Read the book: «Anything For His Baby»

Chapter One

Paige Harper punched the heel of her hand into the bread dough she was working as the doorbell rang for the third time.

“Still ignoring it,” she muttered under her breath.

She turned the dough, stretched it against the counter then reached out and hit the volume button on the portable speaker at the edge of her work space. Barry Manilow’s rich voice filled the space, drowning out all other noise. Even the chatter in Paige’s head.

She continued the rhythmic kneading, flouring her hands when they began to feel tacky. Bread was new for her, and she loved the intensity of working the dough, the strength it took to mold it into a smooth ball.

Closing her eyes, she hummed along with the music as Barry sang about long, rocky beaches.

Just as the song came to its crescendo, Paige felt a tap on her shoulder. In the space of a few minutes, she’d become so wrapped up in the motions and the music, she’d forgotten about the world outside her kitchen.

Which was why the man standing behind her scared the living daylights out of her. She screamed and hurled the hunk of bread dough at him. Unprepared for the assault, he let out an oof as it hit his stomach then dropped and landed with a thunk on the wide-plank floor.

Paige grabbed her phone, turning off the music and plunging the kitchen into a sharp silence.

She and Shep Bennett stared at each other for several seconds then simultaneously glanced down at the sad lump of dough on the floor.

“What are you doing in my house?” she demanded. “You’re lucky I was making bread and not polishing the barrel of my Glock.”

“You own a Glock?” Shep asked, his full lips struggling not to pull into a smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

Okay, the truth was she’d never held any kind of gun, Glock or otherwise. She’d heard the term used on the Law & Order spin-offs she’d binge-watched this week. She’d made it to season six out of approximately three hundred and fifty and knew way more about police procedures than any civilian had a right to. Not that she was going to admit that to Shep.

“You’re still trespassing,” she said through clenched teeth, ignoring the spark of heat that raced along her skin as Shep gave her an appraising once-over.

The perusal didn’t take long as there wasn’t much of her to see. Five feet two inches tall with slim hips and very little in the way of curves anywhere else. Paige wasn’t a woman who’d normally attract the attention of a drop-dead gorgeous man like Shep, with his lean, muscled build and tousled dark hair. Not to mention those whiskey-colored eyes. She wasn’t looking to attract his attention anyway. Shep Bennett would clearly be a handful, and she had too much on her plate already.

“He’s here with me,” a voice said from the back door and Paige dragged her gaze away from Shep.

Lorena Jones, the thirtysomething real estate agent Paige’s mother had hired without bothering to mention it to Paige, walked into the kitchen, frowning as she took in the state of the room. “I left you three messages about a final walk-through today,” she said, her glossy mouth pulling down at the corners.

“I didn’t get them,” Paige mumbled.

“Liar,” Shep whispered under his breath then winked, like this was some kind of game.

It wasn’t a game for Paige. This was her life, and Shep was well on his way to ruining it.

“Have you scheduled movers?” Lorena continued as if Paige hadn’t spoken. “Your mother told me—”

“She’s not going to sell the house,” Paige blurted. “She changed her mind.”

Lorena crossed her arms over her chest. Her ample chest, Paige couldn’t help but notice. It was difficult to ignore those assets, encased in a dark gray bandage dress more appropriate for a big-city nightclub than a Tuesday morning in Crimson, Colorado. “I spoke with her on the way here,” Lorena countered. “She didn’t mention that to me.”

Paige glanced at Shep, expecting to see him ogling Lorena. Most men would, but his gaze was still trained on Paige, his head inclined like he was trying to riddle out some sort of puzzle. Not having anything to do with her, she guessed. She had no secrets.

“She probably doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Paige lied. Her mother would cut someone off at the knees if it served her purpose. “She appreciates the work you’ve done so far.”

Lorena sniffed, fluffing her wavy blond hair. “I’ve barely done a thing since you wouldn’t give us access to the house.”

“Because I’m not leaving.” Paige congratulated herself that her voice didn’t waver. She said the words strong and sure, the way she’d been practicing in the bathroom mirror every night this week.

“The closing is set for this week,” Lorena reported tartly. “All that’s left is to complete the terms of the financing. Shepherd is going to take possession, so you’ll need to have your personal belongings out of here. You’re under a time crunch, but you have to manage it, Paige. Obviously, the furniture stays since your mother made the sale of it part of the contract.”

“She did what?” Now Paige couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice.

“Take anything that has special meaning to you,” Shep said gently—far too gently—like she was a fragile piece of china. That wasn’t his personality. Although Paige didn’t really know the man, she’d bet her life that gentle didn’t come naturally to him. The fact that he could manage it for her made her feel more pathetic.

“This house has meaning to me.” She jabbed a finger against the counter. “It’s my home. My business.”

“You haven’t even officially opened,” Lorena pointed out, none too helpfully.

“I’m aware of that.” Paige turned toward the counter, gripped the edge and looked down at her flour-coated hands, swallowing back the tears that rose up hot in her throat. The plan had been for The Bumblebee Bed-and-Breakfast to be operational by now. If the plans for renovations and her budget had stayed on track, the inn would be filled with guests for the busy Rocky Mountain summer tourist season.

But nothing had gone quite according to plan for Paige, not for years. She wasn’t supposed to be pushing thirty alone, with only a ramshackle house to her name. No, not even that. Her grandmother had left the beloved Victorian to her only daughter when she’d died a year ago.

It still hurt that Nana had left the inn to Paige’s mother when Paige had always loved the property, but that emotional slight didn’t stop her from wanting to continue her grandmother’s legacy in Crimson.

Susan Harper had wanted to sell the property at that point, but Paige had convinced her to let her move in and begin renovations to once again open as an inn. She just needed a little more time and she’d be ready for guests. Ready for the income that would allow her to purchase the house from her mother and truly make it hers. She could make something of it. Of herself.

“I need more time,” she said, turning around and schooling her features. She wouldn’t let either of these people see how truly desperate she was.

“Could you give us a minute?” Shep asked the Realtor, who flashed him a sickeningly sweet smile. Paige had seen Lorena’s face on shopping carts, billboards and bus-stop benches around town. She was Crimson, Colorado’s top Realtor according to her ads.

“That’s fine.” Lorena walked forward, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Who wore heels in Crimson anyway? Lorena placed a hand on Shep’s arm, an almost proprietary gesture. Paige wondered if the two were an item. It wouldn’t surprise her.

Shep Bennett was new to Crimson. His company had recently purchased the ski resort that sat adjacent to Nana’s house and renovations were underway that would allow him to reopen in time for the upcoming winter season. That made Shep a hot commodity in town, and Lorena seemed the type to want a powerful man at her side.

“I need to measure the bedrooms upstairs.” She arched a brow in Paige’s direction. “I assume that’s okay with you.”

“Fine.”

Lorena left the room, hips swaying as she moved. If Paige tried to swing her hips that way it would probably look like she was being electrocuted.

“You have awful taste in music,” Shep said conversationally as he bent to pick up the dough from the floor. “And you couldn’t carry a tune out of a paper bag. I swear I heard neighborhood dogs yowling along.”

“My nana used to listen to Barry Manilow.” She took the dough he handed her, dumped it into the trash, then grabbed a wad of paper towels from the roll on the counter and flipped on the faucet. “He’s a musical god and it helps me concentrate when I’m baking.”

“It makes me want to concentrate on finding a decent set of earplugs.”

Paige wet the paper towels then wrung out the excess water. It was all she could do not to fling them at Shep. First he made her ruin her bread dough and now he was going to stand in her kitchen and insult her musical taste.

Her kitchen. The place where she was happiest in the world. And Shepherd Bennett was taking it from her.

Jerk.

He walked to the far side of the kitchen, taking in the oak cabinets, which Paige had painted a cheery yellow, and the row of antique plates she’d hung on one wall. “This is the first time I’ve actually been in the house.”

She dropped to her knees and scrubbed the floor. It would be easier to clean up the dough splatter before it dried completely. “What kind of idiot tries to buy a house he hasn’t even seen?”

“This kind of idiot,” he said, the scuffed toes of his work boots directly in front of her. “And I didn’t try to do anything. You know I close on this place this week.”

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered.

“You can’t.” All the gentleness had disappeared from his tone. He stated a fact, and her body burned with anger at the certainty in his voice. “I don’t care about the house. I wanted the land.”

She stilled, staring down at her hands splayed out on the cherry floors, the veins that ran across the tops of her hands faint and blue. Paige might be petite and delicate looking to some, but she had sturdy hands. Hands like her grandmother.

“This property will give secondary access to the ski mountain and allow us to create a Nordic ski trail plus a new terrain park. We’ll bulldoze the house before the end of summer. I’ll give you a couple of weeks to move out if you need it.”

Paige felt her mouth drop open. Blood roared through her head, making her feel at once dizzy and nauseous. “No,” she whispered.

“The furniture was your mom’s idea. I think she threw it in to save the trouble of having to move everything. She claims it’s mostly old junk.”

Paige sat back on the balls of her feet and looked up, past the jeans that hung low on Shep’s hips and the crisp button-down he wore, smudged with stains from the dough she’d thrown at him.

“I hate you,” she said clearly and Shep’s mouth curved up on one side, as if he’d expected the words. Been waiting for them even.

“Sooner or later I have that effect on most women.”

“Shocker.”

“I know, right?” He flashed a full smile, the kind that had certainly melted the panties of dozens of ladies over the years. Probably hundreds. Maybe thousands. Shep looked like the type to melt the undergarments of anyone carrying two X chromosomes. A moment later that smile disappeared, and he was all business. “You can’t stop this.”

“I can try.” She straightened. “I’ll call my mom again.”

He shook his head. “Your mother won’t change her mind, and if she considers it I’ll up the offer. I always get my way.” He shrugged. “It’s not personal.”

Not personal? This house—reopening the bed-and-breakfast that had meant so much to her grandmother—was all Paige had in life. She’d come here every summer from the time she was ten years old, tapped to help her grandma manage the small inn. The only time she’d stayed in Denver was between her sophomore and junior years of high school when her weekly chemo treatments had prevented her from being away from home.

But the following summer Nana had insisted she return, even though Paige still felt like she needed more care than she’d be able to give. Nana had put her to work, easy tasks until she began to regain her strength. Began to believe she might fully recover from the cancer that had changed everything in her world.

Paige could not see this house demolished. It represented too much to her.

“Maybe I should talk to Cole about whether your arrival in Crimson is personal,” she said with a composure she didn’t feel.

Shep’s head snapped back like she’d hit him. For a moment she could see past the mask of either the hard-nosed businessman or incorrigible flirt. For a moment she saw his soft underbelly exposed and it was too much, too familiar. Shep Bennett was the enemy, and she couldn’t afford to forget that for a moment.

“Wait. I remember you.” His eyes widened and he took a step closer to her, once again the smooth-talking scoundrel. “The toddler whisperer,” he murmured almost more to himself than her.

Color rose to her cheeks under his scrutiny. They’d actually met—well, not met—but she’d seen him a couple of weeks ago at the Crimson July Fourth Festival. His twin brother, Cole, the town’s popular sheriff, had been in the hot seat in the dunk tank. Unfortunately for Cole, he’d also just broken the heart of Sienna Pierce, whom Paige had befriended when she’d come to Crimson.

Ever the dutiful friend, Paige had been gamely trying to dunk Cole as a crowd, including Shep, watched. Shep’s young daughter had reached out to her, which wasn’t odd to Paige. Kids and animals tended to like her. She figured it had something to do with her size and the fact that she didn’t have a threatening bone in her body, no matter how much she wanted a few.

“She seemed to like you at the festival, and Rosie normally hates everyone except me,” Shep told her.

“Give her time,” Paige shot back then clasped a hand over her mouth. She might not like the guy, but it was wrong to insinuate his own daughter wouldn’t.

He didn’t react or seem bothered by her rudeness, almost as if it was his due.

“Well,” he said after a moment, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “she only came to live with me about seven months ago and she’s still crawling so it’s not like she can run away quite yet.”

“I think you’re safe until she hits her teenage years,” Paige offered, still embarrassed by her outburst. “Even then most of the anger will be to test you.”

He made a face. “I suck at tests, but man do I love that girl.”

Something softened in him when he spoke about his daughter. Paige sucked in a breath as her chest squeezed. Was there anything more charming than a father smitten with his little girl? She forced her thoughts back to his plans for the inn.

Temper swelled in her again like the strains of all the best Manilow ballads. That felt better. Smitten was not a word she wanted to associate with Shep Bennett.

“Are we ready?” Lorena asked as she breezed back into the room.

“Yeah,” Shep answered, running a hand through his hair.

“You haven’t made it past the kitchen,” Paige offered, trying a new tack. Maybe if Shep saw how special The Bumblebee was he’d be more likely to let her continue with her plans for it. Or at least to rethink bulldozing it. That couldn’t happen. Not on Paige’s watch.

“Don’t need to,” he told her matter-of-factly. “I told you why I’m buying the house.”

“But—”

“We need to go,” Lorena interrupted, stepping closer to Shep. Once again as if she were claiming him. Her behavior didn’t make sense. Paige certainly wasn’t some kind of threat or the type of woman who’d attract the attention of a man so clichéd tall, dark and handsome. “Please make sure you get to work, Paige. I don’t have time to deal with your silly games.”

Paige heard a grinding sound and realized it was her back teeth. She unclenched her jaw and offered Lorena her sweetest smile. “I’d hate to waste your precious time.”

Lorena nodded, oblivious to Paige’s sarcasm. “Good then. Shep, I told you I’d handle everything.” She gave him a sultry stare. “I’m a professional.”

Paige choked out a laugh but covered it by coughing.

“See you around, toddler whisperer,” Shep told her.

Lorena shot him a questioning look at the words then shook her head and led him out the back door.

It clicked shut and Paige felt her chest rise and fall, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to process this latest development in the mess of her current life. Not only was her mother selling Nana’s house, the plan was to demolish it. How could something that represented so much to Paige be destroyed so casually? Like it meant nothing.

Like she meant nothing.

She hit the button on her phone to play the music again and turned up the volume until the sound of Nana’s favorite singer overrode everything else, including the sharp shatter of Paige’s heart breaking.