The Baby Battle Read Free Page B

pulling her friends into a huddle. While the ladies shared an impromptu whispered conference, during which he was the recipient of half a dozen cold stares, Tag inched past the elegant, marble-floored entry hall. On his left was a formal dining room featuring a crystal chandelier and table large enough to seat eight. On his right was a dark-paneled den. A marble fireplace was flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Nestled into a windowed alcove was an ornately carved desk holding dual, flat-screen computer monitors. The hard drive must have fit into an out-of-sight panel. Behind the desk was a feminine red leather executive chair. A fig tree and ferns, along with silver-framed photos and china figurines, lessened the room’s severity, but did little to disguise the fact that Olivia Marshall was a female version of himself.Not a good thing, considering he was apparently gearing up for the battle of his life.
    He’d just made it into a vaulted-ceiling living area when the angry momma grizzly shouted, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
    “Just checking out the place. Nice.” He forced what he hoped came across as a charming smile.
    From the patio came a baby’s cry.
    “That’s Jack,” the brunette said, already heading toward a screen door. Knowing his son, too, must be out there, Tag’s pulse raced. Not caring whether or not he’d been invited deeper into the sanctity of Olivia’s home, Tag beat the brunette to the door. Four infants lounged on a blanket in the sun, one now wailing. Jack? Meaning the only other infant dressed in boy clothes would be…
    Longing crushed Tag’s chest. He had to keep himself together. Not show his cards too early as to how desperately he wanted—needed—at least partial custody of his son.
    On autopilot, Tag aimed for his child.
    “Don’t touch my baby!” Olivia charged up behind Tag, nudging him aside before he could scoop the infant into his arms. When she held the boy, tucking his downy head beneath her chin, she said, “I know my rights, and no matter what the lab says, I intend to have full DNA testing before entering into any negotiation with you.”
    With everything in him, Tag held firm to his control. His son had his Irish grandmother’s red hair. Sure, Oliviawas a redhead, but it was a different shade. Darker, not nearly as coppery. Most infants were born with blue eyes, but Tag’s son’s eyes were brown, like his.
    “Please…” he managed, holding out his arms toward his child.
    Olivia tightened her hold. “Your claim is preposterous. Mistakes like this don’t happen. They just don’t.”
    Tag cupped his hand to the infant’s head, stroking hair as soft as a dandelion gone to seed. His throat was too tight for words. Bring it on, woman. I don’t need some damned DNA test to tell me this baby is mine.
    “I sympathize with you,” she said, her friends watching. “Really I do, but—” Approaching sirens had her looking at the door they’d just come through. “Leave peacefully, and with both of our attorneys present, we’ll make testing arrangements.”
    The siren’s wail grew louder, and then was accompanied by the roar of a vehicle climbing the slight hill to Olivia’s home.
    “Why are you doing this?” he asked. He was angry, hurt, confused. Yes, he understood that she was the child’s mother, and as such, already had a bond. But what didn’t she get about the fact that as the infant’s father, he, too, had rights? Rights he fully intended to enforce. “This doesn’t have to be handled in an adversarial manner.”
    The doorbell rang.
    “I-I’ll get it,” the brunette said.
    “Me, too.” The blonde followed.
    A brittle laugh escaped Olivia’s bow-shaped mouth. “Try reversing our roles. Try carrying a child for nine brutal months, only to nearly lose him at the last second. Try memorizing his every noise and expression and sigh for four months. Nourishing him at your breasts. You try all of that, and maybe you’ll come