Chapter 26

Thursday morning broke early,and it was no different than the previous one. There was sun, there were birds chirping, and there was the kind of loneliness that sat like a stone on Scarlett's chest. She stared up at the ceiling and listened to the light breathing that came from Hank's playpen. He'd had no problem sleeping and for that at least, she could be thankful.

It was barely five in the morning and restless, she slid out of bed, headed to the bathroom, and splashed water on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her skin dull. God, she looked like shit.

With a groan she turned away from the mirror and grabbed the baby monitor before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Caffeine was what she needed.

Scarlett waited impatiently for the pot to brew and once there was enough for a cup, she poured it black and then sat in the living room to mull over the coming day. It was exhausting, this charade she'd been living, and today would test her. They were to meet Malcom at the American Museum of Natural History and then he'd booked dinner at a swanky restaurant uptown for later. Her mouth thinned at the thought. He'd actually wanted her to use a babysitting service and leave Hank with a stranger so that he could wine and dine her. How obtuse was the man?

He was a narcissist. Had to be.

Tears sprang up, something she couldn't seem to curb these last few days, and she gripped the mug in her hand so tightly her fingers cramped.

Scarlett wasn't sure what she'd expected, but she had hoped that he would at least show some modicum of interest in his son. But there'd been nothing. He hadn't held him once.

"Not once," she whispered, swiping angrily at her eyes. Hank deserved so much better. He deserved Taz.

Her laptop was open on the small writing desk. She'd spent more time than she cared to admit to, trying to find any kind of information on Malcom. But just like the year before when he'd left her pregnant and alone in some small village in Ireland, there was nothing. The odd mention about a Malcom David Kingsley the sixth, but it appeared that was Malcom's father. It was as if he'd been scrubbed from all social media.

And that only added fuel to the fire in her gut. The one that had her not sleeping and on edge. She still didn't know what he wanted but it clearly wasn't his son. And it was also plain to see that she didn't know anything about this man.

With a sigh, she finished her coffee and headed back up to shower, and by midmorning Scarlett was as ready for her day as she ever would be. She'd chosen a simple rose-colored blouse, sleeveless, with delicate white daisies, and paired it with white linen shorts and a pair of white sandals. Her hair she'd pulled up into a high ponytail, and her face sported minimal makeup, some gloss on her lips and mascara on her lashes. The usual. It was all she needed really, her skin was golden from all the time she'd spent outside at the Triple B.

She sent a quick message to Lacey, who she'd been in contact with daily, and reassured her once again that everything was fine. It was easy to fall into a pattern of lies it seemed, but it sure did leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Scarlett was in the living room watching Hank rock back and forth on his hands and knees, something he'd started the day before, when the doorbell chimed. It must be her food delivery, she thought, heading for the front door.

She swung it open and smiled as the young man from the grocery stood there with two bags. He'd been an absolute angel and had helped her out tremendously since she'd arrived in the city.

"Hi Joe," she said, stepping aside. "You can put those on the counter in the kitchen."

She followed him back in and grabbed his tip.

"Thank you," he said with a grin. "Anything else you need just call me."

"I will."

"I'll let myself out."

Scarlett could see her son from the kitchen while she put away the few groceries she'd ordered. The bag with diapers and Hank's butt cream she'd take upstairs later. She was about to peel an orange when the hairs stood up on the back of her neck and she swung around, a soft "oh," falling from her lips when she spied Malcom watching her from the doorway of the kitchen.

"What the hell?"

"Good morning to you, too, luv." He wore lime green trousers, beige shoes, and a cream-colored button up. The light colors were a great foil to his dark good looks, something he no doubt knew, and a slow grin took over his face as he continued to watch her.

"How did you get in?" Her voice was sharp.

"Your grocery boy. I told him I was your husband."

"How did you find me?" Not once had she given him her address.

"I followed you home last night."

"That's not at all creepy," she retorted, anger flushing her cheeks a dull pink.

"I thought it was ingenious myself." His smile deepened. "Come on, Scar, you can't keep me at bay forever." He produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and held them up. When she didn't move, he didn't bother to hide his irritation.

"Don't be like that, luv. I just thought we could so something this morning and you weren't answering your phone."

"I didn't answer my cell because I don't want…" Her voice trailed off and she grabbed the flowers, needing to do something before her mouth got her into trouble.

"Don't want what?" His voice was low, and she jumped because he was at her back. She could feel the heat of his body, and her stomach turned.

"Give me some room please," she said through gritted teeth. She waited a few seconds, head to the side, then Malcom moved toward the island and leaned against it, watching her in silence as she put water in a vase and then arranged the flowers.

She couldn't look at him and the thought of continuing this pretense made her ill. There was no point. She was no closer to finding out his agenda than when she'd been back in Montana. So, what in hell was she doing?

Scarlett rested her palms on the counter and looked at him. She was done.

"I can't do this anymore."

"What's that, luv?"

"This." She gestured with her hands. "Us. I can't do it." As the anger inside her bubbled; it gave her the kind of courage she needed. "I won't do it. Your emotional blackmail is done."

His whole demeanor changed. His eyes flashed and he stood taller, hands fisted at his sides. "I don't think you're understanding," he began, the Irish lilt much more pronounced. "The week's not over and you agreed to give me that. Don't make this harder than it has to be. I don't want to take your child from you."

"No court on the planet will give him to you. My God, you have zero interest. He's the most amazing little person and you have no idea." Her voice caught, heavy with emotion, but the anger carried her through. "As much as I dislike you. As much as I think you're less of a man than most, I wanted you to see the miracle we created. A miracle you threw away last year." She glanced over to her boy, now on his back playing with his toes and oblivious to the drama unfolding. "You don't want him."

"You're right," Malcom replied, an ugly expression on his face. "I want you. And you want him. I know it's a package deal."

Hurt, the kind that hit hard, made her chest tighten. How could he be so callous about Hank?

"You're un-fucking-believable." Angry and hurt, she had to take a moment and Malcom, as if suddenly aware of what he'd just admitted to, attempted a smile.

"Scarlett, we were good together. Don't you remember the night we hit up that pub and listened to the folk band until nearly four in the morning? Don't you remember how we made love in the garden outside our lodgings because we couldn't wait to get into bed?"

"I was drunk, and you were full of lies. Not a good combination."

The doorbell rang and heart beating a mile a minute, Scarlett took a step.

"Don't answer that." His voice changed to a softer, cajoling tone. "Scarlett, let's start over."

She ignored him and made for the front door. It afforded her a moment away from Malcom. A moment to reorganize her thoughts. She would call her brother Cal. He would help her with the legalities of going after full custody. He had the money, and she knew he would help her. Why hadn't she done that in the first place? Why had she insisted on fixing this herself?

Scarlett's mind was racing as she opened the door, thinking it was most likely Joe from the grocery. But it wasn't. Her heart skipped more than a beat and if it weren't for the strong arms that reached out for her, she might have melted into a puddle on the floor. Her legs were noodles, her muscles putty.

Taz.

She stared up at him, wordless because her brain had stopped functioning.

"Hey there, Peaches." His warm voice smashed the icy grip on her heart, and she had to work hard to keep her tears at bay. There would be time for that later.

"How?" she mouthed, still not believing he was here with her.

"Benton gave me the address." His eyes looked her over. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head and waited a bit until she could speak. "No, but I am now. I have so much to tell you. I?—"

Scarlett didn't get a chance to say anything more because she was crushed against his chest and his mouth was on hers. His kiss was hungry. It was soft and yet there was an urgency that took her breath away. She clung to him, unable to do anything but submit, and then Malcom spoke, and the spell was broken.

"Well now, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

She froze, her body cold, her limbs shaky. Taz gave her one last kiss and slowly pulled away. She watched as his expression changed. His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. The air shifted and she felt as if she was in the presence of a predator.

"Taz Pullman," he said, gently placing her at his side. He looked at Malcom and made no bones about why he was there. "I'm here to talk."

Scarlett cleared her throat; unsure her feet would even move. But then she felt his warmth at her back, his breath along her neck.

"Don't worry, darlin'. I've got you," he whispered. "You're not alone anymore."

She exhaled, uncaring at the tears that sprang to her eyes. For the first time since Malcom had reappeared in her life, she felt hope. She felt cared for. She felt loved.

"Well then," Malcom sneered. "Let's have at it."

With Taz's hand at her back, she headed for the kitchen. She needed something between her and Malcom. Some space to keep him away. She grabbed Hank from the living room and then stood beside Taz as they faced Malcom. He was clearly angry, and his dark eyes flashed as he looked at them.

"I've got nothing to say to you," Malcom said, voice as dark as his eyes.

"That suits things fine. I came here to talk and you're going to listen."

"You're interfering with something you have no right to." Malcom's face flushed.

"You're wrong about that."

"Am I?" Malcom scoffed. "I'm the father of Scarlett's child and you're nothing but a cowboy. One of the help I assume?"

Taz smiled then, his teeth white against his tanned skin, and when he spoke his voice was deadly quiet. "There's a big difference between you and I."

"You're right about that. Breeding." Malcom sounded like a petulant child, and Scarlett settled in to watch the show. Even Hank realized something was afoot and clung to her in silence.

"I think it's more of a manner thing." Taz winked at Scarlett. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded. "And then some."

"I'm gonna cut to the bull. That's cowboy speak for saying what's on your mind if you don't know."

"Christ, man, say what it is you came to say and leave us."

"But that's the thing, Kingsley. You're the one who's leaving. You're going to march that aristocratic butt out of Scarlett's life and you're not going to bother her again."

Malcom straightened up at that and thrust out his chest. "I will not. I have rights and if Scarlett isn't careful those rights will interfere with how she raises her son."

Scarlett blinked at that. Her son.

"She had the child without so much as a word to me. She didn't allow me to have any say in his birth. Courts in the UK don't take kindly to foreigners absconding with our own."

Taz moved forward until he was inches from Malcom. He had a good three inches on the Irishman and the kind of build that hard work brought, not running laps on the treadmill, or lifting weights. He was intimidating and for the first time Malcom looked nervous. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, and he tugged at his hair, moving it off his face.

"How much?" Taz asked, his voice hard and aggressive.

"What do you?—"

"How much will it take to get you out of Scarlett's life?"

"I can't be bought," Malcom sneered. "Not by the likes of you."

"Can't you?" Taz.

Malcom looked from Taz to Scarlett, but she had no idea what was going on and kept silent.

"I know some things"—Taz glanced her way, his eyes softening—"and I think it's time Scarlett does as well."

He moved away and Malcom visibly relaxed. Taz kissed the top of her head before he faced Malcom again.

Her ex was worried. She heard it in his voice. "This is complete and utter nonsense. Scarlett, we have the rest of the week to figure things out. To start off in the right way. I know I've bungled things, but you must give me a chance to explain."

"Are you done talking? Because I've got some more things to say." Taz smoothed Hank's hair. "This little guy has a mole on his right side, at the top of his ribcage. I know this because I've fed and bathed this boy. I've changed his diaper. I know that he talks gibberish for about twenty minutes when he wakes up and I know that he falls asleep with a smile on his face because he's happy and content and loved and cared for."

Those damn tears were back but Scarlett made no effort to stop them as one slowly rolled down her check. Taz caressed it away and continued.

"I know that Scarlett giggles in her sleep. I know that when she looks at me her heart is in her eyes, and she doesn't need to say the words that live there. I know them. Because I feel them." He turned to Malcom, his voice flat and dangerous. "What that means is that she's just as much mine as I am hers. You are nothing in her life. You'll never have what I have. But then you don't deserve it."

"The nerve," Malcom stumbled over his words, but Taz kept on.

"I know you think because Scarlet is a Bridgestone that she's your meal ticket. A way to live the life you threw away because you're weak. Because you like women and gambling. I know your father removed you from his will. That he scrubbed the internet of your existence because you're a stain on his name. There's no wife, but there was a fiancée, a rich woman from England, Rose Danver. Her family is in the equity business. She found out about Scarlett, and Noelle, and Tina. She broke things off and now you have nothing but this tiny thread that holds you to Scarlett. But the thread's gone and you need money, so tell me how much. This offer is good for the next thirty seconds, so I suggest you accept it. I've got a legal document here. You will sign and then we'll never have to see your sorry face again."

"You can't afford what I want." Malcom pointed at Scarlett. "What her family will pay."

"Last time." Taz glared at him. "How much?"

Malcom seemed to be considering an answer and then with a shrug he smiled. "Five million pounds."

"Done."

Wait. What? Scarlett's mouth fell open in shock.

"Taz, you can't…it's too much." What the hell was going on? She felt like she'd just been punched in the gut.

Taz turned to her. "Let me do this." His voice was earnest. "Let me help you cut the cancer from your life." His voice thickened. "Then we can live ours."

Before she had a chance to reply he called a number on his cell and then handed it to Malcom. "Give him your details. Let's be clear. Once you sign these papers and accept these funds into your account, you have no claim on Hank. You will not contact Scarlett again, because if you do, I will personally make it my business to kick your ass all the way back to Ireland." His face darkened and his voice lowered. "That's if I let you leave the state of Montana."

Taz Pullman was serious, his expression black. Malcom took the phone and gave a bunch of numbers to whomever was on the other end. While he was busy, Taz produced a document that was simple and to the point. She signed it and then took a step back, holding on to Hank so tight that he whimpered.

"Sorry," she whispered shakily, kissing the top of his head.

Malcom signed it with a flourish and after Taz gave the okay, they waited for the transfer to go through. It was a large sum and took a bit of time, but Taz stayed close, his touch warm and reassuring.

Eventually Malcom checked his bank for the tenth time at least, and he slowly nodded his head, happy with what he saw.

"Okay, then," he said, "not sure how you pulled that off, being a mere cowboy."

"I'm Temple Holdings," Taz retorted. "Remember that. Google it if you have to. You don't want to tangle with me."

Malcom's eyes fell. "I'll be off."

"Not before I say something." Scarlett handed her son to Taz and walked over to Malcom. His skin was still flushed a deep red, and a nervous tick had developed near his eye. "I hope you live the life you deserve, and I don't doubt you will eventually. Maybe not next week or next year or even ten years from now. But you will. Your looks will fade and your charm along with it. And while I'm living a full, happy life you will be alone and probably broke. It's called karma. And I imagine a lot of it is headed your way."

Malcom had the decency to let her have the last word, but Taz didn't. He cleared his throat and raised his chin.

"Just so you know I would have paid ten times the amount you asked for."

Malcom's mouth thinned, but when Taz took an aggressive step toward him, he quickly turned and left. The sound of the front door closing nearly brought Scarlett to tears.

"I don't know what to say or how to feel about what just happened," she whispered.

Taz moved to her side and wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, so she was forced to look up at him.

"He's not a threat to Hank ever again."

"He never wanted a connection with Hank. All he wanted was money." Her voice broke from anger and hurt.

"Take your time and absorb it all."

"I'll have to pay you back somehow. I have money from my trust. It's not nearly enough. Not even close but I…"

"I don't want to talk about money." He waited a few seconds. "Do you want to stay in the city for a few more days to clear your head?"

"No." Scarlett reached for Hank. "I want to go home. Back to Montana. With you."

Taz lowered his head and swept the lightest touch across her lips. "Okay then. The jet's waiting."

She yanked her head back. "Jet?" she asked in disbelief.

"Courtesy of Temple Holdings."

"You're definitely not just any cowboy."

"No," he replied, "but this cowboy wants to know if I'm taking you back to the Triple B or if you're coming back to my place."

And here they were. Crunch time.

"We've got some things to talk about," she replied.

"Yeah. We do."

"Your place it is."