Colt's handsome features looked harsh, even in the dim light. The tiny lines around his eyes were almost white against his bronze skin, his lips still set in a tight frown. The shape of his lips fascinated her. The upper was perfectly formed and the fullness of the lower created a natural, sensuous pout. The last time they had sat on the sofa together, she had studied that rakish pout. It had looked friendlier then.
Her stomach quivered. Had he decided she wasn't the right surrogate? Had her excitement over the nursery given her away? "What's the matter?" she asked, fearing the answer.
He pulled a hand through his unbound hair. "Maybe I jumped the gun about decorating the baby's room so soon. The kid hasn't even been conceived yet. And there are still a lot of issues that haven't been discussed—legal documents, financial and medical arrangements." He winced, as though his next words were forming a bitter taste in his mouth. "I hate to bring this up, but truthfully, it still bothers me that you're not what I expected."
Her professional side took over, the one that marketed concepts, drawings and ideas. It was too late to become the surrogate he had envisioned, but it wasn't too late to promote the qualities she had. "How we imagine things is rarely how they really are. You want a woman who's willing to give up a child, but you think she should be the stereotype of a fifties TV mom. That's unrealistic, Colt."
Below the pout, a muscle ticked. "I know."
"What is it about me that concerns you?"
He kicked a booted foot onto the knotty-pine coffee table. "You're successful, talented and beautiful."
She sputtered a laugh. "Such terrible qualities. Your son or daughter might inherit them."
"It's not the kid I'm worried about," he admitted with his usual candor. "It's me. I had expected to feel a little more … clinical toward the woman I'm considering."
Melanie withheld a satisfied smile. Apparently Colt found himself attracted to her. "You're successful, talented and good-looking, too," she said, eyeing him appreciatively. "It's okay for us to admire each other. We're human beings. This shouldn't be 'clinical.' I don't want to be thought of as just a hired womb. From my understanding, the most successful surrogate relationships are the ones that stem from friendship."
Colt's features relaxed, frown lines fading. "Friends I can handle." His gaze dropped to the floor. "Did you bring a pair of sensible boots with you, California girl?"
She lifted her ostrich covered feet. "Sensible?"
"Plain old leather. Something to ride in."
"Are we riding?"
"Tomorrow at dawn. I supply the horses."
"Does that offer include scrambled eggs and coffee?"
"Sure." Colt smiled. "We'll talk babies over breakfast."
Melanie studied the delicious curve of his lip. "You've got yourself a deal, Montana man."
* * *
The following morning Colt smiled at the lady seasoning the hash browns. He liked her, this classy California girl, even though he had never been around her "type." Maybe she'd grown up in his hometown, but he envisioned her sunning on the beach, working out in an upscale gym and shopping in Beverly Hills. Who would have guessed she was surrogate-mother material?
She sprinkled bits of freshly-chopped garlic over the potatoes. Good thing they weren't going to kiss, he thought, surprising himself by the spontaneous notion. Melanie was the first woman in a long time he actually wanted to kiss.
Make love to.
Colt shook his head, trying to expel the unwelcome desire. Lovemaking and babies. The two, of course, were meant to go hand in hand. Just not in this case. If he made her pregnant it would be done in a doctor's office by way of a syringe. He did not want an emotional involvement in his life, and even though sex didn't always lead to one, an affair with his surrogate was asking for trouble. With a capital T.
"Where exactly in California do you live?" he asked.
She had already begun setting the table. From the moment she'd arrived, she'd rolled up her designer sleeves and pitched right in, chopping potatoes and squeezing oranges. Colt allowed his gaze to roam over her backside. Her jeans were a little too tight for proper ranch wear, but he didn't mind.
Melanie turned and smiled, silverware in hand. She had a genuine smile. A nice feature his child might inherit.
"Santa Monica. As close to the ocean as I could get."
He tried not to widen his eyes. Ostrich cowboy boots and the beach. "Isn't that expensive?"
"Not as expensive as Malibu. And I live in a condo, a leased one."
He cracked another egg into a mixing bowl, then tried to fish out a renegade shell that had settled with it. "But still … even a rental next to the ocean must cost a small fortune."
"It's worth it." She watched him chase the eggshell around with a tablespoon. "Colt, do you need some help?"
"Actually, yes, I do." He grinned. "I'm not too macho to admit when I need a woman." Immediately he bit back his grin, wishing he could bite back his words. "In the kitchen, I mean," he added, much too late.
Melanie handled his blunder like the true lady she was, ignoring it, much to his relief. "Here." She took the spoon and scooped out the shell on her first try. He stood nearby while she finished his original task. The eggs were cracked with one hand, shells discarded quickly.
Colt liked having her in such close proximity so he didn't move away. Instead he made a point of watching her scramble the eggs as though her culinary skills fascinated him. Her deft movements reminded him of his grandmother in the kitchen, of happier times and his favorite meals.
Colt took pleasure in having a woman cook for him. Of course, not enough to welcome one back into his life, but what harm was there in allowing her to fix breakfast? "I'm great on an outdoor grill or over a campfire, but I never liked to fuss in the kitchen much."
Melanie poured the eggs into a pan, immediately stirring them with a rubber spatula. "Well then, we ought to get along just fine. I can never get the charcoal lit, and I don't know the first thing about campfires."
Ten minutes later they shared breakfast in the dining room, at the table his grandmother used to dust religiously with lemon oil. Colt noticed Melanie ate sparingly and avoided the bacon all together. He thought about teasing her about being a "cheap date," but decided it would probably be in bad taste. There was nothing cheap about their impending relationship.
Colt gobbled up the bacon she had rejected. "So, when are you going back to California?"
"I have to head back by the end of next week for a couple of business meetings. If and when I come back to Montana depends on—" a bright blue gaze met his "—what you decide."
Colt bit the inside of his lip, an irritating if not painful habit. Once he divulged the skeleton in his closet, would Melanie Richards want to bear his child?
"If we decide on this arrangement," he said, "I was wondering where you plan on living, because a long-distance pregnancy isn't what I had in mind. I want to be involved the way a father should be, attending doctor visits."
Melanie had a quick response. "The lease is almost up on my condo, so moving back to Montana isn't a problem. I can pretty much work from anywhere, as long as I meet my deadlines. And since the situation would be temporary, Gloria said I could stay with her." She sipped her juice. "But I'd rather get my own place. She already has eight kids underfoot. They don't need me and my art supplies taking up space."
He smiled. She always managed to say all the right things, put him at ease. "This house used to be a lodge. I've got an empty cabin out back. Maybe you could take up residence there."
"A cabin?" Her eyes sparkled. "That might be just what I need. I have to admit I miss Montana. The rat race in L.A. gets to me sometimes. And the rent has to be more reasonable than a beachfront condo, right?"
Colt realized they were both acting as though she were already his surrogate. "If you become my surrogate, there's no way I'd expect you to pay rent. I intend to cover your housing and medical expenses in addition to the fee we talked about." He couldn't
resist a wink. "I'll even buy your groceries. You need to eat more, put some meat on those tiny bones of yours."
She laughed. "Oh, I think pregnancy might take care of that."
olt finished his coffee. "How would you feel about me being present at the birth?"
A soft blush rose in her cheeks. "I don't know … I hadn't thought about— Were you there when Meagan was born?"
He nodded. "Most incredible experience of my life."
The pink stain on her cheeks remained. "Maybe we could start with those birthing classes and work up to the actual event."
Colt smirked. "Don't tell me you're modest. I thought California girls ran around in those itty-bitty bikinis."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "That's entirely different."
His body temperature rose a degree. Melanie in a skimpy bikini was a pleasant thought. "Why don't you talk to Gloria about the actual event? She must be a pro by now. And speaking from experience, women forget all about modesty when they're delivering a baby."
Melanie looked up from her unfinished meal. "Do you always say everything that's on your mind?"
"Pretty much."
But not always. He wouldn't dare say what was on his mind now. She was concerned about modesty? What about his part in the insemination?
Colt had already discussed the clinical details with the doctor. Fresh sperm versus frozen. Heck of a thing for a guy to have to contemplate. After weighing the facts, he'd opted fresh since usually twice as many inseminations were required with frozen.
He gazed at the beautiful woman seated across from him and couldn't help wishing another option was available. What? Penetration instead of insemination? He had no business entertaining that thought. None whatsoever.
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
As she and Colt strode across the grounds to the barn, Melanie noticed it had been refurbished since the last time she had seen it. Everything was the same, yet different. The east side of the ranch still yielded a rodeo arena, the west, a chicken coop no longer clucking with life. There were almost as many horses as there had been, but a lot fewer steers.
Most of all, she was different. Inside and out. Gertrude Richards had been tucked away, and Melanie, confident California artist had emerged. Colt, too, it seemed had changed. True, his silky, black mane and heart-stopping wink were the same, but the wild teenage boy was gone. The brisk Montana winds had carried him away and brought back a man—mature, strong and proud, as rooted to the land as a tall ponderosa pine.
Colt went into the tack room while Melanie waited in the barn, amusing herself with a friendly mare. As she stroked the horse's blaze, it nodded in approval. In the next stall, a flashy, red dun gelding poked out its big, snorting nose and whinnied. "Just like a male," she said to the mare, "always looking for attention."
Colt's laughter sounded behind her. "Young Rocky there doesn't even know he's male. Now, I've got a champion stallion—Outlaw's Fancy…"
Melanie smiled. It figured Colt owned a stud named Outlaw. She motioned to the mare. "What's her name?"
He placed a bucket of grooming aids on the ground. "Sweet Cinnamon Surprise."
She eyed the gentle mare. The feminine name fit. "Sounds like a dessert I used to order at this trendy coffee bar on Melrose. I want to ride her."
Colt chuckled again. "Just like a woman to pick a horse for its pretty name."
Her chin tilted. "I do the same thing at the track. Sometimes I even win."
He looked amused by her admission. "Can you ride, California girl? I don't want Cinnamon taking advantage of you."
The chin protruded even further. "Of course I can ride. I was born in Montana, remember?" Besides riding on his ranch for nearly two years, she had also taken expensive lessons in California. Western pleasure and a little dressage. She wasn't the best dressage rider, but she looked good in the tall, black boots. "I can saddle a horse, too."
"Good." Colt reached for the halter and lead line hanging from a nail. "Put this on Cinnamon and hitch her up outside. I'll get a bridle and look for a saddle that will fit you." His gaze sparked appreciatively as it slid down her petite curves. "You sure are a little one."
"How does that saying go?" she asked, doing her best to seem innocent of his masculine stare. She didn't think he was aware of the hungry look in his eyes. "Something about small things…"
"Good things," he corrected, spinning on his heel, his husky voice fading as he departed. "Come … in … small … pack—"
"Like babies," Melanie whispered to Cinnamon as she buckled the nylon halter and led the mare into the summer sun. A bright blue sky, horses frolicking in lush green pastures, and a mountain backdrop greeted her. In the distance she could see some of Colt's ranch hands milling around. Behind the main house several rustic log cabins stood, one possibly waiting for her occupancy.
After securing the mare to a long, wooden hitching post, Melanie went back for the grooming supplies Colt had placed on the barn's dirt floor. Holding the curry in one hand and dandy in the other, Melanie brushed Cinnamon, then began picking out the sorrel's feet.
"Hey, Melanie."
She placed the mare's foot back on the ground and turned to the sound of Colt's voice. Someone else stood beside him. A tall, lanky man with a bushy, gray mustache. She recognized him immediately.
"This is Shorty," Colt said to her. "He's about the only family I've got left."
"The boy and me ain't related," the older man offered gruffly. "But I've been working this here ranch since before he was even born."
She didn't extend her hand. Both men carried saddles. "Nice to meet you. I'm Melanie."
Shorty balanced the saddle on his bony hip and tipped his dusty, tan hat. "Ma'am."
Colt slid the saddle in his arms over the hitching post rail and Shorty did likewise. She assumed the smaller one was hers. "Should I tack Cinnamon up?" she asked, hoping to avert Shorty's scrutinizing gaze by turning away. The old man's head was cocked in a birdlike pose.
"Sure, if you'd like," Colt answered. "Everything's there. The pad's underneath. I'll go get Rocky. He's still a little green on the trail. He could use the time out."
As Colt's long, denim-clad legs carried him back to the barn, Shorty stepped forward. "You look a tad familiar," he said.
"I grew up in the area. I live in California now."
He snorted. "You and the boy old friends?"
The boy. "No, we've just recently become acquainted." A truthful lie at best, since they had never really gotten to know each other in the past, at least not in the way she would have liked. There had been no romantic ties, at least not on Colt's end. But he would have been blind not to have suspected her amorous feelings. No. the last thing she needed was Shorty blowing her cover. If Colt found out who she was, he might think twice about using her as his surrogate.
Shorty smoothed his peppered mustache. He didn't look as old as he should. Maybe he hadn't been as ancient as she remembered. At seventeen anyone over forty seemed like a fossil.
He wagged a long, slightly crooked finger. "I'm sure I've met you somewhere."
Melanie reached for the bridle slung over the saddle horn, trying to appear too busy to chat. "Mountain Bluff is a small town."
"It will come to me," Shorty mumbled as he strode away. "I never forget a face."
* * *
"You've been awful quiet." Colt reined his gelding to a stop and glanced over at Melanie. "Is something bothering you?"
Cinnamon halted without being asked. "No, I've just been taking in the scenery." And worrying sick over Shorty's last words. Should she tell Colt who she was? Would it matter to him?
Of course it would, she told herself, once again.
"Do you want to stretch your legs a bit?" he asked.
"Okay."
How accurate could Shorty's memory be? she wondered as they dismounted. The man had worked on a recreational ranch for over thirty years. Most likely he had met hundreds of people. He couldn't
possibly remember them all and especially not a girl whose features had been altered.
Melanie watched Colt hobble the horses, and decided it was time to relax and enjoy the land. They had been riding for hours and in truth she hadn't taken in the scenery at all. In doing so now, a wave of homesickness washed over her.
Patches of wildflowers colored the terrain, their tiny, bright heads swaying in a gentle breeze. Trees stood tall and green, gnarled roots clawing the rich soil, tiny animals nesting within.
Mountains peaked to an enormous summer sky filled with clouds so downy and white, she imagined tiny blonde cherubs peering over the floating cushions, bows taut, amorous arrows poised for flight. This, she thought, was definitely the place to fall in love. Just a breath away, a small stream moistened the floral-scented air, bubbling and polishing stones as it moved, the clear water cool and inviting. Serenity. Pure and simple.
"I forgot how beautiful Montana is," Melanie said, kneeling beside the stream.
"This is my favorite spot." Colt moved toward her with long-legged grace, the ends of his shoulder-length hair fluttering like sleek, black wings. He placed a water flask on the ground between them and followed it down. "I feel content here."
"I can see why." She picked up a pinecone and studied it. "I used to collect these all year, then paint them at Christmas-time. I still make all my own ornaments." Suddenly the need to move back to Montana grew fierce. "After all these years, waking up at the beach on Christmas morning still feels strange. That's when I miss snow the most."
He drew his legs up and leaned his elbows against his knees. A Stetson as dark as his eyes rested on his head, a blue denim shirt covered the broad expanse of his chest. Melanie glanced down at her own shirt; it was denim too, only it yielded a designer's label. Colt's probably came from the Western Emporium in town. He was a wealthy man but a simple one. She had heard his grandfather had made some sound investments, leaving Colt with quite a nest egg.
He looked over at her. "Do you ever visit your foster family during the holidays?"
WARRIOR'S BABY Page 3