"Feel better?" he asked.
"Much." She returned his phone. "Julianne said Bobby's been giving Justin piggyback rides."
"Really?" Michael hadn't thought of entertaining Justin in that manner, but this daddy stuff was still a bit new.
New, but cool. He liked being a father.
Heather met his gaze, and he studied her, the way her hair framed her face, the glow of her candlelit skin.
He'd always been fascinated by her, even when they were kids, when her chest was flat and her knees were knobby.
"You were cute when you were young," he said.
She picked up her wine, took a sip. "Cute?"
"I liked that you had a crush on me. It made me feel important."
"You were important. The only boy I wanted to be with. Of course, there was that hunk who took me to the prom. He was a pretty good kisser. And he—"
"Knock it off." He all but snapped out the words, springing them like rubber bands. He recalled her prom date, recalled how proper and gentlemanly the guy was, just the type Heather should have ended up with, the stable, fall-in-love sort Michael could never be.
She toyed with her cocktail napkin, gave him a coy smile. "Jealous?"
"Damn right." He flicked a peanut at her and made her laugh.
"As if you didn't put me through the wringer. So I kissed a few boys. How many women have you been with?"
He shrugged, spun the ice in his glass. "Can I help it if I'm so irresistible?"
She narrowed her pretty eyes at him. "They were bimbos, Michael. Hardly worth bragging about."
And he'd slept with most of them during a time when she'd been forbidden to him. "I was waiting for you."
"By bedding every blonde in town? That's quite a sacrifice."
Michael cursed his stupidity. He hadn't brought her here to joke about the past, to make wisecracks that cut bone deep.
"Do you want to dance?" he asked.
Her gaze met his, and she seemed to relax, to appreciate the shift of topic, the suggestion to hold each other.
The song was easy, the mood light and sensual. Heather's body fit perfectly against his, her long, lean curves pressing intimately.
He lowered his head to kiss her, tasting her warmth, her sweetness, the wine flavoring her lips. Afterward, she looked into his eyes, dazzling him, making every nerve ending under his skin come alive.
"I love you, Michael."
Breathless, he nearly stumbled. "You shouldn't say that."
"I can't help it."
And neither could he. He wouldn't allow himself to love her, but that didn't stop the obsession, the need, the desperation of wanting her.
"Just don't leave me again," he said.
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
She brushed her lips against his cheek, and he prayed he wasn't fooling himself. That he wouldn't wake up one night and discover she was gone.
* * *
Chapter 10
«^»
Three days passed, with spring edging closer to summer, with warm, dry winds billowing through open windows.
Awakening in the dark, Michael rolled over and reached for Heather. Stretching his arm farther, he connected with her pillow.
And discovered she wasn't there.
Panicked, he shot out of bed and grabbed his jeans, blinking and squinting at the clock on the dresser: 4:05. The moon was still out.
He checked the bathroom first, then the nursery. The baby slept, but Heather was nowhere to be found.
Even though he knew she wouldn't leave Justin behind, he couldn't stop the flash of fear slamming through his veins. What if the mob took her? What if Halloway had lied about not preying on women?
He dashed into the living room, noticed the porch light and released a shaky breath.
Much too anxious, he swung open the front door. She sat on the swing, a silky robe belted over her nightgown. "Damn it, Heather. You scared me. I didn't know where the hell you were."
Her hand flew to her heart, and he realized his harsh tone had startled her.
In spite of her jumpiness, she looked beautiful, soft and delicate in the amber light, with the vast Texas sky and the night-shadowed hills framed like a photo behind her.
"I was going to get you up soon," she said.
"Why?"
"Reed called."
His pulse pounded. "When?"
"The phone woke me about an hour ago. He wants us to meet him. After the sun comes up. In the smoking cave."
Her brother was here, in Texas? "What's going on?"
"I don't know. He didn't give me much to go on. He said to make sure there's no one following us. And to bring Justin."
"On that trail?" The narrow path to the smoking cave, to the secret place where Reed and Michael used to share cigarettes, was only accessible by foot. "How are we supposed to haul Justin up that hill?"
She rocked the swing, her voice quiet yet determined. "I have a baby carrier Reed used to cart Justin around in. It's like a backpack. We can use that."
He frowned, worried where this was leading. "I don't understand what your brother is up to. Why take a chance like this? Why come to Texas?"
"He said it's important. Really important. I think it has something to do with the FBI."
Michael quit arguing. He could see that Heather intended to meet with Reed, to bring the baby, with or without him. And no damn way would he let her go alone.
They showered and dressed, then got Justin ready.
The drive to the hills proved quiet. The sun broke through the clouds, sending a reddish-gold hue across the sky. The baby drank his bottle in the back seat, unaware and unfazed by the early-morning outing.
Michael took the winding road as far as he could and parked at a lookout point near a ledge. Heather helped him settle Justin into the baby carrier on his back, and they hiked the rest of the way.
The limestone-based soil supported cedar and live oak, and the narrow path wound past trees and spiny brush. The sight of the cave, partially hidden by branches, brought back childhood memories, images of two wild-spirited boys, testing the boundaries of youth.
Michael and Heather entered the cave and stood near the opening, where a small amount of light trickled in.
Soon a tall, dark figure emerged.
"Reed." Heather whispered her brother's name and moved forward, hugging him.
When she stepped back, Michael noticed the changes in the other man. His hard-edged face was leaner, and his long dark hair had been shorn. He wore a cowboy hat dipped low on his forehead, the brim shading his eyes.
His body was leaner, too. But still corded with muscle. He looked haunted. And dangerous. Every bit the desperado he was.
Heather removed Justin from the baby carrier, and when the boy spotted his father, he gasped and reached out, anxious to make contact.
Justin hadn't reacted this strongly to Beverly, but she had been confined to a bed, with tubes attached to her body.
Reed took his son, holding him close.
Michael felt a pang of envy. Then a stab of fear. Did the other man intend to resume custody? To take away the child Michael had agreed to claim?
"Sims and Hoyt are waiting for me at the campground," Reed said. "I don't have much time."
Heather gazed at her brother. "They're helping you?"
"Yes." He kissed Justin, allowing the affection to linger. "They're offering me protection for my testimony. There was a murder Halloway orchestrated, and I—" He paused, drew a breath. "I was there. I knew it was going to happen."
Had Reed been implicated in the crime? Michael wondered. Was the FBI granting him immunity?
"The mob was testing me," Reed said, as if he'd read Michael's mind. "I didn't fail, but I didn't pass, either. At the time, they weren't sure if the mistake I'd made was deliberate or not."
"What mistake?" Michael asked, trapping Heather's brother with a frown.
"I was supposed to cause a distraction so the hi
t could go down. And I did, but not the way I'd been instructed to do. I was trying to prevent it. But it didn't work. I couldn't stop it."
And that was something Reed would always detest himself for, Michael thought. Heather's brother was a thief, but he wasn't a killer. Even though he'd known what the mob represented, he hadn't expected to watch someone die. Or God forbid, to be part of it.
Heather's breath rushed out. "You never told me any of this."
"I didn't tell Beverly, either. I didn't want either of you to know." Reed adjusted his son. "Once I enter the Witness Protection Program, they'll change my name, my face, my life history. It's supposed to help me start over. To quit running."
Michael stepped forward. "Are you taking Justin with you? Is that what this is all about?"
"No." Reed met his gaze, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other. Men who'd been friends; friends who'd become enemies. "I want to keep Justin, to raise him, to watch him grow up, but I can't." He rocked the child, making the little one sigh. "I didn't tell Sims and Hoyt that Justin is my son. I don't want anyone to know. Not even the feds. Sending Halloway to prison isn't enough. Beverly's brothers will still be out there. They'll still pose a threat. And if I take Justin with me, they'll figure it out. They'll know he's Beverly's boy." He shifted his stance, his time-worn boots making a pattern in the dirt. "Justin is better off with you and Heather. You can give him things I can only dream about, the happiness and security he deserves. He's your son," he said to Michael, his voice rough with emotion. "If you're willing to keep him."
"I am." Michael didn't stop to think about his response. It came quickly, naturally. He wanted Justin. "I'll take good care of him. I'll be the best dad I can be."
"Thank you."
Reed transferred Justin into Michael arms, and he knew his old friend wanted to see them together, to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing.
Justin latched onto Michael's shirt and smiled at Reed. The boy's father smiled back, but his eyes were hazy, tearing in the misty light.
Heather cried, too. But unlike Reed, her tears flowed freely. She fell into her brother's embrace, and he held her, soothing her the way he'd done when they were children. From Michael's arms, Justin watched them, and he prayed the boy didn't reach for his father again, making this harder on Reed than it already was.
Heather stepped back and wiped her eyes, taking her brother's hands. "Beverly—"
He stopped her. "I know. She's gone." His voice turned rough again, his eyes still watery. "Sims and Hoyt told me. They also said that you and Michael went to see her. That you took Justin."
For a while no one spoke. Reed didn't ask about their trip to California, to provide details, for which Michael was grateful. The other man didn't need to hear how pale and weak Beverly had been, how small and frail she'd looked in that big, canopied bed, with a prim nurse and a burly bodyguard keeping watch.
Reed cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "The Witness Protection Program doesn't matter all that much to me. I'm indifferent about where I go. But I know it'll make you feel better." He gave his sister's chin a gentle cuff. "You won't have to worry about me anymore."
"Will I ever hear from you again?" she asked.
He touched her cheek, then looked at Justin, a look of longing, of loss. "No. This is the last time."
"Try to be happy," she told him, her voice quavering. "Try to make a new life for yourself."
He shrugged, but the gesture was strained, tight and uncomfortable. "It beats the mob catching up with me, I guess. And Sims and Hoyt aren't that bad."
"Hoyt's an ass," Michael put in, making Reed's stubborn lips quirk.
And then suddenly they were grinning at each other, like boyhood friends, like the Cherokee brothers they used to be.
This was goodbye, Michael thought. The end. Soon Reed Blackwood would become someone new. Reed extended his hand, but Michael embraced him instead, hugging Justin between them. The child laughed and squealed.
It was a joyous sound, a sound for Reed to cling to. He kissed Justin and told him that he loved him. He kissed Heather, too. And within seconds, he disappeared into the darkness of the cave, almost as if he'd never been there at all.
* * *
An uneventful week went by, and Michael enjoyed the easy pace. For the first time since Heather returned, he felt a sense of normalcy, a stream of pure contentment.
Was this what being married was like? he wondered, as he watched Heather smooth her dress. Was this the white-picket-fence dream other people worked so hard to achieve?
Seated on the edge of the bed, he caught her gaze in the armoire mirror. "You look nice, Heather."
"Thank you." She turned to face him. "Are you sure you're going to be okay by yourself?"
He rolled his eyes. "Hey, c'mon, I'm Justin's dad." And he'd offered to watch the baby while she attended a business meeting with the pain-in-the-ass bride. "You're probably going to have more trouble than I am. I feel sorry for that broad's fiancé."
Heather shook her head. "Broad?"
"Considering what I could've called her, I was being polite."
"I see." She pursed her lips. "Well, for your information, her fiancé is perfectly comfortable with their arrangement. He doesn't mind letting her be the boss."
Michael bounded off the bed. "'Cause he's a wuss."
"Unlike you?"
"Yeah, unlike me." Proving his point, he grabbed her shoulders and gave her a rough kiss.
When he released her, she teetered, a bit dizzy on her feet. Much too pleased with himself, he sent her a cocky grin.
"Oh, my." Lashes fluttering, she fanned her face and made him laugh.
"Wanna mess around later?" he asked, suddenly anxious for her to ditch the bitchy bride and return to his bed.
"I don't know. You might be too exhausted. After all, you've got a long day ahead of you. Bottles to wash, endless games of patty-cake and peekaboo to play, diapers to…" She tilted her head, measuring him. "Speaking of which, you still haven't changed a diaper. Are you sure you can handle this?"
"I'll be fine. Who can't wipe a kid's bottom and slap on a diaper?"
"Slap?"
"Tape, whatever. Those disposable things practically change themselves."
"Really?" Amused, she lifted her brows. "You mean I've been putting in too much effort all this time?"
"Very funny." He nudged her down the hall. "Just go. Conquer your meeting. Convince Miss Pain-in-the-Ass that she'll have the grandest wedding in Texas."
She started fretting. "Don't forget to give Justin his breakfast."
Did she think he would let the little one starve? "Just as soon as he wakes up, I'll fix him some oatmeal."
"He likes milk and honey in it."
"I know." He walked her to her car. She was headed to the city and needed to get going. "I'll call Julianne if I need anything. And if she's unavailable, I'll call Maria. There are plenty of kid-friendly women around here. You've got nothing to worry about."
"All right." She sighed, placed her briefcase on the passenger's seat. "Don't ply Justin with sweets. No banana cream pie."
"Spoilsport." He drew her against him. "How about some guacamole dip instead?"
"I guess that will be okay. But don't add anything to it but mayonnaise. Or a few mild spices." She gave him a prim kiss and shocked him silly when she pinched his butt.
They gazed at each other, laughed, then kissed for real. A minute later, she disappeared down the road, leaving him standing in the driveway, looking after her.
Wondering if being married would be this cool.
He returned to the house, and Justin awakened quietly. Michael lifted him from the crib and placed him on the changing table.
"You don't smell too bad," he told the boy, grateful the diaper was merely wet.
Justin made a cranky face and rubbed his ears as if they itched.
"It's okay, buddy. I'll fix some oatmeal, and we can have some guacamole later." He poked the baby's
belly but still no smile. "What's wrong? Do you miss your mom already? She'll be back before you know it."
He utilized the baby wipes, fit a fresh diaper into place and dumped the old one in a nearby pail. "We'll deal with a bath after breakfast."
Carting Justin into the kitchen, he told himself not to worry, even if the boy seemed distressed. A little food, a little playtime and everything would be all right.
Everything wasn't all right. Justin wouldn't eat. He sat in the high chair, whimpering, pushing Michael away whenever he brought the spoon near.
"I fixed it the way you like it. See?" He tasted the oatmeal himself.
Justin wasn't impressed. He rubbed his ears, the way he'd done earlier, and started to cry.
"Why don't we skip breakfast?" He removed the child from the high chair, then realized how warm Justin's skin was. "Are you sick? Is that the problem?"
Doing his damnedest to be a responsible dad, he located the thermometer, then wondered how he was supposed to keep it under the boy's tongue.
He gave up and called the doctor's office. Aware of his inexperience, the receptionist, a gal he'd gone to high school with, told him to take Justin's temperature under his arm and call her back.
Sure enough, the boy had a fever.
Ninety minutes later, Justin sat on the examining table in the doctor's office, making a pissy face at the kindly old physician.
"It's okay." Michael stroked the boy's back. "Just about everybody in town comes here when they're sick, including me. Dr. Mills knows what he's doing."
The gray-haired man chuckled. "You were a grumpy patient when you were a kid, too." Poking and prodding, he checked out the child. "Hmm." He flashed a light in Justin's ears, first one and then the other.
Michael knew instantly, recalling the ear rubbing the boy had done earlier. "He has an infection, doesn't he?"
"A mild one, but we'll take care of it." The doctor wrote a prescription for an antibiotic, adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose.
"I told his mom everything would be all right today."
"And it is. Your son is going to be just fine." Dr. Mills gazed at Michael for a moment, his tone a little deeper. "I'm glad Heather is back. I was worried about her."
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