Angel Baby

by Lisa Jackson

  Angela, red-faced, tiny fists clenched near her head, was screaming at the top of her lungs. “Shh. It’s all right. I’m here,” Lesley insisted, picking up her daughter, dropping onto the bed and immediately unbuttoning her nightgown. As the baby suckled hungrily, she closed her eyes and couldn’t help overhear part of Chase’s conversation.

  “...as well as can be expected...yeah, that was an obstacle I hadn’t counted on, but we’re okay.” A deep, rumbling chuckle. “I know, I know. The situation is only temporary, trust me.... Yeah, I know. I’ve got more than my share of work cut out for me. I don’t have time for any distractions.” There was a familiar tone to his voice, an intimate teasing quality that twisted Lesley’s heart. Whoever Kelly Sinclair was, she was obviously very important in Chase’s life.

  “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Lesley whispered softly to her daughter, and dismissed the foolish pang of pain that seared her heart. “We should think about going home.” It was time to give him his life back and get on with her own.

  * * *

  “I’ll keep in touch,” Chase promised Kate, who had finally had her secretary call to see how he was doing. He’d chatted with Kelly a few minutes before his great-aunt had actually picked up and in that time he’d mentioned the fact that he’d helped deliver a baby.

  “See that you do keep in touch,” Kate said with a deep chuckle. “I’ve got a stake in this, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.” He squinted out the window to the snow-crusted fields and the tiny herd of strays he’d managed to drive back to the barn.

  “And keep your eye on that widow with her newborn.”

  He hesitated.

  “They’re still staying with you, aren’t they?”

  “For a while.”

  Kate sighed. “Thank God you found Lesley when you did. Sometimes I think we all have guardian angels with us.”

  He didn’t reply. What could he say? That Lesley had been so confused she’d thought an actual angel had been in the car with her?

  “I know it must be hard for you,” Kate ventured to say, and Chase tensed. “What with it being the holidays and all.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “You’re sure?” He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His son hadn’t survived to see his first Christmas, and his wife...well, Emily had blamed herself and taken her own life on New Year’s Eve. She’d mixed vodka and an entire bottle of sleeping pills. The results had been deadly.

  “I’ll be fine, Kate,” he assured her.

  “I know you will, Chase. Just remember no man is an island.”

  “No?”

  “Have a good holiday.”

  “You, too.” He hung up with the unsettling feeling that there was more to the old woman’s bargain than first appeared. And she was wrong. A man could be an island. Self-contained. Self-reliant. Chase had told himself years ago that he didn’t need anyone, not even his own family, to make it on his own. Meeting Lesley Bastian hadn’t changed that.

  He added a couple of chunks of oak to the woodstove, then checked on Lesley. She was lying on the bed, her eyes closed, the baby nuzzling at her breast. Something tightened in his chest, and he averted his eyes; he still hadn’t gotten used to seeing her so uncovered, but it was fascinating and sensual in a domestic, earthy way that caused heat to climb up the back of his neck and an answering response between his legs.

  It was beginning to seem right—her sleeping in his bed, the tiny baby swaddled and sleeping either with her or in the make-shift bassinet.

  At the turn of his thoughts he stiffened. What was he thinking? Just seconds ago he’d been on the right track, and now as he glanced at the sleeping woman and child he doubted himself.

  “Angela and I are leaving in the morning,” she said, surprising him. He thought she was asleep and didn’t realize that she knew he was in the room.

  “You can barely walk.”

  “I’ll manage.” Her eyes opened fully, and he was struck by the intensity of her gaze—green irises shot with silver—that didn’t flinch. “I’ve imposed too much already.”

  “There’s another storm on its way.”

  “This time we’ll all be ready.”

  “I couldn’t leave you over there all alone,” he insisted.

  “I don’t think you’re going to have much choice.”

  “Don’t I?” he demanded. “How’re you gonna get over there? There’s no damned taxi service out here.”

  “How about your truck? I heard you start it this morning, and I can only think that you have chains. The radio announcer said that most of the roads are clear, so I think I should call a tow company for my rig and have you drive me and Angela home.”

  “I don’t know if I’d feel right about it.” He rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. He couldn’t keep her here forever, not that he wanted that, but the thought of her and that baby alone in an empty house in subfreezing weather bothered him.

  It bothered him a lot.

  “It’s time, Chase,” she said firmly, and he realized he couldn’t change her mind. “You have your life—I have mine. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Angela and me, but I have to start taking care of my daughter and myself.”

  “You’d be taking one helluva risk.”

  “Mine to take.”

  “Lesley, think about it.”

  “I have,” she said firmly.

  There was no use arguing with her. The best he could do was bargain. Folding his arms over his chest, he stood at the foot of the bed and stared down at her. “If you insist on doing this—”

  “I do. Absolutely.” Her pointed chin thrust forward in determination.

  “Okay, then I’ll go over to your place, make sure the power’s on, the furnace hasn’t frozen and you’ve got running water. Then, in the morning, when the house is warm enough for Angela, I’ll take you over.”

  “But—” Lesley started to argue, then threw up one hand. “Oh, sure. Fine,” she said, obviously having trouble giving an inch. She was testy today, probably suffering from a bad case of cabin fever. “There’s a key hidden behind a wreath by the back door.”

  “Then I’ll go over now and take a look around.” He whistled to Rambo and was out the door to the screened-in porch. If the woman wanted to be stubborn, so be it, Chase thought. She was right: he couldn’t keep her at his place against her will. He buttoned his jacket, stepped into his boots and crammed a hat onto his head. The path he’d made to the barns, stables and garage was holding, as there hadn’t been any new snow in the past couple of days. He hazarded a glance toward the sky and frowned at the dark, big-bellied clouds rolling slowly across the heavens. What would happen to her if another storm hit and she was stranded without power? What about the kid?

  “Her problem,” he told himself, but knew he was lying. Anything that happened to Lesley Bastian and her newborn daughter was going to affect him. There was just no way around it.

  His boots crunched in the snow as he walked to the truck that he’d had the foresight to chain up this morning. Opening the passenger door he waited for Rambo to hop inside, then climbed behind the wheel.

  The engine protested, refusing to catch on the first try, but after grinding a bit, the old motor finally fired and he rammed the transmission into first gear. Chains digging into the snow, the pickup shot forward. Carefully Chase drove down his lane, then onto the county road and past Lesley’s disabled vehicle. Within minutes he was turning into the driveway that he hadn’t used for nearly twenty years. The house was only a hundred feet off the main road, but the snow was deep, and the truck slid a couple of times before he was able to park near the old garage. It was an ancient building with a sagging roof where, years before, Chase had watched his father wipe the oil from his hands onto a greasy rag after working on the engines of the various farm equipment that seemed forever in need of repair.

  Now he climbed out of his pickup and broke a path through the garden gate. Old hinges creaked in
protest, the slats dug deep into the piled snow, but he managed to get through. Across a short yard, where he, Chet and Delia had built forts as kids, and up the back steps he trudged, stomping the snow from his boots on the back porch. The key was hidden just as she’d said. He let himself into the cold, silent kitchen and was thrown nearly twenty years back in time.

  The furniture had changed, of course, and the walls had been painted a pale gold. Gone was his mother’s strawberry-print wallpaper and faux-brick linoleum. Hardwood had been installed to match the cabinets, but the room configuration was the same, a different table and chairs where his parents’ dinette set had once been. His boots rang hollowly as he walked down a short hallway and up the staircase to the bedroom he’d shared with Chet. Instead of twin beds with plaid comforters he saw a desk, small computer, printer and other office equipment. One wall had been shelved and was filled with books, but the old pine tree that had grown outside the house still spread its branches near the dormer window.

  His sister Delia’s room had been converted into a nursery, complete with crib and changing table. In the third bedroom, which had once been occupied by his parents, was a queen-size bed, antique dresser with an oval mirror and tiny bassinet.

  He hurried back downstairs. Memory after painful memory flashed, like short movie clips, through his brain: his mother hanging laundry in the hot Montana sun; his father promising to make good, that he didn’t need the Fortune family to bail him out; his brother waving wildly, acting like a clown as the tractor chugged up a deceptive hill. Don’t think about it, he reminded himself as he strode through the living room and saw a gouge in the windowsill that he’d made with the heel of a boot when his argument with his twin brother had erupted into a wrestling match.

  Damn it, Chet, why did you have to die?

  One fist closed in frustration. It had been so long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday. Since then so many more had left him.

  “Get a grip,” he told himself. He wasn’t going to let old memories drag him back to times best left forgotten. He made his way to the pantry and a closet that hid a panel of circuit breakers, making sure they were all working, then relit the pilot light in the furnace.

  Within seconds the unit was stoking up, sending heat through the ducts, and Chase locked up then followed a trail he’d made in previous days to the barn where her horses were stabled. Each day he’d tried to take them outside for a short period, allowing them to work off some energy by trudging or galloping through the snow-covered paddock, and today he did the same, watching as the round-bellied broodmares snorted and tossed their heads, blinking in the sunlight that sparkled against the ice and snow. They snorted loudly, the warm breath from their lungs visible in the crisp air.

  How many winters had Chase trekked through the ice and snow to help his father feed the stock? How many times had he taken a hammer to the ice that had formed over the water troughs, or sawed through heavy twine with his dull jackknife after kicking heavy bales from the hay loft?

  Scowling at his nostalgic thoughts, he let the horses exercise for a while, then penned them up in the barn again. One look at the sky convinced him that they were in for more snow. “God help us,” he muttered, and decided that if another storm dumped even a few more inches onto the already-overburdened land, Lesley and that kid of hers would have to stay put.

  He thought about telling her that he’d once lived here, that her husband had bought out his father, but decided to hold his tongue. He was a firm believer in letting sleeping dogs lie.

  * * *

  “But I told you I was leaving.” Lesley couldn’t believe her ears that evening. “We had a deal.” She sat at the table, candles burning brightly as Angela slept in the next room. She and Chase were eating leftovers in the form of chicken tetrazzini which she’d altered a bit because of his sparse stock of spices and cheese.

  “I intend to honor it.”

  “When you decide to.”

  “When it’s safe.”

  “For the love of Mike!”

  He glared at her as if she were a silly two-year-old. “No one’s holding you prisoner, Lesley. But you’ve got to think of Angela.” He sat across from her, his plate nearly clean, his face all angles and planes in the flickering light from the fire and candles.

  “I do. All the time!” Who was he to boss her around? “She needs to be home, and so do I. It’s just time, Chase. I can’t impose on you any longer.”

  “What you can’t do is anything so foolish.” As if hearing his sharp tone, he added, “Just be patient. As soon as the weather changes I’ll take you home.”

  “You can’t keep me here against my will!” She was on her feet in a minute, and her bad ankle seared with pain. She felt her face drain of color and she bit her tongue from crying out, but it didn’t matter. Chase was at her side, and before she could say a word had swept her off her feet.

  “Put me down.”

  “I intend to.” Without much fuss he carried her to the couch and dropped her gently onto the lumpy pillows where he’d slept ever since she’d arrived. “Just take it easy.”

  “I can’t,” she admitted, still steaming. “It’s against my nature.”

  “Then think of this as a vacation.”

  She snorted, and he chuckled.

  “Make that a dream vacation.”

  “Right.” She couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her use of the word.

  “When’s the last time you were pampered?”

  Shifting on the couch so that she could watch him clear the table, she shot him a look she hoped looked scathing. “There’s a difference between being pampered and being held hostage.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he said drily, and the fact that he wouldn’t rise to the bait only frustrated her further.

  “I could call the police.”

  “Go right ahead,” he invited, obviously amused at her bluff. He crossed the room and sat on the battle-scarred coffee table directly in front of the couch. Resting his elbows on his knees, he stared hard and deep into her eyes. “I’m just trying to reason with you. You’re laid up. Your infant isn’t a week old, your Jeep is still out of commission, you live miles from town, and I’m the nearest neighbor you’ve got. It just doesn’t make any sense for you to go back and end up stranded.”

  She wanted to squirm away from his stare, but she was caught, trapped like a doe in headlights. Besides, though she was loath to admit it, he had a point—well, more than one—but it riled her nonetheless. “I could call Ray.”

  The corners of his mouth pulled down a bit. “Who’s Ray?”

  “Ray Mellon is a—was a friend of Aaron’s. He offered to help out when the baby came, but then Angela decided to come early, and Ray was in Phoenix visiting relatives. He’s due back tomorrow.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw, and the intensity of his gaze caused her blood to heat unexpectedly. “Then let’s talk about this when he gets back.”

  “Fine. I’ll go along with you, Fortune,” she said, bristling. “But we’ve got to have some kind of agreement...a deal...another one, one that you’ll honor, so that we get along and you quit trying to tell me what to do.”

  “You want a truce?”

  “I think it would be a good idea, yes.”

  His gaze shifted to her lips, and her breath was suddenly lost, caught between her throat and lungs. For a second she was certain he was going to kiss her. He leaned forward so close that she could feel his heat, see the pores of his skin beneath his whiskers. She licked her lips. “Deal.”

  She glanced up to his eyes and was mesmerized in their shadowy depths. Blue-gray. Erotic. Promising forbidden pleasures.

  For a second no one said a word, and she was conscious of the thudding of her heart.

  He looked away first and said something unintelligible under his breath. “I, uh, I’d better bring in some more firewood.” Rolling to his feet, he strode to the back porch. As the door slammed behind him, Lesley flung herself back on the couch and slowly let out
her breath. Being that close to Chase was treacherous, and they’d just agreed she was cooped up here at least for a while.

  “Great,” she grumbled. What was she going to do? Being stuck in close proximity to a man who could stop her heart with one swift look was just plain crazy. And yet, secretly, a part of her was excited at the prospect. If she looked deep in her heart a part of her wanted to stay for a few more days. As much as she hated to admit it, she was getting used to Chase, this cabin and being together.

  “Stop it,” she warned herself. Those kinds of thoughts had to be tossed aside. Just because Chase Fortune was sexy as all get-out, tough as nails one minute and gentle the next, was no reason to fantasize about him.

  He just wasn’t the kind of man any sane woman would fall in love with.

  At that thought she froze. She wasn’t falling in love! Never again. Not with Chase Fortune or anyone else for that matter.

  But as she shot a glance to the window of the back porch and saw him swinging the ax, his profile in stark relief against the white backdrop of snow-laden fields and trees, she knew she was in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Happy New Year.” Lesley tapped the edge of her wineglass of Chardonnay to Chase’s. “It’s not champagne, but it’ll have to do.”

  “Thanks.” He offered her a fleeting smile but not much more. Seated on the floor in the living room, his back propped against the couch, one leg bent, the other stretched out halfway across the room, he stared at the fire.

  Refusing to be put off by his bad mood, Leslie tucked her knees to her chest and glanced at Angela sleeping soundly in her drawer-crib near the couch. Rambo had taken his usual spot under the table, and the ever present fire crackled merrily in the grate. “Here’s to next year, may it be filled with joy and prosperity.”

  “Amen.” He tapped the rim of his glass to hers again and shifted so that he was staring at her. His eyes were troubled, his body tense, but he cracked half a grin. “I’m all for the prosperity part.”