Shorty eyed Colt's exuberant smile. "Something else going on I should know about?"
"I'm going to be a dad again. Melanie just told me she's expecting."
"Well, that's wonderful, son." Shorty extended his hand. "Congratulations." After the men shook hands, Shorty turned to Melanie. "It's a real nice thing you're doing for Colt. He's been wanting another youngster for quite a while now."
She smiled. "Thank you."
"Melanie's going to take an active role in the baby's life," Colt said. "A child needs a mother."
As Shorty's gaze locked with hers, Melanie felt as though he had just looked into her soul. Gertrude's soul.
"I'm real glad to hear that," he said. "Congratulations to both of you."
As the older man tipped his hat and sauntered off, Colt led her closer to the stall and they both gazed at the foal. Standing on long, reasonably steady legs, he digested his first meal.
"He's precious," she said softy. "And his mother looks so proud."
Neither spoke after that, but Melanie felt certain Colt shared her next thought. In less than eight months, she would be nursing their child.
* * *
Chapter 12
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"Caught ya!"
Melanie spun around. "Shorty! My God, you scared the death out of me."
The older man laughed, and she realized this was the first time she'd ever heard his raspy laughter.
"You're feeding that mare snacks again."
She grinned sheepishly. "True, but Cinnamon loves me for it."
The horse snorted and nudged Melanie's shoulder. Shorty shook his head in apparent resignation. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "I hear mornings are a might rough."
Melanie offered Cinnamon the rest of the sugar cubes and answered the old cowboy's question with a slight shrug. "Colt insists that I eat breakfast, so he fixes me something every morning. An hour later I throw it up."
Shorty leaned against a stall door and smoothed his mustache. He wore the same dusty tan hat, coarse denim workshirt and pointed brown boots every day, but the smile quirking his bottom lip looked fresh. "That boy never could cook worth a damn."
Melanie met Shorty's amused gaze, and they both burst into a small fit of laughter. Cinnamon bobbed her head and whinnied as though she, too, had tasted Colt's cooking.
"He's driving me a little crazy," she said when their laughter simmered. "But he means well."
"Seeing a woman ailing upsets him a might. He was just a boy when his momma took ill, but he did everything he could to alleviate her suffering." Shorty fingered a halter hanging on the wall beside him. "Colt and his momma were real close."
Melanie pushed her hands into her pockets. "What was she like?"
"She was a nice gal. Pretty and well mannered, a bit shy. When Colt's papa first came to work here, she used to lurk around corners and watch him with those big brown eyes of hers. And when he'd catch her staring at him, he'd wink and she'd pert near faint." Shorty pushed back his hat and scratched his bald head. "Kind of like another little gal I used to know. Only she used to follow Colt around."
Melanie's heartbeat doubled. "And how did Colt react to this girl following him around?"
The older man steadied his gaze. "Same way his pa used to with his ma. He'd smile and wink at her, make her weak in the knees, I suspect."
She swallowed a little nervously, then raised her chin, realizing there was no point in pretending anymore. "How long have you known?"
"Didn't until now, not for certain, anyway. But I started putting two and two together that night at the fair. That starry-eyed look you kept giving him was just too familiar. And then when he'd gaze back at you and wink, well…"
"I'm in love with him."
Shorty nodded solemnly. "I know."
"And I changed my name a long time ago. That had nothing to do with coming here."
"Gertrude is a perfectly nice name," the older man said. "You shouldn't be ashamed of it."
She twisted the lining of her pockets. "I know. I thought it was an okay name, too. My mother named me after her grandmother, and I was always very proud of that. But when the other kids started teasing me about it, I didn't want to be Gertrude anymore."
"So you moved away to California and became Melanie?"
"I was hit by a car a couple years after I moved to California. The reconstructive surgery changed how I looked, so I decided to use my middle name and become someone totally new."
Shorty studied her. "That did confuse me some—that you looked kind of familiar, yet you didn't. But after I figured out who you probably were, I thought you must have just filled out is all. You were a skinny teenager, but you had those big, trusting eyes and a genuine smile. Can't change those things."
He shifted his lanky stance. "Even years after you quit coming to the ranch, Colt still seemed worried about you. 'What do you think ever happened to that sweet girl with the blue eyes?' he used to ask me. 'Do you think she's all right?'"
Melanie gazed up at the barn roof, trying to blink back her team. Colt had never forgotten her.
The older man leaned forward and lifted a slightly crooked finger to her cheek. "Nothing would please me more than to see you and the boy raise that baby together. But remember, keeping secrets will only come to no good. I don't like talking behind his back like this."
Melanie nibbled her lower lip, her eyes still lined with tears. "I plan to tell Colt the truth, but just not yet. I've been waiting for him to accept the fact that he loves me. I think he's close but not quite there."
"Don't wait too long. Colt has the right to know who you are."
Unnerved by his suggestion, she fidgeted with the buttons on her jacket, then pulled it closed. "I guess I'd better get back to the house. Colt asked me to have lunch with him."
Shorty raised his thin gray brows. "He's not cooking for you, is he?"
"No." Melanie managed a smile. "He had some business in town and said he'd bring back something from the diner."
"All right then, you get along." Shorty shooed her toward the door. "You're eating for two now."
As Melanie stepped into the crisp afternoon air and headed toward the main house, the old man's words echoed in her mind.
Colt has the right to know who you are.
She stopped beside the abandoned chicken coop and expelled a labored breath, hoping to expel her guilt along with it. Not only had she kept her identity from Colt, but she'd pulled Shorty into her secret as well.
But I can't tell him, she thought, certain Colt wasn't ready for the truth. Regardless of what Shorty had said, she knew a premature confession could have a disastrous effect. No, she couldn't chance it.
Melanie passed the arena, willing herself to stay calm. She focused on the familiar sights and sounds, on the crunch of leaves beneath her feet, on the clouds billowing across the sky. But as she stepped onto the stone walkway leading to Colt's house, tears rolled down her cheeks—tears of guilt.
"Oh, no," she whispered, as Colt suddenly appeared from the corner of the house. He must have parked the Suburban on the side of the property and walked around.
Abruptly Melanie turned in the opposite direction. She couldn't meet with Colt looking and feeling the way she did. She had to go to her cabin first, wash her face and dry her eyes.
Praying he hadn't seen her, she darted across the walkway and lost her footing. Instinctively she attempted to brace the fall, skimming her hands and bare knees across the hard surface.
Colt screamed her name. She looked up to see him racing toward her. Within seconds, he was there on the ground with her. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh, God, you're bleeding."
She glanced down at her knees, at the blood seeping through the scrapes. "I'm fine," she said, pressing her stinging hands against her chest. "I guess this wasn't a very good day to wear a dress."
"Are you sure you're all right?" Colt moved his hands over her body as though checking for broken bones. "What happened? Why did you turn away like
that? God, you scared me." He lingered over her tummy. "Your stomach doesn't hurt, does it?"
"I'm fine," she said again, struggling to contain another flood of tears. "And the baby's fine. I'm just a little scratched up, that's all."
Apparently satisfied that her bones were intact, Colt gathered her into his arms and cradled her against him.
Her tears rushed forward.
"Oh, darlin,' don't cry." He rocked her in a slow, soothing motion. "Come on, let's get you inside."
He carried her into his house and deposited her gently onto the sofa. She sat on the cowhide surface and stared up at him while he eyed her rumpled appearance.
"I'll get the first aid kit. Just don't cry anymore, okay?"
Before Melanie could utter a response, he disappeared down the hallway. She removed her jacket, then studied her palms—a little red and swollen, but no blood. Somehow her knees had taken the major impact, and even then, those injuries were minor.
Colt returned with a well-stocked first aid kit. He handed her a box of tissues. She dried her eyes and blew her nose while he sat on the end of the coffee table and tended her knees. After he cleaned and bandaged the scrapes, he touched her cheek. "Do you feel better?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"Why were you so upset? I could tell something was wrong even before you fell."
"I umm…" She fumbled, the sound of Shorty's voice ringing in her ears. Colt has the right to know who you are. Keeping secrets will only come to no good.
Unable to think clearly, she offered the only excuse that came to mind. "Shorty caught me feeding Cinnamon some treats. I guess I felt … umm … I don't know … bad because I promised Shorty I wouldn't spoil Cinnamon anymore."
Colt's eyes came alight with anger. "Did Shorty snap at you again? Damn him—"
"No!" She interrupted in the old man's defense. "He was very nice … he…" Figured out who I am, told me I should be honest with you. "My hormones are out of whack. I overreact to everything."
"Yeah, but why were you avoiding me?"
Quickly, a half-truth surfaced. "Because I didn't want you to see me crying over nothing. I just can't seem to control my emotions."
Clearly out of his element, he offered comfort by way of a textbook diagnosis. "Pregnant women are known to be overly emotional in their first trimester. Don't worry about it too much. You should feel better soon."
Anxious to move on, Melanie changed the subject. "Weren't we supposed to be having lunch?"
"Damn." He made a face. "I dropped the food when I tore off after you. I guess we'll have to fix something here."
"I'll do it," she offered, reaching forward to gather the extra large Band-Aid wrappers he'd scattered onto the coffee table. She needed a few minutes alone to catch her breath.
Colt jumped to his feet. "No, I can—" He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her hands. "What happened to your nails?"
Melanie curled her fingers. Her swollen fingers and chipped nails were a sorrowful sight, but hardly a crisis. "I removed the acrylic tips this morning. I know they look awful, but the last time I went to get them filled, the smell made me sick. I guess it's the pregnancy." She scooped the Band-Aid wrappers into a tidy pile. "Besides, I'm not sure how safe that chemical is. My manicurist wears one of those little masks."
"Your other nails were fake?"
She met his stunned gaze. "A lot of women wear them."
Confused by his reaction and seeking relief from a maelstrom of emotions, Melanie did something she hadn't done in years. She nibbled a fingernail.
* * *
Colt felt his body jolt. Déjà vu. He'd heard the expression before, but had never experienced it. Until now. This moment had happened before. Years ago, another little girl had sat on that couch, gazing up at him, biting her nails.
Gertrude. Shy, tiny Gertrude—the girl Melanie reminded him of Gertrude had been injured, too. She had fallen from one of the rental horses and sprained her ankle. Colt had carried her into the house and doctored her, just as he'd done with Melanie today. He had never forgotten Gertrude, not her adoring blue eyes or her fragile, broken fingernails.
Colt closed his eyes and swallowed, pushing Gertrude's image away. He didn't want to see her. Not now, not like this.
But a moment later, when he raised his eyelids, she was still there, sitting on his grandparents' cowhide sofa, staring up at him.
"You're her," he said. "Oh, my God, you're her."
The hand against Melanie's lips began to shake. "I…" She sniffed and blinked before a rain of tears spilled down her cheeks.
Colt stood riveted to the floor, feeling as though he'd just been kicked in the gut by the only woman he'd come to trust. "Don't you cry. Don't you dare cry."
He never knew what to say or do when a woman cried. Tears made them seem vulnerable, and he knew she wasn't as vulnerable as she appeared. She had deceived him from the beginning. "You never had any intention of giving up the baby, did you?"
Melanie pulled a wad of tissue from the box and dried her cheeks. "It's not what I wanted, but I told myself I'd go through with it if I had to."
He dragged his hand through his hair. "I don't believe you. If you had planned on giving up the baby, you would have told me who you were. Damn it, you tricked me."
She twisted the damp tissue. She looked young and sweet in her oversize denim dress and bandaged knees. He glanced away, telling himself not to fall for all that innocent femininity. She was no different from his ex-wife.
"I swear, Colt. I never meant to trick you. My intentions were honorable, but you kept stressing how you wanted a professional relationship with your surrogate. If I'd told you I was Gertrude, you wouldn't have hired me." She trapped his gaze. "You knew that I—that Gertrude had feelings for you."
Gertrude had been so sweet and pure. So trusting. But Melanie wasn't her anymore. "So what the hell are you getting at?"
"I'm in love with you, Colt. I've always loved you."
When his heart clenched, he damned her silently. "Love isn't based on a lie, Melanie."
"The only thing I lied about was my identity. I wanted us to make a life together, but if you didn't fall in love with me, I vowed to myself that I'd be noble and give up the baby." She cradled her tummy protectively. "But I couldn't agree to do that now, and I pray you won't ask me to. This baby deserves two full-time parents." Once again, her eyes glistened with tears. "I hadn't been able to anticipate the maternal bond of carrying a child, of waiting for that first flutter of life. I'm a mother now, Colt. In my body and in my heart."
"Yeah, and I'm a man who wanted to be a father again. A man who hired you as his surrogate. I wasn't looking for a wife." And he wasn't buying her story about her original intentions being honorable. It had all been a lie, a deception. "You're nothing like Gertrude used to be."
Her eyes remained open on his, big and blue and full of pain—pain he didn't want to see, didn't want to recognize.
Melanie gave a labored sigh. "You're right. In some ways I'm not her anymore. She was shy and afraid. And she lacked the confidence to tell you how she felt about you." Melanie continued to cradle her tummy. "But Gertrude grew up, Colt. And you helped her get there. You treated her with kindness when she needed it most, and you taught her to believe in herself. Gertrude became Melanie because of you."
Rather than acknowledge her words, Colt studied the changes in her face. Apparently Gertrude had become Melanie because of plastic surgery. Her nose had been shortened, her cheekbones altered, even her chin looked different. And then there was her hair—red instead of brown, and her body, although still tiny, had developed muscle tone and rounded curves.
She'd traded Montana for California, and with it, a lifestyle that appalled him. She should have kept the features she was born with instead of paying some Beverly Hills doctor to play God. She'd become rich and spoiled—cosmetic surgery and a condo on the beach. How typically Hollywood.
"Was this some kind of game to you, some friv
olous challenge? Breeze back into your hometown and fool everyone with your new face?"
She lifted her chin—her fake chin—in what seemed like a gesture of defiance. "No."
"Then why the plastic surgery? Why the big charade?"
She brought her hand to her cheek, touched it as though it didn't quite belong to her. "I didn't have a choice. I was involved in an accident that destroyed my face. My nose was broken and my cheekbones shattered. Everything had to be repaired."
Colt listened while she relived what had to have been a nightmarish ordeal. He tried to block out sympathetic images of her, of little Gertrude, broken and bleeding, young and afraid, all alone and far from home.
Once she stopped talking, she chewed her fingernail again and gazed up at him with those eyes—those familiar blue eyes. Eyes he had recognized, even commented on. "You should have told me who you were that night on the beach, the night I admitted you reminded me of someone else." He plowed his hand through his hair for the second or third time. "You played me for such a fool."
"I wanted to tell you, but it was too soon. I wanted you to love me first."
Love. She wanted him to love her, to give her what he'd never been able to give any woman. "I'll say it again, love isn't based on a lie. That's just not the way it works."
Colt glanced away, his heart throbbing with an unbearable ache. How could he ever love a woman who had purposely deceived him? How could he ever trust her?
"I can't handle this." He backed away. "I've got to get out of here." Spinning on his heel, he shot out the door, leaving Melanie alone on his couch.
She'll cry again, he thought, as a gust of fresh air swept over him. But only for a while. In an hour or two, she'll fix herself some lunch, nourish the life in her womb.
In Colt's mind one crucial detail remained undisputed. Melanie wanted their baby as much as he did.
* * *
Chapter 13
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Fifteen days later, Colt paid his dinner bill at Mountain Mabel's. He'd eaten there every night that week and the week before.
WARRIOR'S BABY Page 15
