Her Montana Man

by Laurie Paige

  His eyes went dark as he continued to gaze at her. She was aware of tension and hunger and the ache of unfulfilled yearning. Uncontrollable shivers raced over her.

  He stroked her arms, then laughed. “I know a quick way to warm up.” Spinning her about, he led the way into the house, closing the door against the wind once they were safely inside. Before she could think, he ushered her into the bathroom and flipped on the shower.

  “Take off your clothes,” he ordered. Without waiting, he stripped, in quick efficient motions, then looked at her. “Do you need help?”

  She shook her head and edged toward the door before she could give in to the wild clamor inside her. “I’ll let you go first.”

  He caught her before she could get away. “Let’s go together,” he suggested, his voice dropping to a husky note that vibrated along her nerves and drowned out any protests she might have made.

  With his eyes never leaving hers, he began at her waist, unfastening the button and zipper and slowly easing the shorts over her hips.

  “Pierce,” she whispered.

  He laid a finger over her lips. “Shh.”

  His smile took her by surprise. There was something plaintive, almost sad, in it that tugged at her heart. She opened her lips, inhaled deeply, but said nothing.

  “I want to ravish you,” he told her. “I want to kiss you until you melt in my arms, until neither of us knows where one stops and the other begins, until we’re so lost in passion nothing else has meaning.”

  She made a little choking sound as the passion he spoke of rose to unbearable heights.

  “That’s the way it used to be,” he said. “That’s the way I want it again.”

  “This is insane,” she managed to say.

  “Yes, but it’s the sweetest madness.” He lifted the wet top over her head and tossed it aside. Her underclothes quickly followed.

  Naked, he swept her into the shower, their bodies touching from chest to thighs to toes as the warm water sluiced over them, driving the chill from her bones.

  His eyes dark with thoughts she couldn’t read, he moved back enough to caress her with long strokes of his fingertips, his touch careful, as if she might disappear if he pushed too hard.

  “I always thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever met,” he told her, rubbing over her taut nipples with his thumbs. “That opinion hasn’t changed.”

  She closed her eyes and laid her hands on his shoulders to steady a world that spun around her, wrapping her in a pink haze like cotton candy.

  “Even when you were gone, I remembered how soft and smooth you felt,” he continued, “how you responded when I touched you here…and here…”

  He cupped her breasts with both palms, then slid his hands down to her waist and followed the line of her hips to her thighs.

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  Her eyelids were almost too heavy to open. Slowly she lifted them and met his gaze.

  Grasping her hips, he skimmed his thumbs over her abdomen, probing gently. She felt a tightening deep inside, as if the developing child knew that touch and responded. When he dropped to his knees and planted rows of searing kisses over her torso, then ran his tongue around her navel, she went dizzy with sensation.

  She moaned, then bit her lip to hold the sound in.

  “Tell me,” he encouraged hoarsely. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

  She thought of all the ways they’d ever touched each other. “Everything,” she said. “I want everything.”

  He made a low sound in his throat to indicate his pleasure in her reply, then his touch became increasingly, tantalizingly intimate. Fire licked through her, and she grew weak with her need of him.

  When she was ready to collapse, he released her and reached for the soap. With deft strokes, he spread lather over both of them, then rinsed them down with the spray attachment and flicked the water off.

  In the silence she could hear the rain pelting the roof and windows. The storm outside continued.

  “Come,” he said.

  He tossed her a towel before swiping another over his long, powerful length and used her blow dryer on his hair, then on hers when she was ready. She watched their reflections in the mirror, seeing them as two enchanted creatures in the mist. Her breath came quickly as she studied his perfect masculine form.

  Cooler air swirled around them when he opened the door. She walked into the bedroom with him and stopped in the middle of the room while he turned down the bed.

  He held out his hand. “I find I’m impatient for you,” he said, his smile one of tender irony, as if he laughed at both of them and the hunger that drove them together.

  “So am I,” she admitted, and wrapped her arms around him so that she could experience the full sensation of his body touching hers.

  He caught her hair in one fist and tipped her face up to his, his gaze locked on hers. “It’ll be harder to get rid of me this time,” he warned.

  She hugged him fiercely, overflowing with passion and a jumble of emotions she couldn’t identify. “I don’t want to get rid of you.”

  “Then we understand each other.” Bending, he kissed her chin, then her throat and finally the beaded tip of each breast.

  “I can’t think…when you do that,” she told him, gasping as he became bolder.

  He laid her on the bed, then stretched out beside her, his gaze roaming freely, leaving smoldering embers in its wake. Needing to touch him, she stroked down his chest to his hips, then bent forward, leaving her own trail of fire over his aroused flesh with ardent kisses and moist caresses designed to drive him wild.

  When she became especially intimate, she heard his gasp of deep pleasure and felt his fingers entwine in her hair. Shifting, she pushed him against the pillows and leaned over him, delighting in giving him as much pleasure as possible.

  “Enough,” he said, and turned them so that she was against the sheets and he loomed over her, his eyes sexy and devilish as he caught both her hands in one of his and refused to let her free.

  With a thousand demanding touches, he drove her crazy with need. The flames soared between them, but then he retreated, holding them to fleeting caresses until she bit at him in reckless defiance. He released her hands and let her in close again…and again…and again.

  “This is as far as I can go,” he said.

  She thought he was going to leave. “No, no,” she whispered, wrapping herself around him. “I want you. I want you now.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he assured her.

  She sighed when he arched over her, merging them into one blissful whole. Shudders rolled over her, and the drumming of her heart drowned out the sounds of the wind and rain outside the cabin.

  She felt his lips on hers, absorbing her cries as pleasure wafted in brilliant veils of color through her inner vision. “Pierce,” she whispered desperately, needing him as she’d never let herself need anyone.

  He answered her every desire, thrusting harder, deeper, until they were both sated with the wonder of all they shared. For a long time—she didn’t know how long—they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, neither willing to move as their hearts slowed and their bodies cooled.

  At last he pulled the covers over them, and they lay side by side and watched the storm blow itself out, leaving a chill darkness in its wake.

  Chelsea knew she’d made a terrible mistake. While letting him into her arms and sharing this wonderful magic, she’d forgotten to keep the door to her heart closed and locked. She’d fallen in love with him all over again.

  Chapter Eleven

  The rain continued over the weekend, but by Monday the weather was fair and hot. Ninety-five degrees at noon, Chelsea noted on the digital display at the Whitehorn bank when she came out of the drugstore.

  She opened the doors and let the car cool a bit before heading back to Rumor. She’d come over to do some shopping for toiletries…okay, the real reason had been to get the pregnancy test kit.

  Now tha
t she had it, she had to admit she was afraid to use it. She couldn’t decide if she wanted the results to be positive or negative. She wanted the child, of course she did, but there was Pierce and his determination that they should marry if she was pregnant. Marriage was such an iffy proposition….

  It was all too complicated to think about.

  Arriving back in Rumor, she drove slowly down Main Street. The town was busy at this time of day due to the lunch hour. She stopped behind a pickup and waited until the driver finished a conversation with a pedestrian, then moved on at ten miles per hour.

  The shady deck by the lake would be the perfect place to wile away the afternoon. But first she’d stop by the diner and pick up something for lunch. Pierce had said he would be home late tonight due to a dinner meeting of the Chamber of Commerce, which was planning a to-do for September, so she’d have veggies and a snack for supper.

  She stopped at the corner for a woman with a stroller to get across the street.

  “Yo, Chelsea,” a voice called.

  She spotted Holt and rolled down the window.

  “I need to see you,” he said. “My office?”

  Nodding, she turned the corner instead of continuing south to the cabin at the lake. After finding a parking space, she walked back to Main Street. The aroma of food coming from the diner was more than she could stand. She hurried in and ordered a sandwich and their largest container of iced tea with plenty of lemon.

  “To go,” she added, digging in her purse for her wallet. She wondered if Holt had eaten. “Make that two of everything,” she told the waitress, “and throw in a couple of servings of the cherry cobbler. With ice cream.”

  The waitress laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like me, Dr. Kearns. I stay hungry all the time. I’ll be as big as a house before the baby gets here.”

  Chelsea smiled, not surprised that the waitress knew who she was, and willed the blush she could feel climbing her neck to go away. She was intensely aware of the pregnancy kit in her purse.

  With lunch in hand, she hurried to Holt’s office. He was hunched over the desk, eyes intent on the computer. He was wearing latex gloves, she noted.

  “Hi. I brought food. Have you eaten?” she asked.

  He glanced up in a distracted manner, then shook his head. “Haven’t had time to think about it,” he told her. “I’ve found something.”

  He made a space on the desk by lifting a bunch of folders and stacking them on another bunch, the whole looking like the leaning tower of Pisa. She set her burden down and straightened the stack.

  “There,” she said. “I won’t have to worry about being crushed when that falls.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to clean up the place pretty soon.”

  “Huh,” was her skeptical comment. “Have you found something?”

  “Yes, fingerprints, I think, but they aren’t clear enough to dust.” He pointed to the dust jacket of the novel from Harriet Martel’s house, lying on his desk inside a plastic bag. “I’ve tried a computer scan, too, but that doesn’t work.”

  “Have you tried super glue?”

  He shot a questioning glance her way, stripped off the gloves and took the styrene lunch box she handed him. “Thanks. How do you use glue?”

  She spread a napkin in her lap and picked up the chicken salad sandwich. “There’s a method that sometimes works for latent prints. Let’s eat and I’ll show you.”

  He took a big bite, then peered at the sandwich. This is good. I’d forgotten what real food tastes like. I’ve been living on peanuts, candy bars and coffee lately.”

  She “tsked” at him, then they wolfed down the entire lunch in fifteen minutes. “I’m ready for my nap,” she said, wrapping the trash neatly and putting it in the bin beside his desk.

  “You have to tell me about the glue first.”

  “We need a place to burn it. You have a lab table with a hood?”

  “At the high school.” He glanced at his watch. If we hurry, we can get there before afternoon classes.”

  They took the book cover and glue across the street to the school, checked to make sure they could use the lab, then did the test. After burning a small amount of glue under the vent hood, a black haze appeared on the cover.

  “By damn, these are fingerprints,” Holt said, exulting in the discovery. “I just got a glimpse of something when I held the cover at an angle in the light. Let’s go run them on the computer.”

  In his office, they photocopied, then scanned the prints into the computer. Chelsea studied the results, then shook her head. “There’re two prints, probably an index and middle finger. They’re smudged, though. There’s only one well-defined area on one print. It might not be enough.”

  Holt wasn’t discouraged. “We’ll take what we can get.” He started the computer check. “First the software will look at local records, then, on command, it’ll run the prints against the FBI files.”

  He’d hardly gotten through explaining when the computer spit out a full report. By the disgusted look on the deputy’s face, Chelsea knew their hopes were dashed. He whacked the computer keyboard with the heel of his fist.

  “I don’t see any point in running the FBI files. This isn’t enough to be definitive.” She indicated the print.

  “Right.”

  “Maybe we’ll find something else,” she said by way of encouragement, although she doubted it.

  “Well, sorry to bother you for nothing.” He put all the prints in the Martel folder and tossed it on the desk. “I have to appear in court this afternoon. Someone’s fighting a traffic ticket.” He laughed with obvious sarcasm.

  Chelsea said goodbye and left the building. A traffic ticket seemed so trite compared to a person’s life…or someone getting away with murder. She was still pondering the unfairness of things when she reached the cabin.

  After changing to shorts and T-shirt, she finished the new novel she’d started three days ago, then took a nap on the deck. Later she called her boss in Billings and reported on the findings there.

  “We’re at a dead end,” she finished, “unless someone remembers something or we find another clue, which isn’t likely at this date.”

  “You’ve done all you can. Try to enjoy your vacation,” he advised.

  “Right.” After they hung up, she sighed, feeling nothing but gloom. “There is no joy in Rumor,” she muttered, borrowing from a poem learned long ago in school. “The mighty Chelsea has struck out.”

  She had struck out professionally, and she’d struck out in her personal life. Her trip had been a waste of time.

  Except for one thing. She laid a hand on her abdomen and opened a kitchen drawer with the other. The pregnancy kit nestled there with tea towels and a box of plastic bags.

  Should she use it now? Or was it too soon to tell?

  She was definitely late, but it was unlikely she was pregnant, no matter what vibes the psychic had felt at the park. The timing was off.

  Unless she’d ovulated later than usual, a logical part of her argued.

  All it would take was a three-or four-day delay, then a window of three or four days after ovulation for conception. That made a six-to eight-day difference, and the timing would work out just right.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. How could she have been so foolish? Highly unlikely didn’t mean totally impossible. She had laughed at fate, and it had repaid her in kind.

  Shoving the drawer closed, she decided to give it another few days. Until Friday. That would be two weeks from the time they’d first made love.

  When Pierce arrived at nine, she was watching a movie, a huge bowl of popcorn in her lap. He’d stopped by his place, showered and changed to shorts and a T-shirt. His hair was still damp and smelled of balsam shampoo. He’d shaved, too.

  “Umm,” she said when he flopped on the sofa and nuzzled his face into her neck, “you smell good.”

  “You, too.” He kissed her throat, then helped himself to the popcorn. “What are we watching?”


  “Some horror movie about a mummy.” She laughed when he made a face. “I love mystery and mayhem, don’t you know?”

  “Sadistic, that’s what you are. You and Holt find out anything today?”

  “Now why aren’t I surprised that you know the deputy and I worked on the case?” she inquired innocently.

  It was his turn to laugh. “Rumor is small but we aren’t comatose. Let’s see, you picked up two lunches at the Calico Diner, then went to his office. From there, you used the lab at the high school, then returned to his office.”

  “What, no mention of the romantic stop at the motel at the end of town?”

  Pierce narrowed his eyes. “There is no motel in Rumor. And there better not have been any romantic stops anywhere.”

  “I’m not telling,” she said loftily.

  “Just for that…” He set the popcorn on the coffee table and proceeded to tickle her until she begged for mercy. “No mercy,” he said, biting at her neck. “You haven’t shown any for me.”

  “Ha!” she scoffed, then burst into laughter again as he dug wicked fingers into the sensitive spots just above her hipbones.

  He nibbled at her tummy, then moved upward, a bit at a time, until finally their lips met and the laughter was silenced by sweet, potent kisses.

  A long time later they came up for air and managed to catch the last thirty minutes of the movie. Pierce went to the kitchen to refill the glass of soda and get a beer for himself. The twist-off top wouldn’t budge. He searched through the drawer next to the fridge for an opener. Not there. He checked the next one. Nope.

  He started to close it, then stopped, his eyes widening as he took in the box almost hidden by the towels. He picked it up and saw it hadn’t been opened.

  Not yet.

  When did she plan to use the pregnancy test kit? And did she plan to tell him the results?

  He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one. For a moment he could feel the blood surging in an angry tide through an artery in his neck, then he took a deep breath and carefully restored the kit to its hiding place.