WARRIOR'S BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  When she promptly agreed and extended her hand, he clasped it in his. As they shook on the verbal agreement, Colt realized how unusual their situation was.

  "And I am going to rent a hotel room while I'm here," he reiterated, breaking contact. Her fingertips were too soft, the feminine touch warm and inviting. "Regardless of what you say, people talk. I've tarnished enough reputations in the past. I don't need yours on my conscience, too."

  The following evening Melanie convinced Colt to accompany her to the mall. They'd spent the morning apart and the afternoon together. She'd attended a business meeting while he explored the beach. By noon, they'd met for lunch and began packing immediately thereafter. He'd worked in the kitchen, she'd been in her bedroom. When she'd tackled the grueling task of organizing her closet and choosing a suitable Montana wardrobe, she'd decided shopping for fashionable maternity clothes was definitely in order.

  Melanie scanned the blouse rack and peered up at Colt. Like most men in a woman's dress shop, he looked bored.

  She held up a hideous shocking-pink number. "What do you think?"

  He shrugged. "What am I supposed to say? I don't know anything about women's clothes. Besides, isn't it a little early for this?" He eyed the enormous blouse, then glanced around, apparently for eavesdroppers. "We haven't … you're not even … well, you know."

  "I will be," Melanie proclaimed, her chin tilting. Per doctor's orders she'd been charting her temperature religiously. "And when I'm big enough for maternity fashions, I'll be knee-deep in snow and hours away from a decent mall. Mountain Bluff isn't exactly the shopping capital of the world."

  "All right." He tossed his hands in the air. "Go ahead and pick out some fancy duds, but when we're back in Montana, I guarantee you'll be complaining that there's no place to wear them."

  "Oh, yeah?" She wagged a finger. "Well you, Mr. Raintree, promised to take me out."

  A dark brow arched toward the hot-pink top. "Not in that."

  Melanie crammed the blouse back onto the rack and grinned. "They have a chair over there." She pointed to a corner where she assumed other expectant fathers had waited. "I'll let you know when I'm ready."

  He glanced back at the chair. "For what?"

  Apparently Colt had never shopped with a woman before. "To model the clothes."

  "Oh."

  As he made his way to the corner, a middle-aged sales clerk flashed him an approving smile and offered assistance to Melanie. "Is there something special you're looking for?"

  "Everything." She began counting months off on her fingers. If she conceived right away, she would probably start showing in November, maybe even October. "I'll need items for winter and spring."

  The bubbled-haired blonde, who introduced herself as Penny, began escorting Melanie through the fashionable maternity boutique. They gathered several styles of leggings in an array of colors, long- and short-sleeved blouses, casual dresses for daily wear, black velvet for the holiday season.

  Before the blonde secured the dressing room, she handed Melanie a pillow-type attachment. "It ties on," she said, when Melanie glanced at it curiously. "To give you a tummy."

  She spent the next twenty minutes trying on fashions and sending Penny for size and color changes. The pillow-tummy was a shock. She giggled at first, then touched it unbelievably. If her own flesh was going to protrude this far, then it was time to show Colt how she was going to look.

  Melanie patted the pillow, then slipped on a stylish white dress and fluffed her hair. "Here goes," she whispered, exiting the dressing room.

  He was sitting in the chair where she left him, paging through a magazine the sales clerk must have offered, one tennis shoe tapping. She stood in front of the three-way mirror beside him.

  "Colt?"

  He looked up, slid the magazine under the chair, rose to his full height and stood behind her, gazing at her reflection. She followed the line of his eyes down her dress. The soft cotton material gathered beneath her breasts, flowed over her exaggerated tummy, then swirled around her ankles where a border of lilac ribbon added a touch of spring.

  "It's a pillow they give you," she explained as his gaze rested on the fullness of her figure, "so you know how the clothes will fit later."

  He moved closer, his pleased reflection behind her in the mirror. When he dipped his head, his warm breath tickled her nape. "You look beautiful," he whispered, both hands instinctively coming forward.

  She watched him, wishing she could feel his hands as they slid around a tummy that wasn't really hers. Is this how it will be? she wondered, leaning back against his tall frame, her knees weakening. Will he caress the baby when it's cradled inside me?

  "Melanie?" Colt nuzzled her neck, his hands still wrapped around her waist. "Promise me something."

  An erotic shiver tiptoed up her spine. They looked good together, their cheekbones high, their hair shiny and straight. Even the difference in their eyes seemed right. Hers shone like bright blue stars, and his were as dark and exotic as a midnight sky.

  "Promise you'll stick by me, even if it takes a while to conceive." He rested his chin on her shoulder and gazed at her through the mirror. Melanie wondered if he was comparing reflections, creating their child's features in his mind. "I want it to be you."

  "I promise," she answered. She'd stick by him forever if he'd let her. "I want it to be me, too."

  The world stilled. They stood in a warm embrace, his hands worshipping the pillow beneath her dress as though it really were his child. Melanie melted against the rush of emotion washing through her. Colt's lips were against her neck, his spicy scent mingling with hers, his arms strong and protective. Her heartbeat doubled and his breath caught before the sales clerk's chipper voice broke the tender spell.

  "You two must be newlyweds," she teased, darting by with a handful of garments for another customer, not bothering to glance back for a reaction.

  Silence ricocheted. Colt's gaze found Melanie's in the mirror, and she expected him to smile, or tease her about the blush rising to her cheeks. He didn't. Instead, he flinched and pulled away. His shoulders jerked and his hands grew stiff as his handsome features turned to stone.

  Melanie's body chilled.

  "I guess we'll have to get used to comments like that," he said, sounding once again like her business partner. "But we shouldn't encourage it. I apologize for putting you in that position."

  "Of course," she responded, fighting back a choked scream, hurt and angry that he could switch gears so easily. There was no warmth in his apology, no compassion, a twitching jaw the only telltale sign of emotion.

  "I'll go change." Melanie tore off quickly, locked the dressing room door and trembled, willing herself not to cry. Emerging sometime later, she strode over to the front counter and placed her purchases down, assuming the role as the unaffected surrogate. Colt stood by dispassionately, handing over a credit card when the balance was totaled. Melanie decided not to interfere or argue over payment in front of Penny, who, judging by her sympathetic behavior, must have thought the newlyweds had a tiff. Uncomfortable vibrations and awkward glances were far too apparent.

  * * *

  "Are you angry with me?"

  It took Colt several days to acquire the courage to ask her that. They'd been packing nonstop, barely speaking to each other.

  "No." She tore the package-sealing tape with her teeth, pressed it onto a box and snapped a fingernail in the process. Uttering a frustrated curse, she met his gaze. "I'm just exhausted."

  She was upset. He could see it in her eyes, and he knew it was because of his behavior at the mall the other night. Only he wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that he'd touched her with such familiarity or had ended it so abruptly. Either way, it was something he shouldn't have done. He was confusing her, preying on her emotions with false intimacy.

  Colt bit the inside of his lip. It had been false. Hadn't it?

  He glanced at her broken fingernail. Once again he was reminded of the other blue-eyed girl, t
he one from his past. Little Gertrude. He shook away the disturbing image. Why did Melanie have to remind him of Gertrude? Of her gentle, doelike qualities?

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "For what?" She whipped around his shoulder to examine the glass figurines he was packing. "Did you break something?"

  "No I'm just sorry for…" Holding you? Enjoying it? Wishing I could do it again? "Being so grumpy."

  "That's okay." Melanie frowned at her fingernail. She looked young and sweet, her hair braided, her sundress sprinkled with printed flowers. "I know you're exhausted, too," she said, examining the damaged appendage. "I told you Tiffany was coming over, right?"

  "Who?"

  "Tiffany. The lady I'm designing the logo for."

  He gave her a blank stare.

  "She's opening the vintage clothing store. I told you about it."

  "Oh, yeah. The Bandit." A combination of early Western wear and goofy seventies garb. The Lone Ranger meets the Brady Bunch. It sounded ridiculous to him. "She's the wacky one, right?"

  "Eccentric," she corrected, as though it didn't mean the same thing. "Tiffany's bringing over some composites for me to look at. We need to decide on a model to use for the logo design. She wants a cowboy type, you know, rugged and handsome. Only we're going to stylize his look. Of course, we'll put him in a cowboy hat with a black mask around his eyes for the bandit effect, but to tie in the sixties and seventies, I'm going to do some psychedelic artwork on his chest."

  "You're going to paint some guy's body?"

  Melanie beamed. "Isn't it a great idea? Afterward, I'll use the model's photograph for a watercolor."

  Colt furrowed his brow. "If the finished product is going to be a painting, then why are you going to put artwork on the model's body? Can't you add that in later?"

  "Tiffany wanted me to do it this way. She wants the body art to look like it's part of his skin. The photograph will show us if the design has the desired effect."

  He tapped on the boxtop. "Maybe I should go back to the hotel while you and Tiffany have your meeting." He didn't want to be present while two women ogled men's photographs, and he sure as hell didn't want to see a picture of the guy Melanie was going to body paint.

  "Please stay," she implored. "Tiffany's as much a friend as a client. I want you to meet her."

  Colt gazed around the dining room. It was nearly packed, the china cabinet shelves empty. "Did you tell her about us … about our arrangement?"

  "No. I told her I was going back to Montana to stay with a friend, that I needed a change of scenery."

  Great. Tiffany would probably take one look at him and think he was Melanie's lover. Since when would a woman travel halfway across the United States to stay with a man who's just a friend. "If you don't mind, I'll just keep packing while she's here."

  "That's fine. I'll order us something to eat. She'll be here soon."

  Melanie's friend arrived right after the pizza Attired in a Western, rhinestone get-up Dolly Parton would envy, Tiffany lived up to her eccentric label. Tall, blond, and oddly attractive, her age hard to define, Colt suspected a face lift or two. Melanie had described her as "alimony rich," the vintage clothing store her latest form of amusement.

  The women hugged and exchanged Hollywood kisses, their lips brushing by each other's cheeks, connecting with nothing but air. The brown-and-white-spotted dog Tiffany brought with her seemed genuine enough; it wagged its tail and jumped straight into Melanie's arms.

  "JR, you little devil, how are you?" she cooed, nuzzling the little guy's face.

  Colt almost expected the dog to respond. JR was an animated little critter with big expressive eyes and floppy ears.

  "Well." Tiffany's gaze swept appreciatively over Colt. "You must be the Montana cowboy."

  He extended his hand. "Colt Raintree."

  "Nice name." She shook his hand, smoothed her silver-blond hair and winked at Melanie.

  Yep, she thought they were lovers. "If you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to finish packing."

  Unfortunately the only room left was the one Melanie and Tiffany would be occupying. Colt grabbed some pizza, opened a soda and sat down in front of the entertainment center to pack Melanie's CD collection. JR padded after him. He scratched the dog's head. It sat up and begged.

  The women shared one of the leather sofas, nibbled on pineapple and pepperoni pizza and began paging through the photographs Tiffany had brought. Thirty minutes later, the "maybe" pile had just one picture, a model who freelanced as an exotic dancer.

  "What about him?" Tiffany asked, lowering her voice.

  "He is handsome," Melanie responded in the same quiet tone.

  "He's perfect and you know it. Dark hair, dangerous eyes, a great body. And he's the genuine article. A real-live Montana rancher."

  "He would look great in a black mask." Both women giggled. "And even better in body paint."

  Okay, so they found their cowboy. A Montana man, no less.

  A ranch hand turned model. What a sissy. Colt resisted the urge to turn around and examine the guy's picture. Melanie sounded a little too impressed.

  A real-live Montana rancher.

  Colt spun around to find Melanie and Tiffany sizing him up like a side of beef.

  "No way!" he shouted.

  Tiffany framed him with her hands. "Oh, he's perfect."

  Panic set in. "No … no, I'm not. I take a terrible picture … my eyes—" he crossed them "—are too close together … see?" When that failed, he pointed to his jaw. "And look at this scar—"

  His imperfections were ignored. "Instead of a cloth mask, I'll paint it on," Melanie said. "Like a warrior."

  The other woman gasped dramatically. "I love it!"

  Melanie strode over to him. "You should see his chest. What a canvas. Not one speck of hair."

  She began unbuttoning his shirt.

  "I'm not posing for any pictures," he hissed. "And you're not—" she continued releasing buttons "—painting my body."

  "Yes, I am." While pushing his shirt open, Melanie hummed a quiet tune that sounded remarkably like a lullaby. "You owe me," she whispered.

  Was she bargaining for the baby? "Why, you little imp." When her fingertips grazed his nipples, he swallowed a groan. "This is blackmail."

  She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth against his ear. "What's the matter, Montana man? Are you modest?"

  "You don't play fair, California girl," he whispered back, catching her hands with his wrists. If she teased his nipples again, he'd fall at her feet and beg for more. "I'd never be able to show my face in town."

  "We'll keep it a secret." She smiled playfully and freed her hands. "No one will ever know the painting was you."

  From across the room, Tiffany watched them through amused eyes. "Now, Melanie, if Colt's not interested in the job…" She picked up the stripper's photograph. "I'm sure this attractive young man would be thrilled…"

  An image of Melanie running her hands over the dancer's body clouded Colt's judgment. "I'll do it," he growled, tugging his shirt closed. "But nobody, and I mean nobody better find out about this."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  After escorting Tiffany to her car, Melanie returned to the house to see Cold standing on the balcony gazing out at the ocean. She watched him, wondering how he would react if she tried to seduce him, run her hands up and down his broad back, press her body tightly against his.

  If Melanie hadn't been aching to touch him so badly, she would have laughed. Seduce a man? Her? Geeky Gertie?

  She was still a virgin.

  Because of her mother's promiscuity, Melanie didn't believe in casual sex. She'd seen firsthand how easily a woman could cheapen herself with meaningless affairs. As a result, she had promised to respect herself—to remain a virgin until the right man came along. The man she loved. And from the first moment she'd seen Colt, she knew he was the one.

  Of course, Colt had married someone else and she'd
gone on without him. But even so, she'd remain true to herself—to her morality. For years she had strived to make herself beautiful, then rejected almost every man who came her way. The fact that men wanted her simply because of her looks bothered her. She knew deep down that if any of those men had known her before her physical transformation, they wouldn't have given her the time of day.

  In a sense, being in love with Colt had helped keep her virginity intact. Sure, she had dated other men, but hadn't fallen in love with any of them. And for her, sex without love was an impossibility. Besides, Colt was the one man who had treated her kindly before she was pretty. His compassion had been genuine. And now, even though he didn't recognize her, Melanie knew she was the same person, the same girl he had winked and smiled at, the same girl he used to call "cute and sweet." She couldn't help but love Colt Raintree.

  When Colt turned around, her heart stopped. The man was beautiful, dangerous and kind, sexy, cautious, moody. The wind had tousled his hair and the front of his shirt was still unbuttoned, exposing smooth, muscular skin as dark and rich as a cup of cinnamon cappuccino sweetened with just a dash of cream.

  Thoughts of seduction returned. God, if she only knew how. She moved forward, suddenly feeling shy. "Hi."

  He smiled, and when he did, his entire face transformed. The sun-baked, masculine lines faded and he managed to look boyish once again. Not quite a warrior. "I was wondering if you had a sleeping bag I could borrow?"

  "Sure, I have a couple, but I think they're packed. Why do you need one?"

  He smoothed his windblown hair. She was half tempted to mess it up again, push her hands through it.

  "I've been going a little stir-crazy in the hotel. I like wide-open spaces. I need to sleep outdoors once in a while." He glanced over his shoulder. "The beach is just too beautiful to resist."