In addition to the killer smile, the man had a totally de-lish British accent. Shannon surreptitiously slanted a glance down but his ring finger was hidden beneath the blankets.
“Are you a relative?” Though Shannon didn’t like to pry, Rachel would kill her if she didn’t get at least one or two deets.
“I’m Jensen’s brother.” He adjusted his stance as the child beneath the blanket stirred. “Are you familiar with the location?”
Shannon couldn’t tell if the toddler was a boy or girl. The shoes were gray leather sneakers that could belong to either sex. The only thing she could see above the blanket was a thatch of slightly wavy brown hair.
“It’s super easy to find.” Shannon quickly gave him directions. She offered to write them down, but he told her there was no need.
“Thank you.” He smiled again and his whole face relaxed. “You’ve been very kind.”
Though she wanted to volunteer to ride with him and show him the way, Shannon resisted the temptation. Married men were not on her radar.
Still, she remained where she was and watched him stroll to the car. Once he reached the vehicle, she scurried over to where Rachel waited.
“Ohmigod.” Rachel’s eyes sparkled. “His accent is incredible.”
“The rest of him is pretty incredible too.” Shannon surreptitiously watched Jensen Fortune Chesterfield’s hot brother buckle the child into the seat. The blanket around the toddler fell to the concrete but was quickly scooped up.
“He’s definitely a boy,” she told her friend.
“You’re wrong.” Rachel chuckled. “That one is all man.”
“Not him. The kid. I couldn’t tell initially boy or girl, but he’s wearing a Thomas the Tank Engine shirt. Definitely a boy.”
“Who cares about the child?” Rachel fluttered her long lashes. “Did you hear that fantabulous British accent?”
“You said that before.”
“It bears repeating.”
The sleek black sedan backed up and headed out of the lot, careful to avoid the asphalt crater.
“It doesn’t matter.” Shannon sighed and turned her attention back to her scone. “Like you said, a guy that gorgeous has a beautiful wife somewhere.”
* * *
Oliver Fortune Hayes once had a beautiful wife. Then he’d had a beautiful ex-wife. Now, the stunningly beautiful blonde was gone.
“Diane was killed in a car accident two months ago,” Oliver told his brother Jensen. He kept his tone matter-of-fact, tamping down any emotion. “She was in the car with a man she’d been seeing for quite some time. He also died in the crash.”
The two men sat in Jensen’s kitchen, having a cup of tea. Thanks to the concise directions from the pretty brunette at the grocery shop, Oliver had easily found the Broken R ranch. Jensen had been surprised to see him a full twenty-four hours earlier than expected and apologetic that Amber was in Lubbock shopping.
Oliver looked forward to meeting his brother’s fiancée but appreciated the opportunity to talk privately first.
Jensen hadn’t changed much since Oliver had last seen him. His brother’s dark hair was perhaps a trifle longer but he was still the very proper British gentleman that Oliver remembered. Though the cowboy boots were a shock, Jensen’s gray trousers were perfectly creased, and his white dress shirt startlingly white.
“This is the first I’ve heard of Diane’s death. Why didn’t you call?” Jensen was his half brother from the second marriage of Oliver’s mother. Though seven years separated them in age, Oliver had always been fond of Jensen.
When Oliver had announced his intention to come to Horseback Hollow after their sister, Amelia, gave birth, Jensen had offered to let him stay at his ranch.
“My life has been topsy-turvy since the moment I found out.” He’d discovered Diane had died at a cocktail party when a mutual friend had expressed sympathy.
“I bet.”
Oliver continued as if Jensen hadn’t spoken. “Diane’s parents didn’t notify me. They took Ollie into their home even though they knew full custody immediately reverted to me upon her death. They kept my son from me.”
Jensen flinched at the underlying anger in his brother’s carefully controlled tone. “I’m surprised they didn’t put up a fight once you found out and arrived on their doorstep to claim him.”
“There would have been no point.” Oliver waved a hand. “I’m the child’s father.”
“Given your lifestyle, taking on a child had to be difficult.”
“Once I established a schedule, it went quite well,” Oliver said in a clipped tone, irritated his brother could think him incapable of caring for one small boy. “The nanny I hired is excellent and believes as strongly as I do in the importance of a routine. And she fully understood why I needed to make this trip. Unfortunately she refuses to leave the country.”
Jensen obviously had nothing to add. He didn’t have children. Not even a wife. Not yet anyway.
Oliver glanced down, noting Barnaby had fallen asleep at his feet. He only hoped his son was sleeping as soundly as the dog. The moment he’d arrived at the ranch, Oliver had put Ollie down for a nap. After a sixteen-hour flight from London to Lubbock the day before, even the brief respite in a hotel overnight hadn’t been enough sleep for a toddler.
His son had been fussy after the long flight and had kept Oliver up most of the night. Oliver had dreaded the forty-five-minute car ride from Lubbock to Horseback Hollow, but the child had fallen asleep while Oliver was strapping him into his car seat. He’d slept during the entire trip, not waking even when Oliver brought him inside and laid him on Jensen’s bed.
Jensen’s gaze dropped to the corgi. “What’s his name?”
“Barnaby.” Oliver wasn’t sure who was more surprised at the fondness in his voice, him or his brother.
“You don’t like dogs.”
“I’ve never disliked them,” Oliver corrected. “I simply never had time for one. Diane purchased Barnaby for Ollie when she left me. He’s quite attached to the animal.”
“You’re going to keep him?”
“Are you referring to Ollie? Or Barnaby?”
“Both.” Jensen grinned. “I’ve never considered you the kid or dog type.”
“Ollie is my son. My responsibility. When Diane and I split up, I thought our child’s needs would be better served living with her. That’s the only reason I didn’t fight for custody. I’ve already explained about the dog.”
Jensen stared contemplatively at the animal that had awakened and now sat, brown eyes scanning the room, ears perked up like two radio antennae.
“Corgis are herding animals.”
Oliver nodded. “I observed some of that behavior when he first came to live with me. But that’s no longer an issue.”
“You have the dog on a schedule, too.”
“Certainly.”
“Is Barnaby a dog that goes in and out?” Jensen asked in a tone that was a little too casual.
Oliver cocked his head.
“Could he be an outside dog?”
Oliver thought for a moment, considered. “He likes being outdoors, but I don’t believe he’s suited to roughing it.”
Jensen rubbed his chin. “That presents a problem.”