Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  She jerked one shoulder as she assumed his silence was one of regret for her sake, because he had nothing to give her. "Shame­ful, isn't it? I was still a kid. I couldn't even let boys kiss me, because I kept thinking about you. I've lived like a nun all these years, waiting and hoping, and it has to happen like this...you have to be forced into marriage just when your ex-wife is free again."

  He hadn't known that she loved him. He'd known she wanted him, which was a very different thing altogether. He was stunned for a moment, and then overwhelmed, overjoyed.

  "I'm sorry," she said on a long breath. "I guess we're both trapped."

  "You'll need some maternity clothes," he remarked, clearing his throat. "Things to wear when we give parties. After all, I'm a rich man. We wouldn't want people to think I couldn't afford to dress you properly, would we?"

  She frowned. "I'm not coming back..."

  "We can turn that third guest room into a nursery," he contin­ued, as if she hadn't spoken. "It's next door to the master bed­room, and we can leave the door open at night. I'll get a monitor, too," he added thoughtfully. "So if the baby has any problems at night, it will set off an alarm next to our bed. Or we could get a nurse for the first month or two. Would you like that?"

  He'd made her speechless with plans. "I haven't thought about any of that," she stammered.

  "Don't you want a settled life for our baby, with a mother and father who love him?" he persisted.

  He cut the ground right out from under her with that last ques­tion. What could she say? Of course, she wanted a settled life for their child. But if Hank still loved Betty, what kind of life would

  it be?

  Her eyes mirrored all her worries. He touched her cheek, and then smoothed back her disheveled hair. “I was trying to live in the past because I didn't have much of a present, or a future, unless you count making money. That's no longer true. I have something to look forward to now, something to challenge me, keep me going." He smiled. "I guess Tilly will make me mis­erable for a week, paying me back for the way I treated you. I won't be allowed to forget one rotten thing I said to you, and she'll burn the banana pudding every time I ask her to make it." He sighed. "But it will be worth it, if you'll just come home, Dana. Tilly's all aglow at the thought of having a baby in the house."

  "We've already discussed this," she began.

  He bent and drew his lips tenderly across hers. "Not really," he murmured. "Open your lips a little, I can't taste you like this."

  "I don't wa..."

  "Ummm, that's it," he whispered gently, and deepened the kiss.

  She forgot what she was trying to think to say to him. Her arms curled up around his neck and she let him lift her over his legs, so that he could hold her gently across his body. He was gentle and slow, and very thorough. When he finally lifted his head, she couldn't think at all.

  "I'm going to like being a father," he assured her. "I won't mind sitting up with you when he's teething or giving bottles or changing diapers."

  "That's nice."

  He smiled. "Do you have a lot to pack?"

  "Just a few skirts and blouses and shoes. But I haven't said I'm going with you."

  "What's holding you back?" he asked gently.

  "You haven't explained why you don't want Betty back."

  "Oh. That." He shrugged. "I don't love her. I'm not sure I ever did. I wanted her, but there's a big difference in lust and love."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Considering the sort of man I am—and I think you know me pretty well by now—do you think I'm capable of making love to one woman when I'm in love with someone else?"

  She searched his eyes. "Well, no, I don't think so. You're pretty old-fashioned like that."

  He nodded. "So how could I have made love to you so com­pletely that one time if I'd really been in love with Betty?"

  "I'm sure most men wouldn't have refused something that was offered."

  "We're talking about me. Would I?"

  She grimaced. "No."

  “That being the case, making love to you was something of a declaration of my feelings, wasn't it?"

  It was. She caught her breath. "Oh, my goodness. I never con­sidered that."

  "Neither did I until I was well on my way to Corpus Christi," he admitted. "I called it guilt and remorse and misplaced emotion, I denied it to you and myself. But in the end, I came back because I loved you. And you weren't there." He smiled sadly. "I thought you'd fight Betty. I never expected you to run."

  "I didn't think you wanted me. Women only fight when they know they're loved. I didn't." She searched his eyes, fascinated. "I don't guess you'd like to...say it?"

  He grimaced. "Not really."

  "Oh."

  "But I could. If it matters that much." He looked down at her stomach. "I guess kids like to hear it, too, don't they?"

  She nodded. "All the time."

  He cleared his throat. "Okay. Give me a minute to get used to the idea."

  She smiled with excitement and growing delight. "You can have as much as you need."

  "Okay. I...love you."

  Her eyebrows rose.

  "I love you," he repeated, and this time it sounded as if he meant it. He stared down at her with wonder. "By God, I do," he whispered huskily. "With all my heart, Dana, even if I didn't realize it."

  She moved closer and slid her face into his hot throat, curling into him like a kitten. "I love you, too, Hank."

  He smiled crookedly, staring past her head to the door. He hadn't expected it to be so easy to confess his deepest emotions. He'd never done it before, not even with Betty. His arms con­tracted. "I guess we're not the first people who ever fell in love."

  "It feels like it, though, doesn't it?" she asked drowsily. "Oh, Hank, I wish my dad was still alive, so he'd know."

  His hand smoothed over her hair. "He knows, Dana," he said at her temple, his voice deep and quiet and loving. "Somehow, I'm sure he knows."

  She curled closer. "Perhaps he does."

  Chapter 7

  The baby was born at two o'clock in the morning. Tilly sat in the emergency room cubicle in her robe and slippers, her hair in curlers, glaring at the disheveled man across from her who was sitting up, pale-faced, on the examination table thanking the doctor for his new son.

  "It's a boy!" he exclaimed when the doctor moved out of sight. "And Dana's fine! I can see her as soon as they bring her out of the recovery room!"

  "You saw her already," she muttered at him and cocked an eyebrow at his red face. "Just before you fainted..."

  "I never!" he said. "I tripped over that gown they made me wear in the delivery room!"

  "The one that only came to your knees?" she asked knowingly. "Dana was laughing so hard, she didn't even have to push. The baby just popped right out."

  "I've had a hectic night," he began defensively.

  "Sure, denying that it was labor pains, right up until her water broke. 'It's just false labor, sweetheart, you're only eight months and three weeks along,' you said. And there we were, rushing her to the hospital because you were afraid to wait for an ambulance, me in my nightgown, too! And then we no sooner get her into the delivery room when you see the baby coming out and faint dead away!"

  He glared at her. "I didn't faint, I tripped...!"

  She opened her mouth to argue just as a nurse peeked around the corner. "Mr. Grant, your wife is asking for you."

  "I'll be right there."

  "Are you feeling all right now?" she asked.

  "1 tripped," he said firmly.

  The nurse and Tilly exchanged amused glances, but he didn't see them. "Yes, sir, I know you did, but we can't overlook any fall in a hospital."

  "Sure. I knew that"

  He followed the nurse down the hall until she stopped at a private room and stood aside to let him enter.

  Dana was sitting up in bed with their son in her arms, tears of pure joy in her eyes as she watched the nurse stuff Hank into a gown and mask.

 
"Hospital rules," he muttered.

  "Yes, sir, but all for baby's protection, and we know you don't mind," she replied with a grin.

  He chuckled. "Of course not."

  She tied the last tie and left him with his small family.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Just a little shaky, and I did not faint," he added.

  "Of course you didn't, darling," she agreed. "Come see what I've got."

  She pulled back the flannel and exposed a perfect little boy. His eyes weren't even open just yet, and he looked tiny.

  "He's going to grow, isn't he?" Hank asked worriedly.

  "Of course he is!"

  He touched the tiny head, fascinated. The baby was smaller than he'd expected, so fragile, so new. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at his very own son.

  Seconds later, the tiny mouth opened and began to cry. Dana chuckled as she fumbled with the gown and got it off one shoulder, exposing a firm, swollen breast. While Hank watched, spell­bound, she guided the tiny mouth to a hard nipple and caught her breath as he began to suckle.

  Flushed, she looked up to find an expression of pure wonder on her husband's face.

  "I know we talked about bottle feeding," she began.

  "Forget we said a word," he replied. He stood over her, his eyes so full of love that they sparkled with it. "I hope you can do that for a year or so, because I love watching it."

  She laughed a little self-consciously. "I love feeling it," she confessed, stroking the tiny head. "Oh, Hank, we've got a baby,” she breathed ecstatically. "A real, live, healthy little boy!"

  He nodded. He was too choked for speech.

  "I love you."

  He took a steadying breath. "I love you, honey," he replied. His eyes searched hers hungrily. "With all my heart."

  "My paper husband," she murmured.

  "Remembering?" he teased. "Me, too. But I feel pretty flesh and blood right now."

  “You look it, too." She drew him down and kissed him through the mask. "Have you forgotten what day it is?"

  He frowned. "Well, in all the excitement..."

  "It's your birthday!"

  His eyebrows arched. "It is?"

  "Yes, it is." She grinned at him. "Like your present?" she added, nodding toward the baby feeding at her breast.

  "I love it," he returned. "Do I get one of these every year?" he teased.

  "I won't make any promises, but we'll see."

  "That's a deal."

  Tilly joined them minutes later, still in her gown and robe with her hair in curlers.

  "Good Lord, haven't you gone home yet?" Hank asked, aghast.

  She gave him an amused grin. "How?"

  "You could..." he pursed his lips. "No money for a cab, and you can't drive."

  "Got it."

  He looked sheepish. "I'll drive you home right now." He bent and kissed Dana and his child. "I'll be back as soon as I drop off Tilly. Anything you want me to bring you?"

  She nodded. "Strawberry ice cream."

  "I'll be back in a flash!"

  And he was. For years afterward, the small hospital staff talked about the day young Donald Mandel Grant was born, when his proud dad satisfied Dana's craving for strawberry ice cream by having a truckload of the most expensive made delivered to the hospital. Dana said that it was a shame their baby was too young to enjoy it, but Hank promised that he wouldn't miss out. Hank had just purchased an ice cream company, and he was waiting for their son's first birthday party with pure glee!

  Snow Kisses (01-1997)

  To the state of Montana, whose greatest natural resource Is her people.

  Chapter One

  The road was little more than a pair of ruts making lazy brown paths through the lush spring

  grass of southern Montana, and Hank was handling the truck like a tank on maneuvers. But Abby gritted her teeth and didn't say a word. Hank, in his fifty-plus years, had forgotten more about ranch work than she'd ever learn. And she wasn't about to put him in a bad temper by asking him to slow down.

  She stared out over the smooth, rolling hills where Cade's white-faced Herefords grazed on new spring grass. Montana. Big Sky country. Rolling grasslands that seemed to go on forever under a canopy of blue sky. And amid the grass, delicate yellow and blue wildflowers that Abby had gathered as a girl. Here, she could forget New York and the nightmare of the past two weeks. She could heal her wounds and hide away from the world.

  She smiled faintly, a smile that didn't quite reach her pale brown eyes, and she clenched her hands around the beige purse in the lap of her shapeless dress. She didn't feel like a successful fashion model when she was on the McLaren ranch. She felt like the young girl who'd grown up in this part of rural southern Montana, on the ranch that had been absorbed by Cade's growing empire after her father's death three years earlier.

  At least Melly was still there. Abby's younger sister had an enviable job as Cade's private secretary. It meant that she could be near her fiance, Cade's ranch foreman, while she supported herself. Cade had never approved of Jesse Shane's decision to allow his eldest daughter to go to New York, and he had made no secret of it. Now Abby couldn't help wishing she'd listened. Her brief taste of fame hadn't been worth the cost.

  She felt bitter. It was impossible to go back, to relive those innocent days of her youth when Cade McLaren had been the sun and moon. But she mourned for the teenager she'd been that long-ago night when he'd carried her to bed. It was a memory she'd treasured, but now it was a part of the nightmare she'd brought home from New York. She wondered with a mind numbed by pain if she'd ever be able to let any man touch her again.

  She sighed, gripping the purse tighter as Hank took one rise a little fast and caused the pickup to lurch to one side. She clutched the edge of the seat as the vehicle all but rocked onto its side.

  “Sorry about that," Hank muttered, bending over the steering wheel with his thin face set into rigid lines. "Damned trucks—give me a horse any day."

  She laughed softly—once she would have thrown back her head and given out a roar of hearty laughter. She might have been a willowy ghost of the girl who left Painted Ridge at eighteen, come back to haunt old familiar surroundings. This poised, sophisticated woman of twenty-two was as out of place in the battered pickup as Cade would be in a tuxedo at the Met.

  "I guess you've all got your hands full," Abby remarked as they approached the sprawling ranch house.

  "Damned straight," Hank said without preamble as he slowed at a gate. "Storm warnings out and calving in full swing."

  "Snow?" she gasped, looking around at the lush greenery. But it was April, after all, and snow was still very possible in Montana. Worse—probable.

  But Hank was already out of the truck, leaving the engine idling while he opened the gate. "Drive the truck through!" he called for what seemed the tenth time in as many minutes, and Abby obediently climbed behind the wheel and put the truck in gear.

  She couldn't help smiling when she remembered her childhood. Ranch children learned to drive early, out of necessity. She'd been driving a truck since her eleventh birthday, and many was the time she'd done it for Cade while he opened the endless gates that enclosed the thousands of acres he ranched.

  She drove through the gate and slid back into her seat while Hank secured it and ambled back to the truck. He'd been part of Cade's outfit as long as she could remember, and there was no more experienced cowboy on the place.

  "New York," Hank scoffed, giving her a disapproving glance. He chewed on the wad of tobacco in his cheek and gave a gruff snort. "Should have stayed home where you belonged. Been married by now, with a passel of young-uns."

  She shuddered at the thought, and her eyes clouded. "Is Cade at the ranch?" she asked, searching for something to say.

  "Up in the Piper, hunting strays," he told her. "Figured he'd better find those damned cows before the snow hits. As it is, we'll have to fan out and bring them into the barn. We lost over a hundred calves in the snow last
spring."

  Her pale eyes clouded at the thought of those tiny calves freezing to death. Cade had come home one winter night, carrying a little white-faced Hereford across his saddle, and Abby had helped him get it into the barn to warm it. He'd been tired and snappy and badly in need of a shave. Abby had fetched him a cup of coffee, and they'd stayed hours in the barn until the calf was thawed and on the mend. Cade was so much a part of her life, despite their quarrels. He was the only person she'd ever felt truly at home with.

  "Are you listening?" Hank grumbled. "Honest to God, Abby!"

  "Sorry, Hank," she apologized quickly as the elderly man glared at her. "What did you say?" "I asked you if you wanted to stow your gear at the house or go on down to the homestead." The "house" was Cade's—the main ranch house. The "homestead" had been her father's and was now Melly's. Soon, it would belong to Melly and her new husband. "Where's Melly?" "At the house."

  "Then just drop me off there, please, Hank," she said with a pacifying smile.

  He grunted and gunned the engine. A minute later, she was outside under the spreading branches of the budding trees and Hank was roaring away in a cloud of dust. Just like old times, she thought with a laugh. Hank impatient, dumping her at the nearest opportunity, while he rushed on to his chores.

  Of course, it was nearing roundup, and that always made him irritable. It was late April now—by June, the ranch would be alive and teeming with activity as new calves were branded and separated and the men worked twenty-four-hour days and wondered why they had ever wanted to be cowboys.

  She turned toward the house with a sigh. It was just as well that Cade wasn't home, she told herself. Seeing him now was going to be an ordeal. All she wanted was her sister.

  She knocked at the door hesitantly, and seconds later, it was thrown open by a smaller girl with short golden hair and sea green eyes.

  "Abby!" the younger girl burst out, tears appearing in her eyes. She threw open the door and held out her arms.

  Abby ran straight into them and held on for dear life, oblivious to the suitcase falling onto the cleanly swept front porch. She clutched her sister and cried like a lost child. She was home. She was safe.