WARRIOR'S BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  The other woman's expression softened. "Oh, Mel, you really do love him."

  "Yes. I always have." Melanie recalled how sensitive and protective he had been. When the other teenagers who frequented the rental stables made leering cracks about what a "nerdy brain" she was, Colt had countered their attacks, professing "I think intelligent women are sexy." Time and time again, Colt Raintree had been her champion, her knight in shining armor. He would touch her cheek and tell her she was perfect—sweet and pure—one of earth's angels.

  Although their lives had taken separate paths, Colt's image had never been far from her heart. She wanted him to be her first love. Her only love.

  As an image of her teenage self surfaced, Melanie's stomach fluttered. What an image: a shy, skinny little girl with mousy brown hair and a mouthful of silver braces. "Colt didn't recognize me."

  "How could he? Let's face it, you've changed." Gloria tilted her blond head. "You do plan on telling him who you are, right?"

  "Yes, but not right away." Colt wanted a professional relationship with his surrogate. A woman who adored him during their teenage years certainly didn't fall into that category. Until his baby lay cradled in her womb, she would keep her identity a secret.

  "Are you sure that's wise? I mean—" Gloria paused as Joey scampered out the front door and down the rickety porch steps. The boy had a Popsicle, probably his fourth, the rainbow around his mouth a conspicuous giveaway.

  His mother latched on to his shirttail. "How many of those have you had?"

  He squirmed. "Two."

  "Joey?"

  "Three."

  She released her hold. "No more, okay?"

  He grinned. His teeth were blue. "Okay, Mom."

  The child leaped onto the wet grass and both women laughed. Mom. Just the word alone made Melanie's womb ache. The only man she had ever dreamed of having a baby with was Colt. At this point, being inseminated with his seed sounded romantic.

  Melanie Richards had built a successful career, acquired self-esteem and survived a near-fatal accident, yet she had never forgotten the wild, black-haired boy who had treated her kindly when others had not; the boy with whom she had fallen hopelessly in love.

  * * *

  Colt wondered if she'd be early. They had agreed on 10:00 a.m. He glanced at his watch. It was 9:33.

  Melanie Richards was an enigma. A beautiful, single, successful lady willing to have a baby for someone else. Something didn't add up. Maybe she needed the dough. He wasn't quite buying her I - plan - to - give - the - money - to - charity story. Being a surrogate was a job—nine months out of a woman's life. He didn't begrudge paying for the service, yet the idea of buying his own baby, in a sense, left him cold. He wanted the perfect scenario, a woman who needed to give a child as much as he needed to receive one. Melanie was going to have to tell him straight out why she was offering him the ultimate sacrifice. The most precious of gifts. Her motivation was still vague.

  Colt flipped his leg over the leather recliner and reached for the coffee mug. Dang, he was actually anxious about seeing her again. Unfortunately he found himself physically attracted to her: a youthful complexion, big cornflower blue eyes, shoulder-length hair the color of autumn leaves, each strand unique in its vibrance. And her body? Enticing curves a man could ride, slow and sensual, like a smooth hypnotic current.

  He jerked forward when the doorbell sounded, locking the recliner in place. It was 9:40. She was early.

  He pulled open the door. Pushed away his lust. Business and pleasure didn't mix where women were concerned.

  "Hi." She smiled. She looked younger than the day before. Her blue jeans were faded, fraying at the knees, her denim blouse tied at the waist. A green ribbon secured her ponytail, but wispy tendrils had worked loose, gently framing a heart-shaped face. She smelled like citrus-scented soap, clean and fresh.

  Colt glanced down and let out a low whistle. Her Western boots were ostrich. The lady had class. Money.

  He stepped away from the door. "Come in."

  She was still smiling. "Boots are my weakness."

  Women like you are mine, he wanted to say. "Yeah, I can see that."

  She gazed around the room. "Impressive place."

  He followed the line of her eyes and assessed his surroundings with renewed interest. Constructed of native timber and pegged-beam ceilings, the six-bedroom homestead used to serve as the main lodge. He'd considered renting it out and moving into one of the log cabins out back, but couldn't bring himself to abandon his daughter's room. Her pink canopy bed and favorite stuffed animals remained there, waiting for a child who would never return.

  "Big place for one guy, huh?" he asked.

  "Soon there will be two of you."

  He smiled at the thought. His home had been empty far too long. "The patter of little feet."

  "Little boots," she amended.

  He winked at her, something he hadn't done to a woman in a long time. Melanie reminded him of his youth for some reason, and although she didn't look familiar, she felt familiar. Something he didn't quite understand. "Do you want a cup of coffee or iced tea or something?"

  "Tea sounds nice."

  She followed him into the kitchen then sat down at the oak table in the adjoining dining room. It seated twelve. He poured a tall glass of sun tea and joined her. "We used to have people around all the time. Tourists. Sometimes I hated it, having strangers in my house. Other times, I really enjoyed it. When my grandparents died, I couldn't keep the bed and breakfast going. I raise quarter horses. That keeps me busy."

  "My work keeps me busy, too."

  He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "If we decide to go through with this, I want full custody of the child. I'd want this to be like an adoption on your part."

  She gazed into her tea. "I know."

  "I couldn't take another custody battle, Melanie. You have to be sure you can do this. You have to convince me I can trust you, that you're being completely honest."

  A shadow hooded her blue eyes. They went from daylight to dark in an instant. "A custody battle? I don't understand."

  He blew an anxious breath. His scars hadn't healed. Dredging up the past hurt, but she had a right to know. "I wasn't happily married. I married Shelly because of the baby. I never loved her the way a husband should. We argued all the time. She kept accusing me of cheating. I hadn't been, but she was obsessively jealous. I couldn't even talk to another woman. After a few miserable years, I told her I couldn't take it anymore, that I wanted a divorce."

  Melanie twisted the dainty gold chain around her neck. Colt studied her nervous fingers, bit the inside of his lip and continued. "Things got real ugly after that. And Meagan, our daughter, got caught in the middle." He tugged a hand through his hair. "We ended up in court. It was a long, drawn-out process, but eventually I got custody of Meagan. Shelly was issued weekend and holiday visitations. The psychiatrist who testified seemed to think it was in our daughter's best interest to remain with me."

  He pushed his chair back and gripped the tabletop, expelling pain and frustration from the past. "But the court ruling didn't mean a damn thing because the first weekend Shelly had Meagan, she closed her bank accounts and ran. She kidnapped my little girl. Took her away from me."

  His brown knuckles whitened. The worst was yet to come. "Even though I searched and hired people, we never found them. A whole year went by and then one day the police showed up at my door. Shelly and Meagan had been killed in a drive-by shooting in Chicago." Colt caught his breath, felt the familiar sting beneath his eyes. "The last time I saw my five-year-old daughter was at her funeral."

  Someone had killed an innocent child because they'd mistaken Shelly's car for one belonging to a rival gang member. His baby girl had met a violent death on a cold, empty street. Oh, they'd caught the lone gunman, but knowing that bastard was rotting in jail hadn't eased his pain. Colt had vowed to himself over and over that no one would ever take another child from him again. Not the child's mother nor some sick,
violent stranger. He would protect this baby with his life.

  Melanie looked up. Her eyes were lined with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  Colt's heart clenched. A part of him hated what he was asking her to do. Deep down, he knew a child should be raised by two loving parents, yet Shelly's deception had made it impossible for him to welcome another woman back into his life. Had Shelly not kidnapped Meagan, his daughter would still be alive.

  He trapped Melanie's gaze. Finding a surrogate mother was his only recourse.

  "If we create a child, are you willing to hand the baby over to me, walk away and not look back?"

  Colt waited. Melanie Richards didn't respond.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  "Melanie?"

  "Colt?"

  "I asked you a question."

  He hadn't asked her a question. He'd asked her to give away her flesh and blood. Their baby. She wanted to run, the very idea suddenly creating panic. How could she do this?

  She gazed into his dark eyes, at the pain within. How could she not? Colt Raintree needed a family. A woman who loved him. A child. Melanie reached for his hand. She would tell him what he wanted to hear. Convince him to conceive a child with her.

  His callused hand abraded hers. She squeezed it. He would fall in love with her before the baby was born, and later he would understand why she had kept her identity a secret. He would forgive her. After all, compassion had been what their past relationship was based on. How many times had he made her smile when she'd been on the verge of tears? And then there were the boosts of encouragement, the moments when he'd cupped her face and told her, "A smart girl like you can accomplish anything."

  Melanie sighed. Although she had accomplished plenty over the years, she still hadn't fulfilled her biggest dream. Melanie Richards had yet to win Colt Raintree's heart. "I want to give you a child, Colt. I know what this means to you."

  He withdrew his hand, then placed it in his lap, his posture stiff. "How can you want to do this for me? You don't even know me. There has to be more to it than that. Women have all sorts of reasons for becoming surrogates. But you haven't offered one logical explanation."

  Melanie tilted her chin. She had a logical explanation. Loving him was reason enough to expect to share a child with him. And then there were the hardships in her life, the things she had overcome. The accident had made her stronger, more determined to go after what she wanted. Life was too short to waste.

  "I told you I was a foster child. Of course, that impacted my life, made me who and what I am," she said. "I've learned to be comfortable and strong on my own. Yet, a piece of me wants to be part of a family, or at least know I contributed to one. It would give me a sense of peace to give someone a child. To know that I'd completed their family in some way. I could go on with my career, live my life and know it had purpose."

  She saw him weakening. Her words had penetrated his heart, yet they were twisted. The explanation she had given was the very reason she longed to keep Colt's child and marry him.

  "Would you think about the baby? Feel guilty about giving it away?"

  She smiled softly. He looked as though he almost felt guilty for asking her to do it. "How could I, knowing it's your child? It would be well loved. And when I'd think about it, I'd envision it in your arms. Happy and smiling."

  She could see him in her mind's eye, holding their baby, cuddling the tiny life against his broad chest. Only she imagined herself standing beside him, sharing the moment. Melanie's smile faded. The real possibility of having to give him that child made her ache. What if Colt didn't fall in love with her? She'd lose him and their baby.

  "Do you want to see Meagan's room?" he asked. "I want you to know her in some way. If you have my baby, it would be her brother or sister."

  She nodded silently and followed Colt down the hall. She'd been inside his house once before but only as far as the living room sofa.

  The first time he had spoken to her was when she had fallen from one of his family's rental horses and sprained her ankle. Abandoned by her horse, Colt had spotted the disloyal beast galloping back to the stable and rode out looking for the horseless rider. He'd found her lying on a grassy slope, lifted her in his muscular arms, gently slung her over his mount, took her to his ranch and packed her ankle with ice. She had sat on the cowhide sofa, nervously chewing her fingernails, her heart melting while he wrapped her swollen ankle.

  After that life-altering experience, she'd discovered someone other than Colt had suspected she was smitten. Someone who must have felt compelled to mention it.

  Shorty Miller, the ornery old ranch hand who saddled the rental horses hadn't said beans to her until he'd learned about her mishap. When Melanie had returned to the stables the weekend following her injury, Shorty, a balding, beanpole of a man, sent a gruff compliment her way. "You stick with it, girlie," he'd said, adjusting her stirrup. "You've got a natural seat. Someday you'll be ridin' just fine, real prettylike."

  Melanie had smiled proudly from atop the mount Shorty had chosen for her and scanned the grounds for Colt. "The boy ain't here," the old man had grumbled, his thick mustache twitching. "Took a group into the hills not more than twenty minutes ago."

  Melanie had blushed from the top of her straw hat to the tips of her boots. "What boy?"

  "Don't play me for a fool. The one you got yer eye on, girlie," had come the gravelly reply.

  Week after week, Shorty had quietly pointed out Colt's whereabouts. "The boy's in the barn." "He just rode out." "He's team penning in the arena."

  In the end, it had been Shorty who had informed her of Colt's impending nuptials. "The boy's gone and done it this time," the old man had said. "Got a girl in trouble, that one did. He'll be marrying her right quick."

  Colt's husky voice jarred her back to the present. "Melanie, are you all right?"

  They were standing in Meagan's room. Got a girl in trouble, that one did. Somehow, she didn't think Colt had ever thought of his daughter as trouble. "I'm fine."

  She found herself surrounded in feminine delight. A pink canopy bed overflowed with stuffed animals and a large bay window was covered in eyelet and rose-tinted lace. White shelves displayed a porcelain doll collection, each dressed in hand-tailored finery. The wood toy box in the corner was ornately carved.

  "I used to read to her every night," Colt said. "People think you should stop grieving after a few years. They don't understand that the loss of a child never goes away. It's always there, like a dull ache."

  Melanie watched him. He picked up a stuffed lion from the bed and stroked its mane. "And they thought it was weird that I kept her room the way it was. But it wasn't as if I was trying to create a shrine. I thought that if I dismantled this room then I'd have nothing left of her."

  He gazed around. "But you know, since I've decided to bring another child into my life, I'm actually ready to pack up my daughter's things. I thought this room would make a great nursery for the new baby. I'm sure Meagan would approve."

  Melanie walked over to the dresser. A framed portrait displayed a younger, smiling Colt cuddling a dark-haired little girl. Her eyes were wide and brown, her skin a rich, glowing copper. "She was beautiful."

  Colt replaced the fluffy lion. "Thank you."

  Our child will be beautiful, too, Melanie thought, running her fingers along the edge of the frame. "I believe when babies are born, there's a guardian angel assigned to look after them. Meagan's probably been waiting for you to have another baby. I'm sure she's earned her wings by now."

  Within a heartbeat, Colt was standing behind her, the faint, spicy scent of his cologne wafting to her nostrils. "You say nice things," he offered quietly. "I like you."

  She turned and faced him. They were inches apart but she had to tilt her chin to view his expression. He towered over her by nearly a foot. Her Western boots didn't help much; he was also wearing a pair. "I like you, too."

  He stepped back slowly, widening the sp
ace until they were standing a respectable distance apart. For an instant, adoration flickered in his fathomless gaze. It flashed by like a shooting star. She made a wish.

  "Would you be interested in helping me redecorate this room?" he asked. "After all, you're the artist."

  Had her wish just been granted? Was that his way of saying he wanted her for his surrogate? "I love furniture shopping. Antique stores are my favorite."

  His dark eyes lit up. "Mine, too. I don't know about an old crib, though. Some of those early designs weren't too safe."

  A surge of adrenaline rushed through her. "We can improvise. Mix new and old. I think you should keep the toy box, though. It would fit right in with what I have in mind."

  Colt laughed. "You already have something in mind? You work fast, pretty lady."

  Pretty lady. She liked that. "I'm good at what I do."

  "Oh, yeah?" He crossed his arms over his massive chest and grinned. "Maybe you'd care to share some of those ideas floating around in your head."

  "Okay." She pointed to the wall opposite the window. "The crib goes there. And here—" she turned and gestured "—would be the perfect spot for a rocking horse."

  He studied her enthusiasm through amused eyes. "That's it?"

  "No." She thrust a playful fist forward; it barely grazed a rock-hard shoulder. "We need to find a marvelous old cradle to keep the stuffed animals in. Something from the 1800s maybe. The nursery should reflect the Western motif of the house. Of course, we're going to have to add something colorful and animated, a paper border or some stenciled figures. Babies love bright colors."

  Colt gazed intently at her. The half smile on his lips turned into a straight, serious line. "Melanie, we need to talk." He glanced over at his daughter's picture. "Let's go to the living room."

  Moments later the door to Meagan's room was closed and Colt and Melanie were seated side by side on the cowhide sofa, the same one they had briefly shared thirteen years prior. The room was as she remembered it. Two brown leather recliners faced a stone hearth. An oak gun rack, timber wolf pelts and a bison head instilled the spirit of the west.