The Drifter

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She stopped crying and leaned weakly against his shoulder. Bartholomew had remained quiet the whole time, as if subdued by his mother’s tears.

  “I’m sorry, Chase,” she murmured thickly.

  “For what?”

  “Everything.” She sighed. “Just everything. I’ve tried to do what was best, but I didn’t know that would be so hard on everyone.”

  “I wish you’d have let me help.”

  “I don’t believe in saddling people with unwanted obligations.”

  “Amanda, I—”

  “People hate obligations!”

  His hand stilled in the act of rubbing her back. “Maybe I wouldn’t think of it like that.”

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I’m not taking the chance that you would,” she said with a vehemence that surprised him. “When I was sixteen, I worked part-time in my dad’s law office and I overheard him telling his secretary he couldn’t get a divorce because of his obligation to his wife and children. I was the reason he couldn’t be happy, the reason he turned into a martyr who couldn’t love anyone! Bartholomew’s never going to have that feeling if I can help it.”

  Chase was silent. To be truthful, he wasn’t sure how he would have reacted if she’d begged him to marry her and be a proper father to their child. Maybe like a martyr, just as she’d said. Marriage had never figured into his plans. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be kept away from his baby, either. What, exactly, did he want? He wasn’t sure. He’d trained himself not to want much of anything from life so that he was seldom disappointed.

  But he was a father now. He couldn’t drift along and take whatever came his way this time, or he’d lose contact with his son. He needed a plan, but clearheaded planning was difficult while he held Amanda in his arms. Her body pressed against his, the scent of that expensive cologne she wore and the memory of their shared night in the truck cab were working on his imagination. For the first few weeks after the elevator accident, he’d been in too much pain to think about sex, but his back didn’t bother him much now. He’d been dreaming of this woman for ten months, and after her letter had arrived, he’d fantasized with great pleasure about undressing her again and making love to her in the antique four-poster bed next to where they now stood.

  Slowly he released her and stepped back. She looked at him through reddened eyes. He supposed he should have been turned off by her puffy, tear-streaked face. Instead, he wanted to tuck the baby in the cradle and tuck her into bed, with him right alongside her. She had the fullest, most kissable mouth he’d ever seen, and it was parted now, just wide enough to allow his tongue to slip inside. There was an awareness in her eyes, a vulnerability that he recognized from that night in the truck.

  “There’s a blanket in the closet. You can use it as a mattress for the cradle,” he said.

  “All right.” She didn’t move, just kept holding the baby against her shoulder like a shield against the emotion shining in her eyes.

  “You are afraid of me, aren’t you?”

  She swallowed. “Of course not.”

  “Then get the blanket and put the baby down.”

  Still she didn’t move.

  Muttering a soft oath, he looked away. “We’re more alike than you think, Amanda. Neither one of us knows what to do about this problem. The difference is that I’ll admit it.” He started for the door, then glanced back at the dog sitting attentively beside Amanda. “I’ll tell Dexter you’re borrowing Chloe for a while.” Then he stepped into the hot sunshine and quickly walked away from the little cottage while he could still resist the seductive light in those blue eyes. He wondered if she realized it was there.

  * * *

  SHE HADN’T EXPECTED to want him so much, Amanda thought as she took a deep breath and turned away from the door. She found the blanket he’d mentioned and arranged it in the cradle with one hand, not willing to put Bartholomew on the floor for even an instant.

  She certainly remembered Chase as a very appealing guy, but she’d always thought his sexual magnetism had been heightened by the novelty of making love in the bunk of an 18-wheeler. Apparently, that hadn’t been the secret of Chase’s attraction for her. Once she’d sobbed out her frustration in his arms just now, she’d become aware of his strong arms wrapped around her. Very aware. Had she not been holding Bartholomew.... But she had been, and that had helped her focus.

  Chase had told her he was a rambler, a lone wolf, proud of the fact he had no strings to tie him down. He’d even had The Drifter stenciled on his truck cab as a general bulletin of the fact. She’d worked hard to create a secure niche with her job and her career-oriented friends. Her parents boasted about her all the time, just as they boasted about her brother, Jason, who was with the diplomatic corps in Spain. They’d boasted a little less about Bartholomew, but as her father had said, “At least you didn’t link up with some bum just so you could be a mother.”

  Remembering that statement and her father’s years of sacrifice out of “obligation,” Amanda had resisted the urge to throw herself into Chase’s arms again. Barely.

  Lowering Bartholomew into the cradle, she sat on the edge of the bed and used her toe to rock him gently to sleep. Chloe settled down at the foot of the cradle and put her head on her paws.

  When at last Bartholomew’s eyes drifted closed, Amanda lay back on the bed. Chase had been right about having Chloe there. Amanda was able to relax, knowing the dog was on duty. But she couldn’t sleep. Not when all she could think about was the way Chase had looked at her before he left, his smoky green eyes heavy with passion.

  5

  CHASE OPENED the back gate leading into the patio and stormed through, not sure where he was headed. He almost ran into Eb Whitlock, who was carrying a potted rosebush in each hand. Eb’s ranch, the Rocking W, bordered the True Love on the north, and Freddy had asked him to give her away during the wedding ceremony.

  “Hey, cowboy!” Eb said in his typical boisterous bellow. “Somebody set your tail on fire?”

  Chase wasn’t in the mood for Eb Whitlock’s corny brand of humor. The rancher usually laughed at his own jokes, and when he displayed his choppers, Chase was reminded of the grille work on his Peterbilt. “Didn’t mean to run you down, Eb,” he said. “I guess we’re all rushing around these days, with the wedding coming up.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m here with these.” Eb plopped a container on either side of him, took off his hat and reached for a bandanna in his hip pocket. “Saw them in a nursery in town and couldn’t resist.” He mopped his forehead and smoothed the sides of his white hair before replacing the bandanna and repositioning his hat. “I have six more out in the truck. Thought they’d look good for the reception. Belinda said to find a place for them out here around the pool.” He walked over by the waterfall. “Maybe one here. What do you think?”

  Chase had to admit the roses were a nice thought, although it was typical of Eb to act on his own, without consulting anyone, when he wanted to do something generous. More than once, Chase had heard Ry mutter that he wished Eb would mind his own damn business.

  “I don’t know the first thing about flower arranging,” Chase said, starting to edge away.

  “Me neither. I’m just an old cowpoke trying to do a good deed.” Eb walked around behind the waterfall. “I’ll just put one on the other side, here.”

  “Well, I’d better be going.” Chase eased toward the house, determined to escape while he had the chance.

  “Say,” Eb called out from behind the waterfall, “how’s that little gal of yours, the one that was coming in from New York?”

  Chase definitely didn’t want to discuss Amanda—or the baby—with Eb. “Well, she—”

  “Chase!” Leigh called, bursting from the main room of the house. “What’s this I hear about Amanda’s... baby. Oh, hi, Eb. I didn’t see you out here.”

  Thanks, Leigh. But he couldn’t be angry with her. Not Leigh. When he’d first arrived at the True Love, he’d been attracted by her lo
oks—dark blond hair and a face that reminded him of the Mona Lisa. To his surprise, he and Leigh had become friends instead of lovers. He trusted her, which made their relationship very special indeed.

  “A baby?” Eb set the second potted bush on the other side of the waterfall and walked toward them with a grin big enough to eat New York. “Don’t tell me you took a bite out of the Big Apple before you left?”

  “To be honest with you, Eb, this was as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” Chase said.

  Eb clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I think it’s time we had a talk, man to man. It’s dangerous to be ignorant of the birds and the bees, son. Isn’t that right, Leigh?”

  Leigh’s almond-colored gaze was contrite as she looked at Chase. “Oh, I think Chase understands the birds and the bees. In fact, I think he might have written the manual on the subject. Anyway, if you’ll excuse us, Eb, I need Chase to help with some chores down at the corrals. Ry was supposed to do it, but he’s not available.”

  Eb winked. “What’s wrong, bridegroom jitters?”

  “Oh, I hardly think that’s the problem, Eb. Nice roses. Too bad Freddy’s allergic to them.”

  “She is?”

  “Something terrible. Maybe you can plant those over in your garden.”

  “But Belinda never said anything about Freddy being allergic.”

  “With all the food preparation for the reception and thinking about that little baby, Belinda’s a basket case. Trust me, Eb. A few minutes with those roses and we’ll be toasting Freddy, the red-nosed bride. Nice idea, though. Come on, Chase. We have work to do.” She pulled him toward the French doors leading into the main room of the house. “Sorry about that,” she said as soon as they were inside. “I didn’t see his truck out front and he was hidden behind the waterfall.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Knowing Whitlock’s sources, he’d have found out by sundown, anyway. Is Freddy really allergic to roses?”

  “Not yet, but she will be if Ry finds out who trundled them over here unannounced. Their big fight this morning was over whether to have Eb in the ceremony. Ry doesn’t want him.”

  “I don’t blame him. Whitlock reminds me of a few truck drivers I’ve known—big belly and big mouth to match.” Chase also knew that Eb had been an unsuccessful bidder for the True Love and hadn’t taken well to defeat when Ry had closed the deal.

  “The problem is, Freddy promised our father before he died that she’d ask Eb to walk her down the aisle if she ever got married. I think it was a dumb promise, but Freddy will never go back on it.”

  Chase glanced back at Whitlock, who had retrieved the rosebushes and was walking toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.” He took Leigh’s elbow and they headed out the front door toward her truck. “By now, he’s probably thought of a dozen questions about this baby business.”

  “I’ll bet he heard a rumor about the baby and bought the roses so he’d have an excuse to come over and check it out. I’m getting mighty sick of the way Eb uses his little favors and gifts as a manipulation.” She gestured toward the passenger door of her truck. “Hop in. You look like a man who could use some therapeutic shoveling.”

  “You read my mind, as usual.” Chase climbed into Leigh’s dark blue truck with the rainbow painted on the fender and a crystal hanging from the rearview mirror, which cast more rainbows around the interior. Leigh was one of the few people he allowed to drive him anywhere.

  “I’ll bet you’ve missed your swim today,” Leigh said as she started down the road.

  “I’ll get it in tonight,” Chase promised. He wasn’t about to skimp on the rehabilitation program she’d set up for him, no matter what Amanda threw at him.

  “Stress can zap those muscles, you know.”

  Chase leaned back against the tattered seat. “What makes you think I’m stressed?”

  “Who wouldn’t be? I doubt it’s every day you have women show up with babies they claim you fathered.”

  “I did father this one, Leigh.”

  “I know. Belinda says he looks just like you.” Leigh shifted into third gear. “But I can’t understand what Amanda is doing out here if she doesn’t want you to pay child support or anything.”

  “She wants information on my family’s medical background.”

  Leigh looked skeptical. “She could have asked you that on the phone.”

  “And I might have hung up on her. Can you imagine getting a phone call like that?”

  “I suppose you have a point, but she should have warned you.”

  “Yeah, she should have.”

  Leigh swerved to avoid a rabbit. “Something else is going on here, Chase. My intuition lights are flashing like crazy.”

  “Well, if you figure it out, tell me.” They arrived at the corrals and Chase reached for the door handle. “In the meantime, I have some serious shoveling to do.”

  “Nothing like cleaning out a corral or two to lower the stress level.” Leigh smiled. “Ry thinks we should bill it that way and charge the dudes a fee for the privilege of shoveling.”

  Chase laughed as he climbed from the truck, but he had to admit it was a good idea. “Are you joining me?”

  “I’m not stressed. Besides, I need to check on Penny Lover.”

  “You’re spoiling that mare,” Chase said, rounding the truck and starting toward the tack shed.

  Leigh was already on her way to a small corral at the far end of the clearing. “Expectant mothers deserve to be spoiled,” she called back.

  Chase silently agreed with her. And he hadn’t been allowed to do that for Amanda, something else to add to his growing burden of regrets. He grabbed a shovel and rake from hooks on the tack-shed wall and headed toward the largest corral. He had the place pretty much to himself, except for the horses and the ever-present flies. Several of the hands had the day off, and there was no sign of Duane, the top hand, who was probably napping in the bunkhouse.

  Chase raked and shoveled steadily for nearly thirty minutes, tossing manure into an open trailer used to haul it away. Finally, sweat-soaked and much calmer, he leaned against the shovel and took a breather. He loved being down here, surrounded by corrals built a century ago. They weren’t the sort of corrals he’d expected when he’d pictured the ranch, though. Instead of open rails, the fences were made of gnarled mesquite branches stacked between upright supports to create a solid barrier. In Chase’s opinion, they were part of what gave the True Love its own character, and he liked just looking at them.

  Leigh walked over and leaned against the top of the fence. “Had enough?”

  “I guess so. You ready to go back up to the house?”

  Leigh nodded. “My maid-of-honor outfit needs a few finishing touches.”

  “Okay.” Chase propped the rake and shovel against the side of the trailer and pulled off his gloves. “Let me wash off in the horse trough and I’ll be right with you.” Shoving the gloves into the back pocket of his jeans, he hung his hat on the rake handle and rolled up his sleeves.

  “You’re getting to be more of a cowboy every day,” Leigh said. “A greenhorn wouldn’t think of putting horse-trough water on his face.”

  “You’d better smile when you go comparing me to a greenhorn.” Chase leaned over the trough and scooped water into his cupped hands. Splashing it over his face, he sighed at the welcome coolness.

  Then his eyes began to burn. Seeking relief, he washed them with more water, but the burning grew worse. “Damn! My eyes!” he cried.

  Leigh was over the fence and beside him in a flash. She cupped some water and stuck her tongue in. “Yuck!” She flung the water to the ground. “Something’s wrong with this water! Go wash in the bunkhouse and send Duane out here. I’ll keep the horses away from the trough.”

  Eyes streaming, Chase fumbled his way out the gate and ran toward the bunkhouse. “Duane!”

  Duane opened the screen door and peered out. “What’s wrong?”

  “The horse trough is contaminated. Leigh needs help with the h
orses.”

  “Damnation,” Duane muttered, and started toward the corrals at a bowlegged trot.

  Chase caught the screen door before it slammed and barreled inside, his eyes stinging. He jogged the length of the barracks-like structure, deserted at this hour, to the bathroom at the end. After several applications of water from the sink’s faucet, his eyes felt a little better. Grabbing a towel, he mopped his face and headed back outside.

  By the time he’d returned to the corrals, all the horse troughs were draining. Duane was mounted on Destiny, the ranch’s premier cutting horse, keeping the horses in the biggest corral away from the trough. Leigh was managing to distract the few horses in the smaller corrals.

  “We’ll need to get Freddy down here to check all the horses,” Leigh called out to him as she maneuvered two geldings away from a draining trough. “Dammit! What could be in the water?”

  “What about a sample?” Chase asked.

  “Oh, God, yes! There should be a jar in the tack shed. Scoop some water out of that main trough before it’s all gone.”

  Chase ran across the clearing, found an empty mason jar in the tack shed and managed to get back to the corral before the trough there was empty. He barely had time to get a sample of the water before the last of it drained into the mud.

  “Did you get it?” Leigh hurried up beside him, with Duane close behind.

  “Some, at least.”

  “Thank heavens you thought of it. When the horses are in danger, I really lose it.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Let’s see. We’ll take the jar back up to the house, and Ry can run it into town to be analyzed while Freddy, you and I help Duane check the horses for any signs of poisoning.”

  “I thought Ry was unavailable.”

  She glanced at him, a suggestion of a smile easing the tension in her face. “He and Freddy had hung a Do Not Disturb sign on their door while they made up after their fight. But I think this warrants disturbing them.” She turned to Duane. “Did you notice anything suspicious around the corrals today?”