Drake stalked over to the desk chair, pulled it around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back while he observed the woman he’d returned home to see, the woman his father had mentioned in his last letter, telling Drake of Maya’s pregnancy and suggesting that he come home.

An inner contraction, so strong it was painful, reminded Drake of last June and the week he’d spent at the ranch, home from his job with the Navy SEALs to celebrate his dad’s sixtieth birthday.

What a memorable visit that had been. Someone had taken a potshot at his father. Shortly after that Drake had made love to the dark-haired Madonna who now watched him warily. “Inez says you’re at least eight months along.”

Her eyes widened. “You talked to my mother?”

“Yes. Since you refused to discuss it, I went to the one person I knew would tell me the truth. Why didn’t you write?” he asked, changing tactics abruptly.

“Why didn’t you?”

The challenge hit him right between the eyes. “I was off the beaten path most of the time.”

The excuse sounded flimsy even to his ears. Her gaze flashed to him, then away, clearly expressing her disbelief.

He realized he’d grown up with this person, yet he didn’t know her. He was three years older and had traveled the world; she’d spent her life here on the ranch. So why did she suddenly appear to be the one who was older and wiser?

Impending motherhood had changed her. It was more than the fact that her breasts were fuller and her tummy rounded. He sensed a primordial knowledge within her that hadn’t been in the innocent young woman he’d loved, then left.

“My mission was dangerous,” he tried to explain. “I move around. There’s no future…I told you in the note I left.”

“I believed you.”

The simplicity of those three words threatened his self-control. They spoke of trust once given and now lost. Despair opened like a pit leading straight to the hell within him.

He exhaled heavily. He’d lived with the darkness for a long time. It was an old enemy, one he knew well. Standing, he thrust his hands into his pockets and paced to the window and back. “The child changes things.”

“It isn’t yours.”

He stopped in front of her, not quite certain he’d heard right. She stood and faced him with that calm, older-than-time composure she’d recently acquired.

“It isn’t your child,” she repeated the denial.

The silence buzzed around them like an angry swarm of killer bees. She returned his hard stare without blinking, then she smiled slightly, not in amusement but as if the whole situation was one of supreme irony.

This distant, world-weary attitude baffled him more than her not bothering to write and tell him the news. He considered the conversation with her mother and remembered a name. “Then it’s Andy Martin’s?”

“Is that what my mother said?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her chin in that stubborn way she had. “It’s my baby. Mine and no one else’s.”

He’d been in enough standoffs with desperate people to know an impasse when he hit one. “Right. A virgin birth,” he scoffed. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I came home to find out the truth. I mean to know it before I leave.”

“How did—” She clamped her lips together.

“How did I know about the baby? My father wrote. He said you were pregnant and that I should come home and get my affairs in order.”

“Affairs,” she repeated. “That’s the operative word with you Coltons, isn’t it?”

At that moment, he could have wrung her neck…or kissed her until she stopped this charade she’d decided to act out and responded to his kisses as she had last summer. His body went hard in an instant. Last June she’d been all sweet fire and sexy innocence, as eager to explore him as he had been her.

“You know me better than that,” he said, the words coming out husky, the hunger evident.

Her hand flew to the neckline of the robe, which she pulled tightly closed as if fearing he might rip it from her lush body in a fit of uncontrollable passion.

“Do I? Maybe we don’t know each other at all anymore,” she suggested.

The sudden bleakness in her eyes struck a tender place under his breastbone. He thought of the woman who had told him her plans to finish her degree and teach school in Prosperino, or maybe start her own business and work with the troubled kids over at the Hopechest Ranch where she tutored students in remedial reading. It was her optimistic vision of the future that had forced him to write that note. It was a future he couldn’t hope to share.

Abruptly he headed for the door. “You’re right. Maybe we don’t know each other now, but once we did. Your mother said I shouldn’t upset you, but don’t think this is the last of this conversation.” He left quietly and headed outside for the steps that led down to the shore.

Maya rubbed her back and paced restlessly about the small room. Was her back hurting worse? Had she injured herself during the ride? She bit her lip against the pain and loneliness of the midnight hour. And the hunger that ate at her since she’d felt Drake’s arms around her once more, strong and sure and capable.

How long before she forgot those moments last summer? Months? Years? A lifetime?

Unable to sleep lately or to sit for long periods, she walked the floor for hours. Most of the time she was confident of her ability to care for herself and a child, but sometimes, like now, her courage faltered.

Drake was a complication she hadn’t foreseen. After his leaving last summer, with only a note to explain that they had no future, she hadn’t thought he would even care if she was carrying his child.

The pain of that moment rushed over her anew, nearly causing her to cry out. She gritted her teeth and waited for it to pass. She’d learned, during the past eight months, that one could endure.

Sitting in the rocker and leaning forward as far as she could to relieve the pressure on her lower back, she knew she would have to admit the truth.

Unless there was a way to hide the truth…

She picked up the phone and dialed a number in L.A. When her sister answered, Maya spoke quickly and in a low voice.

“Lana, this is Maya. I have a question for you. Are you alone? Can you talk?”

“Well, hello, baby sister,” Lana said in surprise. “Yes, I’ve just given my patient her final medication and was heading for bed. What’s happening?”

Maya took a careful breath. “Drake Colton is home. His father told him about…about…”

“The baby?” Lana finished helpfully when Maya faltered.

“Yes. Listen, I know a DNA test would reveal the identity of the father, but no one could do anything to the baby without my consent, could they? Like take blood?”

“Is Drake threatening to take the baby from you?” Lana demanded indignantly.

“No, no, nothing like that. He doesn’t know he’s the father—I haven’t told anyone but you—but he thinks he could be.”

“Could be!” Lana’s tone was shocked and angry. “How many affairs does he think you carry on at one time?”

“Never mind that. What about the DNA test?”

“I’m a private duty nurse, not a lawyer, but I think he could. I mean, a court order would do it.”

“And the Coltons can afford the best lawyers in the world,” Maya said, then sighed. She felt physically and emotionally exhausted.

She waited patiently as Lana tried to reassure her on her maternal rights, then said good-night.

The future seemed dark and even more uncertain all at once. How could she have been so foolish? she’d asked herself a thousand times during the intervening months.

She knew the answer. Love. The stuff of dreams.

Well, she was awake now, she mused ruefully, forcing a smile at her once idealistic self. Reality was a backache and an inability to find a sleeping position that her body accepted. Reality was also Drake Colton.

Unlike her longtime friend Andy Martin, Drake hadn’t mentioned marriage. If she told him the baby was his, what would he do—insist on marriage or simply offer to support the child…or try to take it from her?

She had no idea what “putting his affairs in order” meant to him. She again fought the despair that darkened her spirits at unguarded moments. She had known Drake all her life, but she truly hadn’t a clue about his intentions.

Sighing, she got up and paced some more.

Two

Drake hunched his shoulders against the chill and thrust his hands into his jeans pockets. The wind off the ocean had calmed, so the night wasn’t as cold as expected.

He stalked along the rough shore, occasionally stumbling over a large rock mixed with the coarse sand and rounded pebbles of the beach. The moon cast a feeble light on the land, but it was instinct that led him to an alcove hidden among the boulders at the base of the cliff.

Folding his legs under him, he settled on a rise of sand that formed a bench under the rocky indentation and buried his face in his hands. He and his siblings had played at being pirates and sea captains in this alcove. He’d made love to Maya here.

Darkness overtook him, that desperation of the soul that had been his companion for most of his life. Since his twin had died under the wheels of a car.

A shudder ran through him, as hot and painful as the bullet that had sliced through his hip.

“Drake, we’re not supposed to go out on the highway,” Michael called.

Drake pedaled his bike up the hill that overlooked the main road. “Come on. Let’s go look for arrowheads on the other side of the road where the creek cuts through.”

“Dad will kill us if he finds out.”

“So how’s he to know? I’m not going to tell. Come on, chicken. We won’t be long.”

His dad hadn’t had to lay a hand on them. Michael, riding behind him, hadn’t seen the car come speeding around the curve. Drake had. He’d yelled and run off the side of the road. Michael had been watching him, puzzled, right up until an instant before he’d been hit.

Drake groaned and lifted his head. He watched the turbulent roll of the waves onto the shore, each one a reminder of the past. His father had told him Michael’s death wasn’t his fault. The child psychologist his father had called in had said the same.

Drake’s adult reasoning assured him this was true in the sense that he hadn’t meant harm. But in his heart… In his heart, he would forever be calling for his brother to “Watch out” and knowing, even as he did, it was too late.

Shaking his head, he wondered why, with all his other worries, this one had come back to haunt him now.

Abruptly he pushed to his feet, needing movement to dispel the memories of a past too powerful to forget.

Back at the house, he paused on the patio before going to his room. The light still shone in Maya’s window. A shadow moved across the drawn shade.

Why was she still up?

He saw her stop and bend forward. She was in obvious pain. Panic shot through him. He rushed to her door and entered without knocking.

“Are you all right? Is the baby coming?” he demanded.

She brought herself up straight and stared at him as if he were out of his mind. “No. Go away.”

Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she moved away from him, her hands on her back. Insight came to him. “Your back’s hurting.”

She sighed and didn’t answer.

“Stay here,” he advised as if she might disappear into the night. “I’ll be right back.”

Maya turned as quickly as she could, intending to tell him to leave her alone now and forever, but she faced only the door. He was already gone.

Glancing at the clock, she knew she had to get some rest. She slipped out of the robe, got in bed and turned out the light. Lying on her side with a knee drawn up to support her midsection, she firmly closed her eyes.

She’d counted three hundred sheep when the door opened and the light was switched on again. “What is it?” she snapped.

“Liniment,” Drake said in a tone that implied this explained everything. “Stay still. I’ll rub your back.”

Shock rolled over her. “You’ll do no such thing!”

She’d die before she let him see her in her nightgown, her stomach round as a roly-poly.

He snatched the covers down and sat on the edge of the bed. “This will help you sleep,” he assured her, as if that was the only concern about him being in her room at…

“It’s almost one in the morning,” she said.

“Yeah. You need your rest.”

He pushed her gently down on the bed, then opened the bottle. The pungent scent of horse liniment filled the room. With one hand, he pulled the straps of her gown off her shoulders and down her arms.

“Slip this down to your waist—”

“No!” Panic was beginning to muddle her thoughts. She was entirely too aware of his warmth next to her hip and of the hour and of the yearning, the remembered hunger, that flooded her from deep within.

Pushing upward, she realized that was a mistake as her gown slipped off her breasts. She threw her arms over her chest and huddled against the sheet as liquid heat ran in her blood.

“That’s better,” Drake said.

She heard the slosh of the liniment, then felt his hand on her bare shoulders, accompanied by the strong smell and cooling effects of horse medicine. Realizing he wouldn’t leave until he’d accomplished his task, she lay stiffly and let him rub her neck and down her spine to the edge of the nightgown.

When his fingers slipped under the material, every nerve in her body jerked.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and sexy, soft the way it had been when they made love, endlessly tender as he coaxed her into wild passion.

Relentlessly, he continued, rubbing and rubbing, pushing the gown down as he went lower until it finally rested at her waist. Using both hands, he massaged deeply on either side of her backbone and into the small of her back. It was painful, yet perversely made her feel better. Her eyes closed of their own accord as the pain receded.

She groaned with relief as strained muscles slowly relaxed for the first time in weeks. He shifted closer, putting one knee up on the bed to rest by her side.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

Minutes went by in silence, broken only when he wet his hands with the liniment before starting his massage again.

His fingers were magic. The stiffness melted away, replaced by a languid uneasiness that also faded as his touch became gentler. Now he rubbed soothingly.

Exhaling on a deep sigh, she slipped into slumber with no dreams to haunt her rest.

Drake continued rubbing lightly, not quite ready to stop touching her. Her skin was as smooth and soft as he remembered. Her warmth reached down inside him to that place of piercing cold that had been with him almost as long as he could remember. Only Maya had ever eased it.

He screwed the cap on the liniment bottle and placed it on the night table, then turned out the lamp. The moonlight fell in an oblong of brilliance on the carpet. He couldn’t keep the thought from his mind that next door, Teddy slept in the bed that had once belonged to his twin.

Last summer, lying in this bed, he’d told Maya about the accident and his part in it, about the guilt he sometimes felt for being alive. She’d simply held him closer and had made tender love to him until he’d forgotten the past. He grimaced slightly. They’d both forgotten everything, including the need to use protection, during those hazy moments of delight.

It had never occurred to him that she would become pregnant. He’d never thought of having children.

Without considering the act, he ran his hand around her waist and rested it on the hard mound of her abdomen. To his amazement, he felt something press against his palm, then he experienced a series of bumps. A funny feeling washed over him as he realized the baby was kicking the spot where his hand rested. It came to him that the child was alive and well and real.

Very real.

Maybe it was sheer vanity, but he knew it was his. It seemed to him that the baby knew him, too, that it was welcoming him home.

About time.

He started as the words popped into his head as if his son or daughter were speaking to him through mental telepathy.

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly. “Now if we could get your mother to admit the truth, maybe we could figure out where to go from here.”

Maya shifted in her sleep and gave a little moan. She sighed and became still once more, her knee drawn up on the mattress to support the weight of the baby. Feeling an odd constriction in his chest, he stood.

Carefully he lifted the straps of her gown back into place, then covered her. After a last long look filled with needs he couldn’t deny, he rose and slipped out of the room.

In his own bed, he tried to think of a plan of action. That was why his missions were usually a success. He thought of every contingency and had a solution for each and every one. He’d do the same with Maya. As soon as he figured out what her problem was, other than anger at him.

Maya got the boys up and off to school as usual. Life did go on, or else Ms. Meredith would have a fit.

Hearing the vacuum going in the living room, she knew her mother was in there. The sprawling hacienda-style home was vacuumed and dusted twice a week. In the spring and fall, it underwent a cleaning that literally left no bed unturned. The same thing happened in the Ramirez household.

Maya crept into the kitchen. Sure enough, it was empty for the moment, although she could smell a roast in the oven and traces of the bacon from breakfast. Not hungry, but thinking of the baby, she prepared two pieces of toast and poured a glass of milk. She set them, along with a mug of coffee, on the table.

Halfway through the meal, Drake ambled in from outside. He looked devilishly handsome in old jeans and boots, a blue shirt and denim jacket. He brought the scent of the outdoors and horses into the room with him. After getting a mug of coffee, he joined her at the table. There, she got a whiff of his cologne.

It transported her back in time to days of riding and playing with the two younger boys at their heels while they searched for arrowheads and wild berries. To long walks along the beach while they talked their hearts out. To nights—

With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled herself back from that abyss. Remembering brought nothing but pain and the cold light of day to the dreams she’d harbored.

“What is it?” he immediately wanted to know.

She glanced at him. A mistake. His golden gaze held hers for a long, serious minute and asked questions she couldn’t answer. She looked away. “Nothing.”

But the longing was already in her. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms and make everything okay. She wanted him to wipe out the last eight months of worry and embarrassment, of startled and disapproving glances as her family and friends realized she was expecting. She wanted things that weren’t going to happen.

With a stoic smile, she wondered who she thought she—the housekeeper’s daughter—was, to set her sights upon a son of the mighty Colton clan.

“Share,” he requested.

She shook her head. “Just musing on the ironies of life.” She took a sip of coffee, then washed down her vitamins with the last gulp of milk.

Her maternity top fluttered as the baby moved. Maya waited. Sometimes the movements were too vigorous for comfort. Then she would have to sit for a few minutes and wait for the baby to settle down before she could go on.

“Is the baby moving?” Drake asked, leaning closer and peering at her abdomen.

“Yes.”

He wasn’t put off by her abrupt answer. “May I?” he asked and, without waiting, laid his hand on her tummy.

Maya was immediately aware of heat rushing to the spot, as if a sun had suddenly blazed to life in her.

“It kicked my hand last night,” Drake said.

“Wh-what?”

“After you went to sleep, I touched you like this. The baby kicked against my hand several times.”

He grinned, his even teeth a white slash in his tanned face, making him startlingly handsome, the way Tom Cruise was when he flashed his million-watt smile. It was enough to make women fall at their feet, both the actor and this man.

Chalk it up to being human, she advised her smarting heart. She’d had a crush on Drake Colton most of her life. Once, at seventeen, she’d thought he was interested in her when he came home from college, but he’d abruptly withdrawn, avoiding her the rest of his stay.

It had hurt, but she’d gotten past the dreams she’d spun of them at that time. She would again. It was merely a wee bit more complicated this time around.

Removing his hand, she said politely, “Please don’t.”

He leaned back in his chair, steam rising from the coffee as he drank deeply, his eyes never leaving her. When he set the cup down, he asked, “Do you know whether it’s a boy or a girl?”

The silence grew too long to be comfortable.

She had to clear her throat before speaking. “A girl,” she said in a near whisper. She cleared her throat again. “I had a sonogram. It’s a girl.”

He nodded solemnly, and she couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or not.

Really, she had to stop thinking this way, as if he might be delighted at the prospect of their having a child. Those hopes belonged to her younger, more idealistic self. Drake’s note had made it clear his intentions had not extended to a future, not with her at any rate.

“Did you get a picture of her?”

She nodded.

“Maybe you’ll let me see it sometime,” he suggested softly, almost wistfully. “Have you picked a name yet?”

Her chest tightened. “Marissa. Marissa Ramirez.”

His face hardened for a fraction of a second, then the expression was gone. He smiled as he considered the name. “Marissa. I like that. If she’s lucky, she’ll be as beautiful as her mother.”

His eyes glided over her in a visual caress, warm and exciting and promising more than he ever meant to give. Maya set her mug down abruptly as her hand trembled wildly, threatening to spill hot liquid down her front.

“I have studying to do.” She rose, refilled her cup and retreated to the relative safety of her room. She stayed there until lunch.

Hearing the others congregating in the dining room and kitchen, she knew she had to make an appearance. If she didn’t, her mother would come to check on her, worry on her brow as she fretted about lack of appetite and its effects on the baby. There would be no retreat from harsh reality at the present.

Maya squared her shoulders and walked down the hall, ready for the firing squad, so to speak. Drake wasn’t in the kitchen. Relieved, she turned to her mother. “Can I help?”

Inez nodded distractedly. She dumped a stack of homemade tortillas into a cloth-lined basket. “Take these to the dining room,” she said. “Check if there’s enough salsa on the table.”

Maya’s heart dropped straight to her toes, but pride wouldn’t allow her to refuse. After all, she had opened her mouth and volunteered. Another lesson in life from the school of hard knocks, she reminded herself, trying for humor to bolster her flagging courage.

“Oh, and butter,” her mother added, stirring a pot and tasting the contents before adding more seasoning.

Maya put fresh butter on a crystal dish, picked up the basket and went into the formal dining room. Maybe none of the family had gathered yet.

As if she would have such good fortune.

It was worse than she imagined. Drake and his father were at the table, deep in conversation, when she walked in. There was a beat of silence, then Joe rose with a smile.

“Maya, you’re looking beautiful today.” He glanced at his son. “There’s something about an expectant mother, isn’t there? A glow that’s special.”

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