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NIGHT WIND'S WOMAN
Sheri Whitefeather
~ Silhouette Desire #1332 ~
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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
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Kelly Baxter waited at her neighbor's door, miles of West Texas surrounding her. During the long, dusty ride, she had driven past cattle ranches and crooked wood fencing, abandoned trucks and fields of bluebonnets. And now she stood on the front porch of a large country house, sidestepping an arrangement of potted plants and sun-bleached cow skulls.
The Western charm hadn't eased her frazzled nerves. She had argued with her mother about making this trip. "You shouldn't be traveling alone," her mom had said, "and you shouldn't stay in some run-down, old cabin in the middle of nowhere, either. Not when you have a paternity suit to consider."
Kelly rested her hand on her protruding tummy. She had inherited the cabin from her grandpa and, at this particular time in her life, the middle of nowhere suited her just fine. But to appease her mom, she promised to stop by Dr. McKinley's, the neighbor Grandpa had considered a friend. She would introduce herself, then be on her way.
When the front door finally opened, she could only stare. The man on the other side wasn't Dr. McKinley. He was much too young and much too dark to fit Grandpa's description of the fifty-some-year-old veterinarian.
"I'm Kelly Baxter," she said hastily. "And you must be Shane Night Wind." The doctor's half-Comanche son, the man Grandpa had deemed "part wildcat."
"Kelly Baxter?"
He returned her stare with a deeply-fixed gaze, brown eyes shimmering with tiny flecks of gold. Those eyes scanned the length of her, settling momentarily on her protruding tummy.
She studied his posture: the long, rangy stillness, the muscles waiting to bunch. She took a step back. "Is Dr. McKinley here?" she asked, anxious to exchange the son for the father. Supposedly Tom McKinley had a friendly grin and Irish red hair. Shane's dark mane fell beyond his shoulders, and his lips bore not even the slightest trace of a smile.
"He's out on a ranch call. May I help you?"
"I just stopped by to introduce myself. I'm Butch's granddaughter. I'll he staying at the cabin for a few weeks. I'm on my way there now."
Recognition, then sorrow swept across his face. "Butch was a good man, Miz Baxter. I'm sorry you lost him."
"Thank you."
Her kind-spirited grandpa, an Ohio factory worker, had died ten months before. He had vacationed regularly at a rustic Texas cabin, the place where he had hoped to spend his retirement – a long-awaited dream that never came true. Lung cancer had claimed him instead.
Kelly took a deep breath. She missed him even more now. He would have understood her indecision concerning the baby, the uncertainty about embarking on a paternity suit. And he would have hugged her pain away, the ache that never left her heart
Shane's gaze dropped to her stomach again. "Is someone meeting you at the cabin?"
"No, I'm…" She lifted her chin, unnerved by his presumption. "I came here on my own."
"You're alone?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miz Baxter, but do you realize how far from town we are?"
Kelly fisted her hands, defiance surging into her weary bones. Her mother had said nearly the same thing. Grandpa's cabin was too far from civilization. It wasn't safe. She needed to stay home and face her situation. Running away wasn't going to help.
Shane stepped forward, and Kelly narrowed her eyes. If his next words sounded anything remotely similar to "this is no place for a pregnant woman," she just might have to deck him or, at least, give it her best shot. Her doctor had given her a clean bill of health, suggesting a routine appointment upon her return. The cabin was going to be her sanctuary, a quiet place to escape, if only for a few short weeks.
She squared her shoulders. "I should go." She had endured a long, turbulent plane ride and even longer, bumpier roads only to come face-to-face with disapproval from a complete stranger. She met with plenty of opposition at home, more than enough. Shane Night Wind she could do without.
"Wait." As she turned to leave, he reached for her arm, brushing her skin.
She met his gaze. The gold in his eyes had deepened.
"That cabin has been vacant for over a year."
Kelly swallowed. Decking him had been a ridiculous thought. This man in frayed blue jeans and scuffed leather boots towered over her by at least a foot. "I called ahead to the realty company Grandpa had used. They assured me the phone and utilities would be in working order."
Rather than respond, he slid his gaze over her body. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her tummy, she noticed. And he had yet to smile. The combination made her more than uncomfortable. Maybe it was the "wildcat" in him, the dark windblown hair, the primitive sound of his voice, the slow drawl, the cautious way in which he moved, tilted his head. Then again, how dangerous could a man be who took in strays? Somewhere beyond her neighbor's fence was an exotic feline refuge – a rescue for abandoned and abused animals.
Carnivorous animals, she reminded herself. Big, restless cats who stalked their prey.
This time when Kelly turned to leave, he didn't stop her. "It's time for me to go," she said, anxious to escape. Kelly Baxter had come to Texas to be alone.
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Three hours later Shane sat on the porch steps waiting for his dad. He had plenty to do, but couldn't bring himself to confront the paperwork that faced him. Ledgers, bills. He wasn't in the mood to find out what he already knew. Soon it would be time to plan another fund-raiser, the social functions he detested.
Yeah, right, a voice in his head said. It wasn't the impending fund-raiser that had him feeling so damn edgy. It was the woman. The pregnant woman. The one who'd darted off like a cottontail in the scope of a .22. He'd made her as uncomfortable as she'd made him.
As his father's dually rolled onto the graveled driveway, Shane breathed a sigh of relief. He had to get Kelly Baxter off his chest.
Tom exited his vehicle, his ruddy face alight with a smile. How different they were, Shane thought. Father and son. Men who had been strangers not more than five years before.
Tom stepped onto the porch and ruffled his son's hair. It was a gesture more fitting of the father of a six-year-old, but Shane let the affection pass without ducking his head. Tom probably used to do that to Danny, the half-brother Shane had never known.
He glanced up. Tom stood tall and broad, his shoulders blocking the sun. Shane had inherited his father's stature, but that was where the similarity ended.
"Butch Baxter's granddaughter stopped by today," he said finally.
Tom dropped onto the porch steps. "Really? Is she here to sell the cabin?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure. She plans on staying for a couple of weeks."
"Her name's Kelly, isn't it? Butch used to mention her quite a bit."
Shane squinted into the setting sun. Trust his dad to remember the name of a girl he had never met. Even though Butch only stayed in the cabin for a few months out of the year, Tom and the older man had become friends.
"She came out here by herself, Dad."
"Butch said she was independent. Besides, she's a grown woman."
"I suppose." Wheat-colored hair with a scatter of freckles just below the surface of her skin. She had looked more like a girl than a woman. Defiant one minute, vulnerable the next.
Tom turned his head. "What is it you're not telling me?"
"Nothing."
"Shane?" A scolding tone edged the other man's voice.
"She's pregnant." He clasped his hands together and held them away
from his body. "Out-to-here pregnant."
"Oh, I see." Tom dragged a hand through his carrot-topped hair.
Shane knew his father didn't know what else to say. That part of Shane's life was supposed to be closed, the wound healed.
Suddenly he wanted to cry, paint his face and cut his skin. Mourn his loss the Comanche way, a loss that had become another man's gain. Five years had gone by, and now Kelly Baxter had brought every ounce of that old pain screeching back. The betrayal, the anger, the anxiety, the hope – the riot of emotions.
Why did she trigger reminders of the past? Was it the sadness he saw in her eyes? The loneliness?
Shane glanced at the fence that separated his home from the rescue. Deep down he knew. Something was desperately wrong m Kelly Baxter's life, the way it had been wrong in his.
"Why would a woman nearing childbirth want to stay in a cabin by herself?"
"I don't know." Tom looked directly into his son's eyes. "But maybe you better forget about her. Let her live her life and you live yours. You don't need to get tangled up in her affairs."
So Kelly had stirred all those old, painful memories. So what? Shane knew better than to get overly involved. "She's only going to be here for a few weeks. Come on, Dad, it's not like I'm going to get attached. I'm just concerned about a neighbor, that's all."
"You're right, I'm sorry. She's all by herself. I'm sure she could use a friend. Tell her I'd like to meet her."
Shane raised an eyebrow, and Tom smiled. "Don't pretend you weren't thinking about heading over to the cabin to see her. It's written all over your face, son."
He returned the smile and reached into his pocket for his truck keys. His father had come to know him well. The cabin was exactly where he intended to go.
When the small log dwelling came into view, he noticed the trees surrounding it had grown fuller, providing ample shade and pleasant greenery. But the rustic beauty didn't fool him. Even though the cabin contained indoor plumbing and a small but functional kitchen, it was, in Shane's opinion, as crude as cowboy carpentry could get. Too primitive for a pregnant Ohio waif. Her granddaddy had been made of stronger stuff.
Was she married? he wondered. The fact that she'd introduced herself as Kelly Baxter didn't mean she didn't have a husband. Some women kept their maiden names. He stood beside the truck, debating on whether to proceed. Another man's wife should be that other man's concern, not his.
Shane dug his heel into the dirt. If she had a husband, then the guy was a jerk for letting her run off alone like she had. A pregnant woman wouldn't take refuge in a remote Texas cabin over some frivolous marital tiff. Whatever plagued Kelly Baxter was serious.
He couldn't walk away. He just couldn't.
Rather than knock on the open door, he entered the cabin and turned toward the tiny kitchen. He could feel her there, knew she would be hovering over the sink, scrubbing the stained porcelain. He didn't stop to wonder how he knew; he wasn't the sort of man to analyze what some people referred to as a sixth sense. Shane Night Wind had accepted himself as the cougar he'd become.
Although the furniture was still draped with sheets, the cabin wore a layer of dust, cobwebs collecting in every corner. They clung to the beams, sticky against the wood. He hated that feeling, the sensation of being trapped in a web. He assumed she did, too. The kitchen corners had already been brushed clean, the clay-tiled floor swept.
Kelly stood at the sink, running water that was probably spitting rust. She had pinned her hair up, he noticed, clipped it with a metal barrette. Some of it had fallen loose, blond and flyaway. Her hair was nearly as long as his, but it appeared soft and light, almost feathery. From the back she didn't look pregnant. She had an urchin's body, small and frail, her wrinkled cotton dress giving the false illusion of being a size too big.
She turned, caught sight of him and gasped. "What are you doing here?" Water dripped from the sponge in her hand, running down her wrist.
He imagined her heart had lunged for her throat, and he cursed himself for invading her privacy, for not having the good sense to knock. She was afraid of him – the man and the cougar. Both sides of him made her uneasy.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to see if you were okay. If you needed any help getting settled."
She dropped the sponge into the sink and dried her hands on a paper towel. Exhaling an audible breath, she met his gaze. "I hadn't realized how dirty this place would be. I assumed the realtor would have taken care of it. When I called to complain, the receptionist apologized, but said they couldn't get someone out here for at least two days."
He motioned to the cleaning supplies littering the counter. "Looks like you came prepared anyway."
"Hardly. I went down to that little corner store and bought all this stuff."
Shane nodded. The One Stop was a two-pump gas station and minimart, overpriced and under stocked. Cities had those kind of places, too – convenience chains that got robbed in the middle of the night. Of course the One Stop had never been robbed, but then Barry Hunt told anyone who would listen that he kept a sawed-off shotgun beneath the counter.
"So you met Barry," he said.
She flashed an amused smile. "If you mean that nosy old codger with the wad of tobacco in his mouth, then yes, I met him. He's quite a character."
Shane returned her smile. Barry Hunt did poke his bulbous nose into everyone's business. He cussed like a sailor too long at sea, looked like a salty old miner and gossiped with the gusto of a matron at a church social. Everyone from here to the next county would soon know that a pregnant waif named Kelly Baxter was staying in her granddaddy's cabin. Shane dropped his smile, feeling suddenly protective of the urchin and her unborn child. Abused and abandoned creatures had become the focus of his life.
But not married women, he told himself a moment later.
"Does your husband know you're here, Miz Baxter?"
She flinched, his direct question catching her off guard. "No. I mean, I'm not—" She placed her hand on her stomach in what seemed like an unconscious and naturally maternal gesture. "I'm not married, but I have a mother and she knows I'm here."
The part about her mother sounded almost like a warning, as if Mom would call out the national guard if Kelly didn't make a nightly phone call.
She was still unsure of him, he realized, still wary. And no wonder. He hadn't been exactly neighborly on the porch. But opening the door and seeing her standing there had spun him back in time – to the most painful era of his life.
"I can help clean," he offered. "Maybe tackle the bathroom."
"Thank you, but that's not necessary."
"I used to live here," he said, gauging her reaction. Clearly Kelly Baxter couldn't fathom having him scrub her bathroom, the place where she would shower, comb her hair, smooth lotion on her skin. "I know this cabin pretty well."
She leaned against the sink. "Grandpa bought this place from some people by the name of Mendoza."
"Yeah, I know. I worked for the Mendozas. They offered me room and board in exchange for some repairs and construction work that needed done at the rescue, Of course they paid me a small wage, too." Shane paused, realizing he'd made himself sound like some sort of drifter. But explaining why he left a good paying job and nice suburban home in Oklahoma to live in a crude Texas cabin wasn't possible. It would mean mentioning Tami. And the baby.
Kelly stood watching him, so he continued, leaving deliberate gaps. "To make a long story short. Dad and I eventually took over the rescue from the Mendozas. We bought their house and most of their acreage, too. But we didn't really need the cabin and couldn't afford the extra land, so they sold it to your Grandpa instead."
"Grandpa was fascinated with the rescue," Kelly said, looking a tad more comfortable. "He liked the idea of having lions and tigers for neighbors."
"That was a relief to the Mendozas. They were worried about being able to sell the cabin. Most folks don't cotton to big cats the way your granddaddy did." Shane found
himself wondering what Kelly thought about sleeping only a few miles away from the wild creatures that shared his life. The animals that had led him to his father, helped him overcome the pain of leaving a wife and child behind.
When their conversation faltered, he convinced Kelly to accept his offer to scour the bathroom. He couldn't imagine her leaning over the tub in her condition. She was all baby, he thought, a tiny girl with a huge tummy.
He walked into the bathroom and winced. A thin layer of dust had settled everywhere, not to mention a few active webs. Men weren't supposed to be afraid of spiders, but arachnophobia had surfaced during childhood. He'd rather enter a lion's den any day.
An hour later with dead spiders in his wake and sweat beading his brow, he returned to the kitchen to see if Kelly had a cold drink available. It appeared the cabin still didn't have a swamp cooler.
He found her sitting at the battered oak table, her face pale. "Are you okay?"
"Just a bit tired," she answered, her voice weary. "It's been a long day."
Too long for a woman carrying a child, he realized. Shane moved closer. "When's your baby due?"
She held a wet cloth against her neck. "Next month, around the twenty-eighth."
He wanted to reprimand her again, but couldn't get past her fragility. He had been through Tami's pregnancy, knew the toll the last trimester took on a woman's body. "You can't push yourself like this, Miz Baxter. You shouldn't be cleaning this old place."
"I hadn't intended to."
"I know." He sat across from her. "Why don't you stay with my dad and me until the realtor can get a cleaning crew out here? There's too much that needs done, and you can't sleep in all this dust."
"That's very kind of you, but maybe I should get a motel room instead."
"The nearest motel is in town and that's a good distance from here. Besides, it's a fleabag. Nobody but truckers bunk there." Truckers and drunken cowboys cheating on their women. This little waif didn't belong in that environment.
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