by Laurie Paige
“I’m not sure I can believe you,” she said.
“I know it’s hard. But you’re brave….” His persuasive smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “For a woman. Don’t disappoint me now.”
She gave him an indignant glare. He laughed, then opened his arms. She stayed where she was. He crowded in, pressing her, urging her with his rough velvet voice.
“Come on, Carey. Don’t be a coward,” he murmured. “I’ve confessed all. Tell me you’ll marry me and save me from a lonely old bachelor’s life.”
“It’s what you deserve.”
“I know.”
There was laughter in the words, but his eyes were serious. She gazed up at that incredible blue force and he had her. She couldn’t look away. All the reasons she should reject him fled her mind.
“I want to believe,” she heard herself confess.
“Do,” he urged. He nuzzled her temple. His lips were soft, so soft and beguiling. His body was warm, snuggling up to hers, fitting them together just so….
She realized what was happening. “Wait. I need to think—”
“I love a thinking woman,” he said. His hands cupped her behind while he brushed slowly from side to side. Riptides of longing crashed through her.
“A year,” she said desperately, hanging on to reason by a thin thread. “If you stay here a year, then I’ll consider marriage—”
“I’ve already been here a year.”
“Oh.”
She caught his hands and stopped their roaming ways. He let her guide them away from her hips, then he took over. He brought their hands behind her back and captured both wrists in one grip. Then he slipped his free hand under her top.
“Just as I suspected,” he said, cupping her breast. “Outside and not wearing a bra. What would your neighbors think?”
“How would they know?” she demanded, trying to free her hands and move away. It was impossible.
“I might tell them if you don’t do exactly what I tell you for the next…mmm, fifty years or so.”
“Wayne—”
“Yes, love?” He kissed the side of her neck.
She squirmed as he deliberately skimmed over her tickle spot. His hand rubbed back and forth on her breast. Her nipple contracted into a tight bud. The heat built in her. Her resistance was melting into a pool of golden butter. Languor crept over her, warm and smooth and sensuous.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes. “Absolutely.” He tilted his head toward Freeway. “Ask him. He knew I couldn’t leave.”
As if he knew exactly what was being said, Freeway looked at them and barked twice, his tail going like a banner in the wind. Highway couldn’t resist. He launched himself at his old man. They tumbled over the floor in cheerful abandon.
Carey sighed. “All right.”
Wayne gave her a cocky grin. “You won’t be sorry.”
“Huh. I’ll let you know about that. In fifty years or so.”
He laughed, then in a sudden move tossed her over his shoulder. When she shrieked like a banshee, he patted her on the backside. “I love a noisy woman.”
In the bedroom, her laughter faded. He, too, went serious as they helped each other undress. When she would have clambered on the bed, he caught her hand. Lifting her into his arms, he placed her on the sheet, then ran his hand down the length of her body from her neck to her ankle.
“I never thought I would feel this way again about a woman,” he murmured, watching her with great tenderness in his eyes. His gaze locked with hers. “You make me feel young.”
“The golden boy,” she said, smiling. She lightly touched the scars that laced his thigh.
He shook his head. “Not him. That boy is gone.”
Carey’s heart ached for all the pain he’d gone through, that wonderful, kind young man she’d once met on a summer day. Her love spilled over, gilding the memory of those long-ago days when they’d both been so young.
“I’ve led a rough life at times—brawls and women and drinks going down like water. I didn’t like that life, so I quit. But I’ve been a loner for years. You’ll have to teach me to share life again. Tell me when I fail—”
She laid her fingers over his lips. “You won’t. Welcome home, Wayne Kincaid. Welcome home, my darling.”
Rising, she wrapped her arms around him and urged him to her, taking his warmth inside her, savoring the wondrous merging of their bodies and knowing it was also a merging of their souls.
Fourteen
Carey paused outside the door. She’d seen Sophie’s head at the window, watching for her, when she arrived. Inside, she could hear her daughter’s suppressed giggles. She had a feeling there was a surprise in the making.
She opened the door. The kitchen was empty.
“I’m home,” she called as she usually did. She laid her purse on the counter and hung her ratty old cardigan on the peg. Hmm, perhaps she’d better stop at the Army-Navy Store and see about a new one one of these days. “Is anyone here?” she yelled. “Or do I have to eat whatever smells so good all by myself?”
A muffled giggle led her into the living room.
“Surprise,” a whole chorus of voices yelled.
Carey really did blink in surprise then. Her living room was filled with people—moms and dads and kids, some of whom she’d delivered. She stood there with her mouth agape.
“But there are no cars,” she protested.
“Happy birthday to you,” they all sang.
A cake held pride of place on the coffee table.
She looked at her friends, happiness like a shining bubble inside her. Susan and Ken, Annie and her husband, Bennie, and most of the nurses from the pediatric wing were there. The sheriff and his wife, their two children. Sterling and Jessica and five-year-old Jennifer. Clint and Dakota. Reed Austin and his bride, Janie Carson. Sam Brightwater and his wife and son. Kane and Moriah. Lorrie and Reynaldo. Her own family, Wayne and Sophie, who was a nearly grown-up seven-year-old. And…
“Mom. Dad.” She gave each of them a bear hug. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Wayne said it was a command performance,” her mom explained. “Dad gave up his place in a golf tournament.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” she said, teasing her father, who had become obsessed with the game during his retirement.
“Sit,” Wayne ordered.
She was treated royally, not standing once as the evening progressed from pinwheels of smoked ham, cheese, tomatoes, avocado, cucumber and lettuce rolled up in flour tortillas and cut into slices; chips; veggies with exotic dips; right to the cake and punch and coffee.
With youngsters in tow, the party broke up early. She was shooed into the bedroom to slip into “something comfortable,” her husband suggested with a wicked gleam in his eye. Her parents bundled Sophie up and took her to a cabin they’d rented on the lake for the weekend.
Carey returned to the living room. A fire burned in the grate, although it was late April. She settled on the sofa.
“Here we go,” Wayne said, returning to the room with a bundle in his arms. He gave the baby to her.
She smiled into the incredibly blue eyes of Wayne Kincaid III, named after his great-grandfather and father, and opened her gown. The four-month-old latched on and sucked hungrily. The odd sensation of her milk coming down brought a sigh of contentment from her.
Wayne touched her cheek. “Have I told you how very beautiful you are?”
“You might have mentioned it.”
Only about once a day, she thought happily. She pressed his hand between her cheek and her shoulder as she cupped their son into the curve of her arm. She suddenly remembered something.
“Winona Cobb once told me, before we were married, that I would receive a Christmas present. My heart’s desire, she called it. I didn’t pay much attention, but she was right. Our son was born on Christmas Day.” She gazed in adoration at the man who took his place beside her on the sof
a. “And I do indeed have all my heart’s desires. Every one of them.”
He settled an arm around her shoulders. “As have I. Sometimes I remember that I very nearly didn’t stop here.” He kissed her temple. “I wouldn’t have missed loving you for the world.”
“We would have met,” she declared firmly. “It was fated. Just as you were fated to leave, then return years later when you were needed. Sterling and Clint are very pleased with your management of the resort. Will we be ready for the first guests this summer?”
“Yes. Little more than a month away. June is sparse, July a bit more rushed, then in August—the deluge.”
She laughed at his wry note. Studying him covertly, she thought he looked younger and more handsome than ever. He was forty-five now. The gray was gaining on the light and dark strands of blond.
But someplace in her heart, he would always be the handsome young man who had knocked her ice-cream cone into the dirt and bought her another. She closed her eyes and envisioned him as he’d been on that afternoon—beautiful and perfect, her golden idol.
On that day, she’d vowed to marry him. It had taken twenty-five years, but she’d done it. Her hero had come home to her after all.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Laurie Paige for her contribution to the Montana Mavericks series.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5372-2
A HERO’S HOMECOMING
Copyright © 1998 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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