Pregnant In Prosperino

by Carla Cassidy

  She’d disappeared from Keyhole without saying goodbye to the deputy who had cared about her, leaving him with questions and an aching heart. But, what could she do about it now? What should she do about it now?

  Closing her eyes, she sent a prayer heavenward. She prayed that Meredith would regain her memory and reclaim her life and that Patsy would be arrested and put behind bars before her hired killer found this place…before he found Emily.

  Three

  Lana knew she was in bed alone before she opened her eyes. She felt Chance’s absence. It was as if when he’d left the room, he’d taken part of the energy with him.

  She opened an eye and reached out to touch the pillow that still held the depression from his head, the heat of his body.

  Chance.

  She closed her eyes again and thought back over what they had shared the night before.

  For just a moment, as Chance had kissed her, as his hands had caressed her and made her body sing, she’d fancied herself just a tiny bit in love with him.

  It had been a harmless fantasy, just a game she’d played in her mind to justify the intimacy they’d shared. But now, with the bright early-morning light shining in her eyes, reality stole the fantasy and she knew what they’d done the night before had had nothing to do with love.

  In fact, she wondered if Chance was angry with her. Was that what had driven him from bed so early? She left the bed and went into the bathroom.

  A moment later as she stood beneath a hot spray of water, she steeled herself for the possibility that she would have to face his ire. She certainly knew he’d been shocked to discover her a virgin. Had he also been angry with her for not telling him ahead of time?

  The pain of consummation had surprised her. Even now, she was sore but knew next time would be better. Next time…the thought made a shiver of anticipation race up her spine.

  She finished up her shower and dressed for the day, then went into the kitchen where she found a fresh pot of coffee, but no sign of Chance.

  Maybe he wasn’t mad at her. Maybe he’d just found the entire experience distasteful. A man like Chance would be used to making love to beautiful women, women who were skilled in the art of lovemaking.

  He’d probably been turned off by the fact that she hadn’t known where to touch him, how to kiss him in the ways he was accustomed to being touched and kissed. She had been rather clueless to the whole process of lovemaking.

  She sighed and poured herself a cup of coffee and moved to the window. Instantly she spied Chance out by the barn. He was working on the corral fencing and even though it was early and the air was cool, he worked bare-chested, clad only in a pair of faded, worn jeans.

  For a moment she enjoyed the opportunity of watching him without him knowing. She could see even from this distance the light sheen of sweat that coated his broad chest.

  The morning sun played on the golden highlights of his hair and he looked more like a surfer than a farm equipment salesman. He looked utterly virile, devastatingly sexy and overwhelmingly masculine.

  When he’d first arrived at the Colton ranch, sent there to give him and his father a cooling-off period from each other, her mother had warned her to stay away from him.

  “That boy is trouble,” Inez had told her thirteen-year-old daughter. “You can see it in his eyes. He’s mad at the entire world and heaven help anyone who gets in his path.”

  And for the first couple of days Chance had been at the ranch, Lana had done as her mother had instructed and given Chance a wide berth.

  During those first days, Chance had broken the rules, kept himself isolated from the others and wore a chip on his shoulder the size of Los Angeles.

  Then slowly, Meredith Colton’s love and Joe Colton’s discipline and affection began to work on him. Some of the rage left his eyes and he broke the rules less and less often. And it was during the next couple of months that he and Lana formed the bonds of friendship.

  She’d discovered that beneath the rage was a gentle, caring young man who had a wonderful sense of humor and who longed to belong somewhere.

  She watched him now, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, remembering how the muscles of his back had felt beneath her fingertips the night before. The muscles had felt so strong, and yet the skin covering them had been soft and warm.

  Turning away from the window, she frowned and tried to shove thoughts of last night out of her mind. Sinking down at the table, she once again thought of the boy Chance had been.

  During the year he’d stayed at the Coltons, he and Lana had shared many conversations. Actually, Chance had done most of the talking, sharing with her his thoughts about life, his father and girls. And in those conversations, Lana had developed a tremendous crush for the handsome boy he had been.

  But that had been a long time ago, and in the intervening years she and Chance had only seen each other occasionally when he came home for a holiday.

  As a young girl she’d fancied herself madly in love with Chance Reilly. And now she was married to him, had spent the night in his arms and felt as if she had no idea what kind of man he’d become.

  It didn’t matter what kind of man he’d become, she told herself. After all, this was just a temporary arrangement, a bargain where both got what they wanted, then said goodbye to each other. She’d promised him no binding ties, no messy emotions.

  Chance remained outside for most of the day. At noon, Lana took him out a couple of sandwiches and a tall glass of iced tea, which he accepted gratefully. He ate quickly, barely speaking, then immediately went back to work.

  Lana returned to the house and spent the rest of the day cleaning the house, moving the rest of her personal items from the spare room into his bedroom and preparing the evening meal.

  She liked housework and enjoyed cooking, and the afternoon passed quickly as she busied herself with various chores. By the time Chance walked into the house at six o’clock, she had a hearty beef stew awaiting him and fresh bread just out of the oven.

  “Lana, all this isn’t necessary,” he exclaimed as he washed up at the kitchen sink. “I didn’t marry you in order to gain a cook and housekeeper.”

  “I enjoy doing it,” she protested. “I’ve always loved to cook, but have been out of practice. It’s no fun to cook just for one.” She motioned him to the table, then moved to the counter to slice the hot bread. As she worked, she was aware of his gaze on her, felt it burning into her back.

  She finished slicing the bread, then joined him at the table, knowing it was time to talk about what had happened the night before. “Chance, about last night…”

  His eyes, so green, darkened to the color of a storm-swept sea. “You should have told me, Lana. I deserved to know the truth. I would have never agreed to this had you told me.”

  “And that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. Besides, what difference does it make?” She raised her chin with a touch of bravado. “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been somebody else. Sooner or later, it was going to happen.” She passed him the stew bowl.

  “Why hasn’t it happened before?” He took the bowl from her and for a moment concentrated on serving himself. When he looked at her again, the storms were gone and his gaze merely radiated a curiosity. “I mean, you’re a very attractive woman. I’m sure lots of men have wanted to date you, to make love to you.”

  Her cheeks warmed as she took the bowl back from him and served herself. “I haven’t really dated much. I realized early on that if I wanted to go to college, the only way I’d get there was to get good enough grades to be offered a scholarship. Mom and Dad didn’t have the money to send me to nursing school.”

  A small smile curved the corner of Chance’s mouth. “So, you became an egghead.”

  She loved that sexy half smile of his. It lit up all his features and sent a warmth into his eyes. “Yes, I guess I became an egghead. I worked hard and studied to get A’s. Then came college and nursing school and there just wasn’t time for dating.”


  “But you’ve been out of college for a long time,” he observed.

  She shrugged. “I went right to work and there just has never seemed to be enough time to commit to any relationships.”

  She couldn’t tell him that part of her problem had been an innate shyness, a shyness that had made dating torturous. She wasn’t good at small talk and wouldn’t know how to flirt if her life depended on it.

  It had been easier to concentrate on her work, which had filled her life completely—at least she had believed her life fulfilled—until she’d held little Marissa in her arms.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “what’s done is done. We’re here now and I have no regrets about the bargain we made.”

  For a few moments they ate in silence, then he gazed at her once again. “You know, single parenthood isn’t exactly a piece of cake. Just ask me. My old man certainly didn’t do a bang-up job.”

  “I’ll handle it just fine, and in any case your father probably wouldn’t have been a good parent even if your mother had lived,” she said softly.

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded his agreement. “I used to think about that a lot,” he said. “I thought if my mother had been around, she wouldn’t have let him beat me or talk to me like I was a piece of dirt. Then I’d get mad at her for leaving us, even though I knew she’d had no control over her own death.”

  “It was easier for you to direct your anger at your mother rather than at your father. You had to deal with your father on a regular basis. Your mother was a safe object for your anger.”

  That half grin curved his mouth again. “Hmm, a wife, a good cook and a pop psychologist all rolled into one.”

  Lana blushed, wondering if he was censuring her. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

  He rewarded her with a full smile. “You listened to me cuss enough about it when we were younger. It should be your business.”

  She relaxed. “I didn’t mind listening to you. You needed somebody to talk to.”

  “And you were so easy to talk to,” he replied.

  She said nothing, but she knew the truth. She’d believed herself so crazy in love with him, she’d hung on his every word, delighted in each tiny confession he’d shared with her. It had been easy to be a good listener if it meant spending time with him.

  She’d known even then that part of what had made her so easy for him to talk to was that he didn’t consider her a peer. She was nothing more than a sweet kid to him. She was safe, and he could say anything to her, confess anything and not lose face.

  He grinned at her again. “Yeah, you were always easy to talk to, and for the most part I always trusted your advice. Until Susan Cahill.”

  Lana clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden giggle.

  Susan Cahill. She’d been a foster child with the Coltons for a brief couple of weeks. Almost eighteen years old and stunningly beautiful, Susan had instantly been pegged by Lana as conceited and vain and utterly silly. But Chance had developed an instant case of lust for the blond-haired, blue-eyed “older” woman.

  “I gave you good advice,” she protested as she lowered her hand from her mouth. “How was I to know the girl had a germ fetish?” But she had known. In the single conversation Lana had shared with the girl, Lana had told her of her desire to become a nurse, and Susan had proclaimed that particular career “gross” because nurses were exposed to germs.

  “There I was, feeling all sad because Susan barely looked at me, so what do I do?” He raised an eyebrow and eyed her wryly. “I went to the girl I trusted to get advice about women.”

  Laughter once again bubbled to Lana’s lips. “And I gave you what advice I had. I figured if you sidled up next to her and told her you didn’t feel so well, she would lay her hand on your forehead, offer to help you feel better.”

  “Yeah, and when I told her I didn’t feel so well, she shoved me halfway across the pasture and told me to get the hell away from her.” His laughter joined hers. “I should have known then that you were going to be a nurse. At that tender age you were already thinking of patient care.”

  She sobered slightly. “Susan wasn’t right for you anyway.”

  The laughter that had rang from him stopped, and his eyes grew stormy once again. “There isn’t a woman in this world right for me,” he said, his voice low and edgy. “I wouldn’t be in the marriage now if it wasn’t a way to beat my father. I don’t want to be married. I like the life I have just fine. I can’t wait to sell this place and get back to it.”

  As he focused once again on his food, Lana wondered what had stirred his passionate outburst. Had she threatened him in some way? Did he not trust her to abide by their agreement?

  It was as if he was warning her, telling her that she shouldn’t make the mistake of taking their marriage seriously.

  He needn’t worry. Although her heart would always maintain a little glow for the boy he had been, she had no illusions where the man and this marriage were concerned.

  “Chance, when the time comes for you to walk away, nobody will hold you here.”

  He met her gaze once again, then nodded and returned to eating the meal. Any moment of shared laughter and warmth was gone, not even an echo lingering in the tense silence that returned.

  Chance threw his sports car into fourth gear and raced down the road that eventually would take him into the town of Prosperino.

  There was nothing he hated more than feeling guilty, and at the moment he was feeling damned guilty. Since the moment he and Lana had said “I do” he’d been behaving badly.

  When he’d walked into the kitchen that evening, he’d been engulfed by the scents of home cooking, overwhelmed by the tiny little touches Lana had added to make the place seem more homey.

  There was a part of him, a part of him that he had never before realized, that was hungry for a real home. A leftover piece from his dysfunctional childhood, he told himself.

  When he’d agreed to this insane plot with Lana, he hadn’t really thought it through. He’d been so angry with his father, and so eager to win, he hadn’t considered how difficult it might be to live with a woman, especially this particular woman.

  Lana, with her lovely dark eyes and that cascade of black hair. Lana, with her sweet smiles and an easy acceptance of each low and high point offered by life.

  As a young girl, she’d been a balm to his spirit, a sympathetic ear that had offered no judgment, no censure no matter what he said.

  She’d been pretty then, a shy, slender girl with big black eyes and a mane of hair. Each time he’d returned to Prosperino and had run into her, he’d been struck by how her beauty had only intensified with time.

  He’d been pleasantly surprised last night by how passionately, how eagerly she had met his caresses, his kisses. He’d assumed she had experience. He frowned and tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. It had been a shock to realize she’d been a virgin.

  He would not make love to her tonight. Even though she’d said nothing, he knew today she must be feeling some residual pain. He hadn’t been particularly gentle until too late. He frowned irritably. What he meant was he would not have sex with her tonight. That was all it was—sex with a purpose.

  What worried him most of all was that she seemed to be nesting, creating a home where none had existed in preparation for a baby, a baby he wanted no part of.

  He didn’t ever want to be a father. He, more than anyone, knew the needs that little kids had, needs he would never be able to meet because they’d never been met in him.

  He shoved away thoughts of Lana and fatherhood as he pulled into a parking space in front of the Prosperino Café. He’d learned a long time ago on one of his few trips home that if he wanted to catch up on the gossip in the area, needed to buy or sell any kind of equipment, or simply wanted a great cup of coffee, the café was the place to come. The café had always been a favorite haunt in his childhood, a place where he had often run to escape from his father.

  It was
obvious he’d come in the lull between the supper rush and the late evening bunch. There were only three other patrons inside, all sitting in the same booth.

  Chance slid onto one of the stools at the counter and eyed the pretty waitress he didn’t know. At another time, in another place, he might have flirted with her. At this moment, in this time, the idea held little appeal.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked as she drew a pad from the pocket of her apron.

  “Just a cup of coffee. Is Angie still around?”

  “Sure, she’s in the back.”

  “Would you tell her Chance is here to see her?”

  “No problem. I’ll be right back.” She whirled around and disappeared into a doorway that led to the kitchen.

  A moment later a robust woman with a headful of gray hair came sweeping out, her face wreathed in a wide grin. “Chance Reilly, you devil.” She faced him across the counter and grabbed his hands in hers. “Let me take a good look at you.”

  Chance grinned. “It’s good to see you, Angie.”

  “And aren’t you still the most handsome devil I’ve ever seen.”

  “Don’t you let Harmon hear you say that, he’ll take a bullwhip to me just for looking at you,” Chance teased.

  She laughed. “Harmon is getting so old, all he’d manage to do would be to get himself hopelessly tangled in a whip.” Her smile faded and she eyed him soberly. “You doing okay? I was real sorry to hear about your daddy.”

  “Then you’re probably the only person in town sorry to hear about him,” he replied.

  Angie and her husband, Harmon had worked in the café for as long as Chance could remember, and over the years the two of them had often consoled Chance when his father had driven him from the ranch.

  “And what’s this I hear about you tying the knot with Lana Ramirez?” Angie continued. “That had to have been the fastest courtship in the history of mankind.”

  “You know me, Angie. I’ve always been a fast worker.” He and Lana had agreed that they would tell nobody the real terms of their marriage. There was only a handful of people who were privy to the terms of the will and who probably suspected an arranged marriage, but nobody would hear it from Lana or Chance. “Besides, Lana just swept me off my feet.”