The Birth Mother

by Pamela Toth

  “Why?” she asked, disappointment wiping away her smile. Had he no interest in her except the most obvious?

  Without giving Emma an answer, Brandon wandered restlessly to the living-room window with his earlier lapse of control still heavy on his mind. Before he’d met her, he would have insisted that as much as he enjoyed feminine companionship, it was hardly a priority. The sophisticated career women he spent time with understood the rules; they felt the same way about relationships as he did. Passions were aroused, recognized, acted on and sated without a lot of messy emotions to complicate the situation.

  With Emma the rules had somehow been tossed out the window the night he realized she was a virgin, too late to keep from irreparably altering that status, and now he had no clear idea how to act around her. He only knew that when he’d found out the sheriff had hauled her away, Brandon hadn’t been able to get to her fast enough.

  He was still trying to regain his emotional balance when Emma joined him at the window. He hadn’t given her a reason why his departure might be for the best. How would he tell her that if he stayed, he was afraid they’d end up in bed again and he wasn’t sure that was a good idea?

  His body, on the other hand, had no doubts at all.

  “Do you want to watch television?” she asked. “We could see what’s on.”

  Brandon realized that running away from her wasn’t going to give him any answers. He turned and looked into her eyes, more green that gray in the waning light. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said, trapped by the war between his conscience and his libido. “Let’s rent a couple of movies. I saw a video store right down the street.” Maybe something with explosions and mayhem would distract him from the persistent idea of soft sighs and tangled sheets.

  Her smile was all the reward he needed. Other people’s happiness had never been a big concern of his, although he didn’t go out of his way to hurt anyone unless they tried to cheat him. For the first time he understood the genuine enjoyment a person could take from giving pleasure to someone who mattered.

  The realization did little to alleviate the uneasiness that was already churning through him like floodwater through a broken dike. Nervously he jiggled the car keys in his pocket, wondering how someone who’d faced down every threat of financial disaster imaginable without breaking a sweat could be so intimidated by one small woman.

  “So who do you like better?” he asked her. “Van Damme, Willis, or Schwarzenegger?”

  Six

  Emma sat next to Brandon on her couch, his arm around her and a bowl of popcorn resting on her lap. His feet were propped on the corner of the coffee table and a laughably bad rented movie played on the television. Every few minutes Brandon would look at Emma and smile, or their hands would touch when they both reached for more popcorn at the same time, sending a tingle up her arm.

  She kept sneaking sidelong glances at him, wondering what he was thinking. Earlier when they’d gone for a ride, he’d asked her more about her childhood. After she’d rattled on about the Stovers and how they’d wanted to adopt her but were unable to obtain permission, she turned the tables. Although Brandon hadn’t been nearly as forthcoming, he did admit to hiring a private investigator to track down his birth mother. Once she had been located, he never contacted her. When Emma asked why, his expression closed up and he shrugged.

  “I found out what I wanted to know,” was all he’d say.

  Sensing that her questions were making him uncomfortable, she’d backed off for the moment and gotten him talking about his travels instead.

  After college he’d been all over the world and the stories he told were fascinating. From what he said, Emma realized he was more comfortable as an observer than a participant. She wondered if that was always true of him, or just when he was in unfamiliar territory. Maybe someday she’d ask, but right now she didn’t want to disrupt the companionable mood between them with intrusive questions.

  Was that the real reason he’d dropped out of her life before, because the closeness they’d shared was some kind of uncharted emotional territory for him? Nibbling on a handful of popcorn, she mulled that idea over. Perhaps Brandon was the one who needed time—and patience—even more than she did. The question was, could she give him that without becoming hopelessly, painfully tangled in her own loving net?

  Emma had no answers. Instead of pursuing the thoughts circling her brain like hamsters in an exercise wheel, she focused her attention on the movie. A few minutes later, both she and Brandon groaned out loud at a particularly awkward line mouthed by one of the actors.

  Brandon hit the pause button on the remote and set the bowl of popcorn on the table. “This movie sucks.”

  Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m glad you said that. I was beginning to have grave doubts about your taste.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t hide their playful glint. “Is that right?” he murmured. “How about my taste in women?”

  “That I like,” she replied, her voice husky as she ran a hand up his arm. Feeling the muscles quiver beneath her palm gave her the courage to lean even closer. One thing her visit to the sheriff’s office had done was to remind her how quickly a person’s life could change. Even though the search for Emma’s mother hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped didn’t mean she had to stop taking chances on life.

  “Would you like to stay?” she asked Brandon.

  His reaction was all the reassurance she needed that he’d taken nothing for granted. For a moment he studied her face so intently she thought he must be memorizing each feature. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and turned it over gently to press a kiss into her palm.

  “I’d like to stay with you more than anything,” he whispered, his breath tickling her sensitive skin and making her fingers curl in reaction.

  “Okay,” she managed to utter as a ribbon of desire swirled through her. This was right, it was necessary. She needed him and she was good for him. Perhaps those icy barriers he’d erected around his heart could only be thawed by passion before love could seek entrance.

  It was a risk she had to take.

  Brandon cupped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “You won’t be sorry,” he vowed.

  She hoped he was right. Her pulse kicked up a gear as his head lowered and she gave herself up to the touch of his mouth as passion exploded inside her. The past eight months without him had been an eternity. Now she was ready to accept whatever he was able to give in exchange for her heart, and to trust that somehow the trade would be a fair one.

  Emma’s response melted the last shreds of Brandon’s resolve. With a groan he deepened the kiss. Slow was no longer an option; gentle and easy were slipping from his grasp as he felt her stir against him in wordless invitation. Desire fogged his brain and filled his groin. No one fired his blood the way Emma did.

  His first impulse was to rush her into bed, giving her no time for second thoughts. Before he could grab at his shaky control, she nibbled on his lip, sending a new blast of hunger roaring through him like a giant fireball. He pressed his hand to her breast, brushing her nipple with his thumb and feeling it bead through her clothes. Her nimble fingers tugged at the tail of his shirt, pulling it free to skate her hands up his ribs. Her unexpected assertedness turned the heat up several degrees.

  In a blink they were stretched out together on the couch. It was a narrow fit and he nearly rolled off.

  “Wait,” he gasped as she tugged at the snaps on his shirt.

  “No.”

  Her busy hands were addling his senses, but he nearly laughed at her blunt refusal. Finally he captured her wrists, kissing the fingers that still bore traces of butter and salt from the popcorn. He ran his tongue over her fingertips and felt her tremble.

  “Let me pull out the bed, before I end up on the floor,” he pleaded.

  She blinked, clearing the mist from her eyes, and her cheeks turned pink as she scooted to her feet. “I can’t believe I’m acting like this.”

&nbs
p; Brandon rose beside her and swept together the last crumbs of his self-control. “Is this truly what you want?” He’d die on the spot if she stopped now, but he had to be sure. Hustling her into the sack might be what his body screamed for, but that kind of move wasn’t his style. He wanted her crystal-clear on what she was doing, no rush and no regrets.

  “Emma?” he asked again, spirits sinking. Damn, was she calling his bluff?

  She took a deep breath, then her hands went to the front clasp of her bra and freed it, revealing her pretty breasts. His mouth watered at the sight. Was this her way of getting even after he’d ignored her for so long, taunting him with what he gave up? He watched with the breath wedged in his throat as she shimmied out of her black shorts. She was standing in lacy, high-cut panties and nothing else. His erection strained at his jeans and still he waited as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the silken scrap that stood between him and the soul-stirring satisfaction he hadn’t been able to put out of his mind. The sweet oblivion he’d never found with anyone except Emma.

  “Let me help you with those,” he offered when she didn’t immediately slip off the panties.

  Her smile was soft and womanly. “First unfold the bed.”

  This time when Emma woke, he was still there beside her, his dark head resting on the pillow and one brawny arm thrown across her waist as though he wanted to keep her close. He wasn’t a peaceful sleeper; the sheets were as tangled as if a battle had been fought. Even as she watched him, he stirred and groaned, his thick lashes fluttering. His hand twitched, touched her skin and stilled as though her presence had banished whatever nightmare gripped him.

  Her gaze wandered over his bare, sleek shoulders as she debated trying to rise without waking him. When she looked at his face, a narrow strip of blue stared back through the thicket of his lashes.

  “Good morning.” His voice was rusty with sleep, something they’d hadn’t gotten much of, between the times throughout the night that she’d wakened to his urgent hunger and once, later yet, to his lazy, drugging caress.

  Now he leaned over and kissed her, his mouth lingering, coaxing hers to moist, pliant heat. As quick as that, she wanted him again. He saw it in her eyes and he complied, sweetly, savagely, with a desperation that told her better than words how much he needed her.

  When she woke again, the bed and the room were empty. Swallowing a moan of despair, she scrambled to her feet, still naked. He must have heard her stir, because he appeared in the doorway of the tiny kitchen. His hair was neatly combed, but his shirt hung open, his pants were unsnapped and he held a coffee mug in one hand.

  Suddenly shy, Emma grabbed the first thing she could find, her uniform shirt, and held it in front of her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I thought you’d left.” The words popped out before she could stop them.

  Frowning with displeasure, he crossed the room and caught her up in his arms. “I told you I wouldn’t do that again,” he said fiercely, burying his face in her hair as he held her.

  The tension drained out of Emma, leaving her limp and compliant. Wordlessly she hung on to him, her shirt caught between them. What would he do if she told him she loved him?

  How could she love him and not trust him with the truth about Lexine? The dilemma was like a snake biting its own tail; it had no beginning and no end. It just went around and around in her head.

  “I’d better get dressed,” she said. “Are you hungry? I’ll fix breakfast as soon as I shower.”

  “I’ll take you out,” he offered, letting her go.

  “Thanks, but cooking is a treat for me. Going to a restaurant for breakfast is too much like work. Next thing you know, I’ll be pouring coffee refills for everyone.” She hoped there was something in the fridge she could turn into a meal.

  “While you’re in the shower I’ll call out to the ranch and see what’s up.” He reached for his cell phone. “Then I’ll help you with this strange custom you call cooking.”

  He must eat out a lot. Emma returned his smile before grabbing clean underwear from the bureau and ducking into the bathroom, painfully aware of her bare backside. His low wolf whistle made her chuckle as she slammed the door behind her.

  A few moments later she was drying off and humming happily under her breath when her phone rang.

  “Do you want me to answer that?” Brandon called from the other side of the bathroom door.

  Emma glanced at her watch. It might be her parents. Although the hour was still early to be entertaining male visitors, she knew they wouldn’t ask any embarrassing questions. What they might think was another matter, but that couldn’t be helped. She was a big girl now, entitled to make her own decisions.

  “Please do,” she replied, trusting Brandon to be discreet about her actual whereabouts. While she listened to his deep voice, she hurried into her underwear. Before she could slide into her jeans, he knocked softly on the door.

  “It’s for you.”

  The absurdity of the remark made her smile as she pulled a pink T-shirt over her head and opened the door as she shook out her hair. Her intention was to ask who he’d expected the call to be for, and then she saw his grim expression.

  “It’s the sheriff,” he said in an undertone as he held out the receiver.

  Gingerly, Emma took it from his hand and held it to her ear as cold chills rippled down her spine. “This is Emma.”

  “I know you probably can’t comment, but I wanted you to know that I’m on my way to the women’s prison to talk to Lexine,” he said after he’d identified himself.

  Emma’s gaze flew to Brandon’s face. Could he hear what Sheriff Rawlings was saying? As though Brandon could read her mind, he held up his empty cup and pointed to the kitchen.

  As soon as he’d walked away, she demanded in a low, angry voice, “Why do you have to do that?”

  The sheriff sighed. “I can’t go into it, but I thought there might be something else you wanted to say before I talk to her. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he added pointedly.

  Emma’s cheeks burned. “You didn’t,” she snapped without thinking. “I discussed that situation with you already and I have nothing to add.” She was about to hang up when he spoke again.

  “I’m not the enemy, Emma. As long as you aren’t hiding anything, you don’t have to worry.”

  “I already told you, I didn’t do it.” Emma rubbed her temple, wondering what excuse she could give Brandon for the call. She supposed it was considerate of the sheriff to let her know about Lexine. Before she could thank him, he said goodbye and hung up.

  As she replaced the receiver, Brandon stuck his head around the corner, making her wonder how closely he’d been tracking the conversation. “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks.” She was relieved when he didn’t ask about the sheriff. Instead he curved one arm around her and rested his cheek on her hair.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Emma gulped, longing to confide in him but still not willing to risk seeing the interest in his eyes replaced by pity, distaste or loathing. “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied as she pulled away. “I thought you said something about coffee.”

  His mouth tightened briefly, but then he smiled and she wondered whether she’d been seeing things that weren’t there. “Cream and sweetener, right?” he asked.

  Pleased that he remembered, she nodded and then she opened the door of the refrigerator. It wouldn’t be the fanciest breakfast served up in Whitehorn this morning, but at least she could offer him hash browns made from a leftover boiled potato, eggs, and a bran muffin, along with a grapefruit that was only starting to shrivel.

  He came up behind her and peered over her shoulder into the fridge. “It’s better stocked than mine back in Reno,” he commented, “but that’s not saying much.”

  “What’s your place like?” she asked as she got out the breakfast fixings.

  He seemed reluctant to answer her question. Tired of his reticen
ce, she thumped the food down onto the counter. “Forget I asked.”

  She’d spun away when his hand closed on her upper arm. She stopped, but she didn’t look at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said into her ear. “I guess I’m not used to anyone being interested enough to ask.”

  Relenting, Emma turned to face him. “I want to hear anything you care to tell me. There’s a lot I don’t know about you. It’s like you drop into town and then you disappear again, as though I’ve conjured you up. You know where I work. You’ve seen my apartment.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I’m just trying to fill in a few blanks, that’s all. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s your choice.”

  “I do,” he said, rubbing his hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved, of course, and the shadow along his jaw made him look dangerous and very, very sexy. “My house is on the edge of town in a nice area. I guess it’s too big for one person, but I bought it partly for an investment. It’s white stucco with a blue tile roof. There’s a fountain out front in the middle of a circular driveway. I have a pool out back and a tennis court.”

  “Do you play?” she asked, trying to picture him in white shorts.

  “Not that much. When I have the time, I prefer golf or a good game of basketball.”

  Emma had started fiddling with breakfast preparations while he was talking. “It sounds nice.” And very, very expensive.

  “I’d like to show it to you sometime.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “The sheriff requested that I not leave the area.” She tried to keep the sarcastic edge from her voice and failed. Even cloaked in polite terms, she knew an order when she heard one.

  “We’ll go after this is cleared up,” Brandon declared. “Have you ever been to Nevada?”

  Cracking eggs into a bowl, Emma shook her head. Once the Stovers had taken her in, she’d never ventured out of Clear Springs until she left for college. The neon world of Reno was beyond her experience.