Warrior's Baby

“If we decide on this arrangement,” he said, “I was wondering where you plan on living, because a long-distance pregnancy isn’t what I had in mind. I want to be involved the way a father should be, attending doctor visits.”

Melanie had a quick response. “The lease is almost up on my condo, so moving back to Montana isn’t a problem. I can pretty much work from anywhere, as long as I meet my deadlines. And since the situation would be temporary, Gloria said I could stay with her.” She sipped her juice. “But I’d rather get my own place. She already has eight kids underfoot. They don’t need me and my art supplies taking up space.”

He smiled. She always managed to say all the right things, put him at ease. “This house used to be a lodge. I’ve got an empty cabin out back. Maybe you could take up residence there.”

“A cabin?” Her eyes sparkled. “That might be just what I need. I have to admit I miss Montana. The rat race in L.A. gets to me sometimes. And the rent has to be more reasonable than a beachfront condo, right?”

Colt realized they were both acting as though she were already his surrogate. “If you become my surrogate, there’s no way I’d expect you to pay rent. I intend to cover your housing and medical expenses in addition to the fee we talked about.” He couldn’t resist a wink. “I’ll even buy your groceries. You need to eat more, put some meat on those tiny bones of yours.”

She laughed. “Oh, I think pregnancy might take care of that.” Colt finished his coffee. “How would you feel about me being present at the birth?”

A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “I don’t know...I hadn’t thought about—Were you there when Meagan was born?”

He nodded. “Most incredible experience of my life.”

The pink stain on her cheeks remained. “Maybe we could start with those birthing classes and work up to the actual event.”

Colt smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re modest. I thought California girls ran around in those itty-bitty bikinis.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s entirely different.”

His body temperature rose a degree. Melanie in a skimpy bikini was a pleasant thought. “Why don’t you talk to Gloria about the actual event? She must be a pro by now. And speaking from experience, women forget all about modesty when they’re delivering a baby.”

Melanie looked up from her unfinished meal. “Do you always say everything that’s on your mind?”

“Pretty much.”

But not always. He wouldn’t dare say what was on his mind now. She was concerned about modesty? What about his part in the insemination?

Colt had already discussed the clinical details with the doctor. Fresh sperm versus frozen. Heck of a thing for a guy to have to contemplate. After weighing the facts, he’d opted fresh since usually twice as many inseminations were required with frozen.

He gazed at the beautiful woman seated across from him and couldn’t help wishing another option was available. What? Penetration instead of insemination? He had no business entertaining that thought. None whatsoever.

Three

As she and Colt strode across the grounds to the barn, Melanie noticed it had been refurbished since the last time she had seen it. Everything was the same, yet different. The east side of the ranch still yielded a rodeo arena, the west, a chicken coop no longer clucking with life. There were almost as many horses as there had been, but a lot fewer steers.

Most of all, she was different. Inside and out. Gertrude Richards had been tucked away, and Melanie, confident California artist had emerged. Colt, too, it seemed had changed. True, his silky, black mane and heart-stopping wink were the same, but the wild teenage boy was gone. The brisk Montana winds had carried him away and brought back a man—mature, strong and proud, as rooted to the land as a tall ponderosa pine.

Colt went into the tack room while Melanie waited in the barn, amusing herself with a friendly mare. As she stroked the horse’s blaze, it nodded in approval. In the next stall, a flashy, red dun gelding poked out its big, snorting nose and whinnied. “Just like a male,” she said to the mare, “always looking for attention.”

Colt’s laughter sounded behind her. “Young Rocky there doesn’t even know he’s male. Now, I’ve got a champion stallion—Outlaw’s Fancy...”

Melanie smiled. It figured Colt owned a stud named Outlaw. She motioned to the mare. “What’s her name?”

He placed a bucket of grooming aids on the ground. “Sweet Cinnamon Surprise.”

She eyed the gentle mare. The feminine name fit. “Sounds like a dessert I used to order at this trendy coffee bar on Melrose. I want to ride her.”

Colt chuckled again. “Just like a woman to pick a horse for its pretty name.”

Her chin tilted. “I do the same thing at the track. Sometimes I even win.”

He looked amused by her admission. “Can you ride, California girl? I don’t want Cinnamon taking advantage of you.”

The chin protruded even further. “Of course I can ride. I was born in Montana, remember?” Besides riding on his ranch for nearly two years, she had also taken expensive lessons in California. Western pleasure and a little dressage. She wasn’t the best dressage rider, but she looked good in the tall, black boots. “I can saddle a horse, too.”

“Good.” Colt reached for the halter and lead line hanging from a nail. “Put this on Cinnamon and hitch her up outside. I’ll get a bridle and look for a saddle that will fit you.” His gaze sparked appreciatively as it slid down her petite curves. “You sure are a little one.”

“How does that saying go?” she asked, doing her best to seem innocent of his masculine stare. She didn’t think he was aware of the hungry look in his eyes. “Something about small things...”

“Good things,” he corrected, spinning on his heel, his husky voice fading as he departed. “Come...in...small...pack—”

“Like babies,” Melanie whispered to Cinnamon as she buckled the nylon halter and led the mare into the summer sun. A bright blue sky, horses frolicking in lush green pastures, and a mountain backdrop greeted her. In the distance she could see some of Colt’s ranch hands milling around. Behind the main house several rustic log cabins stood, one possibly waiting for her occupancy.

After securing the mare to a long, wooden hitching post, Melanie went back for the grooming supplies Colt had placed on the barn’s dirt floor. Holding the curry in one hand and dandy in the other, Melanie brushed Cinnamon, then began picking out the sorrel’s feet.

“Hey, Melanie.”

She placed the mare’s foot back on the ground and turned to the sound of Colt’s voice. Someone else stood beside him. A tall, lanky man with a bushy, gray mustache. She recognized him immediately.

“This is Shorty,” Colt said to her. “He’s about the only family I’ve got left.”

“The boy and me ain’t related,” the older man offered gruffly. “But I’ve been working this here ranch since before he was even born.”

She didn’t extend her hand. Both men carried saddles. “Nice to meet you. I’m Melanie.”

Shorty balanced the saddle on his bony hip and tipped his dusty, tan hat. “Ma’am.”

Colt slid the saddle in his arms over the hitching post rail and Shorty did likewise. She assumed the smaller one was hers. “Should I tack Cinnamon up?” she asked, hoping to avert Shorty’s scrutinizing gaze by turning away. The old man’s head was cocked in a birdlike pose.

“Sure, if you’d like,” Colt answered. “Everything’s there. The pad’s underneath. I’ll go get Rocky. He’s still a little green on the trail. He could use the time out.”

As Colt’s long, denim-clad legs carried him back to the barn, Shorty stepped forward. “You look a tad familiar,” he said.

“I grew up in the area. I live in California now.”

He snorted. “You and the boy old friends?”

The boy. “No, we’ve just recently become acquainted.” A truthful lie at best, since they had never really gotten to know each other in the past, at least not in the way she would have liked. There had been no romantic ties, at least not on Colt’s end. But he would have been blind not to have suspected her amorous feelings. No, the last thing she needed was Shorty blowing her cover. If Colt found out who she was, he might think twice about using her as his surrogate.

Shorty smoothed his peppered mustache. He didn’t look as old as he should. Maybe he hadn’t been as ancient as she remembered. At seventeen anyone over forty seemed like a fossil.

He wagged a long, slightly crooked finger. “I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere.”

Melanie reached for the bridle slung over the saddle horn, trying to appear too busy to chat. “Mountain Bluff is a small town.”

“It will come to me,” Shorty mumbled as he strode away. “I never forget a face.”

“You’ve been awful quiet.” Colt reined his gelding to a stop and glanced over at Melanie. “Is something bothering you?”

Cinnamon halted without being asked. “No, I’ve just been taking in the scenery.” And worrying sick over Shorty’s last words. Should she tell Colt who she was? Would it matter to him?

Of course it would, she told herself, once again.

“Do you want to stretch your legs a bit?” he asked.

“Okay.”

How accurate could Shorty’s memory be? she wondered as they dismounted. The man had worked on a recreational ranch for over thirty years. Most likely he had met hundreds of people. He couldn’t possibly remember them all and especially not a girl whose features had been altered.

Melanie watched Colt hobble the horses, and decided it was time to relax and enjoy the land. They had been riding for hours and in truth she hadn’t taken in the scenery at all. In doing so now, a wave of homesickness washed over her.

Patches of wildflowers colored the terrain, their tiny, bright heads swaying in a gentle breeze. Trees stood tall and green, gnarled roots clawing the rich soil, tiny animals nesting within.

Mountains peaked to an enormous summer sky filled with clouds so downy and white, she imagined tiny blonde cherubs peering over the floating cushions, bows taut, amorous arrows poised for flight This, she thought, was definitely the place to fall in love. Just a breath away, a small stream moistened the floral-scented air, bubbling and polishing stones as it moved, the clear water cool and inviting. Serenity. Pure and simple.

“I forgot how beautiful Montana is,” Melanie said, kneeling beside the stream.

“This is my favorite spot.” Colt moved toward her with long-legged grace, the ends of his shoulder-length hair fluttering like sleek, black wings. He placed a water flask on the ground between them and followed it down. “I feel content here.”

“I can see why.” She picked up a pinecone and studied it. “I used to collect these all year, then paint them at Christmas-time. I still make all my own ornaments.” Suddenly the need to move back to Montana grew fierce. “After all these years, waking up at the beach on Christmas morning still feels strange. That’s when I miss snow the most.”

He drew his legs up and leaned his elbows against his knees. A Stetson as dark as his eyes rested on his head, a blue denim shirt covered the broad expanse of his chest. Melanie glanced down at her own shirt; it was denim too, only it yielded a designer’s label. Colt’s probably came from the Western Emporium in town. He was a wealthy man but a simple one. She had heard his grandfather had made some sound investments, leaving Colt with quite a nest egg.

He looked over at her. “Do you ever visit your foster family during the holidays?”

Melanie cupped the pinecone and met his curious gaze. “No. They moved away years ago. Besides, I only lived there for a couple years, during high school. I’d been shuffled around a lot. Mostly city homes. I didn’t really grow up in Mountain Bluff, but I fell in love with it.” Because you were here. “And I was lucky enough to live next door to Gloria. Her family treated me like one of their own. I tell people this is my hometown because Gloria’s still here.” And so are you.

“I guess that explains why we never met. I pretty much know everyone who grew up around here or have at least heard of them, but if you only lived here for a few years...” He grinned. “You really are a city girl, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You mentioned Saint Theresa’s the other night. I used to know some girls who went there.” Colt paused, then shrugged. “But I can’t recall their names. It’s been a while.”

She remembered a few girls from her high school had briefly dated some of Colt’s buddies. She had always thought that they had spread her despised nickname around Colt’s elite circle.

“You’re such a mystery,” he said, leaning forward to skim his hand across the water. “I’m an open book...but you—”

“Then come to California with me,” Melanie blurted.

Beneath the Stetson, his features startled. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” She assumed her “sales pitch” posture, squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin confidently. She didn’t want to be so much of a mystery that it hindered his final decision. Colt seemed suspicious by nature, or had acquired the habit after his wife had kidnapped their daughter. Apparently trust didn’t come easily. That thought saddened her. Colt had been so trusting in the past, free spirited with a sense of humor. She intended to bring that part of him back.

“I’m assuming that if you were considering a surrogate who lived in Montana, you’d visit her home, see how she lived, meet her husband and kids. Of course, with me, there’s no husband, no kids and no home to visit, at least not in Montana. But if you come back to California with me, you could see for yourself who I really am. Clear up the mystery and ease your conscience.”

A majestic hawk circling overhead made a breathtaking sight but Colt didn’t appear to notice. He continued swishing the water as though deep in thought. Melanie fixed her gaze on the shadow of his bronzed hand beneath the surface of the stream. The water swirled around his fingers in clear, blue circles.

“We can’t drag this decision on forever,” she said, continuing her rationale. “Figure it this way—if we go to California together and you feel comfortable about my background, then I can tie up my loose ends there and come back here for the insemination.”

Colt lifted his gaze, removed his wet hand and dragged it across his jaw. “There’s something about me I think you ought to know. Something I should have told you before now.”

She flashed a teasing smile. She knew all she needed to know. In her eyes this man was perfect “I thought you were an open book—”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

Colt’s startling admission rammed her like a fist, jolting her mind with disturbing images of her youth. They filled her with despair: the pungent smell of cheap liquor permeating a dingy apartment, stale bread for lunch, nothing for dinner, unkind men frequenting her mother’s rumpled bed. She remembered ironing her own tattered clothes and getting herself off to school while the woman who had given her life lay in a drunken stupor. The day the authorities had placed her in foster care, her mother had solemnly promised to “do better.” She never had. Melanie had remained in the system until her eighteenth birthday.

“You drink?”

He steadied his gaze, spearing her with his guilt. “Used to. Partied a lot when I was a kid, got drunk for the hell of it, like teenagers do. It didn’t appear to be a problem, though, because I grew out of that phase when Meagan came along.” His fingernails scraped the dirt, imbedding the ground with catlike scratches. “But after she died... I hit the bottle pretty bad. The year she was missing I lived on hope...after I buried her, there was nothing left... nothing mattered. I’ve been sober, going on five years now, but it’s been a rough road, and I’m not sure I could have made it without Shorty. He never gave up on me.”

Melanie couldn’t think of anything to say. Because of her mother, alcoholics had always been intolerable in her mind. Yet this was Colt, the man who had helped heal her wounded teenage heart. If someone as beautiful as him had defended her, she used to tell herself, then she must be special, worth much more than her biological mother had thought her to be.

Colt’s humble voice interrupted the silence. “I hope this doesn’t affect your decision. Because I want you to know, no matter what hardship comes my way, I won’t choose alcohol as a remedy. I was a disgrace to my daughter’s memory, as well as to myself. I’d never consider bringing another child into my life if I had the slightest doubt about my sobriety.”

Melanie looked at the man questioning her gaze and did something she had hoped never to do in his presence. Burst into tears.

For a long uncomfortable moment, Colt just stared, uncertain of what to do. Although his first instinct was to draw her into his arms, he refrained. If he touched her and she shattered, broke into a million vulnerable little pieces right there in his arms, he’d be tempted to kiss the hurt away. To place his lips on every salty drop and taste her sadness. He recognized tears that ached, he’d shed enough of them.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...yes...I don’t know...” She covered her face with trembling hands.

He moved closer, knelt down beside her and cursed his knotting stomach. He tamed horses. This sweet little creature was a woman. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”

She dropped her hands. The dark smudges of mascara around her eyes made her look like a blue-eyed raccoon. Adorable, yet destructive to a man’s conscience—the kind of trophy he’d feel guilty about later.

“I wish she’d have cared enough to stay sober,” Melanie muttered bitterly.

“She?”

The dam looked like it might break again. Another flood of tears gathered in her eyes. “My mom.”

Colt swallowed. “Your mom was an alcoholic?”

She nodded. “My childhood wasn’t easy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserved better.”

“Yes, I did.” She blinked her tears back. “But it took a long time for me to believe that. I waited for my mom to change, to take me back home and live a normal life.” Her distraught gaze avoided his as her hand nervously picked at the pinecone, chipping pieces off. “But that never happened.”

“Is your mom still alive?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve lost touch with her. Is yours?”

“No.” Colt couldn’t contain the sadness in his tone. “My mom died of cancer when I was still a boy.”

She looked up and dropped the broken pinecone sending it into the stream. “I’m sorry.”

Colt removed the bandana around his neck, dipped a corner of it into the stream and gently cleaned Melanie’s mascara stained cheeks. The stricken blue gaze belonged to the neglected daughter of an alcoholic, the chic California girl hidden somewhere deep within. For one brief moment his lonely heart tagged after both.

“Life is hard sometimes,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” she whispered.

When they both fell silent, the beauty around them intensified: the morning sun teasing the jagged rocks, gold-tipped leaves rustling through the trees, the rush of cool water, his admiring gaze, her smooth skin.

Colt tucked her hair behind her ear and handed her the red cloth. She dabbed her runny nose with the dry portion. “I feel better now,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Good.” He smiled and reached for her hair again. The fire-lit strands slipped through his fingers like ribbons of silk. When she leaned toward his caressing hand, he realized how intimate their gestures were. “Are you still willing to be my surrogate?”

“Yes.” Her breathless voice sent a surge of sensual heat coursing through his veins.

Colt shuddered. He wouldn’t permit this to happen. He wouldn’t confuse his need for a child with desire for the woman willing to carry it. That’s what was happening, he told himself. He was vulnerable and so was she. Their physical compulsion to produce a baby was creating false intimacy. His urge to taste her citrus-scented skin and run his hands through her thick, autumn hair would go away once his seed was planted. Artificially, of course.

Colt transferred his hand from her hair to the water flask and took a cold, desire-dousing drink. As casually as he could muster, he uncoiled his long body and rose to his feet. “I think California is a good idea. And not because you need to be on trial. We’re both about sure as we’re going to get, so we may as well start on the legal and medical side of this. And you’ll probably need some help getting packed.”

Her smudgy eyes brightened, but he kept his expression tight and professional. “Before we leave for Los Angeles, we’ll see my attorney and get the contract drawn up so you can consult your own lawyer back home and have him look it over.”

“Her,” Melanie interjected.

“What?”

“My attorney is a woman.”

“Fine. You also need to make an appointment with Dr. Miller for a checkup, and of course, to discuss the best method of determining ovulation.” He caught her amused smirk and prayed to God he wouldn’t stutter like a flustered schoolboy. “I don’t want to waste any time, I want you ready for the procedure when we return.”

He cursed his traitorous body for what it wanted and continued in an unemotional tone. “I’ll hire a moving van and pay the storage fee for the things you don’t bring. Maybe you should consider subleasing your condo so you don’t lose it. I imagine a beachfront rental is hard to come by.”

“What altered your decision?” she asked, viewing his towering height from the ground. “I expected you to ponder over this for weeks.”

He resisted the nervous urge to pace. Regardless of the wide-open space, he felt like a caged tiger, trapped within his own distorted desire. “I’ve been thinking about this for years and meeting with potential surrogates for the past eight months—”

“You have?” She stood up and brushed off her behind.

“Yeah. And I’ve met with a lot of women. No one seemed right.” Not the fifties TV moms or the desperate ones with financial needs. He couldn’t see his unborn child in their eyes. With Melanie he could.

“What makes me right?”

Great Scott. Just like a woman to question a man to death, force him to spill his guts. “Maybe the idea that you’re single is growing on me. The fewer people involved the better. And the fact that you’re a career woman is a plus, too. I hadn’t thought so at first but with you being so into your profession, I won’t have to worry about your maternal instincts backfiring on me. My biggest concern is my surrogate deciding she wants the baby, but with you, I figure that won’t happen.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her jeans and began dusting off her knees.

Was his explanation so cold that she couldn’t meet his gaze? Damn it. He wasn’t about to tell her he wanted his child to inherit her smile.

“I like you, Melanie. That means something, too. I feel as though we’ve known each other for a while. As you said, being friends is important. We don’t want to get on each other’s nerves for the next nine months.”

She offered a smile that went straight to his groin. Thank God pregnant women didn’t really glow. His wife had whined and complained the entire time, making the gestation pretty darn unappealing. How attractive could Melanie possibly be in that state?

Colt’s jaw twitched. This California girl was going to bear him a child, but damn if he would allow her to get under his skin. This friendship would be short-lived. Fatherhood was the only emotional attachment Colt Raintree wanted, or needed. Once his son or daughter was born, Melanie Richards would be out of his life. For good.

Four

LAX had annoyed him. Actually, it more than annoyed him. The confusion of the fast-paced airport had made him feel like a big, dumb, country boy. Colt Raintree, Montana born and bred, was out of his element.

Rather than breathing crisp mountain air, he was choking down smog and riding shotgun in a red convertible piloted by an auburn-haired beauty who made Mario Andretti seem like a slowpoke.