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“Are you kidding me, Miles? You want me to do a paternity test?”
“Well…yeah. I want to know for sure that the kid is mine, Rhonda.”Because it’s not.
“And my word isn’t good enough for you?” she screeches.
“I’m no mathematician, but I sure as shit can’t be that baby’s father if you’re four months along. What do you really want?”
“Miles,” she sputters.
“You said you heard I’m a rancher now. That means you heard why I moved to Montana. Let me guess. From Dave at the shop who gave you my number. Probably the real father.”
Her huff comes through the phone line clear as day.
“You want the money.Jesus. You’re a piece of work, using your baby to get your hands on some cash.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I plow on.
“You’ve got two choices. Take the paternity test and prove I’m the father. Or fuck off.”
“Fuck you!” She ends the call. Just as I thought.
Christ. What a total nightmare. No wonder Chance is single. He must be scared of being trapped by a gold digger just by sinking his dick into a woman.
Hell, who could blame the man?
Sadie isn’t like that. She didn’t know who I was when we first hooked up. And now she thinks I’m some rando’s baby daddy. We couldn’t have had a rockier start to a relationship—if it could ever be considered one after all the ups and downs we’ve been through in such a short time. I want to hunt her down, but I have no clue where to go.
Yes, I do.
I stalk back out of my bedroom and find Chance with his jacket on heading out the door.
“Where are you off to?”
“I told you. I feel like a game of pool.”
“I changed my mind. I’m in.”
Mikey’s PoolHall is a large warehouse, probably used to store crops before transport back in the day. The interior walls are brick and the ceiling is high and thick-beamed. It’s got at least eight pool tables. Five of them are occupied.
“Fuck. Seriously?” I nudge Chance.
Mark Peterson is playing with a couple other men on the table closest to the bar.
Damn. Just what we need.
“Chance!” The guy behind the bar waves.
Chance walks toward him, and I follow, perfectly content to avoid Peterson and his overblown ego.
“Evening, Jed. This is my brother Miles.”
The man—Jed, apparently—holds out his hand. “Good to meet you. So you’re one of the billion heirs?”
Is there anyone in town who doesn’t know about the inheritance? “Not quite yet,” I reply.
“Can I get you two anything?”
“Tonic water for me,” I say.
