Amanda's Child

by Rebecca York

  In Warrenton, she bit back her objections when he left her in a secluded motel on the outskirts of town while he crisscrossed the valley with a rental agent. On the third day, when she was about to go stir crazy, he told her there was a property he wanted her to see.

  It turned out to be a small cottage built of natural stone, perched on the edge of a cliff and commanding a spectacular view of hazy blue mountains in the distance and a pine-filled valley below. It wasn’t the kind of mountain setting she was used to back home with tall peaks towering over the landscape. But it had a natural beauty that stirred her senses, and she could tell Matt was enthusiastic as he ticked off the advantages.

  “It’s secluded but close enough to town so that we could make trips in easily. It occupies high ground. There’s a clear view of the approach. Anybody who comes in has to come up the access road—or go the long way around. And I can rig an alarm system for the back way in.’’

  She appreciated her husband’s attention to security, but she was equally interested in more domestic concerns. Inside, the furnishings were plain but comfortable, and the colors were neutral, she noted, so that adding her own decorative touches would be easy.

  The kitchen was large and inviting, and there was a room she could fix up as a nursery. Yes, she could make the place into a real home—for as long as they stayed, she silently added.

  “What do you think?’’ he asked.

  “I like it.’’

  “Good. Come on outside,’’ he urged, his voice telling her that there was at least one more surprise he wanted to share. He took her out a rear door to a shaded patio, then down a steep trail to a lookout point. As she puffed along behind him, she wondered what was so special about this part of the property.

  When he disappeared around a bend, she caught her breath, because it looked as if he’d plunged off the side of the cliff.

  “Matt!’’

  “Right here.’’ His head popped up, and he offered her his hand.

  “You don’t expect me to climb down there, do you?’’ she asked.

  “It’s easier than it looks. I swear.’’

  She clenched her teeth and let him help her down an incline to what looked like a blank wall. Then he swept aside a patch of vines to reveal a metal door in the rock face.

  “What’s in there?’’

  “Bears.’’

  She jumped back, and he laughed, keeping a tight hold on her hand.

  “Just kidding,’’ he admitted as he unlocked the door with a key, and pulled it open, the hinges squeaking in protest. Then he produced a flashlight from his hip pocket and shined it inside. “It must have originally been intended as a bomb shelter. It’s secure and it’s hard to find, which makes it the perfect stronghold for you,’’ he added, ushering her inside. It was cool, but there was no musty smell as she had expected.

  “How did you find it?’’ she asked as he shined the light into the farthest corners.

  “It was mentioned in the real-estate description of the place. But I still had to do some scouting around to find the location.’’

  “Why do I need a stronghold?’’

  “In case somebody shows up.’’

  “You said Logan wouldn’t find us here,’’ she protested, a sudden chill traveling over her skin.

  “That’s what I think. But I have to be prepared in case,’’ he answered in the darkness.

  She nodded, knowing he was right. He took her hand, leading her outside again and up the hill, walking slowly to keep pace with her. “What do you think? Can we make a home here?’’

  “If we stay here, can I get a doctor in town?’’ she pressed.

  “In the next town,’’ he corrected.

  “Okay, the next town. And what about if I need to call him?’’

  “I don’t want to take the chance on installing a phone line in the house, but I can get a cell phone in another name,’’ he told her.

  “Okay. And I want a sewing machine.’’

  “That’s a top priority?’’

  “Yes.’’

  “You want to make baby clothes?’’

  “And curtains and pillows.’’

  He smiled indulgently. “Sure.’’

  Weaving his fingers through hers, he led her back up the trail, pausing often as he saw her struggling to keep up.

  She was excited about the prospect of making a home for Matt, of getting ready for the baby. But it wasn’t until they’d gotten back to the house that she realized they were both avoiding the big question: How long were they going to be hiding out here?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Matt took a year lease on the property, using another one of the identities that he’d bought during the weeks he’d been away.

  Amanda’s first thought was that the real-estate agent wouldn’t be able to track them down when they skipped town in the middle of the night. Then she told herself they weren’t going to pull another vanishing act. They were staying here until after the baby was born—and by that time Randolph Security would have called with the good news that their problems with Roy Logan, the Las Vegas syndicate and the Denver police were solved.

  Most of her waking hours she could make herself believe that—except when the grim reality of Matt’s siege preparations intruded.

  Still, life in their mountain stronghold settled into a routine, and much of it gave Amanda great joy. Each morning when she woke, she felt happier than she ever had in her life. Matt was beside her in their big, cozy bed, and when he felt her stir, he moved his hand, gently touching her fingers or her cheek, or laying his palm on her abdomen, making a connection with their child. For she had come to think of the baby as his as much as hers—in all the ways that counted. In her mind, and in her heart, the child she carried had become Matt’s—the product of the physical bond of love that they’d forged.

  It wasn’t just in bed that she felt fulfilled as a woman for the first time in her life. In their own way, her days were as precious as her nights. She and Matt might be living as fugitives, but she had turned their mountain hideout into a cozy refuge, with print curtains and matching pillows, a nursery full of stuffed animals and her own landscape paintings, which Matt had framed for her.

  The first time she’d set out a vase of Queen Anne’s lace, chicory and goldenrod she’d gathered from the hillside, Matt had stood beside the table looking at the arrangement from several angles.

  “Do you like it?’’ she asked anxiously.

  “It’s beautiful.’’

  “You seem a little doubtful,’’ she murmured, trying to see the centerpiece through his eyes.

  “No. I’m just marveling at the effect you’ve gotten with…weeds.’’

  “They’re wildflowers!’’ she corrected.

  He crossed the room, bent to skim his lips against her neck. “You’re enjoying all the things that go into making a home, aren’t you?’’ he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Very much.’’

  “And the things you make yourself are better than anything you could buy.’’

  She flushed with pleasure, because she’d never been with anyone who was so taken with her abilities—or so totally committed to her welfare. She felt the same about him. He was the perfect mate for her, the perfect father for the child she carried.

  Yet she knew Matt wasn’t simply enjoying being a husband and getting ready for a new member of their family. He was her bodyguard, too. So the next day she sat tensely with a book of baby names, trying to focus on the words while her husband was out laying a series of explosive charges that could be set off by a radio transmitter.

  That afternoon he carefully pointed out the locations to her and explained how the transmitters would set off the charges. Then he made her practice what she’d do if the house were under attack.

  When he wanted her to go over it again the next week, she bit back a protest and demonstrated her new knowledge of explosives for him, then brushed up her marksmanship skills on the sh
ooting range down the hill. Actually the target practice brought out her competitive instincts, so that on several occasions she did better than he did.

  The two-way radio he purchased was another safety precaution. Whenever he went out of the house, he kept in touch with her, checking in regularly.

  Another ritual was his daily scan of the New York Times so he could check the car ads. At first he didn’t seem too concerned that there were no Pierce Arrows on offer. But as the weeks wore on, she could see that the lack of a message from Randolph Security was getting to him. And so was being cooped up on this little patch of mountainside.

  He’d committed himself to guarding his pregnant wife. And that meant he couldn’t do any investigating of Roy Logan or Will Marbella and the other syndicate members from Las Vegas—because he was afraid that even an Internet connection might give away their location.

  She could see there weren’t enough activities to fill his days. There were only so many times he could check his perimeter security. Only so many TV monitors and supplies and fortifications he could add to the bomb shelter. Only so many hours he could allot to target practice.

  As they lay in bed one evening in late September after making love, she studied his profile in the semidarkness. Although he’d been tense earlier in the day, he looked relaxed now. But she knew that if the light were on, she would see fine lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there when they’d met.

  Turning to him, she nestled her head against his neck.

  “You know how much I love making a home for you and the baby,’’ she murmured. “But I know this whole thing is getting to you.’’

  “Which whole thing?’’ he asked, his voice cautious.

  “Staying holed up here. Not working at your profession. Being cut off from your friends at Light Street and Randolph Security. You’ve told me enough about them so that I know they mean a lot to you. They’re not just the people you work with—they’re friends who help each other when the chips are down. It’s different for me.’’

  When he made a sound of denial, she hurried on. “I realize now that I was staying in Crowfoot because it was what I was used to. Now that I’m gone, there’s nobody I really miss.’’

  It was a long speech for her. But his answer was clipped. “I’m fine.’’

  “Okay.’’ Shifting her bulky body, she rolled to her side, her back to him, because the last thing she wanted to do was put pressure on him.

  He put his hand on her shoulder, then moved behind her so that his chest was pressed against her back. His hand came up to circle her abdomen, resting there.

  “It’s been a long time since I didn’t have a job to go to every morning,’’ he said in a low voice.

  “I know,’’ she answered, laying her hand over his.

  “I don’t like to think that the only way I can support my family is as a gambler.

  “We won’t have to hide like this forever,’’ she told him, praying that it was true, because she knew that the way they were living was going to tear their marriage apart if it went on much longer.

  “Yeah,’’ he answered, settling more comfortably against her and making a show of acting relaxed. “You want to talk about baby names?’’ he asked.

  She’d been thinking a lot about girls’ names, but she’d been worried about whether he’d like her selection.

  “What about Bethany, if it’s a girl?’’ she whispered.

  “Bethany. My sister.’’

  “Would you mind?’’

  She waited, her breath shallow, while he thought that over. “I think that would be fine,’’ he said, his voice thick.

  “Good.’’

  “What about for a boy?’’

  “Do you think Hunter would like having a baby named after him?’’

  “I think he’d be flattered,’’ Matt answered.

  THREE MORE WEEKS SLID BY, and nothing had changed except that Matt was more restless and she was more uncomfortable—so uncomfortable that she felt herself stiffen when he reached to fold his arms under her breasts as she stood at the bathroom sink. Holding her like that was one of the ways he had of letting her know that he was thinking about making love. Usually she responded with enthusiasm. Tonight was different, and he sensed her reluctance at once.

  “It’s okay,’’ he told her as he bent to kiss the back of her neck.

  She turned in his arms, pressing her head to his shoulder. “I…guess I’m not feeling all that great,’’ she admitted.

  His posture tensed. “Do you want me to call the doctor?’’

  “My regular visit is in a couple of days. I think I can wait till then. I guess feeling draggy is to be expected this late in the game.’’

  “You didn’t eat much dinner. Do you feel sick? Does anything hurt?’’

  “Well, my lower back is kind of achy.’’

  “Want me to rub it?’’

  “I’d love that,’’ she told him.

  Slipping into bed, she moved awkwardly to the side, then shifted her heavy body so that he could reach her spine.

  He came down beside her, his hands working the muscles of her back, relieving some of the tension. When he pulled her into his arms and held her, she snuggled against him, finding a position that accommodated her bulging middle. But she suspected it would be a long time before she got to sleep.

  In fact, when Matt stirred at six-thirty, she was still lying there—uncomfortable and unsure whether she’d gotten any sleep at all.

  “How are you?’’ he asked when he realized she was awake.

  “Okay.’’

  “You don’t sound too positive. Do you want me to get you something?’’

  “I’d better not take anything.’’

  “I meant something like a cup of herbal tea?’’

  “Okay. Wild blackberry,’’ she agreed, thinking that the hot liquid might feel good in her throat.

  Matt shrugged into a polo shirt and went to fix the tea. Five minutes later he was back with a mug for both of them. He’d given up coffee when she’d complained that the smell made her sick.

  While he was gone, she made a quick trip to the bathroom, then fluffed up the pillows. When he returned, they sat together under the covers, shoulders pressed together as she took small sips of tea.

  “Better?’’ he asked.

  “Mm-hmm,’’ she allowed, not sure that it was actually true. “What are you going to do today?’’

  He thought for several moments, and she was sorry she’d asked, since it seemed he hadn’t had any particular plans.

  “Check the explosives,’’ he finally said.

  In the next moment, the portable phone he’d left on the dresser rang, and they both jumped. The phone was only for emergencies. Nobody knew their number, nobody had ever called.

  “Are you going to answer it?’’ she asked in a voice she couldn’t quite hold steady. “Or are we going to pretend we’re not home?’’

  “I think I’d better find out who it is,’’ he answered tightly.

  Crossing the room, he pulled up the antenna, then came back to her side before pressing the receive button.

  He was close enough so that she could hear a man say, “Mr. Forester.’’

  “There’s no one here by that name,’’ Matt answered.

  “Nice try.’’

  “Who is this?’’ he asked, pressing another button to put the phone on speaker. Then he was off the bed, reaching for his pants.

  “This is Will Marbella. You were poking into my business in Las Vegas. Then I came looking for you in L.A. I’m afraid we just missed each other that time.’’

  Amanda went rigid with shock. Will Marbella was the man they’d seen in the restaurant when she’d been sitting at the table with Dexter Perkins. The man who had shot at them.

  Matt clamped his fingers on to her arm, then mouthed the words, “Get dressed.’’

  “What do you want?’’ he said aloud.

  “Ms. Barnwell.’’

  “That�
�s Mrs. Forester,’’ Matt shot back.

  Amanda heaved herself off the bed, feeling heavy and stiff—and terrified. Opting for the easiest thing she could find, she pulled a knit maternity dress over her head, then felt under the edge of the bed with her toes for the shoes and socks she’d been wearing the day before. She found the shoes, but the socks eluded her.

  “Whatever.’’

  The casual unconcern of the answer raised goose bumps on her arms.

  “What do you want with her?’’ Matt asked as he checked the gun that had been lying beside the phone. From the closet he pulled out a backpack and tossed the gun inside. It was followed by one of the walkie-talkies.

  “We’d like her to help us get Roy Logan off our backs. He’s been killing members of our syndicate. And we feel that we can use Ms.—Mrs. Forester for leverage. We let Roy know we have her, and he leaves us alone.’’

  “Why would Logan be after you?’’ Matt growled.

  “He thinks we had something to do with his son’s death.’’

  “Did you?’’

  “That’s irrelevant.’’

  “You’re not laying a hand on my wife!’’

  “I’m afraid you don’t have much choice. We have your road blocked. The house is surrounded. Your best bet is to come out quietly. That way, nobody gets hurt.’’

  “Your best bet is to get the hell out of here,’’ Matt answered, then pressed the off button.

  Panic rising in her throat, she stared at him. “What are we going to do?’’

  He rounded the bed, sat her down and knelt in front of her, slipping on her socks and then her tennis shoes. “You have to be very strong for me. Very brave. You have to get to the shelter. They won’t find you there. And if they figure out where it is, they can’t get in. So you and the baby will be safe. Can you lock yourself in there for me?’’

  “But they’re right outside.’’ Her gaze darting toward the window, she half expected to see armed men rushing toward the house.

  “They can’t be as close as he says, or they would have set off the alarms. I’m going out first—’’

  “No!’’ Her fingers clamped around his sleeve.