he left jeans, boots and his shirt on the floor, crawling quickly between the sheets to escape the slight chill in the room.
His bare skin made instant contact with something small and soft in the bed. “What the hell?” he murmured, flipping on the bedside lamp in a hurry.
It was the baby, no longer wearing her white bunting and sound asleep in the middle of his bed, peacefully sucking her tiny fist.
Chapter Two
“Holy smokes, Frisco,” Navarro said as Frisco came barreling down the stairs. All ten of his brothers glanced at him. “Your drawers on fire?” Navarro asked.
“There’s a baby in my bed!” Frisco shouted. Remembering that a baby could be loud when it was awake, he lowered his voice to an unnerved whisper. “That little blonde put her baby in my bed!”
“Are you sure?” Fannin asked.
Frisco looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “I think I know a baby when I see one!”
“How do you know it’s hers?” Fannin said patiently.
“Because she was the only one who had a child that young with her.” And the picture of her kissing the baby’s head was still fresh in his mind. “I know it’s hers.”
“Dang.” Bandera threw his cards onto the round den table. “I’m certain she didn’t know it was your bed, Frisco. No woman would give your surly butt her sweet, fragile angel.”
His brothers laughed heartily. The instant fear, which had sent Frisco running down the stairs, began to turn to bad humor. “Where is she?” he demanded of Last.
“How would I know?” the youngest Jefferson shot back. “I thought she was getting in your truck.”
“My truck? Oh, no, she definitely was not getting into my truck,” Frisco insisted. He would have noticed that for certain. “I told you we couldn’t keep her, Last. You go find her, and take her and her baby back. Now.”
Last stood up, angry. “I don’t know where she is.”
Tex sighed. “Maybe she’s not here.”
“What?” Frisco stared at him. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m just saying maybe we’d better search the three houses and have a look for her,” Tex said evenly. “And hope she’s not far from her baby.”
“I’m not,” a woman said quietly, as she stepped into the den from the hallway.
The entire roomful of men rose, half for the sake of good manners and half because she’d startled them.
“I’m sorry to be the cause of so much trouble,” she said, her voice soft and gentle, almost shy. “I was changing Emmeline’s diaper when everyone left.”
Frisco’s mouth had dropped open when she walked into the room, holding a baby bottle. Up close, she was even more adorable. He loved worn blue jeans on a woman; he loved blond hair that hung straight to a woman’s chin. He loved sleepy eyes that stared right at him. There was some silent communication going on between them; there was something she was trying to tell him—
Her gaze averted from his, and Ranger coughed. “You might want to go throw on a pair of jeans, Frisco.”
ANNABELLE TURNBERRY knew what a man looked like without his clothes on, of course, or she wouldn’t have two-month-old Emmie. She’d just never seen a man like the one the other men called Frisco—the boxers only hid enough to keep her from being totally mortified.
And fascinated. She almost couldn’t stop staring until his brother reminded him he was sans jeans.
This was a household of men, and it seemed to be a normal routine to move about the house wearing whatever. She frowned. Her ex-fiancé had taken his clothes off in the dark the one time he took her to bed; she wasn’t sure she knew what he looked like. The fact that she’d just seen more of a stranger than she’d ever seen of her ex-fiancé wasn’t comforting.
Frisco shot up the stairs, muttering an apology. He looked just as good from the backside, she thought, taking a fast peek only because…because—
Well, there was no good justification for it. No excuse. It almost seemed wrong to look at another man, especially since she’d recently given birth, but it wasn’t as if she’d been looking out of lust, more out of admiration. After all, if a man who looked like Adonis took off running suddenly, wouldn’t any woman have to look?
She dropped her gaze, thinking that she was in a houseful of Adonises, and maybe therefore in a precarious position. They didn’t know her; she didn’t know them. Maybe she was guilty of breaking and entering or something else that concerned the law.
“It’s okay,” one of the men said, standing up to come over to her. “Next time you see Frisco, he’ll be fully dressed.”
“Oh. Well. I’m so sorry for the—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The man smiled at her, his gaze full of compassion. Annabelle was relieved because she hadn’t known what to say first, or even what she was going to say. There were so many things to apologize for!
“You’re tired. Why don’t you go lie upstairs with your baby until we can get you back to…where was it, again?”
“The Lonely Hearts Salon in Lonely Hearts Station, Texas.” She swallowed. “My name is Annabelle Turnberry.”
The kind man slapped his forehead. “We have manners, we really do. I’m Last Jefferson.”
He put out his hand to her, and she took it, noticing that his grip was gentle.
“These are my brothers, going from the top to the bottom, not counting Mason, who isn’t here.” They stood when he pointed to each one, as he recited, “Frisco’s upstairs, Fannin, Laredo, Tex, Calhoun, Ranger, Archer, Crockett, Navarro, Bandera, and me.”
“Last,” she repeated.
“But never least.”
His smile was devilish, inviting her to join in the harmless repartee. She could easily see that he never allowed