Colton Baby Conspiracy (The Coltons 0f Mustang Valley Book 1)

by Marie Ferrarella

  Marlowe pressed her lips together. This was not easy for her. She forced the words out. “You’re right,” she told him grudgingly.

  “Does that mean you’re going to make an appointment with your doctor?” He evidently wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t merely paying lip service, just telling him what he wanted to hear.

  “Yes,” she fairly hissed.

  She wasn’t off the hook yet. “When?” he asked.

  “Well, I can’t very well make it now, can I?” she pointed out. “It’s after eight and her office is closed for the day.”

  Bowie nodded, accepting the excuse. “When?” he repeated, his eyes on hers.

  She really wanted to shout at him, but she managed to keep herself under control because there were people around.

  “Tomorrow,” she told him, gritting her teeth. “I’ll call the doctor tomorrow. Is that good enough for you?” she demanded.

  He inclined his head. “Ask me again after you make the appointment.”

  Marlowe rolled her eyes. He was really pushing it, she thought. “You are the most infuriating man,” she told him.

  To her surprise, Bowie flashed an almost blinding smile at her. “But I’m growing on you, aren’t I?” he asked her.

  She was tempted to tell him a number of things, none of them flattering at the moment. But she refrained. “I reserve the right to remain silent,” she answered.

  She saw the way he smiled at her and knew he had her number, no matter what she said to the contrary. What he said next confirmed it.

  “You don’t have to,” Bowie told her. “That says it all.” He looked at the nearly empty plate and her teacup. “If you’ve had your fill of tea and crackers, I’ll take you home.”

  She rose from the table, surprised when he drew the chair back for her. She had to admit, the man had some very good inherent traits. And he might very well make a good father—or husband...

  “Take me to the condo instead,” she told him. “I don’t feel like answering any questions, and if I go home to the ranch, with a bunch of people wandering around, I’m bound to run into someone, and they’ll ask questions. I’d rather just have some solitude.”

  “All right, I’ll just give Bigelow a call,” Bowie began to say.

  “No, don’t,” she said as they walked out of the restaurant and to his car. “Give the poor guy a break. I’ll be all right for one night,” she assured Bowie.

  He rolled over what she’d said in his mind as he got into his vehicle. “I’m not going to take that chance,” he informed her.

  Anticipating that he was about to take out his cell phone, Marlowe caught hold of his hand. “Wallace has probably made some plans for the evening. Even if he hasn’t, let him just enjoy some peace and quiet for a change. I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

  He left his phone in his pocket and instead started up his car. “Yeah, you will be,” he agreed, surprising her. “Because for tonight, I’m going to be your bodyguard.”

  She thought of the last time they had been together for the duration of an evening and her mouth curved in an ironic smile. “That didn’t exactly turn out well the last time, now did it?”

  He drove toward her condo a short distance away. “If you recall, I wasn’t your bodyguard then,” Bowie reminded her.

  No, he wasn’t. He was something totally different, she thought, remembering that night. The next moment, she shut the memory away.

  * * *

  Walking into her condo a few minutes later, Bowie looked toward her living room. “I see you got the window fixed,” he commented.

  “It’s January, and even though this is Arizona, the temperature can still drop down into the thirties at night,” she reminded him. “That’s more than a little brisk.”

  “I was just making an observation,” he told Marlowe. “You know, not everything’s a criticism. You really have to stop being so defensive.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Lord, she hated it when he was right, but she knew she had to admit it.

  “Sorry, you’re right. This whole situation has me feeling really uptight. Not to mention that I haven’t really been myself lately.”

  “Take a few deep breaths and just focus on calming down,” he told her.

  “So, now you’re a life coach?” she asked, then instantly regretted it.

  But Bowie apparently took no offense. “I can be if you need one,” he offered. He sounded so genuine that she regretted being so flippant.

  “What I need is a drink to help me unwind.” She saw him opening his mouth and beat him to the punch before he could say it. “I know, I know. The baby. I know I can’t have one.”

  She looked so despondent, he wanted to do something for her. And then he thought of something. “Got any cans of chicken soup around?”

  Of all the things she might have expected him to say, that was not one of them. “Why?” she asked. What did he want with soup?

  “It’s comfort food,” he told her. “It shouldn’t really bother your stomach and it might just help settle it.”

  “Guess we’ll never know. I don’t have any cans of chicken soup in the pantry.” She saw him taking out his phone. Had he changed his mind about Wallace taking over bodyguard duty? “Who are you calling?”

  Bowie held up his hand to stop her flow of words because someone had picked up on the other end of the line. “Yes, this is Bowie Robertson. Let me speak to Lucia, please.”

  “Lucia? You’re calling the owner of the restaurant we were just in?” she asked, surprised.

  “You want something, always start at the top,” he told her.

  Before she could say anything, he was talking to someone on the other end of the line again. It took her a second to realize that he was ordering food to be delivered to the condo.

  “I’m fine,” he said to the person on the other end. “Yes, I was there earlier tonight. We were discussing your wonderful meals and the lady I was with had a sudden craving for some of your wonderful chicken soup. Would you mind having someone come by and deliver? Oh, about five servings should do it. Wonderful. Here’s the address.” And then Bowie rattled off the address to the condo for the owner of the café.

  Marlowe listened to him, in awe of the way he could make people jump through hoops and still not resent him for it.

  She was beginning to understand how he had managed to come as far as he had. And how he might just be the man she’d never known she’d needed in her life.

  Chapter 18

  Marlowe sat across from Bowie at her dining room table, looking at the overly large container that had just been delivered. There was still steam rising from the soup, and oddly enough, the aroma that rose up to greet her was very tempting. Food hadn’t smelled good to her for a very long time now.

  She raised her eyes to Bowie. “Am I supposed to eat this or swim in it?” she asked.

  “That’s up to you. Whatever you feel like doing,” he told her. “But personally I think that eating it might be the better way to go. Where are your soup bowls?” he asked, looking around the small, exceptionally neat kitchen.

  “In the cabinet above the counter,” she answered. She still couldn’t believe that Bowie had actually had the soup delivered. That was exceedingly thoughtful, and it didn’t match the image she had of him—but that was beginning to change, she realized. Drastically. “I didn’t even know that Lucia’s Italian Café delivered.”

  “They don’t usually,” he said in an offhanded manner, setting the two bowls he had found in the cabinet down on the table.

  “But they just did for you,” Marlowe pointed out.

  “Let’s just say that’s because I’m a very good tipper,” he told her with a wink. Finding a ladle, he brought that over as well, then looked at Marlowe. “We should eat this while it’s still hot. What do yo
u think?” he asked.

  Marlowe shrugged. “Go ahead,” she told him. She watched as Bowie used the ladle and distributed equal measures of the soup into her bowl, then his. A great deal more of the liquid still remained in the container. She picked up her soupspoon, paused and then placed it back down.

  “What’s wrong?” Bowie asked. She looked as if she was bracing herself for a huge ordeal, not just a bowl of soup.

  “I’m still not sure about this,” Marlowe confessed.

  Bowie realized that he was hungry, but he wasn’t about to eat anything until Marlowe did. His spoon remained suspended above his own bowl. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” he asked her.

  Well, that was easy enough to answer, Marlowe thought. “I could throw up.”

  He nodded as if conceding the point while not really thinking much of it.

  “If that does happen, I’ll hold your hair back so you won’t get it dirty while you’re purging your stomach,” he told her pragmatically.

  She looked at Bowie. Most men wouldn’t take something like that in stride; they’d do their best to get away from it. She looked at him more closely. “You’re serious,” she said in surprise.

  “People usually know when I’m kidding,” he assured her. “I have this telltale smile that gives me away. Go ahead,” he urged, nodding at the bowl of soup sitting in front of her. “Take a spoonful.” He saw the leery look that came over her face as she stared at the steaming bowl. “It’s soup, Marlowe, not poison,” Bowie reminded her.

  Hoping for the best even as she feared the worst, Marlowe dipped her spoon into the steaming liquid and brought it up to her lips.

  To make her feel more confident, Bowie did the same, taking in a spoonful of soup at the same time that she did. He watched her the entire time, probably holding his breath and mentally crossing his fingers—not for himself but for her. In his opinion, Marlowe really needed to get something more solid into her stomach than just the crackers she’d had earlier.

  When she realized in surprise that she seemed to be able to hold down the first spoonful, she attempted a second one. And then a third. Her stomach remained in a dormant state.

  “Everything okay?” Bowie asked, peering closely at her face.

  The smile on her lips bloomed very slowly, hesitantly, then went on to coax out just the tiniest bit of a relief. She looked almost afraid to say anything because if she did, she felt that she might just wind up jinxing everything.

  He saw the small battle that was going on within her. “Marlowe, are you okay?” he pressed, concerned.

  “I am...very...okay,” she told him, sounding out each word and really happy to relate that message. “The soup seems to be...not wanting to come back up,” she declared in surprise.

  Looking pleased to hear that she wasn’t experiencing yet another bout of nausea, Bowie nodded.

  “That’s really good to hear,” he told her. “But don’t overdo it,” he advised. “Your stomach is probably still wondering what all that warm liquid coming in is. From what I’ve gathered, you and food haven’t exactly been on the friendliest of terms, so let yourself get accustomed to this by degrees. That way you won’t lose the ground you’ve gained.”

  “You don’t have to baby me,” she told him, feeling he was talking down to her.

  “I’m not,” he protested. “I’m just in training so that when this little person finally gets here, I’ll be ready for her or him.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t think you wanted to hang around for that. You made it clear that commitment wasn’t your thing,” she reminded him.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe it is. I’m taking this one step at a time, seeing where it goes,” Bowie told her. “But I was serious about being there for you and the baby,” he insisted. “I have no intention of running out on you, Marlowe. And,” he went on, “I want you to believe that. I might not have a clue how to be a great dad—I was shortchanged when it came to the role model department.”

  An ironic smile curved his mouth. “My own father was hardly a good model. But the one thing I do know is that I really wanted my father to be there for me, to be around when I wanted him to watch me compete in a sport or beam with pride when I walked across the stage to collect my college diploma. That much I can do for my kid. I figure I can wing it when it comes to the rest of it. The thing I know for certain is that I never want my kid—”

  “Our kid,” she deliberately corrected. Her heart warmed at Bowie’s words, though.

  “Our kid,” Bowie continued without missing a beat, “to feel that his father doesn’t care.” And then he raised his eyes to hers as another thought hit him. “I don’t want you to think that I’m crowding you, or dictating terms regarding this baby, but—”

  “Stop talking,” Marlowe told him.

  That came out of nowhere, and she had managed to completely catch him off guard. He stared at her now. “What?”

  Marlowe was on her feet and rounding the table to get closer to him. Everything he had done and said tonight had abruptly knocked down all the walls she had so very carefully constructed around her heart in her effort to keep from getting hurt. Everything he had said had made her heart soften to the point that she had allowed herself to feel what she had been trying so hard not to feel: an exceedingly strong affection for this man, which she had allowed to sneak into her heart without truly realizing it.

  Now, as she came up to where he was seated, she slipped her fingers into his hair and around both sides of his face. She tilted his head just a little, and brought her mouth down to his, kissing him with all the energy, all the unbridled emotion she could feel pulsating through her veins.

  When Marlowe finally drew her lips away from his, Bowie looked at her, making no effort to hide the fact that he was stunned. He looked like it took him a second to regain the use of his brain and another second to remember how to form words. She could feel that heart continuing to beat fast enough to take off on its own.

  “Was it something I said?” he asked her.

  The breath she released was shaky. “It was everything you said,” she told him.

  There wasn’t a drop of alcohol in her system, and yet it felt as if her head was spinning madly like a runaway top.

  Lord, she had missed this, she thought. Missed the feeling of being utterly intoxicated, not on alcohol, but on the man who had already made her throw all caution to the winds once and was now making her want to do that all over again.

  She desperately wanted to feel that way again. To feel as if the very world was at her fingertips just waiting for her to do something. To feel as if she could soar above the clouds.

  She wanted to feel invincible, and she realized that only he could do that for her.

  As she kissed him over and over again, she could feel him weakening, feel him giving in to the strong wave of desire that had washed over both of them.

  But then, just as surprisingly, just as she had pushed his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms while he had begun to undress her, too, Bowie abruptly stopped.

  Stunned, bereft, she looked at him, confused and hurt. Was he rejecting her? Didn’t he want her? Marlowe wanted to flee, to hide, but instead, she made herself stand her ground.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him in a shaken voice.

  He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything. More than he wanted to breathe, but he couldn’t just consider his own needs in this.

  His eyes searched her face. “Marlowe, are you sure about this?”

  For a moment, she was speechless. And then the sunshine slowly returned.

  “Do you want me to fill out an application?” she asked him.

  “I just don’t want you to regret this in the morning,” he told her.

  “What I’ll regret in the morning,” she told him, “is if you stop now.”

  H
e searched her face again, looking for the flaw in her statement. He found none. She was being serious, and everything inside of him lit up.

  “Then let’s make sure you have no regrets,” he told her in a low voice that instantly seduced her.

  The time for words was over. Now there were just very deep-seated emotions finally rising to the surface, seeking release. Seeking validation after being suppressed for what felt like an eternity.

  Within seconds, it felt exactly the way it had that night at the conference. Except this time, there would be no gaps waiting to be filled in, no spaces that needed something to complete them.

  This was all happening just the way it was meant to happen.

  The hunger seemed to rise up suddenly, coming from his very toes and sweeping over him in a breath-stealing rush. It was making demands that had him all but shaking inside.

  He hadn’t admitted to himself just how much he had wanted her. How much he wanted to hold her, kiss her and, most of all, make love with her until he was just too tired to breathe.

  Bowie hadn’t wanted to admit it because something within him felt that admission would somehow undermine him, shackling him to something he didn’t want to be shackled to.

  But he wanted this.

  Wanted her.

  The moment he allowed the thought to form in his mind, Bowie suddenly felt as if he was free. Free to finally be himself and to enjoy this all-too-fleeting revelry that was throbbing so hard throughout his entire body.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, looming over her and eager to continue. But he wanted to be very sure that he was taking nothing for granted, wasn’t allowing his own needs to blind him to any possible discomfort on Marlowe’s part.