The Rancher and the Baby Read online

  Rain began striking her windshield. Jewell released her death grip on the steering wheel and found a tissue to blot her tears.

  Assuming she wouldn’t get close enough to Saxon to hand him Leland’s letter, she figured she could ask someone on his staff to deliver it. She’d come this far. And a sick man back home counted on her. At least, Doreen Mercer, who owned the café and kept tabs on Leland, claimed he wasn’t well.

  Dashing to the theater, Jewell dug out her ticket. She was maneuvered into a line of noisy people filtered between two sets of velvet ropes.

  Making sure the letter hadn’t fallen out of her purse, she peered around two women directly in front of her and her breath stuck in her throat. Saxon stood up ahead cordoned off by the left rope. He appeared to be greeting concertgoers, thanking them for coming and handing out T-shirts bearing his likeness.

  Panic gripped Jewell. She should flee before she made a spectacle of herself and fainted or threw up. But she was hemmed in by the boisterous crowd. The line inched forward. Everyone wanted to speak to Saxon. Most wanted his autograph.

  Jewell forced herself to think. This could be her chance to hand over Leland’s letter, duck under the rope and escape. Except her feet wouldn’t move, and she pawed in her purse and couldn’t find the letter. Nor could she take her eyes off Saxon. He looked the same yet different. He’d shot up to six feet early in his teens, but he used to be runner thin. Now he had filled out nicely in his chest and shoulders. While his dark hair had always had a slight curl, tonight it looked wonderfully mussed. Probably styled.

  Admittedly, she’d viewed him online a few times. But, wow, he was way more potent in person. So darned good-looking it played havoc with her vow to see him in the trappings of his trade and once and for all...flush him from her system.

  The woman behind Jewell nudged her to close the gap between herself and the folks in front of her, who had reached Saxon. Paralyzed, she let herself be shoved.

  Because she hadn’t located the letter, she bent her head to find it and quickly scoot past Saxon to where helpers ushered ticket holders into the theater. The letter stubbornly evaded her search. Suddenly she had no time left. Should she rush by, let someone seat her and ask an usher to deliver the letter?

  “Jewell? Jewell Hyatt, my God!”

  Hearing her name breathed out quietly but reverently had her lifting her head. Her gaze locked with Saxon’s silvery-gray eyes. First disbelief spread over his handsome face; then something akin to joy made heat flood her belly. “Hello, Saxon.” Her greeting sounded high and strained but was all she could manage.

  “What are you doing here?” He ignored staffers who were trying to move Jewell and those behind her through the line faster.

  “I...ah...came on business. Uh...Leland asked me to bring you a letter.” She bent and fumbled again inside her purse in earnest.

  “Leland? Who cares?” Saxon said gruffly.

  Jewell glanced up in time to see a hefty man to Saxon’s right poke him and mutter, “Boss, we need to move folks along. Some are still stuck out in the rain.”

  Nodding, Saxon raised a hand and signaled a man standing at the end of the velvet ropes. “Donovan! Hey, Donovan!”

  That man rushed up.

  Saxon indicated Jewell. “She’s an old friend. Seat her in VIP.”

  Even though Jewell had the letter half out by then, the man in the dark blue Western-style suit propelled her briskly into the hall. She almost dropped her purse and the T-shirt Saxon had given her before he recognized her and set up a fuss she didn’t want or need.

  “Really, this isn’t necessary,” she said when they ended up standing by the first row, which was within spitting distance of the stage.

  “Saxon wants you here.” Leaning over, the man unhooked a gold rope, then pressed her into the first of six empty plush seats. He adeptly reattached the rope, straightened and stood at the end of the row with feet apart and hands tucked behind his back like a military guard.

  Jewell sensed eyes boring into her back. She felt on display because this short set of seats was separated from the longer row behind by eight or ten feet of empty space. This was too much. She felt imprisoned, and why? She yanked out Leland’s letter, zipped her purse and started to ask her apparent jailer to deliver it before insisting she had to leave. But as she rose from her seat, a younger guy pulled Donovan aside and began gesturing and whispering. Then he departed through a side door to the left of the stage.

  Waving the letter, Jewell attracted Donovan’s attention. “I came here primarily to give Saxon a letter from his uncle. I’m from Saxon’s hometown. Frankly, I don’t know why his uncle didn’t mail this. Maybe Saxon travels too much,” she offered lamely.

  “Keep it. I have orders to take you backstage after the performance. Lance just said it may be a short concert due to the hurricane landing sooner than expected.”

  “Heavens, then I really need to give you this and go. I have to drive back to my hotel in DC.” She managed to unhook the gold rope but dropped the letter. She bent to retrieve it, but Donovan scooped it up and tucked it in his suit-coat pocket as the lights dimmed and blinked twice and a disembodied voice from above asked everyone to take their seats. “The concert begins in two minutes.”

  Stepping over the rope, Donovan scooted Jewell into the adjacent seat, and after growling, “Stay,” which reminded her of how one would address a dog, he plopped his big body into the seat she’d just vacated.

  A hush fell over the theater. Overhead lights went lower still, this time to a muted golden glow. All at once blinding spotlights in multiple colors pinged around a stage where a small band now appeared holding various instruments.

  Jewell didn’t want to feel eager, but it was the only way to describe the flutter of anticipation that clutched her. And when Saxon bounded onto the stage with guitar in hand, she was transported back to watching him emerge in similar fashion to perform so many times in the past. She’d loved him then. Now she was starstruck. He exuded a commanding presence as he stepped to the front of the stage, smiled and clipped the leather strap of an acoustic guitar around his neck. The audience went wild.

  After he’d strummed a few chords, his gray eyes found Jewell. His smile softened momentarily but then hardened. In that first moment, the love she’d so desperately tried to stamp out flooded back, filling her with a desire to return to the past where their connection had been simple and natural and—she’d assumed—forever.

  Copyright © 2016 by Rox Denny Fox

  ISBN-13: 9781488010545

  The Rancher and the Baby

  Copyright © 2016 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com

  r />