Rescued by a Rancher

by Mindy Neff

  “You’ve done really well for yourself since you left Hope Valley.”

  He tugged at the brim of his hat. “Horses are easy.”

  “But land and people are hard?”

  “People are. Most of the time.”

  “What about me?” she asked, having no idea what propelled her. Frayed nerves, she decided. “Am I hard?”

  He touched her cheek, his knuckle stroking lightly, his eyes steady on hers. “You’re silky soft.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  His lips curved in what could have passed for a smile if he’d put a little effort into it. “I like to see you blush. And it’s not often a person gets a front-row seat to witness the cool Tracy Lynn Randolph in a state of panic.”

  “I did not panic.” She’d done exactly that.

  Replaying the drama in her mind filled her with embarrassment. She wanted to ask him if she’d caused this game of pretense they found themselves in. She’d never felt or acted so helpless in her life. Had she subconsciously wanted someone to rescue her? Had he seen that panic in her eyes and mistaken it for something else, something that caused him to step in and claim paternity?

  She laid a hand on his forearm, surprised when he maneuvered so that her palm slid down his wrist and into his hand.

  “Thank you for saving my father’s life. After Mama…I don’t think I could bear losing Daddy, too.”

  “He’s young, Trace. And strong. Hell, I worked beside him at Donetta’s beauty shop and he swung a hammer as easily as any of the rest of us.”

  “Typical. If work is involved, he’ll be the last man to pack up and go home.” She glanced toward the emergency room, wondered how long it would take for the X rays. “You know, you took a pretty big risk laying claim to my baby. The additional shock could have made Daddy worse.”

  “I may not have been good enough before, babe, but that’s all changed.” His tone was slightly defensive. “I’ve got a bank account that ensures no one closes a door on me.”

  She wondered how many doors had been slammed in his face before success and money had given him the clout and prestige he enjoyed today.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I keep saying the wrong thing. People treat me differently because of the size of my trust fund, and I’ve simply accepted it as part of life. But you’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum.” Her father had called him a hoodlum when he was in high school. “You’re right, though. Daddy is swayed by things like monetary success. But I’m not.”

  Amusement flashed in his eyes and she realized she’d blundered into insult again. “I meant that I’ve never judged you,” she said.

  He didn’t comment. Silence stretched as he watched her, his gray-blue eyes giving away none of his emotions.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  He’d changed the subject in a way that left no room for negotiation. Tracy Lynn wasn’t used to someone else having the upper hand in a conversation, but with Lincoln Slade she couldn’t seem to find her usual pluck. This wasn’t a man who’d fall at a woman’s feet and let her call the shots, as so many of the men she’d dated had.

  Was that her problem? That she hadn’t yet met a man who challenged her?

  “I don’t want to leave the waiting area in case the doctor comes out.”

  “Okay. We can take our chances with the complimentary mud over there in the pot, or I can go scare us up a decent cup.”

  She wasn’t a clinging kind of woman, but she didn’t want to be alone, even for the short time it would take him to go to the hospital cafeteria and back. And that was ridiculous. For goodness’ sake, she’d sent her friends home.

  “I suppose we could live dangerously and give this stuff a try—” She stopped, her eyes growing wide. “What am I thinking? I’m pregnant. I shouldn’t be drinking coffee in the first place.”

  His gaze moved to her stomach. For no accountable reason, chills raced up and down her spine. She didn’t know the name of her sperm donor, which was the way she’d wanted it. She was, after all, a single mother by choice.

  But she couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to have the father of her child standing here beside her, sharing her worry, caressing her still-flat stomach with his eyes, imagining the life he’d helped to create growing within her womb.

  And she couldn’t stop herself from casting Lincoln Slade in that role.

  “If we’re not going to have coffee, let’s sit.” Linc put his hand at her waist and led her over to the chairs. “So, what do you do?” he asked.

  “Do?” She sat. “Like a job?”

  “Most people have one.”

  “I guess I’m what you’d call a philanthropist. I have a trust fund that allows me to live comfortably on just the interest. So I try to give back to the community—mainly through charities involving senior citizens, children and the hospital. And after Mama died, I took over as hostess for Daddy. He does a lot of political entertaining. It keeps me busy.”

  “What made you decide to have a kid on your own? And what’s the matter with the men in this town to let a thing like that happen?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a single mother,” she defended. “As for the men in town, I think I intimidate them. I’ll be thirty at the end of the year…”

  “Christmas Eve,” he murmured.

  “How do you know my birthday?”

  “Mine’s Christmas Day. Your folks used to have a party for you every year at the country club. I worked there for a couple of years, helped get the banquet room ready.” Actually, he’d fantasized that she was his birthday and Christmas gift rolled into one.

  “Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably, glanced away. “Anyway, I wanted a baby before I turned thirty, and since I don’t have any husband prospects, I decided to take control. My first round didn’t work. So I had a second procedure—” She stopped speaking when the emergency room doors swung open.

  The cardiologist she’d met earlier scanned the waiting room.

  Tracy Lynn jumped up and rushed forward to meet him. “Dr. Bruley. How is he?”

  “Well, considering he suffered an acute myocardial infarction, he’s—“

  “What’s a myocardial infarction?”

  “Heart attack.”

  “But he’s only fifty-nine!” Then again, Mama had only been forty-eight when she’d died. The thought sneaked through Tracy Lynn’s battered defenses.

  “Heart disease isn’t limited to the elderly.” Although the doctor’s demeanor suggested he was in a hurry, his eyes remained kind. “How long has your father had high blood pressure?”

  “He doesn’t—I mean, no one’s ever said so. He hasn’t said so.”

  “He should have been on meds and under the care of a cardiologist long before this,” the doctor said.

  “Did his blood pressure cause the heart attack?”

  “It’s possible. I can’t say for sure until I run more tests. We’ll be keeping him here for a while. The nurses are getting him settled in CCU.”

  “But he was awake and talking in the emergency room. I thought he was going to be fine.”

  Linc put his arm around her shoulders, the touch making her aware that her voice was rising in fear.

  She took a breath, tried to stay calm. That was like asking an elephant to squeeze through a mouse hole. Impossible.

  “We’ve got him pumped full of morphine, and he’s in cardiac arrhythmia, so—“

  “Do you mind saying that in layman’s terms?” Linc asked. Tracy Lynn gave him a grateful look.

  “Sorry.” The cardiologist shook his head. “His heart is beating erratically. We doctors prefer steady rhythm. Mr. Randolph has agreed to an angiogram, and I’ve scheduled it for tomorrow morning. That’s a procedure where we insert dye into the coronary arteries to check for blockage. After that, we’ll know better what we’re dealing with.”

  “What if there’s blockage?”

  “Depending on the severity, there are several opti
ons, but we can discuss that when the time comes.”

  “When can I see him?”

  “I’ll have the nurse call down and let you know. Shouldn’t be much longer. I’d prefer you only stay with him a few minutes, though. I want your father kept as quiet and undisturbed as possible. That means absolutely no stress. After you see him, I suggest you have your young man take you home to get some rest. We’ll talk again tomorrow.” The pager clipped to his pocket beeped. Dr. Bruley patted her on the shoulder and hurried away.

  Tracy Lynn turned to Linc. “How am I supposed to guarantee that Daddy will stay calm? Especially after my baby news.” She started to pace. “And what about the other thing—what you told him…?”

  “I suppose we’ll just have to pretend we’re engaged—at least until the doc say he’s in the clear.”

  “Engaged!” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Who said anything about—“

  “It’s the next logical step when a man gets a woman pregnant.”

  “But you didn’t get me pregnant!” If he intended to drive her crazy, it would be a very short trip.

  “Your father thinks I did. He’ll rest easier if he believes we’re going to legitimize the baby and our relationship.” Both his tone and his stance were so matter-of-fact, she was tempted to give him a shove just to get a reaction.

  She speared her fingers through her hair, fisted the roots in her hands until the slight pain took away the very real urge to scream. What Linc said was true. In this instance, Daddy would expect a marriage to be on the agenda.

  Who knew she’d find herself in a pretend engagement to Lincoln Slade?

  “What if he takes longer to recover?” she asked, dropping her hands to her sides.

  “You’re borrowing trouble.”

  “I don’t need to borrow any. You’ve managed to supply me with plenty.” She realized her tone was less than charming. “I’m sorry. That sounded really ungrateful. I understand your intention. And it was sweet. I just hate for you to have to—“

  “Babe.”

  “—stay here. And I—“

  “Babe.” He put his finger under her chin, effectively hushing her.

  “What?” He was the only one who’d ever called her babe and gotten away with it. She’d considered the endearment slightly condescending to women. But with Linc, her reaction was just the opposite. He made the word sound caring. And darn it all, that gave her a thrill, made her feel special, exclusive.

  “Quit worrying about me,” he said. “I don’t have anywhere else to be right now. So let’s just chill and see what happens, okay?”

  She shifted away from the finger that was now stroking her jaw. “Okay. Fine. And thank you,” she added graciously. “But I still feel bad—even though a big part of this situation is your fault.”

  His lips quirked ever so slightly, but his eyes gave away nothing.

  Sirens wailed as another ambulance pulled into the emergency bay, and she was aware of the smell of disinfectant. She was reminded all too well of the endless hours she’d spent at the hospital with her mother, the nights she’d go home reeking of odors she would forever associate with sickness and desperation—the desperation of family and friends clinging, often in vain, to hope.

  “Ms. Randolph?”

  Tracy Lynn whirled around as a volunteer in a blue jacket walked toward them.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m Tracy Lynn—Jerald Randolph’s daughter.”

  “We have your father in the third-floor coronary-care unit. Y’all can go on up now. I’ll take you.”

  Linc squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be right here, babe.”

  “Oh, you must be the beau,” the woman said, beaming at Linc. “I declare, y’all do make a beautiful couple! You can go up, too. Mr. Randolph is a mite agitated, and he’s asking for both of you.”

  Tracy Lynn met Linc’s gaze. A beautiful couple? Was her father already making assumptions and spreading the false news?

  Good Lord, how much worse could this get?

  Chapter Three

  Tracy Lynn and Linc fell into step several paces behind their fleet-footed guide. The woman had to be eighty if she was a day, yet Tracy Lynn was the one about to break a sweat.

  “I seem to recall you were in the drama class in high school,” Linc murmured close to her ear. “How would you rate your acting skills now?”

  She gave him a blank look.

  “Can you pretend we’re engaged?” he clarified. “In love? Act as though we’ve slept together?”

  His questions made her a nervous wreck. “Um…I don’t think we need to go overboard with the act.”

  “Damn,” he whispered. “I suppose that means no kissing?”

  He was teasing her. But she couldn’t seem to communicate that to the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. More than once in her life, she’d fantasized about kissing Lincoln Slade.

  Instead of answering him, she increased her pace and caught up with the volunteer, thanked the woman for the escort and assured her they wouldn’t have any problems finding the third floor on their own.

  A few minutes later, Tracy Lynn decided she might have been wiser to hang on to their guide. All the way up in the enclosed elevator, she was ultraa-ware of Linc by her side, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

  She didn’t exactly feel uncomfortable around him. Although this unwelcome attraction was a bit awkward. She didn’t quite know how to define the feeling. Off balance? Weird? Completely crazy?

  Often, she found herself trying hard not to look in his direction, not to let on she’d noticed him, for fear that he—or someone else—would catch her staring and read her curiosity, her interest.

  And of course, trying to appear casual pretty much guaranteed her body language would project the exact opposite.

  She’d felt a similar nervousness when he was a sullen teen, a year ahead of her in school. Even then, she’d worried that he could see her thoughts, sense the covert glances she sneaked his way, glances that had invariably been poorly timed and had slammed right into his.

  Darn it all, he intrigued her, drew her, tempted her. Scared the living daylights out of her.

  Was the temptation stronger because he’d been forbidden fruit? People tended to place more importance on what they couldn’t have—or weren’t allowed to have—than was actually warranted.

  Or was it that Linc was the only man in her life she wasn’t sure of? The one whose emotions she’d never been able to figure out?

  She wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable, not knowing for certain where she stood with a guy, if she could even meet his expectations.

  Good grief. Where had that little piece of insecurity come from? Usually, she realized, men were trying to meet her expectations.

  For crying out loud. She was obsessing over Lincoln Slade, and it had to stop.

  “If Daddy’s asking for both of us, that must be a good sign,” she said, her words loud in the silence of the elevator.

  “Meaning he approves of me sleeping with his daughter?” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his tone as nonchalant as his stance.

  “I didn’t sleep with you!”

  “You just blew your line…Juliet,” he drawled softly.

  She gaped at him. “I hardly think the roles of Romeo and Juliet fit our situation.”

  “Close enough. Your daddy didn’t approve of me ten years ago.”

  “Well, he apparently latched onto you quick enough when you legitimized my child!”

  The elevator doors opened and she marched off, following the arrow aimed toward the coronary-care unit. She didn’t need to look back to know Linc was behind her. She could feel him.

  What in the world was the matter with her? Normally her emotions were as steady as an oak. Right now they ran more along the lines of a sapling in a gale-force wind, not at all like her. Pregnancy hormones, perhaps? Or simply that she’d had more than her share of upsets today.

  She pressed a button on the wall and passed throu
gh the automatic doors admitting them to the CCU. The nurses’ station was in the center of the ten-bed unit, affording them a view and quick access to all the patients.

  Tracy Lynn’s steps faltered when she spied her father through the opening in the drab green drapes that formed a U around his hospital bed.

  A nasal cannula delivered oxygen through tubes that draped crookedly across his cheeks. Round patches sprouting wires that monitored his heart activity were stuck to his chest. He wore a faded blue hospital gown, which bunched around the cardiac apparatus. An IV was taped to his left forearm, a blood-pressure cuff wrapped around his right bicep.

  She was dimly aware of Linc’s steadying hand on her shoulder, the gentle squeeze of encouragement. She forced herself to step into the room, even as visions of her mother’s lifeless body flashed through her mind. Her purse knocked against the guest chair and Jerald’s eyes opened.

  “Hey, Daddy,” she said softly. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like somebody parked a pickup on my chest.” He peered around her. “No sense in standing out there in the middle of the room, Lincoln. Come in here and close the curtain so we can have some privacy.”

  Tracy Lynn met Linc’s gaze, recognizing the same resignation she knew her own must show. When he drew level with her, she slipped her hand in his with hardly a thought.

  They’d agreed to pretend they were a couple. But for an instant, when his fingers twined with hers, and the side of her breast grazed his upper arm, she forgot all about pretense. This felt…real. And right.

  Until her father spoke again.

  “I expect you to do right by my daughter,” he said to Linc. “None of this long-engagement stuff now that the horse is already out of the barn. No sense giving folks too good a reason to count on their fingers when the baby’s born. You get my drift?”

  When Linc didn’t answer, Tracy Lynn glanced at him. The two men were engaged in a stare-down, taking each other’s measure in a silent battle of wills, evidently to determine who would win the position of control.