The Tycoon's Secret Child (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 1)

Wes looked at Clay Everett and gave him a nod. “Good catch.” Clay was a local rancher with brown hair, green eyes and a permanent limp due to a bull-riding accident. Like Wes, Clay was a driven, stubborn man.

“So what’s more fascinating than painting the club restrooms?” Tom Knox asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Toby McKittrick said wryly. “Everything, maybe?”

Wes grinned and gazed at each of the men in turn. Tom looked the part of the ex-soldier he was, with broad shoulders, lots of tattoos and the scars he carried as a badge of honor. He was a man to be counted on.

Toby was taller, leaner and just as stubborn as the rest of them. A rancher, he was loyal to his friends, tough on his enemies and didn’t take crap from anyone.

“Yeah, got better things to do than sit here and listen to a lot of nonsense,” Wes said, idly turning the scotch glass in damp circles on the tabletop.

“So I heard,” Tom said with a knowing smile. “Isabelle’s back. How’s that going?”

“The word is,” Clay offered slyly, “our boy Wes here is practically domesticated.”

“No way,” Toby put in with a laugh. “The woman who could put a leash on this man hasn’t been born yet.”

“Not what I hear,” Clay said, taking a sip of his beer.

Great. Even his friends were talking about him, wondering about what was going on. He supposed bringing Isabelle and Caro back to Royal had been inviting the gossip, but what the hell else could he have done? Eventually, he knew, the talk in Royal would move on to some fresh meat and he and his problems would fade away. All he had to do was make it that long without popping someone in the mouth.

And he didn’t have a damn leash around his neck.

Wes nodded as he lifted his glass to the other men. “Good to be with friends who know just how to aim their shots.”

They all took a drink and Toby said, “Damn straight. What’re friends for, after all? And since we’re such good friends, maybe we should go back to your place with you. Let Isabelle know that when she gets tired of dealing with you, we stand at the ready.”

Giving him a smile, Wes shook his head. “Yeah. That’ll happen. I don’t think so.”

Clay grinned. “Worth a try. When do we meet your daughter, then?”

Wes shot him a look. He shouldn’t have been surprised, since half the country had been talking about him, thanks to Maverick and Twitter. Still, it seemed weird to have someone ask about his daughter so easily.

“Soon,” he said. “Hopefully. Her mother and I have some things to work out first. Which I could be at home doing if I wasn’t here listening to the old-timers gripe about too many changes.”

“The girl’s a cutie,” Clay told him. “Saw pictures of you three in the grocery store.”

“What?” Wes just looked at his friend and waited.

“Yeah, those tabloids by the cash registers? There you all were at the ice-skating rink.” Clay shrugged. “Headline was something like hashtag Deadbeatdad No More.”

“Great. That’s terrific.”

“Hey,” Toby said, “it’s better than saying you’re still a crappy father.”

“I didn’t know I was a father,” Wes pointed out.

“Yeah, we know,” Tom said, holding both hands up i

n mock surrender. “We’re just saying that everybody else seeing the three of you looking like a family is going to take the sting out of that whole Twitter nonsense.”

He had a point, Wes told himself. And if the pictures were in the tabloids, they’d be showing up other places, too. Magazines, newspapers, online. Teddy Bradford would see them and maybe rethink his position on the merger. One of the reasons Wes had brought Isabelle and Caroline back to Texas with him was to take the pressure off the scandal.

So why was he feeling a little guilty about all of this now?

Wes scanned the room, noting the members who were here and wondering about those who weren’t. Hell, it was a pain in the butt to have to come to redecorating meetings, but if you were a member you should damn well show up and do what needed doing.

The club had been the same for more than a hundred years. Typical of the wealthy, men-only clubs of the day, the TCC had mostly been decorated with masculine comfort in mind. Hunting trophies along with historical Texas documents and pictures dotted the walls. Dark beams crossed the ceilings, which were higher now, thanks to the renovations done after damage incurred by the last tornado. The furniture was dark leather, a blaze burned in the stone fireplace and the thick rugs that were spread across the gleaming wood floor were a deep red.