Man...Mercenary...Monarch (Royally Wed)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  No, he wouldn’t think about how right Laura had looked standing there with Jeremiah in her arms, the two of them smiling at him when he’d come through the front door.

  No way. Nope. He wouldn’t do a mental rerun of the fantastic night he’d spent with Laura Bishop. The talking, the sharing, the lovemaking, the—no, it was history, all of it. Over. Done. Finished.

  Focus, Colton, he told himself. Focus on that baby sleeping in the other bedroom. His son.

  “Right,” he said aloud before sleep dropped over him like a heavy curtain…and he dreamed of Laura.

  John sat bolt upright on the bed, reaching automatically for the gun next to him that wasn’t there. He blinked, then realized that the strange noise that had awakened him was Jeremiah’s wail.

  He threw back the blankets, glanced quickly at the clock on the nightstand that announced it was 6:17 a.m., then made a beeline for Jeremiah’s room. He barrelled inside to find Jeremiah standing up in the crib, gripping the rail and yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “What? What?” John said, scooping the baby into his arms. “Oh, man, you’re soaking wet. You flooded the decks, kid.”

  John shifted Jeremiah to hold him at arms’ length, causing the baby to kick his feet in the air and laugh. John crossed the room and laid the baby on the changing table. Jeremiah rolled immediately onto his stomach, scooted up onto his hands and knees and began to crawl toward the edge of the table.

  “Whoa,” John said, grabbing the baby around the waist.

  He replaced Jeremiah on his back, fastened the safety strap across his tummy, then realized he couldn’t unzip the sleeper with the belt in place.

  John stared up at the ceiling, counted to ten, then looked at Jeremiah.

  “Okay, sport, we’ll start over at the top.” John chuckled. “Or at the bottom in this case, which is the flood zone that needs attention.” He handed Jeremiah a plastic rattle. “Can you be bribed? Play with that.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jeremiah was dressed in a royal-blue playsuit with a smiling Big Bird on the pocket, socks and tiny blue tennis shoes. His hair was brushed and he was chewing contentedly on the rattle.

  This bedroom, John thought glancing around, is a disaster area.

  There was a pile of wet bedclothes on the floor, topped by the soggy sleeper. John had bumped a can of powder with his elbow, toppling it over the edge of the changing table, and talcum had flown in all directions.

  The wet diaper was in a plastic trash basket, along with three dry ones that had been rendered useless when John tore off the tabs before he could stick them into place.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll get it shipshape later,” John said, striding from the room with Jeremiah in his arms.

  In the living room, John put the baby in the mesh playpen.

  “There you go,” he said. “You check out those spiffy new toys while I shower, then I’ll fix you some breakfast. Okay?”

  Jeremiah pushed himself to his feet, grabbed the top, padded edge of the playpen and cut loose with an earsplitting wail.

  “No, I won’t,” John said, snatching up the baby. “I’ll feed you, then shower. I hope you know I’m freezing to death standing here in my underwear, kid. I’m at least going to put on my jeans.”

  More than an hour later, John emerged from a quick shower and dressed even more quickly in jeans, socks and a flannel Western shirt. He hurried back into the living room and sighed with relief as he saw Jeremiah playing with the toys in the play-pen.

  “Great stuff, huh?” John said to the baby, as he went past him on the way to the kitchen.

  In the doorway of the minuscule kitchen, John stopped and shook his head.

  Orange juice was dripping from the counter top in a steady, maddening rhythm. There were globs of cereal on the high chair tray, the floor, and the wall next to the high chair.

  The book John had purchased titled Parenting The Easy Way was open on the counter to the section on “Feeding Your Toddler” and was splattered with juice, cereal and baby food peaches.

  “Coffee,” John muttered. “I need coffee.”

  A short time later, John sank onto the faded sofa in the living room with a mug of hot, strong coffee and looked at Jeremiah who was still engrossed with the toys in the playpen.

  “Know something, sport?” John said. “I have new and awesome respect for the mothers of this world. They do this stuff every day and live to tell about it. They even smile a lot, Jeremiah. Can you believe that?”

  “Da, da,” Jeremiah said, then flung three plastic blocks out of the playpen.

  “Yeah, I’m your da,” John said, flipping the blocks back into the playpen. “I think I’m going to have to tear down the kitchen and rebuild it, because that cereal of yours has turned into concrete. I hate to think what it’s doing to your stomach.”

  Jeremiah babbled something only a baby could understand, then began to toss the toys out of the playpen, one by one. John took a sip of the hot coffee, then watched in amazement as a plastic block sailed through the air and landed squarely in the mug with a splash.

  “Two points,” John yelled, then laughed.

  Jeremiah clapped his hands and smiled.

  John’s smile faded as he stared at his happy son.

  “I’m doing the best I can, kiddo,” he said quietly. “But, Jeremiah? So far, I’ve got a knot in my gut that is telling me that my best might not be good enough.”

  Laura nibbled on a piece of toast she’d slathered with homemade apple butter, realizing as she chewed and swallowed that she wasn’t one bit hungry. She took a sip of hot coffee from her mug, then set it next to the plate on the table.

  Betty was humming a tune as she put things into the dishwasher. The smell of cinnamon wafted through the air from the oven.

  Laura sighed.

  She hadn’t slept well, she mused. She’d had weird, disturbing dreams that had made no sense and had caused her to wake several times in the night.

  John had invaded her peaceful slumber, as had Jeremiah. There had been one dream where she’d entered a room that was filled with babies sitting on the floor. She had been searching frantically for her child, but had been jarred awake before she accomplished her goal. She hadn’t found her baby.

  “Well, I wonder how the new daddy is doing?” Betty said, bringing Laura from her thoughts.

  “I’m sure he and Jeremiah are fine,” Laura said, poking at the toast with one fingertip. “Jeremiah is a happy baby, not overly demanding, or fussy. He gets frustrated easily if he can’t get where he wants to go, or isn’t able to reach a toy, or…But if you help him a little, he’s smiling again in a flash.

  “Did you notice how silky his hair is, Betty? And those eyes of his. Oh, my, he’s so…” Laura stopped speaking and cleared her throat. “Never mind.”

  Betty camouflaged a burst of laughter with a cough, then removed three pans of cinnamon rolls from the oven.

  “I’ll frost these once they cool a bit,” she said, “then you can take a dozen down to John.”

  Laura stiffened in her chair. “Me? Oh, I don’t think—that is, I have no idea where that cabin is that John took Jeremiah to. I’d get lost for sure and…No, it would be best if you took the rolls to John, Betty.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve got eggs to gather,” the housekeeper said, “a load of wash to start, a grocery list to make up. I’ll tell you how to reach the cabin. You’re not too busy to help me out a tad here, are you, Laura?”

  “Heavens, no, but why don’t I collect the eggs?”

  Betty laughed. “Honey, those chickens don’t let anyone but me gather those eggs. They don’t take to strangers. They’d chase you right back out the door if you stepped foot in that coop.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s settled then,” Betty said. “You take the rolls to John. You might mention to him that his parents would be thrilled to hear they have a grandson.”

  “John has two sets of parents,” Lau
ra said quietly.

  “Well, I’m talking about Cissy and Robert Colton, the ones who raised him. John needs to get on the phone and tell them about Jeremiah.”

  “You want me to give orders to John?” Laura said, her eyes widening. “I’d rather risk gathering the eggs.”

  “Just suggest it to him,” Betty said. “Course, Mitch may have already called them with the news.” She paused. “Mitch needs to get back here pretty quick and tend to running this ranch.”

  “Yes, he does,” Laura said, tracing one finger around the top of her coffee mug, “and I’ll be leaving The Rocking C soon, I imagine. I’ve completed my assignment here.”

  “Guess that will be up to the princesses to decide, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well, yes. I work for them.”

  “Yep. Well, finish your coffee and go get your jacket. I’ll have these rolls frosted and ready to be delivered to John by then. You can tell him I’ll have groceries for him late this afternoon.”

  Laura got to her feet and carried her mug and plate to the sink.

  “Just leave those things on the counter,” Betty said. “I want John to have these rolls while they’re still warm. He loves these things, and it’s been far too long since he’s been home to have some.”

  “I’ll get my jacket.”

  In her room, Laura retrieved her jacket from the closet, put it on, then sank onto the edge of the bed.

  She did not, she thought dismally, want to deliver those cinnamon rolls to John Colton. She was not doing well at all, tucking away the memories of her night with John, not reliving those glorious hours spent with him, not recalling every vivid, meaningful and sensuous detail.

  The mere thought of John, the briefest image of him in her mind’s eye, threw her off-kilter, caused her heart to race and heat to swirl throughout her. She felt too vulnerable, too exposed somehow, to go blissfully knocking on his door with goodies in tow.

  Oh, John Colton was a dangerous man. He was staking some sort of eerie claim on her, weaving a spell over her, making it impossible to think clearly.

  And Jeremiah? As far as John’s son was concerned, she was a goner. That adorable baby had captured her heart, no doubt about it.

  Laura sighed and got to her feet.

  She had no choice but to go to the cabin in the woods. To refuse Betty’s request to complete the errand would reveal far more than she was prepared to explain.

  So, okay. She’d go. She could handle this. She’d shove the dumb rolls at John, then hightail it out of there. Fine. She was under control.

  Then why, she thought, as she started toward the bedroom door, did she feel like Little Red Riding Hood about to go calling on the Big Bad Wolf?

  Chapter Five

  Laura stomped across the pasture behind the barn, then entered the wooded area beyond. Her tennis shoes became immediately soaked from the underbrush that was still cold and wet from the rain the previous day.

  Her now damp, chilly feet did nothing to improve her rapidly deteriorating mood, nor did the wicker basket she carried that made her feel even more ridiculously like Little Red Riding Hood.

  She was the social secretary for the Royal Princesses of Wynborough, she mentally fumed, not a cinnamon roll delivery person.

  “Oh, Laura, shut up,” she said aloud. “You sound like a snob.”

  Not only that, she thought with a sigh, she wasn’t fooling herself one iota. She didn’t mind helping Betty, would have gladly shopped for groceries, washed the kitchen floor, even taken on the crabby chickens. She would have volunteered happily for any chore other than delivering the damnable rolls to John Colton.

  John Colton. Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough.

  John did not fit the fairy-tale image of a prince, that was for sure. Well, maybe that wasn’t quite fair. He had rescued her from the villainous Pete in Jake’s Saloon. That was rather…well, princely of John, if there was such a word.

  And then, of course, there was the fairy-tale magic of their night together, beginning with heart-felt sharing and caring, and ending with lovemaking so incredibly beautiful, it defied description. Yes, John had been her magical prince for one night stolen out of time…and reality.

  Reality.

  Laura sighed again and slowed her step as a glimpse of the cabin came into view among the tall trees.

  She had to stay firmly grounded in reality when she saw John and Jeremiah. John was centered on raising his son, wanted nothing, nor anyone else, intruding on his mission. Jeremiah was the son in question, and belonged solely to his father. The end.

  “Got that, Ms. Bishop?” she said aloud.

  Laura stopped as she emerged from the woods to the clearing surrounding the red brick cabin.

  Oh, how charming, she thought. It was picture-perfect cute. The brick cabin had white trim, complete with shutters banking the windows, and smoke curling from the chimney like a welcoming sign that someone was home and a warming fire was beckoning in the hearth.

  Laura drew a steadying breath, then marched to the white front door and rapped sharply. She frowned as she leaned closer and heard Jeremiah wailing inside. She knocked again, louder.

  “All right. All right,” she heard John yell. “I’m coming. Keep your pants on.”

  He could have gone all day without saying that, Laura thought, rolling her eyes heavenward. A lot more than pants had been flung aside when she and John had—

  The door was whipped open, bringing Laura back to attention. John stood towering over her, a screaming Jeremiah tucked under one arm like a football, a dripping sponge in John’s other hand.

  “Gracious,” Laura said, raising her voice to be heard above Jeremiah. “What on earth are you doing to that poor child?”

  “I’m not washing him,” John said, glaring at her. “I’m attempting to get cereal off the kitchen wall, but he keeps getting in the way.”

  “Oh,” Laura said, nodding slowly. “I see.” She paused. “No, I don’t. How did the cereal get on the wall?”

  “Jeremiah kept whacking the spoon when I…Are you coming in or what?”

  “No, no, my feet are wet. I’m just delivering these cinnamon rolls to you from Betty. They’re still warm, just the way you like them. She’ll have groceries for you this afternoon, and she suggested you call your parents and tell them about Jeremiah, because they’d be thrilled to hear they have a grandson.”

  Laura took a gulp of much-needed air.

  “Unless you figure that Mitch already told them,” she finished in a rush. “There. Here.” She held out the basket toward John.

  “My hands are full,” John said. “Come on in.”

  “But my feet…”

  “The place is a wreck anyway. You’re not going to hurt it.” John stepped back. “Hurry up. The heat is getting out through the door.”

  Laura stepped into the cabin and swept her gaze over the small living room as John closed the door.

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” she said. “Homey, cozy, very nice.” She laughed. “And decorated with toys.”

  “Yeah, well, Jeremiah got fed up with being in the playpen after he tossed everything out. I put the toys back in three times, but he was determined to escape. Take him for a second, would you?”

  Laura set the basket on the sofa, then retrieved Jeremiah from his horizontal position under John’s arm. She held the baby close.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she said to a still-screaming Jeremiah. “You’re certainly unhappy at the moment. Hush, hush, don’t cry.”

  Jeremiah drew a wobbly breath, stuck his thumb in his mouth and laid his head on Laura’s shoulder. She rubbed his back in a circling motion.

  “Well, cripe,” John said, frowning. “How did you do that? I tried everything I could think of to get him to stop crying, but…” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m such a dud at this father bit. I haven’t done more than one or two things right so far, if that many.”

  “You’ve just begun, John,” Laura said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You
can’t be expected to do everything perfectly right off the bat.” She glanced at Jeremiah, then looked at John again. “He’s asleep. He apparently still takes a morning nap. He was tired, that’s all.”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know that?” John said forcefully.

  “Shh. You’ll wake him up. Where’s his crib?”

  “I had the guys take the furniture out of one of the bedrooms,” John said, jerking his head to the left. “I put Jeremiah’s crib and stuff in there.”

  “Okay. I’ll go settle him in,” Laura said, starting forward.

  John blocked her way, and she looked up at him questioningly.

  “I need to talk to you after you put Jeremiah to bed. Okay?” John said quietly. “Don’t run off while I’m attacking the kitchen wall.”

  “Yes, all right. Excuse me.”

  John moved out of Laura’s way, then watched her disappear down the short hallway and into Jeremiah’s bedroom. He spun around and strode back toward the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t he say he was tired?” he muttered. “I’m supposed to be a mind reader here? Poor little kid was wiped out and I didn’t even know it. Lousy father. Crummy, rotten, lousy father.”

  In the bedroom, Laura eased Jeremiah from her shoulder and placed him on his back in the crib. He stirred, then stilled, his little hands flung out on either side of his head. She untied the tennis shoes, removed them, then smiled as she looked at the tiny shoes.

  After placing the tennies on the end of the changing table, Laura saw a large trash bag filled with bedclothes and topped by an obviously wet blanket sleeper. She laughed softly, then returned to the crib to gaze at the sleeping baby.

  “So precious,” she whispered. “Oh, Jeremiah, I’m so glad to see you again. You’ve stolen my heart, little one, you truly have.”

  And his father? she thought, shifting her gaze to the doorway.

  Don’t do it, Laura, she told herself. She mustn’t start thinking about John Colton as anything other than Jeremiah’s father. Oh, and, yes, as the Prince of Wynborough. They were both titles, roles, that had absolutely nothing to do with her.