Where Heather’s lips were painted a bright, shocking shade of pink, Haylie wore nothing but a layer of clear gloss.
And where Heather’s eyes appeared hard and jaded, Haylie’s were deep pools of warmth and earnestness.
How could two women—sisters—with so many of the same features look so very different? he wondered.
He also wondered how one sister could go nine-plus months without making a single effort to inform a man he was allegedly going to be a father, while the other had spent two months trying to track him down by phone and felt so strongly about her duty to inform him of his parenthood—again, alleged parenthood—that she’d driven nearly four hours from Denver to Aspen with a baby in tow and wheedled her way into his office just to confront him.
For that reason alone, he found himself wanting to know if her allegations were true. And if they were… Well, he wanted to know for himself if she was right about the child in her arms being his.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility of being a father. The very thought made his stomach clench and his chest grow tight. But not with any innate paternal sentiments. No, what he was feeling was much more along the lines of dread and panic.
At only twenty-seven, the notion of getting married and starting a family had never crossed his mind. And the idea of having a child dropped in his lap out of the blue had been even further behind.
He was too busy enjoying his life, sowing wild oats and working to build his marketing company. Add to that the more recent turn of events that had made him the president of marketing at Jarrod Ridge, and he barely had time to hike, to ski, to breathe, let alone raise a child.
There was no point worrying about that or projecting into the future, though, until he knew for certain.
Releasing the door handle, he returned to his desk. Much more of this stalking back and forth and the carpet would need to be replaced.
As he lowered himself into his chair and reached for the phone, he gestured for Haylie to take a seat.
“Diana,” he said the minute his secretary picked up. “Get Dr. Lazlo on the line for me, please.”
Once she’d answered in the affirmative, he hung up and leaned his arms on the desk. He looked at the baby on Haylie’s lap, searching for signs that this was, indeed, his child, but all he saw was…a baby.
He didn’t see his eyes or his hair or his smile, didn’t see Jarrod bloodlines stamped on every inch of that pale, pudgy baby skin.
Did that mean the child…Bradley, his name was Bradley. Did that mean Bradley wasn’t his…or simply that a four-month-old’s parentage couldn’t be determined just by looking?
Lifting his gaze, Trevor pinned Haylie with a hard stare. “We’ll have a paternity test run immediately. And God help you if your story is a lie.”
He wasn’t sure what he would do, exactly, but the very thought that she was trying to get one over on him made his jaw lock and his temperature rise. On the desk in front of him, his fists clenched until his knuckles cracked.
If this whole thing turned out to be some crazy fabrication in a bid to get money or besmirch his good name—his family’s good name—he was not going to be happy. The Jarrods had Erica’s fiancé and longtime family attorney Christian, as well as a bevy of other legal eagles on retainer, who would have no problem racking up billable hours devising new and creative ways to make Haylie Smith sorry she had ever come to Jarrod Ridge.
At his veiled threat, he’d half expected her to blink. To decide that maybe this charade wasn’t the wisest plan of action, after all.
But once again, he’d underestimated her. Not only didn’t she blink—figuratively or literally—but her expression remained just as firm and determined.
“If he’s not your baby,” she said softly, “it won’t be my lie, it will be my sister’s.”
As the minutes crawled by, with Trevor Jarrod staring her down like an opponent in a boxing ring, the silence in the luxurious office was thick enough to carve with a knife. There was no fire crackling in the hearth behind him, and no office noises filtering in from the other side of the wide double doors. Only the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the far wall and Bradley’s occasional contented gurgle and sucking on his tiny fist kept her from hearing her own heart pounding beneath her ribs.
She could certainly understand Trevor’s anger and suspicions. In his shoes, she would be thinking and feeling the exact same way.
But she was not the bad guy here. In fact, she was being an excessively good guy by bringing Bradley to Jarrod Ridge at all. She could have just as easily remained in Denver and raised her sister’s child as her own.
It wasn’t as if Trevor would have known the difference. Up until now, he hadn’t been aware of Bradley’s existence, and she sincerely doubted he’d have been struck by a sudden twinge of conscience and returned to Denver to see if he’d left behind any stray, fatherless progeny as a result of his numerous one-night stands in the Mile High City.
And she didn’t even have a deathbed promise to her sister hanging over her head, prompting her to do the right thing by both Bradley and Trevor. Given the fact that Heather had claimed several times that she would tell Trevor about the baby or had been trying to contact him to do just that…and that she very obviously hadn’t done anything of the sort…Haylie was only following her own strict moral code, which dictated that a man had the right to know he’d fathered a child.
Whether or not he stepped up and took responsibility for that child was a different story, but he had the right to know, and Haylie’s own conscience wouldn’t have let her go much longer without making sure that he did.
If it turned out Trevor wasn’t Bradley’s father… Well, she couldn’t very well go back in time and strangle her sister, but she sure would be tempted. The best she could do, she supposed, was apologize for the misunderstanding and any inconvenience she’d caused him and go back to Denver to do what she’d planned all along—raise Bradley on her own.
Before either of them could form words to break the Mexican standoff between their cool, targeted gazes, the phone on Trevor’s desk buzzed. He grabbed the handset and listened, presumably to whatever his assistant had to say.
“Thank you,” he murmured, and a moment later, “Dr. Lazlo, Trevor Jarrod. I’ve got a situation here that requires the utmost discretion.”
After a pause in which the physician was likely raising a hand, swearing on both his Hippocratic oath and a stack of Bibles, Trevor continued, “How long will it take to get results on a paternity test?”
A small frown marred his brow, and Haylie raised one of her own. Obviously any response other than “instantaneously” didn’t set well with Mr. Jarrod.
“Very well, although if there’s any way to rush that and still maintain accuracy…” More silence while the person on the other end spoke, too low for her to hear. “We can be at your office in thirty minutes.”
With a nod, Trevor thanked the doctor for his time and hung up before turning his dark stare back to her…and the baby on her lap.
“We’re driving into the city to have blood tests done,” he told her, as though she hadn’t heard every word of his side of the conversation. And his tone left no room for argument, even if she’d cared to make one. “Now.”
Pushing up from his desk, he came around, no doubt expecting her to hop up and follow him like a well-trained puppy. Instead, she pushed slowly to her feet, shifting Bradley around to her front as she strode slowly across the office to one of the soft-as-butter leather sofas lining the side walls.
“What are you doing?” Trevor asked crossly. In her peripheral vision, she saw him fold his arms over his wide chest and tap the toe of one fawn-colored boot in annoyance.
“I’m changing Bradley’s diaper before I stuff him back into his snowsuit,” she told Trevor calmly, laying the baby down and beginning to unsnap the legs of his denim overalls. But before she removed the soiled diaper, she tipped her head meaningfully in Trevor’s direction. “Unless you’d prefer to drive all the way to the doctor’s office with the windows down.”
Mouth flattening into a thin, unhappy line, he dropped his arms and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans instead. “No, go ahead.”
Biting back a gloating chuckle, she returned her attention to Bradley and quickly finished cleaning him up, then got him tucked into his thick, baby-blue snowsuit. When she tightened the faux-fur-lined hood around his face, he grinned and kicked his little legs, and she couldn’t resist leaning in to flick his nose and grin back.
Then, remembering that Trevor was still in the room, watching them like a hawk, she cleared her throat and straightened somewhat self-consciously.
“Almost ready,” she said, standing to put on her own sage-green parka before gathering Bradley and reaching for the strap of his diaper bag.
Trevor was suddenly there, grabbing it for her. “I’ve got it.”
She swallowed again, this time because the intensity of his dark gaze had her cheeks going hot and her stomach swooping like a roller coaster on the downslide.
“Thank you,” she managed, following quietly behind him when he moved to the office door, opened it and stepped into the reception area.
His secretary lifted her head at her boss’s approach, but her glance skated quickly past Trevor to eye Haylie and Bradley. Haylie didn’t think the woman had heard anything that had been said behind the closed office doors, but it was obvious she was curious about who exactly Haylie was, what she’d needed to talk to Trevor about and why she’d brought a four-month-old along to do it. But like all good secretaries, she was discreet, keeping her mouth shut and waiting until her employer told her what he needed.
“Diana, I’m going to be out of the office for a while,” Trevor informed her, not bothering to introduce Haylie, even though it was clear that wherever he was going, she was tagging along. “Possibly the rest of the day. Reschedule any meetings for me, please, and field anything else that comes up.”
“Yes, sir,” Diana responded, jotting a note on her desk blotter before taking to her keyboard to bring up what Haylie assumed was Trevor’s daily schedule.
From a hidden closet behind the receptionist’s desk, Trevor pulled out his coat and shrugged it on. Stuffing his hands into the pockets, he pulled out a cell phone, checked the display and put it back.
“My cell will be on if you need to reach me,” he added, “but—”
“—Try not to need you,” Diana finished for him.
He flashed a quick half smile. “Right.”
Lifting his gaze to Haylie’s, he met her eyes for a second, then said, “Ready?”
She nodded, passing the reception desk to once again trail after the man who was—for the moment, at least—in charge. But instead of taking the lead, this time he held the door and ushered her and Bradley ahead of him. An act of chivalry that for some reason had her tightening her grip on her nephew and reminding herself that she didn’t fall into bed with every handsome man she met the way her sister always had. If anything, while she was in Trevor Jarrod’s presence, she needed to be even more diligent about disengaging her female hormones and keeping her wits about her.