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He might not have wanted children, but he had one now, and damned if he’d pretend otherwise. With that thought firmly in mind, he rapped his knuckles against the door and waited impatiently for it to open.
A second later, Belle was there, haloed in light, her blond hair shining, her eyes worried. She wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved, dark rose T-shirt. Her feet were bare and boasted bloodred polish on her nails.
Why he found that incredibly sexy, he couldn’t have said and didn’t want to consider.
“Is she asleep?” he asked.
“She’s in bed,” Belle answered. “Sleep is a separate issue.” Stepping back to allow him to enter, she closed the door, locked it and said, “Usually, she lies awake for a while, talking to herself or to Lizzie.”
Wes stopped in the act of shrugging out of his jacket and looked at her. “Who’s Lizzie?”
“Her stuffed dog.”
“Oh.” Nodding, he took his jacket off and hung it on the coat tree beside the door. For a minute there he’d actually thought maybe he was the father of twins or something. Looking at Belle, he said, “I half expected you to not open the door to me tonight.”
“I thought about it,” she admitted, sliding her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Heck, I thought about snatching Caro up and flying to Europe. Just not being here when you showed up.”
He hadn’t considered that possibility. Now Wes realized he should have. He’d done his research and knew that Belle was wealthy enough to have disappeared if she’d wanted to, and he’d have spent years trying to find her and their daughter. Anger bubbled but was smoothed over by the fact that she hadn’t run. That she was here. To give him the answers he needed.
“I would have found you.”
“Yeah, I know.” She pulled her hands free, then folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her upper arms briskly, as if she were cold. But the house was warm in spite of the frigid temperatures outside. So it must be nerves, he told himself and could almost sympathize. “That’s just one of the reasons I didn’t go.”
Curious, he asked, “What’re the others?”
Sighing a little, she looked up at him. “Believe it or not, you showing up here like this isn’t the only thing I have to think about. My daughter comes first. I couldn’t tear Caro away from her home. She has friends here. The uncles who love her are here. Secondly, this is my place, and I won’t run. Not even from you.”
He looked down into her eyes and saw pride and determination. He could understand that. Hell, he could use it. Her pride would demand that she listen to him whether she wanted to or not. Her pride would make sure she caved to his demands if only to prove she didn’t fear him becoming a part of their daughter’s life.
Belle had always been more complicated than any other woman he’d ever known. She was smart, funny, driven, and her personality was strong enough that she’d never had any trouble standing up for herself. Which meant that though he’d get his way in the end, it wouldn’t be an easy road.
As they stood together in the quiet entryway, iron-clad pendant lights hung from the ceiling and cast shadows across her face that seemed to settle in her eyes. She looked...vulnerable for a second, and Wes steeled himself against feeling sympathy for her. Hell, she’d cheated him for five long years. He’d missed her pregnancy, missed the birth of his daughter, missed every damn thing. If anyone deserved some sympathy around here, it was him.
As if she could sense his thoughts, that vulnerability she’d inadvertently shown faded fast. “Do you want some coffee?”
“I want answers.”
“Over coffee,” she said. “Come on. We can sit in the kitchen.”
He followed her down the hall, glancing around him as he went. The house was beautiful. There were brightly colored rugs spread everywhere on the oak floors so that the sound of his footsteps went from harsh to muffled as he navigated through the house. The dining room was big, but not formal. There was a huge pedestal table with six chairs drawn up to it. Pine branches jutted up from a tall porcelain vase and spilled that rich fragrance into the air.
He couldn’t help comparing her home to his own back in Royal. Though Wes’s house was big and luxurious, it lacked the warmth he found here. Not surprising, he supposed, since he was only there to sleep and eat. The only other person who spent time in his house besides himself was his housekeeper, and she kept the place sparkling clean but couldn’t do a thing about the impersonal feel. Frowning a little, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the moment at hand.
Isabelle didn’t speak until they were in the kitchen, then it was only to say, “You still take your coffee black?”
“Yeah,” he said, surprised she remembered. The kitchen had slate-blue walls, white cabinets, black granite on the counters and a long center island that boasted four stools. There was a small table with four chairs in a bay window, and Isabelle waved him toward it.
“Go sit down, this’ll take a minute.”
He took a chair that afforded him a view of her, and damned if he didn’t enjoy it. He could be as angry as ever and still have a purely male appreciation for a woman who could look that good in jeans. Hell, maybe it was the Texan in him, but a woman who filled out denim like she did was the stuff dreams were made of. But he’d already had that dream and let it go, so there was no point in thinking about it again now.
He narrowed his gaze on her. She was nervous. He could see that, too.
Well, she had a right to be.
“So,” he said abruptly, “how long have you lived here?”