"You've obviously had experience with babies," I said, fumbling for the diaper bag, making certain the zipper was closed all the way.

"I have a nephew." Travis strapped Luke in securely and lifted the heavy carrier with ease. Without asking permission, he led the way to the front of the office, pausing at one of the doors in the hallway. "Helen," he said to the auburn-haired woman seated at a desk piled with folders, "this is Miss Ella Varner. I need you to find her a hotel room for the next couple of nights. Something close by."

"Yes, sir." Helen gave me a neutral smile and picked up her phone.

"I'm paying for it," I interjected. "Do you need my credit card number, or—"

"We'll take care of the details later," Travis said. He guided me out to the reception area, set Luke down beside a chair, and gestured for me to sit. "Wait here like a good girl," he murmured, "while Helen makes the arrangements."

Good girl? The deliberate chauvinism caused my jaw to drop. My gaze shot up to his, but my indignant reply was forestalled as I saw that he had known exactly what my reaction would be. He also knew that I wasn't in a position to take offense.

Reaching for his wallet, Travis pulled out a business card and handed it to me. "My cell number. I'll be in touch later this evening."

"So you're agreeing to the paternity test?" I asked.

Travis slanted a look at me, his eyes filled with a simmer of challenge.

"I wasn't aware I had a choice," he said, and left the office with long, easy strides.

FOUR

The hotel room helen had reserved for me was a luxurious suite with a separate sitting area and a kitchenette outfitted with a sink and a microwave. One look at the hotel—a European-style resort located in the Galleria area—and I knew my credit-card balance was going to be maxed out in a matter of hours. Maybe minutes.

But the suite was gorgeous, the floors thickly carpeted, the bathroom lined with marble tiles and stocked with spa products.

"Time to party," I told Luke. "Let's raid the minibar." I opened the cans of formula I had brought up from the car, made several bottles, and stocked them in the tiny fridge. After lining the sink with a white towel, I filled it with warm water and gave Luke a bath.

When he was clean and fed and drowsy, I laid him in the center of the king-sized bed. As I pulled the curtains over the windows, the afternoon blaze was extinguished by a shroud of slick, heavy brocade. Relishing the cool and quiet of the hotel room, I headed toward the bathroom to take a shower. But I paused as I glanced at the baby again. Luke was so alone and small, blinking up at the ceiling with quiet forbearance. I couldn't bring myself to leave him while he was still awake. Not while he was waiting so patiently for whatever would happen to him next. I crawled onto the bed and lay next to him, stroking the dark fluff on his head.

Living with Dane, I had heard and discussed and pondered any number of injustices in the world. But it hardly seemed that there could be anything worse than an unwanted child. Lowering my head, I pressed my cheek against his pale baby skin, and kissed the fragile curve of his skull. I watched his lashes lower, and his mouth compress like a grumpy old man's. His hands rested on his chest like tiny pink starfish. I touched one of them with my finger, and his hand closed around it with surprising tightness.

He fell asleep holding my finger. It was an intimacy unlike anything I had ever felt before. And an unfamiliar, sweet pain spread in my chest, as if my heart were cracking open.

I dozed for a little while. After that I took a long shower and dressed in an oversized gray T-shirt and a pair of denim cutoffs. Returning to the bed, I opened my laptop and checked my e-mail. There was one from Liza:

dear ella, this is a list of guys i know for sure tara went out with, i'll send you more names when i remember them, i feel awful doing this behind tara's back, she has a right to privacy you know . . .

"Like hell," I murmured aloud, reflecting that my sister had given up her right to privacy as soon as she'd left her baby at my mother's house.

. . . i think i know where tara might be, but i'm waiting for someone to call me back before i know for sure, i'll let you know some time tomorrow.

"Liza," I said ruefully, "didn't anyone ever show you how to push the shift key to make a capital letter?"

I opened the attachment containing the list of names and shook my head with a groan, wondering how the file had made it past the size restrictions of the e-mail provider.

I closed and saved it.

Before I got to my other e-mails, I clicked on Google and looked up Jack Travis, curious about what it would bring up.

There was a long list of results, cluttered with references to the father, Churchill Travis, and the oldest brother, Gage.

But there were a few interesting links to Jack, one of them to an article in a national business magazine. It was titled "A Son Also Rises."

Until Recent years, Jack Travis, middle son of billionaire Churchill Travis, has had a higher profile on Houston's club scene and nightlife than in the business community. All that is about to change as Jack Travis comes into his own with a slew of projects and public-private ventures that promise to launch him into the top ranks of Texas developers.

Although he is in a different trade from his father, Jack Travis has proved the rule that the apple never falls far from the tree. Yet when asked about his ambitions, Travis presents himself as an accidental businessman. The facts tend to belie his laid-back demeanor and what some label as false modesty.