by Mindy Neff
“I had my life all mapped out, a house that I loved, a successful business. It’s been a struggle building a certain life-style. But I’d reached my goals.” She smoothed her hair behind her ear, started to rub her eyes, then remembered her contact lenses at the last minute.
“I’m almost twenty-nine, and I wanted a child, wanted to be a mother in the worst way. It was the right time for me. So I researched the process, saved my money.”
“You...you researched it?” He sounded incredulous, looked a little stunned, as though he’d just swallowed a bug.
She laughed, surprised that she could, in light of the picture she was trying to paint for him. “Abbe is the product of artificial insemination,” she clarified.
“Oh. Okay. I’m with you now—not that I understand.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “We do that with the cattle to ensure superior stock—but, why would a beautiful woman like you resort to those methods?”
“I’m not beautiful.”
“Matter of opinion. Explain...if you don’t mind.”
Did she mind? There was discomfort with the disclosure, but it wasn’t as difficult as she’d anticipated.
“It was the easiest and most logical means to my ends. I haven’t dated anyone in a while, so there were no husband prospects on the horizon. According to my timetable, I wanted to be a mother by the time I turned thirty. Thus, my decision to choose a stranger-donor rather than conventional methods.” She could have told him that the last thing she’d been looking for was a husband.
She remembered her father, who wasn’t exactly the shining example of what a husband should be. He’d rarely paid her or her mother any attention.
The memories of a five-year-old, yearning for a family unit, for love, had been burned into her brain on a rainy day in Kentucky. The day her father had deserted their family without even a soft word or touch for the little girl who’d worshiped him, the little girl who’d tried desperately to cling, who would settle for a rough shove because at least that was contact.
“What about the kid?” Andrea Carlyle had shouted at his retreating back, standing on the sagging porch of their squalid two-room house. “How am I supposed to raise this kid with no money, you son of a bitch?”
Derk Carlyle had turned back, his eyes cold, never even bothering to look at Madison, never even noticing the fat tears that rolled down her chubby cheeks. “You think I give a damn? She’s probably not even mine. Give her over to the state for all I care.”
The words had settled like a swarm of stinging bees on Madison’s tiny heart. She’d stood right there on the condemned porch with its peeling paint and network of fire ants working away on a rotten tomato...and she’d wet her pants.
And the next day her mother had given her away.
“Madison?”
She started at Brice’s voice and shook off the memory.
“I wanted Abbe more than my life. I won’t give her up. And I won’t let anyone take her from me.”
“Easy, sunshine,” he soothed, reaching out to her yet not touching. “Is someone trying to take her?”
“Yes.” Just admitting it out loud made her palms go damp and her stomach lurch. “My sperm donor was anonymous. I didn’t want to know his name. And the records are supposed to be sealed and confidential. But there was a mix-up somehow...well, I suspect it had more to do with palms being greased. Money can buy most anything, including supposedly confidential information.”
“Okay, I’m trying to keep up, but I’ve missed a step here.”
“My sperm donor’s name was Stephen Covington. He died in a skiing accident several months ago. His family is wealthy, and he was the last of their dynasty. His parents found records of him donating sperm—and now they want the product of that sperm, the only piece of their son they have left.”
“That’s ridiculous. They have no rights.”
“I don’t know whether they do or not. But they do have money—more than I can get ahold of—and they’re very determined to fight for my baby...by fair means or foul.”
He swore.
“Exactly. So I ran before they could serve legal papers, before the battle could begin. I won’t give her up. That’s why I need this job, Brice. No one knows I’m here. No one would think to look for me here—I hope. But I’m smart enough to realize the Covingtons will hire private investigators.”
She stood, went to the window, looked out at the snow that was blowing even harder. She shivered.
“That’s why I freaked when your drifter showed up. He could just as easily be a hired detective as a ranch hand.”
Brice noticed the rigid length of her spine. It was all falling into place now. Her strange reaction when Doc had suggested they publicize her baby as the first one born in the new year; her panic when he suggested she wasn’t right for the job; her reluctance to fill out the birth certificate forms; the protective, fierce way she cuddled her baby.
Ah, hell. He didn’t want to get involved. Because he had a tendency to care too much, to get in too deep.
And his heart invariably suffered.
Still, he went to her, moved right across the room and placed his hands gently on her tense shoulders.
“I shouldn’t have bluffed about my qualifications for this position,” she said softly, her gaze still fixed beyond the panes of the window. “I’d counted on this ranch as being my safe haven, counted on being able to lie low in hopes that the Covingtons wouldn’t find me, or that they’d give up. I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Oh, man. He felt his armor crack. He could see their reflections in the glass pane, a tiny woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a rough, lonely cowboy who was too stupid to learn from past mistakes.
But how could he turn her away when she considered him her safe haven?
“I’ll check out the new guy,” he said at last. “I’m a little territorial over that baby myself. I won’t let anything happen to her.”
She turned then, and the gratitude shining in her blue eyes slammed into him like a swift kick of a wild mustang.
And just that quickly, gratitude turned into something else, something elemental and earthy and irresistible.
His thumbs brushed the delicate column of her neck sketched the curve of her jaw. So soft. So warm.
And he was a man in desperate need of warming.
Without thought, without apology or permission, his head lowered. At the first touch of their lips, he knew he’d made a huge error in judgment.
But the momentum was there, the need too strong. She tasted like his destiny—yet she couldn’t be his destiny. She was running, hiding...temporary.
So many people had been temporary in his life.
But he couldn’t help himself. He angled his head for better access, needing more, so much more, feeling his heart pump like a thoroughbred’s in a flat-out run.
She opened her mouth to him, let him in to explore, gave a soft, sensuous moan that fueled the raging inferno inside him.
He shifted her, tasted, nibbled, heard the erotic catch of her breath, felt her fingers dig into his shoulders. Something damp penetrated both his shirt and his hazy consciousness.
He eased back, noticed the wetness on the front of her sweatshirt.
Reality slammed into him. Good God, this woman had just had a baby less than two weeks ago, and here he was so carried away, aching to take her to bed.
He felt like a louse.
“That probably shouldn’t have happened.” His voice sounded rough and splintery.
“Probably not. But it was very nice. Thank you.”
He felt his hairline shift as his brows rose. Her simple honesty touched him. She didn’t berate him for taking liberties, or duck her head in feminine coyness. She met his gaze straight on and thanked him.
She placed her palm against his chest, right over the dampness left from her milk-swollen breasts. He nearly snatched her to him again, regardless of the recent childbirth. But her next words stopped him cold.
<
br /> “So, if my whereabouts haven’t been discovered, and I promise to bone up on the cooking thing, can I stay?”
He stepped back so fast she nearly did a face plant on the carpet.
“Is that what that kiss was about?”
She looked genuinely confused. And he got a bad feeling. Maybe he’d jumped the gun—which wouldn’t be a first for him.
He knew the exact moment understanding dawned; he could see it in the snap of her eyes, the fisting of her palm.
“I could slug you for a question like that.” Clearly seething, she took a step forward.
Prudent man that he was, he backed up a pace. “Madison—”
“How dare you. You parade around here at all hours of the day and night wearing those...those made-for-sin chaps.” She waved a hand toward the offending garments in question. “You hold my baby daughter as though she’s the most precious, priceless piece of china, anticipate our needs before we can even voice them....”
She poked him in the chest then.
He bit his cheek to stop the grin. He knew better.
“You ooze sex appeal in all that cowboy gear, sending my hormones into a tizzy—” she poked him again “—and then have the nerve to ask a crummy question like that?”
“Madison—?”
“I wanted to kiss you, you jerk!”
He captured her finger before she could do serious damage. “Madison?”
“What?”
Her chest rose and fell, distracting him.
“I’m sorry.”
“And well you should be.”
She seemed to realize the extent of what she’d said. Embarrassment caught up with her. She looked away.
He caught her chin, turned her back to face him. “So you think I’m sexy?” Why the hell was he baiting her?
“As if you don’t already know exactly what you look like,” she said with a hint of disgust. “It’s more than a fortunate gene pool, though. It’s what’s inside you that’s attractive. You’re a special man.”
He was stunned—and charmed. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman as honest as you.”
She gave an inelegant snort. “You call it honest to answer a job ad when you don’t know the first thing about cooking unless it comes in a microwavable package?”
He felt a grin pulling at his mouth. “That bad?”
“Yes. But I’m a quick study and very teachable. With the aid of a cookbook, I can probably manage not to starve you—that is, if you’re willing to give me chance.”
He wanted to give her more than a chance. But he had one more, vitally important question. “And if my newly hired ranch hand turns out to be a private eye, will you still be wanting that chance?”
She let out a weary breath, pulled her hand from his. “I’ll still want it, yes. That doesn’t mean I can let myself have it. I have to think of Abbe first.”
In other words, she would leave.
And that was the rub. Sooner or later, private investors or not, she would leave.
They all did eventually.
Where before his heart had felt light, it now sank like a stone in his chest. At least she was honest.
Her top priority was protecting her baby daughter.
His was protecting his heart.
And he had a really bad feeling that one of them was going to lose—most likely him.
He reached for his hat and coat. “I’ll check out the new guy, find out if he’s on the up-and-up.” As he moved to the door, he felt her gaze on him.
And damned if he didn’t feel self-conscious.
Never before had he been so aware of his protective gear and the way it was worn. Sexy-as-sin chaps?
Lord Almighty, the men would howl like crazed hyenas if they got wind of that description.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he trudged to the barn. There was a break in the weather, but that didn’t mean it would last. While it did, though, the guys up at the line camp where they were holding the herd would have it easier. Cows drifted with a storm, wandered, and rounding them up was a miserable job in frigid winds and blowing snow.
He passed the stockyards where the bulls and some of the weaker cattle were penned, then went into the barn, giving Samson an affectionate scratch.
Jax greeted him with a happy bark.
“Hey, boy, you keep disappearing on me.” Jax woofed again and turned in a tight circle, and Brice knew the dog wanted him to follow. “Okay, I’m coming. Anxious to show off your pups, hmm?”
The familiar scents of straw and leather and horse surrounded him like an old friend. When they reached the stall where the border collie guarded her offspring he understood Jax’s anxiety.
The newly hired ranch hand was squatted in the corner, gently cradling one of the puppies.
The man looked up without apology, steady nerves, as though there was nothing to hide. Brice didn’t know what a private eye looked like, but this guy didn’t fit the image. He had cowboy written all over him, from the angle of his hat, to the way he held himself, to the innate comfort in his surroundings.
“Did you get settled in all right?”
“Yeah. Bertelli filled me in. I figured if it was okay with you, I’d go on up to the line camp and pitch in. Seems that’d be the best place I’d be needed.”
Pride was evident in Mike Collier’s voice. He wasn’t a loafer looking for a free ride.
“What spread did you say you came from?” Normally, Brice wouldn’t have asked such a question, but Madison’s panic made him bend his own personal code of behavior.
“The Circle C in Montana. Leon Stevers is the boss man if you want to check.”
“No need.” Brice recognized the name. For Madison’s sake, he’d probably go ahead and give a call to Stevers, but he wouldn’t insult Mike by saying so. “I imagine Sully and Luke would appreciate an extra hand up at the line camp.” He took out a piece of paper, drew a simple map and handed it to Mike. “I’ll radio ahead and tell Sully to expect you.”
Mike nodded, placed the puppy back in its mother’s warmth. “I appreciate the work.”
“Happy to oblige. Let me show you the stock and you can pick a mount.”
“I prefer my own, if it’s all the same.”
Brice had forgotten about the trailer that had been hitched to the Dodge. Another indication that this guy was exactly who he said he was. “Good enough. I’ll set you up with a string of ponies and have you pack in a few supplies. Save me a trip. It’ll probably be best if you wait until morning, get a fresh start.”
Mike moved to the barn door, glanced up at the sky. “It’s up to you, boss, but we’ve got a break in the weather right now. No telling what morning will bring.”
“Suit yourself, then.”
As Mike went to saddle his mount, Brice outfitted the pack ponies, wrestling with himself over whether or not he should call over to the Montana spread. There was a certain look about Mike Collier, a look that Brice recognized.
The man was a loner—a lonely man. And Brice knew about loneliness, saw a part of himself in this hired hand—and that bothered him.
Especially now that Madison and her little baby had burst into his life. He’d pretty much resigned himself to being alone.
Now he was starting to dream.
In the kitchen, Maddie was seriously beginning to question why babies didn’t come equipped with removable batteries, or at least a disconnect button to turn off this crying.
She’d tried breast feeding again, and obviously it had been unsuccessful. Abbe continued to cry her little heart out.
“Oh, sweetie, Mommy’s sorry. Here now. Hush. Please hush.” She walk and jiggled and worried.
That’s probably what the problem was. She was worried, stressed, and her emotions were transferring to the baby. Was Brice making any headway with finding out about his new ranch hand?
She was tempted to brave the freezing temperatures and hunt him down to ask.
But Abbe had other ideas. She was working herse
lf into another snit.
And the spaghetti sauce was burning on the bottom of the skillet. She tried to put the baby in the infant seat, but she screamed louder.
The back door opened. Madison whirled around. Moe Bertelli stopped dead in his tracks. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
“Sorry. It’s a wonder I even heard you over Abbe’s lungs. You might consider a pair of earplugs if you’re going to stay.’’
“Naw.” The older man hung up his hat. “A herd of bawlin’ calves makes more ruckus than this little sweetheart. These old ears are used to it.”
“In that case, here.” Before Moe knew what was what, Maddie gently plopped Abbe in his arms. “Hold her for a minute so I can see if this spaghetti sauce can be salvaged.”
“Well...” Moe sputtered, looking highly uncomfortable and stiff, then plopped down in a chair. “I’m dirtier than a buzzard feastin’ on a carcass.” His brow cleared, and his weathered face softened into a silly grin when the baby settled a bit. “Guess she don’t mind a whiff of cow smell. See there? I got the touch.”
Madison smiled. “My touch needs some work, apparently.” She scraped the meat that was indeed stuck to the bottom of the pan, feeling out of sorts. She wished Brice would get in here and put her mind at ease about the new hired hand.
And she wished she could accomplish a decent meal without screwing it up, including feeding her own baby.
The baby snuffled, and Moe looked proud as a peacock that her cry wasn’t sounding like life and death anymore. “She’s just plum tuckered out, is all.”
“You’re doing fine, Moe. Let me just make up a couple of bottles and I’ll take her.”
“I don’t mind spellin’ you a bit. Fact, I think I’m gettin’ the right of it.” He stopped, frowned. “Did you say bottles? You weanin’ her so soon?”
Madison bit her lip. “Nancy Adams said it might be best. I’m having some trouble in that area.”
Moe’s hazel eyes automatically snapped to Madison’s breasts, then the tips of his ears turned bright red and he looked away. “Don’t s’pose I need to be knowin’ them details.”
Oh, dear, she’d embarrassed him. She couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that welled. “I’ve really turned this place upside down, haven’t I?”