Free Tempestuous/Restless Heart by Tami Hoag

bereft. Alex had needed a stable and care for her ten-month-old daughter. Pearl had gladly rented her the place and had simply stayed on in the house, filling her days with caring for Isabella. It was the ideal arrangement for both of them.
    “Do I get an introduction to this charming young lady?” Christian asked, leaning close so the baby could get a good look at his face.
    “This is my daughter, Isabella.”
    “What a lovely name. Isabella.” The baby dropped the chin strap and stared at him. He smiled beguilingly, figuring a female was a female. “Hello, Isabella,” he murmured. “What a pretty little girl you are.”
    “Don’t feel bad if she starts to cry,” Alex said. “She doesn’t like—”
    Her daughter didn’t give her a chance to finish the sentence. With a little squeal she let go of her mother and launched herself at Christian, who caught her up against his chest.
    “—men,” Alex said lamely, her dark brows drawing together in confusion.
    Isabella seldom went to strangers and never to a strange man, perhaps picking up on her mother’s sense of caution. But she certainly looked happy in Christian’s arms, smiling her cherubic little smile as he whispered in her ear, amusing herself with the zipper of his leather jacket. Alex could only stare in stunned disbelief, as baffled by Christian’s ease as she was with her daughter’s. He didn’t strike her as the daddy type at all. He didn’t even strike her as the marrying type. She would have bet the only thing he knew about babies was how to make them.
    “Don’t look so surprised, darling,” Christian said, looking at her from under his lashes. “Women, with the notable exception of yourself, always like me.”
    Alex pressed her lips into a thin line and reached for the gray’s reins. “I’ll see to the horses.”
    Christian watched her walk away, chuckling a little under his breath.
    Pearl snorted. “Laugh now, Mr. Atherton. You’ve got your work cut out with that one. She’s not one of your flighty little fillies for chasing around with.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving the older lady his best contrite-little-boy look. He watched her stern glower melt into a laugh that lit up her round face.
    “And she’s got her work cut out for her, I can see that! Lordy!” She reached for the baby. “Get yourself inside the house, boy. I’ll see to that ankle and give you a piece of cherry pie if you’re good.”
    “I’m always good,” Christian said with just enough suggestiveness to make the woman cluck at him and shake her head with reproach that didn’t reach her twinkling eyes.
    “Poor Miss Alex,” she muttered, heading up the cracked walk to the simple old farmhouse.
    Christian glanced around the yard as he hobbled toward the house, taking in the general state of the place. The house itself didn’t look too decrepit. Daffodils and tulips were pushing themselves up through the ground along the front porch, lending cheer. The rest of the buildings had not fared as well over time. The stable leaned decidedly to one side. What little paint was left on it had long ago turned from white to dingy gray. The board fences around the small paddocks looked no better. More than one board was held to its post by baling twine. Many of the posts tilted drunkenly.
    The place was quiet. Nothing marred the stillness but the occasional bang or nicker coming from the stable and the paddocks adjacent to it. Judging by the size of the barn and the number of animals in the pens, he would have guessed Alex was caring for fifteen to twenty horses. By herself. There was no sign of hired help around.
    There were no signs of prosperity either. The dull yellow horse van parked near the barn had to be nearly twenty years old. It looked as though someone had taken a chain to it. Even at that, it appeared to be more roadworthy than the blue ’77 Impala that was parked nearer the house, next to Pearl’s little red Escort. The tires were almost bald.