Mountain Midwife

by Cassie Miles

  He took both her hands in his and leaned down to peer into her eyes. In a low whisper, he asked, “Is this really what you want? To go with Cole?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rachel, you could get hurt.”

  “It’s worth the risk. Cole is worth it.”

  “You just met this man a couple of days ago,” Loughlin said. “You’ve only known him for a matter of hours.”

  But she wanted to believe that Cole was the man she’d been looking for all her life. She’d gone through a string of losers—so many that she’d almost given up on men altogether. If she didn’t take this chance, she’d regret it. “I’m sure.”

  He pulled her into a bear hug. “I trust your instincts, girl. Try to be careful.”

  “I will.” His concern touched her. He and Sarah and their baby were like family to her. “Your friendship means a lot.”

  “Just don’t wreck my car. Okay?”

  She returned to the garage to find Cole dressed in fresh jeans and a cream-colored turtleneck. Though Loughlin was heavier than Cole, they were the same height. The new outfit was a decent fit.

  “A major improvement,” she said. “Except for the scruffy beard.”

  “I thought you liked the rugged mountain-man thing.”

  “But you’re not a mountain man. You’re a clean-shaven dude from California.”

  “Apparently, your friend thinks so, too.” He held up an electric razor. “I’m not sure if I should shave. The cops have probably circulated ID photos of me. I don’t want to be recognized. On the other hand, a beard could attract closer scrutiny. It’s an obvious disguise.”

  She hadn’t considered photos. “Will they have a picture of me?”

  “It’s possible. But, as you pointed out before, a lot of people in this area know you. If they saw your photo, they’d suspect something was wrong with the manhunt.”

  “I hope you’re right. There’s nothing I can do with my short hair except put on a wig or a hat.”

  He held up a wool knit Sherpa hat with ear flaps. “Ta da.”

  “I love these.” She grabbed it and put it on. “Mmmmm. Warm.”

  “Warm and damn cute.” He gave her a grin. “I was thinking about your theory of Prescott meeting Penny at the high school.”

  “And?”

  “What was the first thing he asked when he found us?”

  He had wanted to know about Goldie, wanted to know that she was safe. His concern for the infant was apparent. “The baby.”

  “Why? Why would that be his first question?”

  “He could be the father.”

  Agent Wayne Prescott might be Baron.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As they drove to a lower elevation, they left the snowstorm behind. Rachel gazed through the passenger-side window at pinprick stars in the clear night sky. Leaning back in the comfortable seat, she listened to the hum of the Jeep’s tires on clear pavement. The only sign of the blizzard that had paralyzed Grand County was a frosting of white on moonlit trees and the rocky walls of the canyon leading to Black Hawk.

  The more temperate weather had an obvious effect on Cole, the California guy. His mood was more contemplative. His death grip on the steering wheel had relaxed. The worry lines across his forehead smoothed, and he was almost smiling. With his left hand, he massaged his clean-shaven jaw. Losing the beard made him appear less ferocious and more handsome.

  Jim Loughlin had been right when he said she didn’t know much about Cole. Even when they were making love, he hadn’t talked about his past. Did she want to know? Did she really want to see Cole as more than a casual affair?

  Connecting to him on a deeper level was dangerous. He hadn’t represented himself as relationship material. Sure, there were the occasional hints that he’d like to see more of her. But nothing he’d said—not one single word—resembled a commitment.

  On the other hand, she had taken the ultimate risk when she had unprotected sex with him. Caught up in the whirlwind of their passion, she’d made that decision. Maybe not the smartest thing she’d ever done. Didn’t she give lectures to high school classes on exactly this topic? No condom means no sex.

  She’d broken her own rule.

  For the first time.

  Wow.

  With other boyfriends, even men she thought she was in love with, she had never once taken that chance. Clearly, there was something special about Cole and she needed to know more about him.

  Clearing her throat, she asked, “Did you grow up in California?”

  “Mostly.”

  Not a very revealing answer. She’d have to be more specific. “Where were you born?”

  “Vegas.”

  Now they might be getting somewhere. Cole was in his thirties. When he was born, Las Vegas had been more decadent and edgy than it was now. “Did your parents work in the casinos?”

  “Nope.”

  Another one word response. Great. “How long did you live there?”

  He turned his head toward her. Moonlight through the windshield shone on the sculpted line of his jaw. “There’s no need for you to go on a fishing expedition. If there’s something specific you want to know about me, just ask.”

  “I’m curious,” she said. “I want to get an idea of where you came from. How did you grow up to be an undercover FBI agent? What were you like as a kid?”

  “I always played with guns.” He grinned. “My mom wouldn’t let me or my younger brother bring our violent toys into the house. She was a pacifist. A grade school teacher.”

  “And your father?”

  “Dad was a preacher in Vegas—a reformed gambler who started his own church. I can’t remember the name of it, but there was a lot of ‘repent and be saved’ going on.”

  “You were a preacher’s kid.” She wouldn’t have guessed that background. “If the stereotypes hold true, that means you were either annoyingly perfect or a holy terror.”

  “I didn’t have time to get settled into either personality. I was only five when my parents split up. Marrying my mother and having kids went along with Dad’s preacher identity. But it didn’t last.”

  “He went back to gambling,” she guessed.

  “It turned out that he had a lot of loyal followers, and they donated bundles of cash to build a new rec hall for the church. Dad thought the Lord might help him find a greater contribution in the casinos. Apparently, God was looking the other way.”

  “He lost the money.”

  “Not all of it, but a significant portion. The crazy thing was that he admitted what he’d done, and his followers forgave him. Mom wasn’t so easy to con. She divorced him and moved us to Los Angeles.”

  “Did your dad stay in Vegas?”

  “For a while. After he paid back the money, he handed over the church to his assistant and devoted himself full-time to gambling. He does okay. He paid child support and stayed in touch with the family. Whenever he showed up, he always had big, extravagant presents.”

  She was beginning to have a context for understanding Cole. “Were you more like your dad or your mom?”

  “I’ve got a bit of the con man in me,” he admitted.

  “Which is why you’re so good at going undercover.”

  “But I get my sense of fair play and loyalty from my mom. I never once heard her say a bad thing about my father. She remarried several years ago and moved to Oregon.”

  “And your brother?”

  “He’s a fireman. Happily married with two little girls who I love to spoil.”

  “By showing up with big, extravagant presents?”

  He shot her a glance. “I never thought of it that way. Maybe I’m more like my dad than I realize.”

  “Do you gamble?”

  “I’m a hell of a good poker player, but I don’t have the sickness. I hate losing too much.”

  They were on the last curving stretch of road through the canyon that led to Black Hawk. The roads were pristine—well-maintained by casino and hotel owners who wanted to m
ake the trip easy and smooth.

  “What we’re doing right now is a gamble,” she pointed out. “You’re taking a chance on being recognized at a casino where you committed a robbery.”

  “I was wearing a ski mask. Nobody saw my face.”

  “What if the police put out a photo of you?”

  “I’ve got new identification from the papers I had sewn inside my leather jacket.” He shrugged. “If somebody thinks they saw me before, I can talk my way around it.”

  She wished she had half his confidence. If somebody accused her of being one of the fugitives the FBI was looking for, she’d fall apart. “And what should I do?”

  “Say as little as possible. I’m going to introduce you as my associate, even though most FBI agents tend to wear more conservative attire.”

  The clothing she’d borrowed from Sarah Loughlin was a size too small. The jeans hugged her bottom, and the pink knit top stretched tightly across her breasts. Even the lavender parka was fitted at the waist. Rachel missed her oversized practical parka. “Too cutesy?”

  “Not if you put on the cap with the ear flaps.”

  “Then I would definitely be too dorky,” she said. “Should I have a different name? Can I be Special Agent Angelina?”

  “It’s better if you have a name you can relate to. Do you have a nickname?”

  “My youngest brother calls me Rocky.”

  “Short for Rachel. I like it. For the last name, let’s use the street where you lived as a kid.”

  “Logan. Call me Special Agent Rocky Logan.”

  He grinned. “Xavier thinks my name is Calvin Spade. I met him a long time ago, probably eight years, when he was involved in an illegal gambling operation in Culver City. I went in as a card shark, and I did okay in a couple of tournaments. Then I recruited Xavier as a snitch.”

  She was beginning to feel apprehensive. “I’ve never been good at lying. Maybe my identity should be something more familiar. Like a nurse.”

  He reached over and stroked her cheek. “Don’t try to play a role. Just be yourself. Go along with whatever I say.”

  “Roll with the punches.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  The lights of Black Hawk glittered against the dark slopes and the surrounding forest. Extra-large new casinos and parking structures bumped up against the older buildings that had been part of the historic town before limited stakes gambling was legalized here and in neighboring Central City.

  Xavier’s casino—the Stampede—was at the quiet end of town away from the new casinos. Cole parked at the far end of the half-full lot. On a weekday night at eleven o’clock, there weren’t many cars.

  He killed the headlights and turned to her. “If you want, you can stay in the car. I don’t expect this to take too long.”

  Pulling off an undercover identity was daunting, but she wanted to do it. The best way to understand Cole was to see him in action. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  As they walked through the crisp night to the casino that appeared to be in a renovated barn, she noticed his sense of humor falling away from him. His posture shifted. His shoulders seemed wider. His height, more impressive.

  Trying to match his cool attitude, she narrowed her eyes to a squint. Agent Rocky Logan is on the job. Bad guys, beware.

  The interior of the casino was similar to an Old West saloon. Rows of slot machines blinked and made clinking noises as though money was pouring out of them. In truth, there were only a few people at the slots. Most of the patrons were huddled around the poker tables.

  Cole strode up to the bar. He ordered a couple of beers and asked the bartender—who sported an old-fashioned handlebar mustache—where he could find the old man, Xavier Romero. “Tell him Calvin Spade wants to talk.”

  The bartender left his post and went through an unmarked door at the rear of the casino. Her apprehension was turning into full-blown anxiety. Her hand trembled as she lifted the beer to her lips. What if Xavier was calling the cops? What if Baron’s armed thugs charged out of the back room?

  Cole gave her arm a nudge. When she looked up at him, she saw a flash of the familiar Cole—the guy she knew and trusted. He gave her a wink. “It’s going to be all right.”

  She wanted to believe him, but she’d used those very words often when she was dealing with a difficult labor. It’s going to be all right. An empty reassurance. The pain always got worse before it got better.

  When the bartender returned, a short man with white hair and black-rimmed glasses trotted at his heels. He was solidly built but light on his feet. He came to a stop in front of Cole and did a two-fisted handshake. When he smiled, she saw the gleam of a gold tooth.

  “It’s been a long time.” Xavier’s voice was a whisper. He swung toward her. “Who’s the broad?”

  “My associate, Rocky Logan,” Cole said. “This is Xavier Romero.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Charmed. When he says ‘associate’ does he mean you’re—”

  “We work at the same place,” Cole said. “I want to talk to you in private.”

  Xavier stepped back and gave them both a golden grin. “Take a look around, buddy boy. Finally got my own place. And it’s legit.”

  “The Stampede,” Cole said drily. “I never figured you for a cowboy-themed casino.”

  “Yippee-ki-yay.”

  Cole said, “I didn’t come to talk about the décor.”

  “We had some good times, you and me. Remember that Texas Hold ’em tournament in Culver City? When I was dating that sweet little redheaded dealer?”

  “Didn’t come to reminisce, either.”

  “You were always impatient. Good things come to those who wait. I’m living proof. Seventy years old, and my dream finally comes true.”

  If she hadn’t known that Xavier was involved with Baron and in the midst of a scheme to defraud his insurance company, she would have liked the old man.

  Cole pushed away from the bar. “We’ll go to your office. Giddyap.”

  Though she thought he was being unnecessarily rude, Rachel fell into step behind him. There wasn’t enough room between the tables and the slot machines to walk side by side. Xavier hustled to the front of their little parade. He used a key card to open the door and ushered them into a wide hallway with paneled walls and framed sepia photographs of old-time Black Hawk and the gold rush prospectors who populated the town.

  The door to his office was open, and Xavier guided them inside. In addition to his cluttered desk, there were a couple of leather sofas and an octagonal poker table covered in green felt. The scent of cigar smoke hung in the air, and she suspected that smoking wasn’t the only law that had been broken in this room.

  The overhead light, unlike the dimness of the casino, showed a road map of wrinkles on Xavier’s face. He sat at the poker table and picked up a deck of cards. “Have a seat.”

  Cole positioned himself facing the door. “Tell me how you know Baron.”

  Xavier shuffled the cards with stunning expertise. “Let’s play a little five-card stud. No reason we can’t be civilized while we talk.”

  “The last time I played you,” Cole said, “I won.”

  “Give me a chance to get even. If you win again, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Cole took the cards from his hand and passed them to her. “Rocky deals.”

  She knew how to play poker but wasn’t an expert. If Cole was expecting her to cheat and give him winning cards, he’d be sorely disappointed. She cut the cards twice and palmed the deck. “Five cards, facedown.”

  Xavier fixed her with a steady gaze. “Have you been with Calvin long?”

  Calvin? Oh, yeah, that was Cole’s alias. “Long enough,” she said as she dealt.

  He tapped his gold tooth with the tip of his index finger. Unlike his weathered face, his hands were smooth. His fingernails, buffed to perfection. “I’m surprised,” he said, “to see Calvin with a partner. He usually works alone.”<
br />
  “Things change,” Cole said.

  “Indeed.” Xavier chuckled. “I used to be a petty crook. Now I’m a casino owner.”

  “Hard to believe that a wheeler-dealer like you is completely legit.” He glanced at his cards and turned them facedown on the table. “How did you put together the money to open this place?”

  “I know people.”

  “Baron?”

  Xavier checked his cards, pulled out two and slid them toward her. “Hit me.”

  Cole held up his hand, indicating that he didn’t need any more cards. “I’m thinking that you might have used property for collateral to raise cash. A house near Shadow Mountain Lake.”

  “Or maybe I gambled big in the big game, the stock market. And maybe I was smart enough to get out before the crash.” Xavier’s wrinkles settled into an expressionless poker face. “If you win this hand, I’ll tell you one fact. Then we can play for another and—”

  “All or nothing,” Cole said. “You don’t have much time. All I want is information on Baron. The feds that are going to show up here after me won’t be so gentle.”

  “You? Gentle?” He shook his head. “If I win this hand, you tell me what you know. Then get the hell out.”

  “I don’t lose.” Cole’s hands on the table were steady. His deep-set eyes radiated confidence. “I’ll tell you this for free. Your house near Shadow Mountain Lake was being used as a hideout. People were killed there.”

  Xavier blinked. “The idiots who robbed my place?”

  “The gang was at your house. Not even the dumbest pencil-pushing fed is going to believe that was a coincidence. You were in on the robbery.”

  “This isn’t happening.” The old man shook his head slowly. “You’re lying. Trying to bluff me.”

  “Not this time.”

  Cole turned over his cards. Full house, jacks over tens.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The only sure way to win at poker was to cheat, and Cole had been learning card tricks from his less-than-holy father before he could read and write. When he’d taken the deck from Xavier, straightened the edges and passed it to Rachel, he’d palmed the cards necessary to play a winning hand.