by Judy Duarte
As if reading her mind, Clay removed his hand from her face and dropped it to his side. “Maybe we should go back in the house and turn on the television. Or find something to do that will distract us.”
That sounded wise. But if they were indoors with a bed just down the hall, she’d be even more tempted to take the lead and be the romantic instigator again.
She sucked in a breath, bit down on her bottom lip, then let out a soft sigh. “You’re right, Clay. But I don’t want to leave Bailey. Something could go wrong. She might need us...”
He pressed a kiss on her brow. “Okay. Then we’ll stay out here. But we may as well be comfortable.”
She looked at him, trying to read his gaze, trying to grasp his meaning and coming up empty-handed. “How do you suggest we do that?”
He tossed her a dazzling grin that turned her inside out, then pointed to the blankets she’d left on the bale of straw.
“We can either lay one on the straw in the corner and sit on it picnic-style, or we can drag a couple of bales toward the door and away from Bailey.”
Alana turned and looked toward the stall, where the chestnut mare labored. Would Bailey think she was alone if Alana and Clay hung out twenty or more feet away?
“All right,” she said. “Lead the way, cowboy.”
* * *
The last thing Clay had wanted to do was to stop kissing Alana, but reason won out over desire, a desire that had him on fire. He made his way from the back of the barn to the bale of straw where Alana had stacked the folded blankets and grabbed the worn blue one on top. Then he strode toward the door and found an out-of-the-way spot where they could sit and wait.
He shook out the blanket, then spread it out on the floor strewn with dust and hay. While he took a seat, Alana wandered over to the window that looked out into the yard. He studied her as she peered into the star-studded night sky.
She wore a white sweater and a yellow sundress this evening. He found it interesting that she’d shed her usual jeans and baggy shirts for something more feminine. Did the change have anything to do with him and the growing attraction they both clearly felt?
He’d like to think that it did. Not that it really mattered. He found her appealing no matter what she had on.
She looked especially pretty this evening, her dark brown hair hanging loose, tumbling over her shoulders.
He wanted her with all his being. Right here, right now. Or better yet, he’d take her someplace special. Maybe to Paris, to that little hotel with the softest comforters and a view of the Eiffel Tower.
Wait. He’d been to Paris? Yes, to negotiate an international business deal for someone. But he’d been alone in that room.
At the time, he’d thought that was too bad. But he wasn’t alone now.
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” he asked.
She turned to him, her back to the window, and smiled. “Yes, but I wanted to wish upon a star first.”
“Oh, yeah?” A grin tugged at one side of his lips. “What’d you wish for?”
“I can’t tell you,” she said, as she approached him. “If I do, it won’t come true.”
He had a feeling he knew what she’d been hoping for. If so, they were definitely on the same page. Just thinking about that night they’d spent together in Colorado—even if he couldn’t remember all of it—stirred his blood. A battered old barn might be a far cry from the luxurious five-star hotel-room suite, but tell that to the pheromones sparking in the air, the desire rushing through his blood.
The memory of the evening they’d met, now stronger than ever, was stirring something else in him. Something soft and tender that lay deep inside for... Well, even if he didn’t have amnesia, he suspected that it had been dormant for longer than he could remember.
He watched as Alana scanned the blanket as if seeking the best place for her to sit. She placed her hand on her stomach and smoothed it over a prominent bulge, then took a seat beside him.
Whoa. It had only been a suspicion before, but he was sure of it now. She asked him a question, but he was so stunned by the size of her belly that he didn’t hear a word she said.
A fleeting memory crossed his mind—another pregnant belly and an invitation to touch it.
* * *
Put your hand here, Clay. You can feel your baby brother move.
A small lump moved across Mama’s stomach, and a sense of wonder warmed a young boy’s heart. Clay’s heart.
His mother had been so excited about the baby—a little boy. Clay had been, too. But then everything went wrong.
The blood. Streaming down his mother’s legs. The look of sheer panic on her face. A call to the neighbor. Connie?
Wait here, Connie told him. I’m sure everything will be okay once I get her to the hospital.
But it wasn’t okay.
Placenta abruption, Connie had explained later. He hadn’t understood at the time, but he’d looked it up. The placenta had separated from the uterine wall, and the baby had died.
The heartbreaking memory darkened. Mom wouldn’t get out of bed. She wouldn’t eat. Not even when he’d fixed her favorite foods. She’d finally gone to see a shrink, who prescribed some heavy-duty antidepressants. But they didn’t seem to help.
And then his dad came by.
I need to talk to your mom alone, his father had said. So Clay had gone into his bedroom and shut the door. But he’d been unable to shut out the sounds. Broken glass. A slamming door. Mom crying.
Clay sucked in a breath. Dad had broken things off with her. Just walked out on them when they’d needed him most. And his mom had emptied the bottle of pills.
He blinked at the vision and shoved it back where it belonged, back where he’d hidden the memory so he could move on with his life and not be chained down because of it.
Alana drew up her knees and smoothed her dress over them, hiding the bulge in her belly. But Clay couldn’t seem to tear his thoughts away from the bump.
“I hope you don’t think I’m out of line,” he said. “Are you pregnant?”
Her face paled, and her lips parted. The question clearly shocked her. And why wouldn’t it? A man with any good upbringing didn’t come right out and ask a woman if she was expecting a baby. What if she wasn’t? It’d be a shame if he hurt her feelings.
She placed her hand over her stomach, caressing it. “Yes, I am.”
Was...was he the father?
He waited a beat for her to continue, but she didn’t. If the baby was his, wouldn’t she have added that little detail?
Before he could decide on a response or come out and ask, the laboring mare nickered, then let out a squeal.
“I’d better check on Bailey,” he said, quickly getting to his feet.
In truth, he wasn’t worried about the mare. So far any of her behaviors and the noises she made were all pretty normal. But he needed an excuse to put some distance between him and Alana. At least until he could wrap his mind around the troubling question that had just joined all the others now tumbling around in his foggy brain like bumper cars in an amusement park—especially when he wasn’t in any position to deal with the answer.
* * *
While Clay sauntered toward the stall, all tall and buff and cowboy, Alana fought the urge to follow him and tell him he was the father. Instead, she continued to sit on the blanket, fingering the frayed edge of the hem. An odd expression had crept over his face like an ominous storm cloud moving across the pale winter sky. Did he realize the baby was his?
He hadn’t asked, though. He hadn’t even hinted that the possibility had crossed his mind.
She was going to have to tell him. Should she broach the subject now?
Maybe, but she wasn’t sure how. One option came to mind. Remember that night in Colorado...?
No, that wouldn’t work. Clay had amnesia and didn’t remember mu
ch about that night, if anything at all. A man who didn’t recall having sex with a woman would think she was trying to pin something on him. Was that why he hadn’t come out and asked?
“Alana,” Clay called, drawing her from her reverie. “You’d better come here.”
She got to her feet and walked to the back of the barn. “Is everything okay?”
“Things are moving along quickly.”
She made her way to the stall where Bailey was lying down. Her tail switched, and little hooves were coming out in a gush of liquid—amniotic fluid—followed by the nose. Bailey pushed and strained.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “Does she need help?”
“No, she’s doing fine.”
Moments later, the head came out and, next, the rest of the body. Bailey got to her feet, then turned to sniff at her little one, nudging it, licking it.
“Oh, my gosh,” Alana said. “That’s amazing. Beautiful.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty cool.”
Alana gaped in wonder at the little brown foal, the newest addition to the Rancho Esperanza. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“It’s a filly.”
“Right. I’m pretty new to ranching, but I’ll catch on.” Alana smiled as she studied the little one. “Bailey’s a chestnut, but what color would you call the baby—I mean, her filly?”
“I’m not sure yet. Foals aren’t usually born the color or shade they’ll be when they get older. Once she sheds her foal coat, we’ll have a better idea. In fact, when a foal is registered with the American Quarter Horse Association, we usually leave the color blank and fill it out later, after they get their adult coat.”
Clay clearly knew a lot about ranches and horses. He must be familiar with registering them. But what did he mean when he said we? Had he been referring to a friend, a brother, an investor?
She supposed it didn’t matter.
Bailey nudged the newborn with her nose, and the filly tried to stand up, its spindly legs wobbly from its time spent curled in the womb.
Alana gazed in amazement at the miracle of birth. If this colt proved to be the horse Grandpa thought it would be, it would give her a good chance of turning the ranch around.
That is, if after Olivia’s complaint was settled, Alana still had a ranch to save. Her heart sank.
Clay looked at her and dropped his smile. “What’s the matter? Foals have long legs. She’ll be standing and nursing before you know it.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then, what?”
She stole a glance at the man who’d claimed to be an attorney. “My, uh, inheritance is being challenged. I was served with a certified letter the other day.”
“What?” Clay tore his gaze from the mare and her baby in the stall and studied Alana intently. “Who’s contesting the will? And why?”
“Olivia McGee. She was married to my grandfather’s late brother.”
“What’s her complaint?”
“Apparently, before Grandpa changed his will last December, she and her husband stood to inherit his estate. But after he found me through that DNA site and we met, he insisted upon seeing his attorney and leaving everything to me. It was all his idea. But she’s claiming that I took advantage of him.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to look over that letter.”
“Sure. Of course.” Alana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “This has really been weighing on me, especially since my grandfather’s attorney won’t be able to speak on my behalf. Apparently, he has dementia.”
“That’s too bad.” Clay furrowed his brow. “Who’s Olivia’s attorney?”
“Some guy in Kalispell.”
“So Olivia lives around here?”
“Actually, she’s a neighbor. Well, at least she used to be. She sold her ranch to Adam Hastings, the pompous jerk from Texas who’s been trying to buy up a lot of ranches around here. Until that sale went through, Olivia and I shared a property line.”
Clay’s eye twitched, and the crease in his brow grew deeper. “Hastings?”
“Yeah.” Her gut clenched. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he combed his fingers through his hair and slowly shook his head. “No. I... I’ll need to read over that letter and do a little research. But not until tomorrow morning. When I’m fresh.”
“All right.” She studied him carefully. He appeared uneasy. Worried. And she found that more than a little disconcerting.
“Why don’t you go inside and call Katie,” Clay suggested. “The boys wanted to know when the filly was born.”
“Oh. Yeah. Good idea.”
As much as Alana would prefer to remain in the barn, watching Bailey and her sweet baby, she could use a little diversion. Because when an attorney worried about a lawsuit, the client faced an even bigger challenge than they’d once thought.
That being the case, even if Alana had the courage to tell him that he was the father of her baby, now wasn’t the time.
So she left Clay to his worries. Once inside the house, she placed the call to Katie and told the boys about the filly. Through their hoots and excited cheers, she could hear Ramon’s voice in the background.
“Is that Alana on the line?” he asked.
“Yep,” Mark said.
“Can I speak to her for a minute?”
Mark must have handed over the cell phone, because Ramon said, “I was going to call you, but I thought it might be too late.”
Alana glanced at the kitchen clock. She usually turned in before nine thirty, but there was a lot going on tonight. “What’s up?”
“I heard a rumor I thought you should be aware of.”
Her grip on the phone tightened. “What’s that?”
“Leon Cunningham contacted the title company to find out if there are any liens against several ranches in the area.”
“You mean, the guy who’s running against you for mayor?”
“The guy who was running against me. He withdrew from the race yesterday, saying he had bigger fish to fry.”
With the election only a couple days away?
“So what does Leon and his visit to the title company have to do with me?” she asked.
“Apparently, a roofing company put a mechanic’s lien on your ranch.”
“A mechanic’s lien? What does that mean?”
“It means your grandfather owed money to a roofing company, and they need to be paid before you can sell the property.”
Great. Just when she thought her problems couldn’t get any worse, life threw her another curve.
“Do you know how much is owed?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I wish I could be more help.”
After thanking him and ending the call, she glanced out the window that looked out into the yard. It was dark outside, yet a light burned in the barn. She was tempted to hurry back to the barn and share her troubles with Clay, but maybe she’d better sit this one out. She’d already unloaded a lot on him this evening. And tomorrow morning, she’d be dumping even more when she told him he was going to be a father.
* * *
The name Adam Hastings had struck an off-key chord, although Clay couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Somehow, he and Hastings had a connection of some kind. And his gut had twisted into a knot when Alana had referred to the guy as a pompous jerk.
He tried to cobble together what few pieces of his past he’d managed to remember, but he wasn’t having much luck. At least Alana had gone into the house, leaving him alone so he could sort through it all.
Over the past few days, he’d begun to remember things, but he hadn’t shared any of that with Alana. He wanted to make his way through the briar and the brambles in his brain on his own. And once he’d gotten it all straight, he’d tell her.
Moments ago, he’d
been struggling with her pregnancy. But now he didn’t find that nearly as concerning as the cryptic revelation that a Texan was buying up multiple ranches in Montana.
And for some damned reason, that was doing a bigger number on his brain than the tire iron.
Damn. A tire iron. He stiffened as the realization slammed his brain so hard he felt as if he’d been struck again. He’d been standing on the side of the road. Car trouble? He’d heard footsteps, and when he’d turned, that someone had clobbered him.
But who?
And why?
He had no idea.
Rather than remain in the barn, where Alana, Katie and the boys would soon be joining him, he decided to turn in for the night. Mare and foal appeared to be doing just fine, so he left them alone and headed for the back door.
He found Alana in the kitchen, where she’d ended the phone call. She turned to him, her brow creased.
“I’m beat,” he said. “Sam’s been insisting that he needs to take inventory, and his wife asked if I would mind doing it for him. Since I’m going to get started at five, I’m going to bed.” Without waiting for her to answer, he hurried to his room.
Only trouble was, he didn’t sleep worth a damn. He spent the night going over various portions of his memories like a man hard at work trying to put the pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle in place.
And he didn’t like the picture that began to take shape.
By the end of the night, Clay had recalled that he himself had been the result of an affair. When his mother learned that his father was married and cheating on his wife...
His father.
“Oh, no.” He squeezed his eyes tight and cursed as the realization smacked him in the face. Adam Hastings was his father. The pompous jerk buying up Montana ranches.
Clay also remembered that Adam had never left his wife. He had stepped up to provide financial support and came to visit at times. But that had been it.
