by Mindy Neff
She shivered. “Even with the fire going, it’s cold in here.”
“Want me to close the window?”
She laid her head on his chest, snuggling. “No. I’m getting used to the scent of fresh air and the sounds of the animals that carry at night. Besides, you make a great furnace.”
He tightened his arms around her, not wanting to turn out the light just yet. Her silky hair tickled his chin, and her breasts pressed softly against his side.
“Brice?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He wondered what other little morsel of his life she’d unearthed in the pages of his check register.
“You mentioned once that you couldn’t have children. What did you mean by that?”
His fingers paused in mid-stroke on her arm. He’d been prepared to defend or explain his life-style, not the state of his health. This was a touchy subject, one that dented his ego.
But Madison had shared so much of herself with him, he decided to return the favor. Besides, on the slim chance that she stayed beyond their three-month agreement, she needed to know up front that he couldn’t be the one to provide her with more babies should she want them.
“Evidently I’ve got faulty sperm.”
She rose up on an elbow, placed a palm over his heart, looked into his eyes. “Are you certain?”
He shrugged. “My ex and I weren’t able to conceive. She was allergic to me.” Saying it aloud still had the power to embarrass him, make him feel less a man. “And since she’s remarried and expecting a child, I figure there’s no question as to who was at fault.”
“Perhaps it was just the two of you not being compatible.”
He smiled, appreciating her giving him an out, letting him save face. “We were incompatible in just about every way. Sharon hated it here, especially the winters.”
She dropped a kiss on his jaw, then settled on top of him, aligning her body intimately with his, exerting just enough pressure to make him go from hard to steel in less than a second.
“The woman obviously doesn’t have a speck of romance in her soul. Why, what female could resist the crackle of a fire and a sexy cowboy to keep her warm? Being forced indoors by the weather definitely has its merits.”
He smoothed his hands down her back, rested his palms over her buttocks, pressed her against him, tortured himself. “Sunshine?”
“Hmm?” Her tongue swirled around his ear, her teeth nipped his lobe. And the friction of her body as she rubbed against him, the soft pillow of her breast against his chest, the provocative dip of her hips, was driving him mad.
“Can we not talk about my ex anymore?” Rather than wait for an answer, he rolled her beneath him, slipped her gown over her head and tossed it on the floor. “I’ve got plans for that sexy body of yours, and there’s only room for the two of us in this bed.”
“Oh, I do like it when you come up with plans.”
He chuckled, surprised. With Madison, he’d found that lovemaking didn’t always have to be serious. There was room to laugh, to play.
“You smell good.” He skimmed the outer curve of her breast with his lips and tongue.
“Mmm. Baby talc.” Her breath hitched as his fingers stroked her, teased, then slipped inside.
“And lilacs. It’s an erotic combination.”
That wasn’t the only erotic combination. His clever fingers and lips took her desire from hot to flash point in a split second. She placed her hand over his, tilted her hips off the bed, struggling to draw a breath.
Dear heaven, it got better every time. And though she longed to savor the exquisite touch of this man, her husband, she couldn’t wait. Desperation was like a living, breathing entity inside her.
“Now, Brice. I want you inside me.”
She saw a vein pulse at his temple, knew it was taking everything he possessed to keep a rein on his control. She wanted him to lose that control, to not think, to only feel.
To feel her love.
She reached for him, wrapped her fingers around him, urged him, guided him.
And when he entered her, his movements were as desperate as hers, as though he were trying to pack a lifetime of memories into just a few short hours.
And, wanting those memories, that lifetime—yet so afraid it might not be—she matched his desperation, moving with him, holding him, letting her body speak the words she wasn’t free to say aloud.
I love you.
Pleasure spiraled, a white-hot flash of heat that throbbed clear to her soul, snatched her breath, blanked her mind of all else. Just sensation... shattering, exquisite sensation.
It was almost too much. For a minute she felt as though she were about to black out, to faint from the pure unadulterated pleasure. Colors exploded behind her eyelids, vibrant and erotic, as she came apart, inch by glorious inch.
For what seemed like hours, he held her close, their breathing labored. She felt sluggish—as though she’d been pleasantly drugged—yet empowered.
She was smart enough to know that what they shared in this bed was rare; that their explosive sexual compatibility wasn’t something that happened often or on a regular basis.
When she was with Brice, it was as if they were part of each other, so in sync. At least in bed.
He eased off her, gathered her close. “Still cold?”
She smiled, even though every muscle in her body had turned to mush. “Now that’s a provocative question. Ask me again in ten minutes, and I’ll be up for the challenge.”
He kissed her temple. “I swear you’ll wear me out.”
“I doubt it.” She ran a hand over his biceps, loving the rock-hard feel of him beneath her palm, the strength. These well-defined muscles hadn’t come from a pricey gym. They’d been honed from lifting fifty-pound saddles, roping calves and hefting bales of hay and feed for animals. Ranching was physical work, and Brice DeWitt was a very physical man.
“You look like a pretty strong guy to me. Besides, I seem to recall a certain fantasy you had that involved those woollies.” Or had that been her fantasy?
His laugh was muffled against her hair. “You are a shameless woman.”
Her heart pounded at the image of him, naked except for fleece-covered chaps tied high on his thighs. She closed her eyes and groaned, pressing against him, feeling desire build all over again. What in the world had gotten into her. She wasn’t normally such a sexually obsessed woman.
“I do like your cowboy outfits. A bit different from what I’d seen in the Dallas honky-tonks, though.”
“Those guys are probably a bunch of corporate cowboys who’ve never even been on a horse.”
“You may be right. Their boots were awfully shiny.” She ran her bare foot up his calf. “How come you don’t wear spurs on your boots? Isn’t that supposed to be standard issue?”
“Not on my ranch. I don’t believe in them, and I don’t allow the men who work for me to wear them, either. My cow ponies are well trained to stop and turn in an instant. If a cowhand can’t get the horse to mind, he’s no horseman and doesn’t belong on the Flying D.”
He was really fierce about the subject, and it gave Maddie just that much more insight into this special man. He had a tough hide, but inside was a gentle streak that was unmistakable—for people as well as his animals.
The baby monitor on the nightstand crackled as Abbe shifted in her crib and let out a soft cry.
Maddie and Brice froze, afraid if they made a move or a noise it would wake the baby all the way. Ridiculous, since their daughter was clear in the other room.
The minute Maddie realized she’d thought of Abbe as their daughter, something bittersweet shifted inside her.
It was a hope, a dream really, that she didn’t dare dwell on. Because life had a way of throwing curve balls when least expected. And the possibility that her tiny baby could be taken from her didn’t even bear thinking about.
She’d go underground before she’d let t
hat happen.
And if it came to that, it would mean leaving Brice. Oh, dear God, the choice would tear her in two.
Desperation had her arms tightening around his chest as a strange sadness built inside her, a premonition of dark shadows lurking.
Brice felt her tension and soothed with a palm at her back. “I think she’s okay. Sounds like she’s going back to sleep. Want me to go check on her, anyway?”
Maddie snuggled into the protective circle of his arms, trying to banish the gloom of her thoughts, her waking nightmare.
“No. I can’t pick her up every time she fusses.” But she wanted to. She wanted to hold her baby daughter, protect her and never let go.
Just like she never wanted to let go of Brice.
Brice looked up at the clear blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. So far they’d had a really mild winter, not nearly the snowfall that they normally got.
It was early March, and the three-month deadline for reassessing his and Madison’s marriage was approaching way too fast. She seemed happy here, blending in with the men and the people of the community, never complaining about the cold or the chores, the long hours he spent outdoors or the lack of a social life.
Maybe the three-month date would just come and go, slip by like a silent thief without crossing his threshold. Perhaps if they just ignored it, one day would segue into the next until they both woke up some morning and realized they’d actually grown old together.
Hell, he was being fanciful and melancholy. And that wasn’t like him. Damn it, he had work to do. He tugged at the brim of his hat, dusted flecks of hay off his shoulder. He was jumpy today and couldn’t put his finger on the reason.
Coming out of the barn, he pinpointed the cause.
A luxury Cadillac turned in off the highway, looking so out of place he stood and stared.
Then it hit him, the suspicion...the realization.
Madison’s ticking time bomb had just exploded.
13
Brice had an overpowering urge to run, to race against the seconds slipping away, to grab Madison and Abbe and hide, shield them.
But it was too late. The Cadillac had already stopped by the front porch, and a well-dressed man and woman got out of the car. Would Madison refuse to open the door like she had when Mike Collier had shown up?
Look out the window, sunshine. Hide.
He was a step away from the porch, behind the older couple.
“Can I help you folks with something?”
Before he could even get the sentence all the way out, the front door opened.
“Brice, do you know where the—” Madison’s words broke off. Obviously she hadn’t seen the car, was stunned that strangers were on the porch. Her expression went from inquisitive, to dawning surprise, to panic in the space of a heartbeat. Clearly, she’d just realized she’d let down her guard too soon. And look at the consequences—assuming, of course, that these people were who he thought they were.
He moved past the older couple to Madison’s side, slipped an arm around her waist, gathered her close.
Abbe, nearly three months old now, was dressed in a pink blanket sleeper with a frilly bib tied around her sweet neck. She’d started drooling a lot lately. Plus she liked to smile when she was supposed to be drinking a bottle, causing smelly formula to run down her pudgy cheeks and into the folds of her neck, then soaking the front of her outfit.
His fingers tightened at Madison’s waist. By God, nobody was going to mess with his family, nobody else was going to capture the precious moments of this baby’s toothless smile, the way her eyes lit up and her legs churned and kicked. Nobody but him and Madison.
“My name’s Winslow Covington, and this is my wife, Lila.”
Out of courtesy, Brice accepted the man’s outstretched hand, making a quick visual assessment of the people who’d threatened Madison with a custody battle.
They looked in their early fifties—fit, curious, stubborn. Lila’s full-length mink coat and Winslow’s cashmere overcoat spoke of wealth, but that didn’t bother Brice. He was wealthy in his own right, a match for these folks. He just didn’t flaunt his bank account through his wardrobe and classy vehicles.
“Brice DeWitt.” He dropped Winslow’s hand, noticing that the Covingtons’ avid attention was on the baby Madison held in her arms. “And this is my wife and daughter.” Their name omission was deliberate. He wanted to know the Covingtons’ intent before he went any further.
“You had a little girl,” Lila whispered, her jewelry-adorned hands trembling as she clutched the lapel of her mink coat.
Maddie shifted Abbe in her arms, her shoulders squaring. “Yes. I have a daughter.”
“We’ve spent a fair amount of time and money searching for you, Ms. Carlyle.”
“DeWitt,” Brice corrected. “And out of curiosity, why would you want to search for my wife?”
“Didn’t she tell you? That baby she conceived is our grandchild—though we’d been told it was a boy.” Brice’s eyes narrowed, and his gut tightened. How dare they think any less of the baby because of her sex. He tugged the brim of his hat, shot this snooty rich man a look that didn’t take a genius to figure out.
“Funny, you’re no kin to me, so I don’t see how you can claim you’re my daughter’s grandparents.” His voice was quiet, yet it rang like a shout in the still, morning air. “And I gotta tell you, the fact that you’d even come here saying something like that puts me in a mind to get the shotgun, maybe do a little target practice with that fancy Caddie.”
Winslow backed up a step. Lila gasped, her kohl-lined eyes going wide.
Madison stunned all of them by smothering a nervous laugh. “Brice, stop it. Listen, it’s cold out here, and the baby’s not dressed for an outdoor chat.” She looked up at him. “Would you mind if the Covingtons came inside?”
When he glanced down at her, the brim of his hat touched her forehead, creating a shadow over the three of them. “Actually, I think I do mind. Kinda like inviting the coyote into the barn, don’t you think?”
“Maybe so. But I need to get this settled. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder.” She glanced at the Covingtons, her expression determined, her shoulders squared with that bravado he so admired about her. “I’m willing to hear you out, but that’s it. You don’t have any claim whatsoever on my daughter.”
Brice hoped to God Madison’s words were correct. Coward that he was, he’d never gotten around to calling his attorney. He’d been afraid of the answer he’d get.
“Humph,” Winslow muttered. “Think you can hold your own against us in a court of law? Could get expensive. Do you have the financial resources to play with the big boys?”
“I do,” Brice said, the steel in his voice cracking like a bullwhip even though he never raised his tone, kept it conversational, friendly even. “Now, I’d be much obliged if you’d get off my property before I forget I’m a civilized man and knock those expensive caps down your throat.”
He gave the older man points for standing his ground. Winslow’s chest puffed out, and he took a tentative step forward.
Brice dropped his arm from around Madison, matched Covington’s stance, taunted him even. God he wanted a fight, a release of these raw emotions that were eating away at him, the emotions he’d been battling since the day Madison and Abbe had entered his life, worked their way into his heart.
He cocked a brow in invitation, his teeth bared in a smile that would have had his cowhands ducking for cover. “You’re thinking about it, hmm? Well come on, then. Just step off the porch, away from the ladies.”
Lila drew in a breath and smacked her husband in the chest, even though it had been Brice who’d issued the challenge. “Winslow! Stop this insanity. I knew you’d make a mess of this!” Tears filled her eyes.
Madison stepped in front of Brice, gave him an incredulous look. “What in the name of peace has gotten into you?”
“I’m not feeling the least peaceable right now, sunshine.”
&
nbsp; “Well...well, just calm down. I’ll not have anybody brawling on the front porch.”
He acquiesced with a slight nod of his head, but it was evident that he was still a tiny bubble away from a rolling boil. “If you have anything further to say to my wife, you can do it through our attorneys.”
“Please,” Lila Covington whispered, the single word so stark, so raw, that Maddie nearly reached out to comfort her.
Now where had that uncharacteristic urge come from? she wondered. She wasn’t normally a woman given to shows of compassion and...and well, she was surprised at herself. This Wyoming friendliness must be rubbing off on her.
Lila folded her hands in what could have been a gesture of prayer or restraint, as though she ached to touch the baby but feared the reprisals of the uninvited act.
And Maddie probably wouldn’t have let either one of these people touch Abbe, regardless of Lila’s seemingly genuine tears.
She pulled the blanket up over Abbe’s head, since it appeared they were destined to entertain from the open doorway on the porch. At least the warmth of the fire was at her back, though if she didn’t shut the door soon, the house was going to be as cold as the outdoors.
Winslow looked down at his wife. “Darrell told us the child was a boy. Clearly things have changed now.”
Brice closed his hand into a fist, emotions flying at him so fast he couldn’t field them. If Madison hadn’t chosen that precise moment to hook her finger through one of his belt loops and tug, he would have taken a poke at the guy, regardless of her admonitions of brawling on the porch and the man being twenty years his senior.
“So,” Brice said, so livid he could hardly get the words out, “since the baby’s a girl you’re not so sure you’re willing to fight the fight, huh?” Damn it, he felt like these people were rejecting this precious baby. His baby. And he wouldn’t stand for it. Never mind that their rejection was just what Madison wanted. It was the principle of the matter. His daughter’s honor. “I’d like to hit you.”
Winslow raised his gaze from his wife’s tear-streaked face. “Please don’t, young man. I can be a pompous ass, and Lila tells me I don’t have a bit of tact.” He paused, pressed his thumb and finger to his eyes, then squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We lost our son. It’s made us a little crazy. I only wanted to help my wife.” He swallowed hard. “And myself— we had to know...”
