Maybe she hadn’t, but a girl had a right to her secrets. To protect herself from someone she didn’t know. “You’re not the only one here who’s not thrilled with this situation.”

“What are you saying?” he asked hoarsely. He stepped closer. “You’re not thinking of getting rid of the baby, are you?”

“It’s too late for that. And no, I hadn’t considered it. But there are other options. Adoption, for one.”

He made a move as if he were about to grab her arms but held himself back. “If this baby is mine, you are not giving it away.”

She sighed. “Relax. I considered adoption but ultimately decided against it. I may not be wealthy, but I can support a child, and I plan on keeping my baby. I just don’t want you as part of the package.”

“We’re going to have to figure out how to deal with each other.”

“I can’t do anything with you if I don’t trust you. What else did your private investigator find out about me?”

“Like I said, he found out where you live. That you’re the chef here. So far, that’s it. Can you really blame me for wondering if you’d set this whole thing up? If you’re not being completely truthful?” he asked so calmly, all rational and hard-assed, she wanted to scratch his eyes out. “You slept with me after just meeting me, and now you say you’re pregnant with my child. What the hell am I supposed to believe?”

She jabbed his chest. “That’s the thing. What you believe is a choice. And you chose to believe I’m some manipulative gold digger who’d have a child just to get your money. How dare you toss the fact I slept with you that night in my face? You were there, too! You’re not innocent here—you wanted to get me into bed from the moment you saw me.”

That was the problem. People saw her, and they made assumptions about her. No one took the time to get to know her. They were too busy judging her.

“How is my hiring a PI any different from you looking me up on the internet?” he asked, seemingly clueless.

“Because I didn’t do a background check, which I’m assuming means digging into my childhood. I didn’t look into your personal life. I found your address, where you worked. You’re looking into my history, digging up dirt on me so you can judge me and my past.” She jabbed him again. “Go. To. Hell.”

He grabbed her hand, pulled her close to him. “Don’t poke me.”

She wouldn’t resort to struggling to get free. “Let go of me. Now.”

He hesitated but then opened his fingers. She stalked toward the door.

“What the hell else could I do?” he asked. “You walked out on me. Twice.”

She yanked the door open. “This makes us three for three. And if you’d wanted to know more about me, you could have asked.”

“I tried that once. Didn’t work out too well.”

“You accused me of getting pregnant on purpose,” she reminded him. “Of being some desperate gold digger. Did you really think I was going to sip tea and spill my life story after that?” But he had a point. One she wouldn’t pretend didn’t exist. “Look, maybe I handled things badly, but I was nervous about telling you. After I found out who you were, I was scared to death. This is my baby. My child. And you have the power to take him or her away from me. And then you acted like a complete asshole, tossing accusations my way left and right. You want me to tell all, to be truthful, but you don’t trust or believe one thing I say, so what’s the point? You’ve already made up your mind about me.” Her fingers tightened on the door handle. Her voice grew soft. “You’ve already made up your mind about me,” she repeated, knowing it was true. “Nothing I say will change a thing. And that, cowboy, is your loss.”

* * *

“BOURBON,” C.J. TOLD the bartender at O’Riley’s, the bar Kane owned. “Neat.”

She eyed him as she poured. “You’re not here to cause trouble again, are you?”

He almost grinned. “You’re thinking of the wrong Bartasavich. I don’t cause trouble. I fix the trouble my idiot brothers get into.”

She set his drink in front of him, and that was when he recognized her as the waitress who’d tried to throw him out the last time he was in this dump. Her dark hair was a bit longer and pink on the ends, but when she brushed her hair aside, he saw the neck tattoo. “Kane doesn’t cause trouble around here. So don’t start on him, or you’ll have to mess with me, and I’m not as nice as I seem.”

He saluted her with his glass. “Yes, ma’am.” To show he wasn’t the least bit scared, he winked as he took a sip. He waited until she’d walked away before downing the rest of the drink.

Shit. He’d blown it with Ivy again. There should be some sort of law stating he could act like a complete ass only twice in front of the same woman. He wanted to blame her and he partly did. She brought out the worst in him, with her vague answers and smart-ass comments.

But he was a grown man, responsible for his own actions and choices.

He could have chosen to trust her. To believe her. Given her time to tell him what he wanted to know on her own.

“Slumming?”

C.J. sighed and looked up to find Kane smirking at him. He’d known he couldn’t avoid his brother—it was Kane’s bar, after all. But dealing with him was never easy. “I’ll take another bourbon. And this time, don’t be so stingy with the pour.”

Kane eyed his empty glass, then his face, then shrugged. Pulled the bottle down and poured a healthy amount into C.J.’s glass. “If you’re here as dad’s errand boy again, the answer’s still no.”

The first time C.J. had come to Shady Grove had been after Kane had wrecked his motorcycle over a year ago. He’d gotten away with some scrapes and bruises and a broken arm, but it had freaked out Estelle enough—who’d run away while her mother was on vacation—that she’d called Senior and told him she was worried about her dad. So C.J. and Senior had hightailed it to Pennsylvania to check on Kane.

C.J. had then told Kane that their father wanted to offer him a job, a cushy office job Kane hadn’t earned and anyone could have told Senior he would never want. But their father was nothing if not stubborn.

It was probably what kept him alive since his stroke.

“Dad’s not running things at the office anymore,” C.J. reminded his brother. “I am. Don’t hold your breath for any job offers from me anytime soon. You want to work for Bartasavich Industries while I’m in charge, you’ll have to earn it.”

“Good thing I’ll never want to work there.”

C.J. knew his brother meant what he said. Of Senior’s four sons, C.J. was the only one who worked directly for the family company, was the only one who wanted to, who’d busted his ass to prove he belonged there and not just because his father ran the company. He’d refused to take any handouts from his father, had started at the bottom and worked his way up, proving he deserved his success.

Oakes was happy with his law practice, and Zach was off playing Marine and seemed to want to make that his career. C.J. never would have thought Kane would stick with one job for very long, especially one where he was in charge, where he was responsible for employees and customers and a building and taxes. But stick he had. So much that he was getting married and staying right here in Shady Grove.

“If Dad didn’t send you to try to lure me back to Houston,” Kane said, “what are you doing here?”

C.J. drained his glass. “Drinking mediocre bourbon. Seriously. You can’t order anything better than this?”

Kane’s eyes narrowed. His arm wasn’t broken now, the way it had been the last time they’d faced off at this very bar, but C.J. wasn’t worried. Kane might be all badass, with his tattoos and motorcycle and piss-poor attitude, but they’d gone around enough times in their lives for C.J. to know he could handle his own against his little brother.

He was the one who’d taught Kane how to fight, after all.

“You want some fancy drink,” Kane said, “maybe with a pretty pink umbrella in it? Try the country club or King’s Crossing. Now, why are you here?” He stiffened. “Is it Dad? He was fine when I called to check on him. Did something happen? Did he take a turn for the worse?”