Their Baby Miracle (Silhouette Special Edition) Read online

  He’d said the toning down thing to her before, she remembered, but she’d never understood what he meant, never paid it the right attention. And it might be someone else’s life, but it wasn’t hers.

  So what’s mine?

  She didn’t know.

  Meanwhile, Gordie hung out in the kitchen for another half hour, while in her mind Reba watched the pieces of her exploded self still hanging in the air. She had no idea where they would eventually fall, and she didn’t trust this odd new intuition that Lucas Halliday could somehow help her find out.

  She felt a sudden need to explore the intuition, all the same.

  As arranged, Lucas arrived at Seven Mile early the next morning in his rental car.

  Reba had told him she’d show him the shortcut from the ranch down to Steamboat Springs. On the way back, they would make a couple of detours. He wanted to look at trout streams and hunt down the elusive herd of wild horses that roamed the Medicine Bow Range. The round trip would probably take a good six hours, apparently, plus a stop for lunch, so she’d suggested they start at seven.

  She seemed different, this morning, he thought.

  The same electric current ran through her veins that he’d seen in her all of yesterday, but today it was… Bolder? More open? Less angry, but even more determined. She was proving something to somebody, with those sparking eyes and that jutting jaw. Lucas didn’t know what it was, or who she was proving it to, and maybe she didn’t, either, but it was a pretty impressive sight.

  Today, he drove while she navigated. He thought they might clash over the new roles, but they didn’t. She told him where to turn in plenty of time, which let him relax and focus on the drive.

  And on her.

  The Indian summer temperature was forecast to flare even higher today. She wore shorts in anticipation, although at this hour a dawn chill still lay on the land. The honey-beige of the shorts matched the tan on her legs and drew his attention to how long and smooth they were, stretching down to a newer, shinier version of yesterday’s boots.

  A baggy, dark navy sweatshirt hid the rest of her. Its round neckline half covered a thin gold chain she hadn’t been wearing yesterday, and showed the occasional glimpse of something white—a tank-top shoulder strap, or possibly her bra.

  She had her hair looped and knotted at the back, with some sexy little tendrils already escaping. She even wore makeup. It made her eyes more startling than ever in their unusual color. Her lips were darker and redder, and he noticed them every time she spoke, every time he dared take his eyes from the road to look sideways.

  Yesterday, she’d dressed down for him. Today, she’d apparently dressed up, in her own way, for wild horses and Steamboat Springs.

  Heck, how long was it since he’d met a woman who considered polished riding boots a big step up on the fashion ladder?

  For most of the drive, he forgot to think about what Dad or Raine would want if they were here. Raine hated hair-raising roads with no guardrails and steep drops. She hated getting dust on the car. Actually the car rental company might not be too thrilled about that, either.

  Hair-raising roads with no guard rails and steep drops didn’t seem to trouble Reba Grant. The temperature climbed and she took off her sweatshirt. Yes, the white fabric did belong to a tank-top—a little stretchy cotton thing with a triangular panel of lace in front. It fit snugly over her curves and her ribs, and he could faintly see the pretty shape of a white bra beneath it.

  Using the discarded sweatshirt for a pillow behind her head, she slid her seat back and stretched her long legs out in front. She pointed out wildlife and vistas and potholes in the road with a combination of familiarity and fresh interest that sparked his own curiosity.

  “You sat up like a startled cat just now, but you must have seen elk around here before.”

  “Sometimes you forget to look, when you’ve seen something before. You take it for granted. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that today.”

  “Because you’re selling? Because you won’t be here any more? I thought you were staying in Biggins.”

  “I want to. Wanted to,” Reba corrected herself.

  Yesterday, she would have resented Lucas probing her on personal issues like this. Today, she wanted to talk, and still had last night’s odd sense that he could be the right person to listen.

  Something about his eyes.

  The perception.

  The blunt honesty.

  He’d talked about bulldozing her home. Bluntness could be refreshing, sometimes. It could be necessary. Even if she got angry with him, anger could give clarity, the way it had last night, with Gordie. She couldn’t simply wait for the explosion in her life to settle. She had to go out and look for the pieces.

  “I didn’t really consider the alternatives,” she went on. “I don’t want to move to Florida. I’m not sure what there would be for me there. I love this country.” She took a breath of the mint-clean morning air flooding through the half-open window. “But I don’t want to end up twenty years from now, still a short-order cook at the same restaurant, with corns on my feet and dreams that faded before I even knew I had them—”

  “Can’t picture you like that, for sure.”

  “—because I never had the courage or took the time to really think about the future. This is a—a huge turning point. I don’t want to just let it happen to me.”

  His glance arrowed across in her direction. As usual he seemed to take her whole soul in at a glance. And her whole body. “You don’t want your father to sell the ranch. That’s clear. Jim Broadbent said your mother’s health made the decision. She has lupus, right?”

  “Systemic Lupus Erythematosis, yes.”

  She hated the disease, hated its long, unpronounceable name. Some people called it SLE, which was snappy, at least. It had variable, wandering symptoms that were unique to each person. It had unpredictable phases of exacerbation and remission, and it could kill Mom eventually, if her kidneys failed or the disease reached other vital organs. Those worst case scenarios might not occur for years, or ever, but she’d never be cured.

  “And your dad wouldn’t consider leaving the place for you to run?”

  “No, they need the money. But I couldn’t run it. My brain’s not built that way.”

  “You seem pretty bright to me, and totally at home around the ranch.”

  “It’s not just about doing the right chores at the right time. It’s a business. You’d know that. I don’t have a business brain. I’d have to get a really competent manager, which would eat up too much cash flow, on top of the wages for the hands and everything else.”

  “It could still be a profitable enterprise.”

  “All my parents’ assets are tied up in Seven Mile Creek, and if they don’t sell, they’ll have to rent in Florida, and watch their pennies. Mom’s medical bills are getting higher every year. No, the ranch has to be sold.”

  “But you’d prefer a local buyer, not me,” Lucas said, pushing Reba a little. He wanted all of this clear, and out in the open. He wanted to understand the sources of this woman’s anger, her unhappiness, and her fight.

  Her voice dropped and slowed and took on a throaty quality he knew she couldn’t control, and maybe didn’t even hear. She ran her palm down her bare thigh and he heard the light friction of her work-roughened skin. Palms like cardboard, legs like silk, inner thighs like whipped cream melting over apple—

  Hell, he had to stop thinking about her this way…didn’t he?

  Did he?

  Maybe she wanted him to.

  Her eyes glared at him a lot, but the rest of her body said something different. Powerfully. His groin tightened and filled even more, and he stared ahead at the road, not daring to look sideways, in case he gave too much away. Or in case he caught fire.

  She tilted her head, smiled a little, like a slow dawn breaking. “Actually, I’m getting used to you,” she said.

  All the way through brunch at Steamboat, a look around the resort, and a fa
iled attempt to find the wild horses, all through the winding drive back, Reba felt the exhilarating prick of danger in Lucas Halliday’s company.

  Just yesterday, her emotional compass had been arrowed toward a hopeless need to protect the ranch, to protect the childhood she’d loved by staving off this big city buyer until a better one came along—a buyer like Gordie McConnell would have been, if he’d had the money, or the right claim on her heart.

  She had wanted a buyer who would come into the steakhouse every night, regular as clockwork, tell her how the place was going and listen to everything she said about keeping it the same.

  Today, everything was different.

  Gordie was the only lover she’d ever had. He’d been in her life too long, and had stopped her from seeing her future clearly. That was her fault as much as his, and she had to do something about it. Lucas Halliday seemed like part of the answer. She knew he wouldn’t be looking for anything beyond a short-lived flirtation. Why not respond, just a little, just to see how it felt?

  It needn’t go very far.

  And yet if it did…

  She’d never felt this way about a near-stranger before—this awareness that he wanted her and she wanted him, on a raw, physical level, immune to any other considerations. It made her dizzy, hungry, exultant, scared. The right kind of scared. Full of adrenaline and courage. She found that she liked it.

  Back at the ranch after their long morning of touring in the car, he was ready to get on horseback right away, so she changed into jeans and her scuffed riding boots and took him out to the stable. She gave him her own mare, Ruby, while she took her father’s gelding, Moe. Lucas hadn’t big-noted his riding skills, but he found his way around the tack room without asking dumb questions, and mounted the sixteen-hand animal with ease. He’d be all right.

  Reba loved this ride up to the cabin, and they couldn’t have picked a better day for it. The fields shimmered in the heat and the air was scratchy with dust. However, once the horses had splashed through a shallow section of the stream to reach the forested mountain slopes beyond, the shade beneath the ponderosas struck cool on her hot body.

  Neither she nor Lucas spoke very much as they rode. Saddles creaked, insects buzzed, horse shoes clapped like scattered applause on earth and grass and rock. Knowing the route, Reba led the way. She only turned back once in a while, to warn Lucas about a tricky section or point out something of interest.

  It must have been around three in the afternoon, or a little later, when they reached the cabin, but she hadn’t worn a watch, so she didn’t know for sure. Dismounting, she looped Moe’s reins around an old-fashioned hitching post, and Lucas did the same. She swung her day pack clear of her shoulders and brought out some carrots and apples as treats for the horses. They began to crunch on the offerings loudly.

  Pretending to be absorbed in feeding them, and chewing on one of the two apples she’d saved, she watched Lucas covertly. He shaded his amber eyes with his hand and looked back the way they’d come. He had a folded crease in one leg of his bone-colored pants, after their ride, echoing the softer, darker crease he’d have in his skin, at just about the same point, where his thigh met his backside.

  His back had to be hot under his black T-shirt, and he should be wearing a hat. The tan on that curve of neck would turn red, soon. Reba had sunblock in her day pack. She could offer him some. He would stretch his jaw and smooth the white liquid around that long, brown column, before handing the fragrant plastic bottle back to her. She could watch every movement.

  She didn’t make the offer.

  What had captured his interest, down below, anyhow? You couldn’t see the house or the outbuildings from here, but you could see the Bailey field and the Upper Creek field and a section of the road leading into Biggins. Felt as if they had to be a good two miles or more from the nearest human being.

  Her heart shifted and sank. Maybe that was his exact thought. He’d probably consider it way too isolated, up here. His interest in the ranch, on his father’s behalf, would turn out to be a frivolous city slicker impulse, and wouldn’t survive this afternoon of reality.

  “This place have electricity?” he asked, confirming her fear as he turned and came toward her again.

  “Generator.”

  “And tanked roof runoff for water.” He’d obviously seen the galvanized piping, and the tank that stood behind the cabin.

  “It’s not meant for year-round living.” She heard defensiveness raising the pitch of her voice. “If you want your stepmother to have her white Christmas here, you’ll need to haul some firewood. See, here’s where the vehicle track comes out. We didn’t take that, because it’s longer, but you can get a pickup along it, or snowmobiles in winter. Easy.”

  He only nodded, walked over and stood at the head of the track, looking down it as far as the first bend. Turning again, he said, “Shall we take a look inside?”

  “Sure.”

  Lucas let Reba go ahead of him, watching the tight way she held her body, the tight way she walked. He wanted to tell her it was okay, he wasn’t going to get put off a major purchase because of one outdated hunting shack.

  And even if he did decide against the place, on his father’s behalf, Jim Broadbent was right. A buyer would show up soon. She could relax. Meanwhile, whatever happened with the sale, he had no intention of riding rough-shod over her feelings.

  He almost reached out to her with the same touch of support and understanding that she’d rejected yesterday when they’d spotted the dead beast, but she was too far in front, and the chance was lost.

  For the moment.

  But after the way she’d flirted with him in the car, his whole body was primed by the physical stretch of the recent ride and ached for its next opportunity.

  The cabin wasn’t locked, of course. The porch floorboards resonated beneath her feet, and by the time he’d stepped onto it behind her, she’d rattled the old door handle and swung the door open. He’d expected a dusty, musty interior, with dirt-misted window panes, uneven floors and shabby furnishings, but it wasn’t like that at all.

  “I came up here two days ago, cleaned it and aired it out,” she explained. She’d even put fresh flowers in a couple of vases. There was the smell of lavender in the air. The furniture was old, true, but of good quality, and there were new throw pillows and slipcovers on the couch and two armchairs. The kitchen, also, must have been modernized only about ten years ago.

  The old fireplace had been replaced with a modern, glass-fronted wood-burning stove. It was fan-forced, and would give out fantastic heat. You could slide the Persian-style rug closer, arrange the throw pillows in a heap on top, and sit here in front of it.

  Toasting marshmallows.

  Baking potatoes wrapped in foil.

  Making love.

  Hard to imagine, on an eighty-five-degree day, that such heat could be needed, but Lucas knew that temperatures could drop to thirty below, up here. Raine’s white Christmas was a pretty safe bet.

  The rooms were way too cramped for Raine’s taste, though. He and Reba stood within touching distance because they had little choice. The windows were too small and the ceilings were too low. His stepmother would claim claustrophobia and boredom within a day.

  Bulldoze the log cabin, too?

  Absolutely not! Raine could build a new one, open plan, with twenty-foot ceilings, acres of glass and satellite TV, in some ostentatious location. Lucas would lay claim to this place for himself—his cut of the purchase, his finder’s fee. It was an irrational, emotional impulse, and he wasn’t sure why he felt it so strongly. He knew it didn’t make sense. He knew it wasn’t even his decision to make.

  What was happening, here?

  Too much.

  More than flirtation.

  Already, he understood more than he wanted to about why Reba’s roots ran so deep into this soil.

  “Do you want to see upstairs?” she asked him.

  “Please.” Sounded as if he were begging, and maybe he was
.

  She went ahead, denim rear end rocking as usual, and he followed closely, unable to tear himself free of her aura, so that when she suddenly turned and spoke, he was right behind. “I should have showed you the—”

  The point she broke off was the point where his hand landed on her hip. Her body softened in an instant, and swayed toward him. Her eyes widened and went dark. Since he was one step below, her mouth was level with his, and only an inch away. He could feel her breath cooling his lip. She didn’t attempt to increase the distance.

  Good.

  They’d gotten to this, at last.

  He hadn’t been sure that they would, and her huge eyes told him it might already be more than she’d expected.

  He anchored her other hip in place, to keep the rest of her where she was, and watched her lips press together, then part again. She had another, more determined and even more doomed attempt at saying what she’d wanted to say before. “While we were downstairs, I should have showed you the—” Then she stopped again.

  “Just show me the bedroom.” His voice rasped, and the last word lost itself on her mouth.

  Her lips were as warm and sweet as ripe fruit. They responded just the way he’d known they would. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look, he only wanted to taste and feel. She stayed in place, thighs pressed to his groin, which meant she had to know just what her body had already done to him.

  Oh, yes, she knew! She was overwhelmed by it, but she knew.

  Did she know that she’d begun to shimmy against him, too? Her hips slid and rocked, slid and rocked. The movement went just an inch or two either way, and was oh-so-slow, but it made him throb and want to lunge. Her breasts, in their thin covering of lace and stretch cotton, jutted softly against his chest and he imagined her nipples, pebbled as hard as he was, from the slow friction between them.

  How would they look, her nipples? Puckered with need? Definitely! Big and dark, or dainty and pink? He didn’t care either way, he just wanted to know, see, touch and kiss.

  “Show me the bed,” he said.

  Without waiting for her answer, he deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue in her mouth. He tasted the fresh, sweet apple she’d withheld from the horses several minutes ago. He abandoned her hips and slid his hands higher, trailed his fingertips across her breasts and thought, “Yes! I knew it. Like cherry stones.”