To Love a Man

by Karen Robards

  The sun was going down in a blaze of orange fire when Sam finally located the street on which Lisa now lived. It surprised him, because it was nothing fancy. Just Victorian-era brick houses that had apparently been converted into apartments with neat little yards and a few tall shade trees lining either side of the street—not Lisa’s kind of neighborhood at all. Maybe Henry had given him the wrong address. Frowning, Sam parked the car and walked up to a three-story house with Victorian-style porch painted a cheerful shade of yellow running around the front, and gables spouting from the roof. According to Henry, Lisa lived on the very top floor.

  On the porch, just outside the ornate walnut door, were three small mailboxes set into the wall. The third one bore the label L. COLLINS. Lisa did live here, after all; Henry hadn’t made a mistake. Sam had started to knock on the door, not seeing a security intercom or anything, when a young couple came out and smilingly held it open for him, not even questioning what he wanted. Frowning, Sam walked inside. What the hell was Amos thinking of, to let Lisa live in a place like this? he wondered irritably as he climbed the old-fashioned staircase. It wasn’t safe. He could have been anybody—rapist, murderer, anybody—and here he was, inside the house. What was going on?

  As Sam reached the third-floor landing and stood outside the door that was all that separated him from Lisa, such useless speculation fled in the face of his returning nervousness. Would she be glad to see him? What would she say?

  Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, noting that there wasn’t even such an elemental precaution as a peephole. Good God . . . But at least she would be totally surprised.

  Then the door opened. Sam found himself looking into the slanting green eyes that had been haunting his dreams for months. They widened at the sight of him; she was surprised, all right, no doubt about that. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then her brows snapped together and she frowned. Sam drank in every nuance of her expression like a marooned man coming across water in a desert.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, not looking at all pleased to see him.

  Well, he had half-expected that. Sam smiled wheedlingly at her, leaning against the doorjamb with one arm curving over his head.

  “I bought a dishwasher,” he said huskily, and then his eyes traveled down from her face to her throat to her soft, sexy body—and he suddenly felt like he had been kicked in the gut. Her stomach pushed out against the soft white fabric of her sleeveless smock like she had swallowed a basketball. She had to be at least six months’ pregnant!

  “Christ!” he said after a moment, staring at her burgeoning belly. He couldn’t take his eyes off it; he shook his head, hoping to clear it, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was hallucinating. But no, the bulge didn’t disappear.

  “Christ!” he said again, his eyes coming up to meet hers in horrified question.

  Her mouth tightened. “Go away!” she ordered, starting to close the door.

  This galvanized Sam into action. He put his foot in the rapidly diminishing space, then shouldered his way inside. Lisa, helpless in the face of his greater strength, stood holding the edge of the door, glaring at him.

  “Get out of my apartment!”

  Sam shook his head. “No way!”

  “Get out!”

  “Don’t be stupid, Lisa,” he said, regaining control of his tongue at last. “You must see we’ve got to talk. You’re pregnant!”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed!”

  Sam merely looked at her. After the stunning blow of coming here and finding her in such a state, her sarcasm bounced off him like water off a duck’s back.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked finally, staring at her.

  “Because it was none of your damned business!” she snapped, her face white except for two flags of angry color in her cheeks.

  “None of my business! That’s my baby!”

  “Is it?” She smiled tauntingly at him.

  “You know it is.” He felt not the slightest doubt about that.

  Lisa looked at him, her eyes challenging. When he met her stare with rocklike determination, her eyes flickered.

  “So what?” she said finally, no longer even bothering to deny that he was the father.

  “So what?” Sam was momentarily flabbergasted. “So I had a right to be told, that’s what! Christ, you must have been pregnant when you came out to the ranch! Why the hell didn’t you say so? I . . .”

  “I didn’t know,” she muttered resentfully. “I didn’t find out until two weeks later.”

  Sam shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, he had mentally settled everything to his own satisfaction. If anything, this unexpected development just made everything that much easier.

  “For God’s sake, shut the door,” he said, turning away from her and moving on into the small living room. Like the rest of the building, it was not luxurious, but it was comfortably furnished in light, airy tones of yellow and green and white.

  “I want you to leave!” she said imperiously, glaring after him.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because I’m not leaving, and you can’t throw me out.” He seated himself in a chintz-covered armchair as he spoke. “Shut the door, Lisa.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then shut the door. Her mouth was set mutinously and her eyes were shooting sparks when she came to stand in the middle of the room, fixing him with a darkling look.

  “I have nothing to say to you, Sam,” she said frigidly.

  “When is it due?” He gestured at her stomach, totally ignoring her words.

  “The end of September,” Lisa answered, reluctant to provide him with even that much information.

  Sam thought back rapidly. “Then it must have happened that night in your room. . . .” His voice trailed off as he remembered giving her the ring, and what had come after. Lisa blushed. Sam, seeing her embarrassment, felt his heart turn over. What she must have gone through, discovering that she was expecting his child after he had sent her away so callously! He deserved to be shot for that, he thought. But he hadn’t known. . . . If only she’d told him, he would have eased her worry at once.

  “Honey, I’m sorry, sorrier than I can tell you, that you had to go through all this by yourself,” he said in a gentle tone, standing up and moving to take her carefully into his arms. She was rigid as his arms slid around her. “I’ll do my best to make it up to you. We’ll get married right away, and . . .”

  “No!” She pushed away from him, thrusting against his chest with a strength that surprised him.

  Sam stared down at her. “What do you mean, no?” he questioned carefully, still retaining his grip on her upper arms.

  “I mean no! N-o! Negative! I don’t want to marry you!”

  “You’re going to have my baby,” he pointed out, as if she had somehow overlooked that fact.

  “That doesn’t mean I have to marry you!”

  “Oh, yes, it does!” Sam was fast beginning to lose his patience.

  “No, it doesn’t!”

  Sam counted to ten carefully before he said anything. He had to remind himself that she was pregnant, and that women, when pregnant, tended to be a trifle unreasonable.

  “Honey, I realize you’re angry with me. And I’ll even admit that you have cause. And I’ll apologize again, if you like. But whether you’re angry or not, it doesn’t change the fact that that baby needs a father—and you need a husband. You did divorce Collins, didn’t you?” he added in a sharper tone.

  “The divorce was final three months ago.” She was pulling away from him as she spoke, and he released his grip on her arms, letting her go.

  “Then there’s nothing to stop us from getting married,” he said, as if that settled everything.

  She planted her hands on her hips, staring up at him defiantly. Sam found himself fascinated by the picture she presented. Pregnant, with her belly sticking out to there, she was lovelier than ever. Her silver-gilt hair had grown longer, and she had swept it
up in a ponytail that made her look about seventeen, if one disregarded her stomach. Her skin was flawless, a rich cream color with roses in her cheeks and lips. Her eyes were a clear sparkling emerald, very bright as she glared at him. The white cotton smock she wore was ruffled around the sleeves and hem and had embroidered flowers around the square neck. Her long, slender legs were clad in blue jeans, and her feet were bare. She was the very essence of femininity, and he was shaken by the emotions that tore through him as he looked at her, standing there challenging him while she was big with his child. She was his woman, he thought fiercely, and it was time to put a stop to all this nonsense to the contrary.

  “We’re getting married as soon as I can arrange it,” he said with finality, his eyes taking on a hard gleam as they dared her to contradict him.

  She didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, no, we’re not,” she retorted. “Try to get it through your head, Sam: I no longer take orders from you. I intend to do what’s best for me, and the baby, and that doesn’t include marrying you! And if that leaves you with a guilty conscience, then I’m sorry!”

  Sam’s mouth compressed. He eyed her, not liking the determined set to her jaw or the green glitter of her eyes. Clearly, she was determined to make him pay in blood before she relented. He couldn’t believe that her defiance was any more serious than that. Dammit, she was a woman, wasn’t she? A woman pregnant with his child! She needed him—and she was going to get him, if he had to drag her to the altar by her hair. But he would try reason first. After all, she had every right to be angry, and he was willing to do anything he could to make amends—at least, to a point.

  “Shouldn’t you be sitting down?” he asked, completely changing the subject as it occurred to him that she had been on her feet ever since he had entered her apartment.

  “I’m not ill, I’m pregnant,” she answered evenly. “A perfectly natural state. And I think you should remember that I’ve gotten this far without your solicitude, so there’s no need for you to start acting like an anxious father-to-be at this juncture. Too little and too late, Sam.” Her tone as she finished was faintly mocking.

  “Sit down.” This time it was an order.

  Looking up at him, Lisa recognized the steely-eyed man who had ruthlessly bent her to his will out in the Rhodesian bush. Only this time they weren’t in Rhodesia—and she would be damned if she would meekly obey! She didn’t deign to answer, just folded her arms over her breasts and eyed him with her head tilted slightly to one side as she remained on her feet. For a moment, as his eyes flickered, she thought he might mean physically to enforce his command. Then his mouth softened, even smiled at her a tad ruefully.

  “Lisa, honey, if I’d known you were pregnant I would have come right away,” he said in as gentle a voice as she had yet heard from him. He made as if to come toward her, enfold her in his arms.

  She held him off with an upraised hand. “You don’t understand, do you?” The words were cool, the expression in her eyes remote. “I never doubted that you would come back—and offer to marry me—if you knew I was pregnant. But I don’t want to get married for a reason like that. It’s not a very sound basis for a lifelong commitment. I’ve lived through one bad marriage, and so have you. I’m not going to make another mistake like that.”

  “I came here today to ask you to marry me,” he said, regarding her steadily. He stood perhaps five feet away, his arms folded over his broad chest, his rough black hair tumbling in a heat-induced wave over the bronzed skin of his forehead.

  Despite herself, Lisa was conscious of a faint, niggling urge to throw herself into his arms, to be sheltered and protected, to be loved. Then she reminded herself that he didn’t love her—at least, not enough to marry her in the teeth of all the potential problems her money and their disparate social positions might bring. Not enough to marry her at all—without her pregnancy to force his hand.

  “I hadn’t the faintest notion that you were pregnant until you opened the door, Lisa,” he continued when she didn’t answer. “But I came back for you anyway. Because I realized that I love you. Baby or no baby, I want you for my wife.”

  Lisa stared at him. She was tempted—oh, so tempted!—to take him at his word. To marry him. It was what she wanted, had wanted all along. But if he didn’t really want her—if he was just marrying her because of the baby—she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She had had her heart broken twice already, first by Jeff, then by Jennifer. She was afraid that a third time would wound her past bearing. And she had trusted Sam once, loved him unreservedly, offered herself to him without any holding back. And he had sent her away. It seemed almost unbelievable that now, when she was expecting his child, after months without a word, he had turned up out of the blue, asking her to marry him.

  “Has Amos been in touch with you?” she asked, trying but not quite succeeding in keeping the suspicion that had suddenly occurred to her out of her voice.

  He eyed her. “No,” he said. “I haven’t heard from Amos in months.”

  “How did you know where I lived?”

  “I stopped by the house—I thought you were still living there. Henry Dobson gave me your address. I don’t even think Amos was there. If he had been, I’m sure he would have had a few things to say to me.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “What does he think about this,” he nodded at her belly, “by the way?”

  “Oh, he’s horrified,” she said with a grimace. “Although he’s trying his best to hide it. To his way of thinking, ‘nice girls’ don’t get themselves in situations like this. At first, he naturally assumed that you and I would be getting married, so that made it a little better. Then when I told him that we weren’t, I was afraid for a moment that he would pass out. He wanted to go to the Circle C to drag you back here and make you marry me, whether you wanted to or not. But I told him that if he interfered in this, I’d never forgive him. And he saw that I meant it. Since then he’s been very good about the whole thing—I think.” The last two words were muttered under her breath as she eyed Sam speculatively. It was just too much of a coincidence that he had turned up like this . . . wanting to marry her. She could not shake the feeling that he must have known about the baby.

  “I swear I haven’t talked to Amos,” Sam said. His blue eyes met hers without any hint of evasion.

  Maybe he was telling the truth, Lisa thought, suddenly wanting fiercely to believe it. Then her common sense reasserted itself.

  “Marry me, Lisa,” Sam repeated quietly.

  He was still standing some five feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, the setting sun sending orange-gold rays through the big picture window behind him to paint a bright aureole around his dark head. His face was shadowed in contrast, but Lisa felt the intensity of his gaze on her. Once again she had to fight the urge to cross the small space that separated them and throw herself into his arms. But no—there was too much at stake, for the child that was even now twisting inside her as well as for herself. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake again. This time, before she committed herself to love, she had to be sure.

  “I told you, Sam, no.” Her arms came up to hug her stomach, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. His eyes followed every movement she made. “At least—I have to think about it. This child will be better off without any father at all than with a father who resents him, or with parents who are constantly at each other’s throats. Before, when it was just you and me, it didn’t matter so much. If it didn’t work out, we could have gotten a divorce, and we would have been the only ones hurt. Now—now everything is so much more complicated. I would find it hard to divorce the father of my child.”

  “There wouldn’t be a divorce. I love you, Lisa.”

  She smiled, almost bitterly. “Do you, Sam? You said that before—and then you left. What about the money? I’m still rich, Sam, and you’re not. When is that going to start bothering you again?”

  He turned away from her to take a quick, angry turn about the room. Finally he stopped by the darkening windo
w and turned to face her, his hands behind his back gripping the carved-oak sill.

  “During the last few months, I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter,” he said, the words quiet. “The money’s yours. I won’t touch it—but you can use it, if you want. To buy clothes and personal things for yourself—and the baby.”

  “That’s quite a switch.”

  She was mocking him, her head tilted to one side. In the deepening gloom, she was a faint pale blur with her ivory skin and silver-gilt hair. Her eyes and the expression on her face were hidden from him by the shadows.

  “I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I came to the conclusion that you’re what’s important—you and what we have together. Nothing else matters, compared to that.”

  At his words, Lisa felt a little flame begin to flicker and grow inside her, melting the block of ice that her heart seemed to have been encased in since Sam had thrown her off the ranch—and she had found out about the baby. He sounded almost humble, as if he was pleading with her to give him a chance. Not at all like the arrogant, authoritative soldier she had come to know. He sounded sincere—and, she thought, maybe he was. At this moment. But what would it be like when they had been married six months, a year, five years? Would the money prove an impossible stumbling block between them? Before, she had been willing to take that chance. Now, she had to be sure—because of the baby.

  “Well?” His tone told her clearly that he was getting impatient with her continuing silent regard. It also told her that he expected only one answer.

  “I have to think about this, Sam. It’s not something I can decide right now, on the spur of the moment. You’ll have to give me time.”

  “Goddamm it!” The oath ripped out of his mouth, cutting through the gloom like a knife.

  Lisa’s head came up, and she regarded him warily as he turned with quick, efficient movements to draw the drapes across the now-darkened window and flick on the pair of china lamps flanking the sofa. When the room was bathed in a soft, golden pool of light, he crossed to her, putting his hands on her upper arms and holding her when she would have pulled away. She felt the touch of his long, strong fingers gripping her bare skin all the way down to her toes. It had been months since she had felt anything sexual, months since she had even allowed herself to think of her body as anything except the vessel carrying her child, and the sudden rush of desire from nothing more than the touch of his hands startled her like an electric shock. She tried to draw away, but he held her, not hurting, but inescapable.