by Rebecca York
With a sound deep in his throat, he closed the distance between them, his mouth warm and possessive against hers.
“Oh.’’ Her little exclamation was lost in the mingling of their breaths as he moved his lips softly against hers. When she didn’t pull away, the pressure became more urgent.
His arm slid around her waist, holding her in place as his hand splayed against her ribs, his fingertips reaching the underside of her breast and sending darts of heat prickling across her skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was astonished at what was happening, astonished that she was letting it happen.
Without conscious thought she leaned into the kiss, and for long moments, nothing existed in the universe besides the delicious teasing of his lips against hers and the feel of his big hands on her body.
It was a shock when he broke the contact, her name sighing out of him as his head fell back against the seat. He sat there, his breath coming in little gasps, his eyes closed.
“You shouldn’t have done that,’’ she accused, wondering if she were speaking to him or to herself.
“I know,’’ he answered, his voice thick and raspy.
“You think I’m in the habit of letting strange men kiss me,’’ she heard herself blurting.
“No.’’
“Well, you think I had an affair with Colin Logan. And you think it’s okay to grab me like…some streetwalker or something.’’
“Streetwalkers don’t kiss,’’ he muttered.
“How do you know?’’
He grimaced. “I read From Here to Eternity when I was a kid.’’
“Oh.’’
Clearing his throat, he made an attempt to sit up straighter. The maneuver was only partially successful. “I’m sorry I hurt you when you woke me up.’’
She was profoundly grateful for the change of subject even though she was the one who had dragged them into the previous topic. “What the heck did you think—that I was attacking you?’’
“Not you. I was dreaming about Al Hewitt. He was trying his damnedest to kill me.’’
“You and he didn’t get along?’’
“We got along okay until this evening, when he wanted to keep me from leaving the Logan Ranch.’’ He paused and sucked in a breath, and she knew the conversation was using up his strength. “We had a little go-round, and I had to stash him in a storage shed.’’
“You’ve had a busy night,’’ she observed dryly.
“Yeah. And now I need to lie down. Can you put the seat back or something?’’
“I think it’s safer if you come into the cabin and lie down.’’
He pushed himself up, looked around as if he’d just become aware of his surroundings. “Where are we?’’
“Somewhere safe, I hope.’’
“Where exactly?’’
She gave a little laugh. “One of Logan’s line cabins. I figure it’s the last place he’d look.’’
“One of Logan’s line cabins,’’ he repeated slowly. “Yeah, good thinking. But how do you know it’s his?’’
“He chased me and my brother away once when we were kids. Told us the next time he found us on his property, he’d shoot us.’’
“Sounds like him.’’ Matt tipped his head to one side. “You have a brother?’’
She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the tight feeling in her chest that always came when she thought about Billy. “I did. He’s dead.’’
“I’m sorry.’’
“It happened a long time ago. He joined the Marines and had an overzealous drill instructor. They were training at night in a swamp—and he drowned.’’
Before she let the pain get the better of her, she made another quick change of subject. “How’s your head?’’
He considered the question carefully, looked from her to the dials on the dashboard and back again. “A little better. It looks like the double vision’s gone, anyway.’’
“Thank God,’’ she said, praying that he wasn’t in need of serious medical attention. Or maybe she was planning to kiss him and make him well.
Struggling to sound brisk, she added, “Ease away from the door, so I can open it.’’
Matt had already opened the door by the time she got around to the other side of the truck, but when he lowered himself to the ground, he had to reach out a hand against the vehicle to keep from falling on his face.
She moved in close, slipping her arm around his waist, taking part of his weight, feeling the warmth of his body in the cold night air. He was a big man. Heavy. And she knew she couldn’t hold him up for long. Gritting her teeth, she helped him shuffle to the cabin door, then across the rough plank floor.
“The bunks smell like a family of bears slept there,’’ she told him as she directed him to the blankets on the floor.
“This is fine,’’ he answered, easing down to the less than comfortable surface. Covering him with the remaining blanket, she knelt beside him, staring down at him for a moment. Then she pushed herself to her feet and returned to the vehicle.
After pulling as far as she could into a small grove of trees, she climbed out and looked up into the star-filled sky, the twinkling points of light making her feel very small and very unprotected. In her nightgown the chill air raised goose bumps on her skin.
She wanted to get back to Matt, and the sudden feeling of dependence brought a flash of self-doubt. For years she prided herself on being able to handle anything that came along—even her father’s final illness. In the space of a few hours, she’d started to rely on Matt Forester.
Or maybe that wasn’t what she was feeling, she told herself as she scrambled for a better explanation. Maybe she was reacting this way because she felt responsible for what had happened to him since he’d been injured by her foreman. In spite of that, a little while ago, he’d kissed her, and she’d tasted as much need in his kiss as passion.
If he’d been in better shape—or if she’d had more experience communicating with men—she might have marched back to the cabin and demanded to know exactly what that kiss had meant. But she didn’t know how to ask the right questions. And she wasn’t sure he would even know the answer—not when he was half out of his head, courtesy of her foreman.
So she worked off some of her frustration by scooping up several handfuls of fallen leaves and scattering them over the roof and the hood of the vehicle. Standing back, she swiped her hands together to dust away the bits of clinging leaf and surveyed her handiwork. Maybe the covering would disguise the shiny surface—if someone did decide to investigate this place from the air.
After retrieving the gun and her purse, she started back to the cabin. But one of the annoyances of pregnancy stopped her. Unfortunately these cabins out in the middle of nowhere didn’t come equipped with bathroom facilities. So she checked the tissue supply in her pocketbook and made a strategic stop in a convenient thicket.
Back in the cabin, she laid the gun within reach, then knelt and touched Matt’s shoulder, tensing as she imagined him lunging at her again. But this time he only opened his eyes and gave her a lazy smile.
“You’re feeling better,’’ she murmured.
“Mm-hmm.’’
“I should check your pupils with the flashlight. I should have done that before.’’
He winced. “Do you have to?’’
“You know I do.’’
She reached for the light, switched it on and directed the beam toward his face. He sucked in a sharp breath as the brightness hit him, but both his pupils contracted the same amount.
“Do I pass?’’ he asked, rubbing his eyes as she switched off the light.
“Yes.’’ Thank the Lord, she added silently.
“Then lie down and get some sleep. You’re going to need it.’’
She looked around the cabin and back at the makeshift bed. “Lie down with you?’’
“I’m in no shape to start anything.’’
“Aren’t you?’’ she asked, remembering the potency of his kiss. Wh
at was he like when he was in shape?
“I won’t do anything out of line. Promise.’’ When she didn’t move, he added, “You must be dead on your feet by now.’’ Holding up the top blanket, he waited for her decision.
Perhaps the trembling of his hand was the deciding factor. Or maybe she was too tired to think straight, too tired to run any farther—from Roy Logan or from the man who’d kidnapped her and was now offering to share his bed.
Without understanding why she trusted Matthew Forester on such a basic level, when wariness was such an ingrained facet of her personality, she eased onto the blanket and rolled to her side, her face away from him.
Chapter Four
Matt awakened in the dark, disoriented until his bruised brain identified the soft female shape pressed against his body.
Amanda.
In the night he’d rolled toward her, until his front was pressed against her back and his hand had slipped across her body, to splay against the gentle swell of her abdomen.
He should move that hand away, he told himself sternly, knowing he had no right to clasp her so intimately. But he didn’t have the power to shift away.
Holding her felt too good, too comforting—too sexually tempting. So he lay there, breathing in the flower scent of her hair, pressing his face into the golden strands as his mind worked through several urgent pieces of business.
First he evaluated his injury. His head still hurt, but the pain was manageable. The double vision was a distant, unpleasant memory. And he seemed to be thinking a lot more clearly than last night, when he’d abducted her at gunpoint, then kissed her without waiting for an invitation. He’d never been an impulsive man. It seemed that a lifetime of cautious habits had suddenly counted for nothing when he’d heard Roy Logan talking about kidnapping Amanda. And his impulse control had apparently gone AWOL when Ed had conked him on the head.
He grimaced, hoping he was in better physical and mental shape now. At least he knew that he shouldn’t be enjoying the sweet torture of wanting Amanda. At least he had the decency not to press his aroused body to hers.
Still, the memory of the kiss brought a stab of guilt that propelled him into another line of thought: how to keep her safe. There were still too many variables. He’d come on the scene too late to meet Colin Logan, but the things he knew made him sure he wouldn’t have liked the man. A sudden unpleasant picture of the younger Logan and Amanda tangled together on a bed leaped into his mind, and he clenched his teeth to banish it. How had a woman who seemed as sweet and innocent as Amanda let herself get involved with someone like that?
Or had she? Had Colin forced himself on her? Was that it? The thought brought a surge of anger that must have communicated itself to her, because she made a low, frightened sound and stirred against him, increasing his physical discomfort.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,’’ he murmured.
She said something he couldn’t make out and seemed to sink deeper into slumber.
She was turned away from him, and he couldn’t see her face, but he knew the exact moment when she awakened and became aware of the hand on her abdomen and the hard male appendage pressing against her soft flesh.
When she tried to pull away, he shifted his grip to her shoulder.
“It’s going to be easier for you to talk to me about Colin if you stay this way,’’ he said.
He felt her whole body go rigid. “Colin is none of your business!’’ The rejoinder sounded both automatic and self-protective.
“Maybe not. But if Roy Logan puts a bullet through my heart, I’d like to know why, exactly,’’ he answered, keeping his tone level.
She sucked in a breath, then another, letting the last one out in a shuddering sigh. “I guess I know the picture of me you’re carrying around in your head.’’
“I don’t have any preconceptions,’’ he lied.
“Preconceptions!’’ She gave a strangled little laugh that cut off as suddenly as it had begun.
“If I’m going to keep you safe from Roy, I have to know what’s going on,’’ he said in the same carefully rational tone he’d used before.
“I don’t need your help!’’
“I think you do. He’s got the money and resources to get what he wants. And you have something he thinks belongs to him.’’
“The baby is mine!’’
“I understand that, sweetheart,’’ he answered in a low, reassuring voice, then waited for her to tell him what he needed to know.
He could feel her gathering her nerve before she whispered, “My pregnancy is none of your business.’’
“I concede the point.’’
Long seconds ticked by before she blurted, “I’m thirty years old, and I want to have a child. I went to a clinic in Cheyenne—’’ she swallowed, then rushed to clarify the point “—where they do artificial insemination.’’
“Artificial insemination,’’ he repeated, wondering if he’d heard her right.
While he was still grappling with that, she turned to face him, her eyes flashing. “So I didn’t get this baby in some cozy bed with Colin Logan. I was on an exam table, with a doctor in a white coat. And a nurse to help him with the procedure!’’
He’d been mentally preparing himself for something he didn’t want to hear, but her explanation left him at a complete loss for words.
“Do you think I made up that story to cover up a—a backstreet affair?’’ she demanded.
“No.’’
“Thank you for that, anyway.’’
To hide his relief, he reached to brush his knuckle against her cheek, and he saw the wary expression that crept across her face. So he skipped the next logical question: why not get pregnant the old-fashioned way?
Instead he allowed his own features to turn thoughtful. “And somehow Tim Francetti got into the confidential clinic records.’’
“Who is Tim Francetti?’’ she asked.
“The scumbag P.I. Logan hired to find out who killed his son.’’
“How do you know?’’
“It wasn’t exactly a secret around the Logan Ranch. On the few occasions Roy invited me to dinner, he bragged that Francetti was the best—that he’d find out who murdered Colin. Last night when I heard Roy talking to Hewitt, I found out he wasn’t planning to turn Francetti’s information over to the sheriff. He’s going to take care of it himself.’’
AMANDA SUCKED IN a little breath. “You mean—murder the person who killed Colin?’’
“That’s right. Roy thinks he’s a law unto himself.’’
She nodded, remembering some of the nasty incidents between her father and Logan over water rights and land access. She’d been furious that he thought his money put him in the right. But maybe they’d actually been lucky that he hadn’t poisoned their cattle or something. The thought sent her mind spinning from Roy to his son—who was hardly an improvement.
Matt must have seen her face contort. “What?’’ he asked.
“Are you sure?’’ she whispered.
“About what?’’
“That—that Colin is the father of my baby,’’ she managed to say, her voice thin as she struggled to get the sentence out.
“No. I’m not sure. I’m only going on what Roy thinks, based on the information he received from his detective.’’
She looked down toward the slight curve of her abdomen, toward the baby she’d been so happy to be carrying. “Then there’s some chance he could be wrong?’’
“When you have…’’ He cleared his throat. “When you have that kind of procedure, do they give you a choice about the father? Do they give you background information on several…prospective donors?’’
All at once she wondered how she’d been carrying on this conversation lying in bed with Matt Forester. Scrambling to her feet, she stood and reached for the end of her braid, combing it through her fingers as she paced the few steps to the window and looked out.
Behind her she could hear Matt climbing to his fee
t, as well. When she angled herself enough to see his profile, she found him leaning his shoulder against the rough wall.
“The men fill out questionnaires. You can look at the information sheets on…various candidates.’’ She stopped, wondering if the conversation was as embarrassing for him as it was for her. “The father I picked for my baby didn’t sound anything like Colin Logan!’’
“Do you have the information sheet?’’
“It’s back at the ranch. It said he was a college graduate,’’ she recited one of the most important points. “It said—’’ She stopped.
“What?’’
“That he was unmarried. That he was twenty-nine. I—I guess that fits Colin, now that I think about it, if he hedged a little about his age. But I wasn’t thinking about him at the time! And why would someone like him go to the Highton clinic? It couldn’t be because he needed the money.’’
Matt shrugged. “Anything else that fits?’’
She frowned as she remembered the physical description. “Dark eyes and hair. Caucasian. That could be you!’’
“It could,’’ he said softly, folding his arms across his broad chest.
Color flamed her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what I mean!’’ she shouted, then struggled to get back some measure of control. “He was shorter than you. I remember that,’’ she insisted, feeling the oxygen in her lungs thicken. Walking to the door, she opened it and took a deep breath of fresh air. It didn’t help.
The silence between herself and Matt seemed to hum. If he crossed the space between them now and touched her, she would scream. She knew she would scream.
Maybe he read her mind, because he stayed where he was. “Amanda, we’re not going to prove anything this morning.’’
She knew he was right, but she was too wound up to stop looking for reasons to deny it was Colin. “It said he was in business for himself. That he enjoyed reading books, that he liked animals. Well, Colin hunted animals for sport. And he hated books.’’
“He could have been in some kind of business.’’
“I thought he worked for Roy,’’ she insisted.
“Maybe he had some other interests on the side.’’
