CHEROKEE BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Julianne turned to look at him and he brushed her hand. "This baby means everything to me," he said. "I know." And she knew how difficult it was for him to come back to this house, to air out his memories and start new ones.

  But he'd done it.

  For the sake of their child.

  * * *

  Bobby helped Julianne unpack the following day. Most of her belongings were personal items. She hadn't shipped a lot of household goods, but he'd told her ahead of time that the cabin was stocked with necessities.

  They worked in the master bedroom. He transferred her clothes from wardrobe boxes into the closet and she folded pajamas and whatnots into dresser drawers.

  Whatnots?

  Just say it, he told himself. Just admit that she was tucking away her bras and panties, pretty little things that kept catching his eye.

  Like the garterbelt number she'd worn on her birthday. The silk and lace he'd hastily stripped from her body.

  "This is a beautiful bed."

  He spun around. "What?"

  "The bed."

  "What about it?"

  "It's beautiful," she said again, motioning to the four-poster frame.

  "I've never slept in it," he responded, letting her know it wasn't the bed he'd shared with his wife. "It's not part of my original furniture."

  "I wasn't wondering about that. I just…" Her words drifted and she reached for her soda and took a sip. "Thought it was nice," she added, even though they both knew she was downplaying her curiosity, pretending that her interest in the bed had nothing to do with him.

  A lull of silence hit the room and he wished these awkward moments would quit happening.

  Their eyes met and held, but neither of them could think of anything to say.

  Damn, he thought, grimacing. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  "I'm sorry," she finally said after another long, clock-ticking strain of silence. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

  "You didn't," he lied.

  "Oh. Okay. Well, good." She gave him a small, nervous smile, her dimple appearing for a millisecond.

  When she fidgeted with her soda, he wanted to coax her to smile again. Just to see the dimple reappear. Somehow that sweet little indentation never failed to ignite his blood.

  Because he'd yet to taste it.

  Which was something he had no business even thinking about.

  He shifted his stance. Why not? Thinking and doing weren't the same thing, and he bad every right to fantasize. Especially after she'd called him for phone sex. A guy couldn't just forget something like that.

  Could he?

  "Do you want some?" she asked, extending her soda.

  Did he want put his mouth where hers had been? Touch the lipstick mark she'd made?

  Hell, yes. Definitely. You bet. He'd suck on the can if it would curb his sexual urges.

  "No, thanks," he said. A few sips of cherry cola weren't going to curb a damn thing.

  Julianne drank the fizzy liquid instead and he watched her, studying the woman carrying his child.

  Her vibrant hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and she wore jeans and a green-and-white T-shirt – a simple, wholesome outfit that made her look younger than forty.

  He supposed that would please her, considering how wrapped up in her age she was.

  He cocked his head, studying her from another angle, gliding his gaze up and down her body, then settling on her waist. She didn't look pregnant. To him, her stomach still appeared flat.

  "You said your tummy was getting bigger."

  She glanced down, then back up again. "It is."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, but I don't think it's the baby. I did at first, but it's too soon. I shouldn't be showing this early." She paused, made a funny face. "I think it's from all my food cravings."

  "Really?" He couldn't help but smile. "Like what?"

  "Artichokes."

  "Artichokes?" he parroted.

  She nodded. "Steamed with lots of mayonnaise."

  He made a mental note to have the chef's assistant send some artichokes to the house. Then he changed his mind and decided he should go to the market himself. He couldn't keep asking his staff to look after Julianne. She and the baby were his responsibility.

  "Anything else?" Bobby asked.

  "Frozen pizza."

  He blinked. "You eat it frozen?"

  She laughed. "No. I cook it in the microwave, so it's sort of rubbery."

  "Rubbery pizza." Got it, he thought, not getting it at all. "Is that it?"

  "No. I've been eating lots of chocolate, too." She touched her tummy. "That's probably what's making me fat."

  He searched for the fat, but couldn't see an ounce of anything. Maybe her T-shirt was doing a good job of hiding it.

  If he could just take a peek. One little peek, so he could draw his own conclusion.

  "Can I see?"

  She froze. "See what? My stomach?"

  "Yeah." It wasn't as if he was asking her to take off her clothes. "Just lift your shirt."

  Her cheeks colored. "No."

  He frowned. "Why not?"

  "Because I feel stupid, showing you my binge belly."

  Bobby tried not to laugh. "My kid is in there, Julianne."

  "Along with forty pounds of chocolate."

  "I still want to see."

  "Oh, good grief." She yanked up her T-shirt, exposing her stomach.

  Bobby moved closer and then grinned like a naughty schoolboy who'd just paid a girl to lift her top. Only it wasn't her breasts he was after; it was her navel.

  "It's cute," he said. She did have a bit of a pooch. Just a bit.

  She righted her T-shirt, then made a wide circle with her arms, clasping her hands together. "Will you think it's cute when it's out to here?"

  "Yep." His baby inside her tummy made her the most beautiful woman in Texas.

  She smiled, flashing her dimple, and he realized he was almost close enough to kiss her.

  To taste her.

  To curb his appetite.

  He took a deliberate step back. Almost, he thought. But not quite.

  "We should get back to work, Julianne."

  "Okay." She flashed another quick, girlish smile. He grabbed a handful of clothes, wishing he'd licked that damned dimple when he'd had the chance.

  The sweet, innocent-looking dimple that made him want to get her pregnant all over again.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  Julianne's first two weeks of living in Texas went by quickly. She spent a good portion of her time on the Internet, checking western apparel sites and ordering catalogs and business magazines.

  On this late afternoon, she sat in front of her computer, with a glass of milk at her side, gathering information about an industry trade show hosted in Denver twice a year.

  While her printer went to work, sputtering color copies, she sipped her milk and looked around. She'd transformed the den into an efficient office. It was the only room she'd redecorated, using bits and pieces of furniture she'd shipped from home.

  She tried to tell herself that Texas was home now, but she hadn't quite settled in. Although she loved this cabin, with its rich, warm woods and bright colors, it still seemed like Bobby's place – a house he shouldn't have abandoned.

  Every once in a while, Julianne pictured him living here – with her. It was a crazy notion. But she couldn't help it. She wanted to erase mental images of Bobby and his wife occupying this cabin, cooking together in the kitchen, watching TV in the den, making love in the bedroom.

  She had no idea what Bobby's wife had looked like, but Julianne's brain filled in the blanks, creating a flesh-and-blood woman from a ghost.

  Which, she knew, wasn't a healthy thing to do. But Bobby's cautious manner when discussing his wife made her curious about the Cherokee woman he'd married.

  Too curious.

  She cleared her mind, and just as the printer completed its task, the doorbell pealed.
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  She rose to answer it and found Bobby on the other side, carrying a load of groceries.

  She smiled at him. "More artichokes?"

  He nodded and grinned. "Frozen pizza and candy bars, too."

  "Then hurry up," she teased, anxious to delve into the chocolate. He'd been keeping her cravings in check, plying her with her favorite goodies.

  After he entered the cabin, he proceeded to unload the bags, making himself at home in a kitchen that used to belong to him.

  Julianne tore the wrapper on a candy bar and sank her teeth into chocolate, caramel and peanuts.

  She moaned and he watched her with an amused expression.

  "You have no idea how good this is." She moaned again and then realized how orgasmic she sounded.

  Had she been this noisy when she and Bobby made love?

  Yes, she thought, looking up at him. Yes.

  He reached out and smoothed a strand of her hair, and she swallowed the food in her mouth, wishing she could taste him instead. Lick and touch and taste.

  Just one more time.

  "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked, withdrawing his hand. "You've been cooped up for days."

  "Okay. But I need to get my boots." And she needed to clear her head, to redirect her thoughts.

  Ten minutes later she and Bobby strolled along a dirt path. The air was fresh and clean and she inhaled it generously.

  He turned to look at her. "Do you want to go window-shopping on Friday? Maybe check out some baby furniture? Get some ideas for the nursery?"

  She pictured them spending an afternoon in the city, gathering paint swatches and wallpaper samples. "I'd love to."

  "Great." He stopped to pluck a lavender-colored flower from the grass and tuck it behind her ear. "It matches your top," he said when she merely stared.

  Did he know how romantic he was? How easily he touched her heart?

  She wanted to take his hand, but she wasn't sure if it would be the right thing to do. Friends didn't normally hold hands. And neither did former lovers.

  "This is one of my favorite trails," he said.

  "It is pretty," she agreed.

  They passed a thicket of trees, where branches reached for each other and swooped overhead. Sunlight shimmered through the leaves, dappling the ground like pools of glitter.

  They continued walking and she realized she'd gotten used to his limp, that she barely noticed the glitch in his stride anymore.

  "Does this area seem familiar to you?" he asked.

  No, but everything about him had become familiar. The way he squinted in the sun, adjusted his hat, smiled when she least expected it.

  She gathered her thoughts, tried to pay attention. "Not really. Should it?"

  "We're near the main road that leads to the lodge." He guided her up a small incline, where a jackrabbit skittered by. "See?"

  They stood on the side of the road and she tried to get her bearings. Pointing, she asked, "Is that the way to the lodge?"

  "Nope." He turned her around. "It's this way."

  As she tried to access her surroundings, a battered pickup chugged down the road, belching as it made its way toward them.

  When the driver spotted them, he parked on the side of the road and climbed out of his vehicle. Tall and lanky, his face weathered from age and too much sun, he wore a dusty hat, dark jeans and a frayed shirt. He was older than his truck, considerably older, with eyes the same faded shade of blue.

  "Bobby," the man said. "Glad I ran into ya." He turned, glanced at Julianne. "You showing a guest around?"

  "No. This is Julianne McKenzie. She's going to manage the new boutique at the lodge. Julianne, this is Lloyd Carlton. He works at the ranch."

  The older man tipped his hat and she nodded, wondering if this was how Bobby intended to introduce her to all of his employees.

  Lloyd turned back to Bobby. "Where's Sharon? I ain't seen her for a while. She been commuting to the city again?"

  Bobby's expression fell and suddenly he looked ill. "Sharon isn't … don't you remember, Lloyd, she…"

  The old cowboy waved his hand. "It ain't no emergency. I've just got a box of pinecones for her. You tell her to swing by my trailer to collect them when she can." He tipped his hat to Julianne again. "Ma'am."

  She watched him walk away, with Bobby standing beside her as haunted as an unmarked grave.

  As the truck disappeared down the road, he didn't say a word. He just shoved his shaky hands into his pockets.

  "What's wrong, Bobby? What just happened?"

  He blinked and shifted his gaze. "Sometimes Lloyd confuses the present with the past."

  The present. The past. Someone named Sharon. Dear God, she thought, as Lloyd's confusion became clear.

  "Was Sharon your wife?" she asked, even though she already knew.

  "Yes." He blew out an audible breath. "Lloyd's never done that before. He's never mentioned Sharon, not once since she died."

  "I'm sorry, Bobby."

  "I can handle his ramblings. I can. This just…" He released another breath. "Sharon decorated pinecones during the holidays. And now Lloyd's collecting them for her, stuffing them away in a box."

  Julianne waited for Bobby to say something else about Sharon, but he didn't. He clammed up, silent and grim.

  "You must have loved her very much."

  He frowned. "Of course I loved her. A man is supposed to love his wife. He's supposed to…"

  Supposed to what? she wondered, struck by the torment in his eyes.

  They stood silently for a moment and it almost seemed like a period of bereavement, a time for a quiet prayer.

  "I guess it was just as well," he said suddenly. "Now you've met Lloyd. Now you'll understand if he doesn't make any sense."

  "Does he have Alzheimer's?" she asked, stunned by how quickly Bobby masked his emotions.

  "No. He came back from the Korean War that way. In those days they called it shell shock, but no one uses that term anymore." Bobby removed his hands from his pockets and wiped his palms on his jeans, as if they'd turned sweaty. "Some doctors believe he has a form of post-traumatic stress syndrome, but others say it's more of a mental illness than an anxiety disorder. Either way, Lloyd gets confused. Not all the time, though. He'll be fine for weeks, even months, then it just kicks in again."

  "How long has he worked for you?"

  "Since the beginning. The bank foreclosed on his ranch about the time I built Elk Ridge. He was a neighbor of Michael's, someone the boy and his mother cared about. I had to give him a job. I had to do something."

  Because you're a good man, she thought. A kind, generous, tortured man. She wanted to take him into her arms and hold him, but she knew she couldn't.

  His shoulders were rigid, the muscles tense.

  "Some folks in the area were leery of Lloyd," he said. "Calling him crazy and such. But Michael and his mother weren't afraid of him. His condition didn't scare them."

  "What about your guests? Does he ever frighten them?"

  "He doesn't work directly with our guests, and those who do come into contact with him seem to like him. Lloyd's an authority on the Old West, and that fascinates most of our visitors."

  Julianne wondered if Lloyd would mention the pinecones again or if he would simply forget why he'd been collecting them. "Was he close to Sharon?"

  Bobby looked away. "As close as he could be, I guess. She only lived here for a year. He didn't know her that well." He shifted his stance, glanced back. "Maria looks after Lloyd. She spends a lot of time with him."

  "Maria? Your receptionist?"

  "Yes. She and Lloyd are friends."

  "The way we're friends?" Julianne asked.

  "Yes."

  Lloyd and Maria had been lovers, she realized. A long time ago, before Lloyd had gone off to war, before his mind had scattered.

  "Let's go," Bobby said. "I'll walk you back."

  As they headed down the path on which they'd come, Julianne glanced at his hand and saw the gold band
shining on his finger.

  Suddenly her heart ached. It hurt with a feeling she couldn't define, a feeling that jumbled her emotions.

  No wonder Lloyd thought Bobby's wife was still alive. His wedding ring probably confused the old man.

  As much as it confused her.

  * * *

  Bobby felt the need to talk, so after he walked Julianne home, he looked for Michael and found him right where he was supposed to be.

  The younger man sat at his cluttered desk at the lodge, his computer screen displaying the spreadsheets he'd been working on. He spent more time in Elk Ridge's primary office than Bobby did, a workspace much bigger than the one they shared at the barn.

  Michael looked up. "What's going on?

  "Nothing. Just checking on you," he said, not quite sure what he expected to accomplish by this visit. The boy had his own problems, his own demons to contend with.

  "How's your lady?" Michael asked.

  Bobby frowned. "She's not my lady."

  "Really?" Michael gave him an innocent look. "And here I thought you were the one who got her pregnant. Gee, now I'm wondering how that baby got in her belly."

  "Smart ass," Bobby muttered back, even though he wanted to smile.

  Michael shrugged and then grinned. "At least tell me when it happened."

  "How? When? What difference does it make?"

  "Was it on her birthday? You two were pretty cozy at the bar that night. Stayed later than everyone else, as I recall."

  "So?"

  "So I'll bet that's the night you did it. Boy, that's some birthday present you gave her."

  Bobby shook his head, waiting for his nephew's self-serving grin to vanish. "I didn't come here to discuss the details with you, wise guy."

  "No, I guess not." Michael turned and shut down his computer. "So why are you here? What's really going on?"

  "I was with Julianne today, and then we ran into Lloyd."

  "And?"

  "And he said some odd things. He mentioned Sharon, spoke about her as if she were still alive."

  "Oh, man. I'm sorry."

  "It was strange, especially in front of Julianne."

  "Are you okay?" Michael asked.

  "I'm fine," he said, unable to voice his fears. What would Julianne think of him if she knew the truth? If he told her what he'd done to his wife? No one knew the dishonorable details about the accident, not even Michael.