Birthright

mom.
    “What the hell’s up with you?”
    “In what context?”
    He slapped the can down on the desk. “Did you come in here to wrangle another date or to serve me with legal papers?”
    She pursed that pretty sex-kitten mouth. “I suppose the word ‘wrangle’ is accurate enough, if unflattering. However, I’m not serving you with papers. I’m providing you with a copy, per my client’s request. So if the question is rephrased, and you ask did I come in today to wrangle another date or to provide you with legal papers, the answer is both.”
    She picked up his soft drink can, set it on the blotter so it wouldn’t leave a ring on the desk. “And if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of seeing me socially while I’m representing Callie, I’ll respect that.”
    She took a small sip of the Coke. Very small, as the gesture was for effect rather than thirst. “Even though I consider it stupid and shortsighted.”
    “You’re an operator,” he muttered.
    “Calling a lawyer an operator is redundant. And I’ve heard all the jokes. Do you want to retract your request for a date tomorrow at seven?”
    Frustration shimmered around him. “Then I’d be stupid and shortsighted.”
    She smiled, very, very sweetly. “Exactly. And of course, you’d deprive yourself of my very stimulating company.”
    “Do you carry a ribbon around so you can tie on a bow after you box a guy in?”
    “What color would you prefer?”
    He had to laugh, just as he had to take a step back. “I’m attracted to you. That’s a no-brainer. I like you,” he added. “I haven’t quite figured out why. But because I do I’m going to be straight with you. I’m not relationship material.”
    “Maybe I just want mindless sex.”
    His mouth fell open. He swore he felt his jaw hit his toes. “Well . . . huh.”
    “I don’t.” She picked up his drink again, handed it to him. He looked as if he could use something a great deal stronger. “But it’s sexist and narrow-minded of you to assume that because I’m female I’m trying to structure a relationship out of a couple of casual dates. Or further, that being a young widow with a small child, I’d be looking for a man to complete my little world.”
    “I didn’t mean . . . I thought I should . . .” He stopped, took a long drink. “There’s nothing I can say at this point that won’t jam my foot further down my throat. I’ll see you at seven tomorrow.”
    “Good.” She held out the papers again.
    He’d hoped she’d forgotten about them. “What the hell are they?”
    “Very self-explanatory, but if you’d like to read them now, I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.” She solved the matter by pushing them against his hands until he had to take them.
    Without his reading glasses he had to squint, but it didn’t take him long to get the gist. It was right there in black and white, and clear as glass despite the legal wordsmithing.
    Lana watched his face harden, those dark eyes narrow and glint as he read. Anger suited him, she decided. Odd how temper sat so sexily on a certain type of man.
    A difficult man, she thought, and one she was probablyfoolish to become involved with. But she knew, too well, that life was too short not to enjoy being foolish from time to time.
    Her own tragedy had taught her to be careful about taking anything for granted, even if it was a burgeoning friendship with a complicated man.
    Life, and all the people who passed through it, was work. Why should he be any different?
    He lowered the papers, and that angry glint blasted her. “You can tell your client to kiss my ass.”
    She kept her expression bland, her voice mild. “I’d prefer you relayed that yourself.”
    “Fine. I’ll do that.”
    “Before you do.” She laid a hand on his arm, felt the muscles quiver. “I don’t think it’s a breach of client confidentiality to tell you that my impression of Callie is of a strong, compassionate woman who is, at the moment, in a great deal of turmoil and trying to do what’s right for everyone involved. I think that would include you.”
    “I don’t care.”
    “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you can’t.” Lana closed her briefcase. “You might find it interesting that when Callie met Ty, talked to him for a few minutes, she called him Ty-Rex. Just as you did.”
    He blinked at her, and something moved behind his eyes that had nothing to do with temper. “So? He’s talking dinosaurs, his name’s Ty. It’s