Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife

by Cassie Miles

  “Five gangs pulling off two or three jobs a month. The take ranges from a couple thousand to twenty. I figure it’s more than a hundred thousand a month.”

  “I can’t believe all these gangs keep getting away with it,” she said.

  “You’d be surprised how many bank robberies there are,” he said. “Last year in Colorado alone, there were over a hundred and fifty. Most of the time, they don’t even make the news. Especially when there’s not a huge amount of cash involved and no one is injured.”

  She finished off her chili while she considered what he’d told her. Baron’s scheme sounded far too complicated for Cole to have made it up, but that still didn’t prove that he was working undercover for the FBI.

  His behavior while she’d been held captive was more convincing. During the whole time Penny was in labor, he’d been a gentleman. Like he said, he’d kept her separate from the other gang members. And he had been helping her escape when the shooters attacked.

  She shivered from a draft that slipped around the edge of the front door. Though they’d pushed a chair against it and blocked the air with towels from the bathroom, the door didn’t fit exactly into the frame after Frank burst through it.

  Rising from the table, she carried her bowl to the kitchen and looked out the uncurtained window. “Still snowing.”

  “That’s a good thing.” He reached around her to put his bowl in the sink. “The blizzard will keep anybody from searching for us.”

  Though they weren’t alone in the cabin, she felt as if they were sharing a private moment in the kitchen. Outside the wind rushed and hurled icy pellets at the window, but they were tucked away and sheltered.

  When she turned toward him, he didn’t back away. Less than two feet of space separated them. “Why did you tell me all this?”

  “I wanted you to know. I’m one of the good guys, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She’d heard that promise before. Other men had assured her that they wouldn’t break her heart. The smart thing would be to step away, to put some distance between them. But they were awfully close. And he was awfully good-looking.

  Arms folded below her breasts, she tried to shut down her attraction to him. Diffidently, she asked, “Why do you care what I think?”

  “I like you, Rachel.”

  He could have said so much more, could have called her his baby doll and told her she was beautiful. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “I like you...very much.”

  And she liked him, too. In spite of her resolution to steer clear of dangerous men, she unfolded her arms. Gently, she reached up and rested her hand on his cheek. His stubble bristled under her fingers. Electricity crackled between them.

  His hand clasped her waist as his head lowered. His lips were firm. He used exactly the right amount of pressure for a perfect kiss.

  She pulled away from him and opened her eyes. His smile was warm. His eyes, inviting. Perfect! Of course! Guys like Cole—men who lived on the edge—made the best lovers. Because they didn’t hold back? Because they took risks in everything?

  “That was good,” she said.

  “I can do better.”

  He stepped forward, trapping her against the kitchen counter, and encircled her in a powerful embrace. Through the bulky sweatsuits, their bodies joined. This kiss was harder and more demanding. If she allowed herself to respond, she didn’t know if she could stop. In minutes, she’d be tearing off his clothes and dragging him onto her and...

  His tongue slid into her mouth, and her mind went blank. Sensation washed through her, sending an army of goose bumps marching along the surface of her skin. She felt so good, so alive. Though she was unaware of moving a muscle, her back arched. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and the sensitive tips of her nipples tingled with pleasure. Her feet seemed to leave the floor as though she was weightless. Floating. Drifting through clouds.

  When the kiss ended, she lightly descended to earth. Oh, man, that was some kiss! A rocket to the moon.

  Still holding her, he leaned back and gazed down at her. She stared up at his face, watching as his lips pulled into a confident smile. He knew his kiss had affected her. He knew that he was in control.

  In spite of her dazed state, Rachel realized that she needed to pull back. She’d have to be crazy to make love to him tonight. It wasn’t possible. Not with baby Goldie sleeping nearby. Not with psychopathic Frank tied up in the bedroom.

  She couldn’t manage a single coherent word, but he must have sensed her reticence because he loosened his grasp and stepped back.

  “I want to make love to you, Rachel.” His voice was low and rough. “I want you. Now.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But the time isn’t right.”

  She nodded so vigorously that she made herself dizzy. “Not tonight.”

  “You’re a special woman. I want to treat you right.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I want you to trust me.”

  “Okay.”

  He took her hand and squeezed. “When we’re safe and this is over,” he said with the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. “It won’t be over between you and me. That’s a promise.”

  Chapter Eight

  After Cole converted one of the sofas into a double bed and got Rachel and Goldie settled down to sleep, he stretched out on the other sofa on the opposite side of the cabin. Between his side of the front room and Rachel’s the gas fireplace blazed warmly. His gun rested on the floor beside him, easily reachable. Though the sofa was too short for his legs, this wasn’t the worst place he’d gone to bed. His undercover work meant he sometimes didn’t know where he’d be sleeping or for how long.

  Over the years, he’d trained himself to drop easily into a light slumber. Never a deep sleep. Not while on assignment. Even while resting, he needed to maintain vigilance, to be prepared for the unexpected threat.

  As soon as he closed his eyes, he became aware of aching muscles from their hike and bruises from his fight with Frank. Ignoring the pain, he concentrated on letting go of his tension, keeping his breathing steady and lowering his pulse rate.

  He tried to imagine a blank slate. Soft blue. Peaceful. But his mind raced, jumping from one visual image to another. He saw Penny in a pool of her own blood. Saw Frank being gunned down, throwing his arms into the air before he fell. He saw snow swirling before his eyes. Then through the whiteness, Rachel’s face emerged. Her startling blue eyes opened wide. He saw Goldie in Rachel’s arms. The baby reached toward him with her tiny hands.

  No matter what else happened, he had to make sure Goldie and Rachel got to a safe place—a task that should have been easy. He should have been able to make one phone call and rest assured that the FBI would swoop in for a rescue. But he was wary of his connections, and he’d learned to trust his instincts. If he smelled trouble, there was usually something rotten. Special Agent Wayne Prescott?

  Cole had only met with Prescott once at a hotel in Grand Junction for a briefing before his assignment. Though dressed in casual jeans and a parka, Agent Prescott had presented himself as a buttoned-down professional with neatly barbered brown hair and a clean-shaven chin. An administrator. A desk jockey. He had passed on the necessary information in a businesslike manner.

  Cole had refused his offer of a cell phone with local numbers already programmed in. By keeping his own cell phone, Cole had more autonomy. Not only did his private directory have phone numbers for people he trusted, but his phone also had the capability of disabling the GPS locator so he couldn’t be found.

  Though his handlers didn’t agree, Cole found it necessary at times to be completely off the grid. His current situation was a good example. If Prescott could track his location, they might be in even more danger.

  Cole’s eyelids snapped open. Though his body was exhausted, his mind was too busy for sleep.

  Leaving the sofa, he went toward the kitchen table where he’d left his phone. Shortly after Frank mentioned Prescott’s nam
e, Cole had turned off the GPS. But was it really off? His boss in L.A., Agent Waxman, hadn’t been pleased about having his undercover agent untraceable. Had Waxman programmed in some kind of tracking mechanism?

  If Frank had been awake and hadn’t been a psycho, Cole would have turned to him for help in analyzing his phone’s capabilities. Frank had expert skills with electronics.

  For a moment, Cole toyed with the idea of destroying his cell phone. Then he decided against it. Tomorrow when the blizzard lifted, they could use his phone to call for help. Yeah? And who would he call? Who could he trust?

  Through the kitchen window—the only one without a curtain—he saw the snow continue to fall. His visibility was limited. He couldn’t tell if it was letting up—not that it mattered. There was nothing they could do tonight. Trying to fight their way through the blizzard and the drifts in the dark would be suicide. They had to wait until morning. Until then, he needed to sleep, damn it. His body required a couple of hours’ solid rest to replenish his physical resources.

  He headed back toward his sofa but found himself standing over Rachel. She lay on her back, covered up to her chin with a plaid wool blanket. The light from the gas fireplace flickered across her cheeks and smooth forehead. Her full lips parted slightly, and her breathing was steady.

  Hers was an unassuming beauty. No makeup. No frills. No nonsense. Her thick, black lashes were natural, as were her dark eyebrows that matched the wisps of hair framing her face.

  Looking down, he realized that she was the real reason he couldn’t sleep. He’d made her a promise, told her that they’d have a relationship beyond this ordeal. That was what he wanted. To spend time with her. To learn more about this complicated woman whose livelihood was bringing new life into the world.

  He admired her strength of character and wondered what caused her defensiveness. Until she had melted into his arms, she’d been pushing him away with both hands. But she’d kissed him with passion and yearning. No way had that kiss been a timid testing of the waters. She’d committed herself. She’d responded as though she’d been waiting for him to strike a spark and ignite the flame.

  He reached toward her but didn’t actually touch her cheek. He didn’t want to wake her; she needed her sleep. I didn’t lie to you, Rachel.

  But he hadn’t been completely honest. A man in his line of work changed his identity the way other people changed their socks. He never knew how long he’d be on assignment and unable to communicate with a significant other. Bottom line: he couldn’t commit to a real, in-depth relationship.

  Tearing his gaze away from her, he went back to his sofa and lay down. This time, he fell asleep.

  It seemed like only a few minutes later that he heard Goldie’s cries. He bolted upright on the sofa. His gun was in his hand.

  Rachel was already awake. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t shoot.”

  After a quick scan of the cabin, he lowered his weapon. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s hungry.” Rachel opened the blanket she used to swaddle the infant and picked her up. Immediately—as if by magic—the wailing stopped. Rachel bent her head down to nuzzle Goldie’s tummy. “Most babies wake up a couple of times at night.”

  He knew that. A long time ago, he had a female partner with a newborn baby boy. She was always complaining about not getting enough sleep. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “I’ll handle this.”

  She got no argument from him. Through half-closed eyes, he watched her taking care of the baby. Her movements were efficient but exceedingly gentle as she changed the diaper. Even though Goldie wasn’t hers, it was obvious that Rachel cared deeply for this infant. He understood; babies were pretty damned lovable.

  As she walked to the kitchen she bounced with each step and made soft, cooing sounds. Her voice soothed him. So sweet. So tender. He closed his eyes and imagined her lying beside him, humming and—

  “Cole.” Frank’s shout tore him out of his reverie. “Damn you, Cole. Get in here.”

  Cole groaned. He would have much preferred changing diapers to dealing with a wounded psychopath. With his gun in hand, he crossed the room and shoved open the bedroom door. In this room away from the fireplace, the temperature was about ten degrees cooler and it was dark. Cole turned on the overhead light. “What?”

  “Untie me. I’ve got to pee.”

  The restraints Cole had used on Frank were a combination of twine, rope and bungee cords. There was enough play in the ropes that fastened his wrists to the bed frame on either side of him that he could get comfortable. The same went for his ankles, which were attached to the iron frame at the foot of the bed. Setting him free involved a certain amount of risk. Frank could turn on him; he needed to be handled with extreme caution.

  Cole was tired of dealing with men like Frank. Always trying to stay two steps ahead. Never letting his guard down. He didn’t like what his life had become.

  He came closer to the bed and unzipped the sweatshirt stretched across his chest. The wound near his shoulder showed only a light bloodstain. Rachel’s tampon plug had done its job in stopping the bleeding.

  “Here’s the deal, Frank. If you give me any trouble, I’ll shoot. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

  One-handed, he unfastened the cords. All the while, he kept his weapon trained on the big man. Once he was free, Frank stretched his arms and winced in pain. He hauled his legs to the edge of the bed. Slowly, he lumbered to the bathroom, where Cole stood watch. Not a pleasant experience for either of them.

  When they returned to the bedroom, Frank sat on the bed and reached for the water glass on the bedside table. He swallowed a few gulps and licked his lips. “I’m hungry.”

  “Too bad.”

  “You don’t have to tie me up, man. I’m not going to—”

  “Save it.” Cole wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Rachel and Goldie in the other room.

  With his finger, Frank touched his split lip. “As soon as the snow stops, we should move on. Those feds are still after you.”

  “Lie down. Arms at your sides. Legs straight.”

  “You need me. When those guys catch up to you, you’re going to want somebody watching your back. Come on, man. I’m a good person to have on your side in a fight. You know that.”

  There were a few things Cole knew for certain. The first was that Frank enjoyed inflicting pain. The second, he was a bully who couldn’t be trusted. Number three, he was smarter than he looked. “You can lie down. Now. Or I’ll knock you unconscious. Your choice.”

  With a low growl, Frank stretched out on the bed. “I’ve been lying here, thinking. I know what you’re up to. You’ve got leverage. A couple of bargaining chips.”

  Cole fastened the cords on his ankles. “You just keep thinking, Frank.”

  “You’re going to use the baby to deal with Baron. I mean, Baron is as mean as they come, but he’s not going to kill his own kid, right?”

  While Cole dealt with the bonds on Frank’s wrists, he pressed the nose of his gun into the big man’s belly.

  “And Rachel,” Frank said. “She’s going to take you to where Penny sent the loot. Oh, yeah, I got it all figured out. But there’s something you don’t know.”

  “What’s that?” Cole finished securing the ropes and stepped back. “What don’t I know?”

  “If I tell you, I’m giving up my own bargaining chip.”

  As far as Cole was concerned, Frank could keep his information to himself. Tomorrow, after he and Rachel were far away from this cabin, he’d call the local police and give them the location. The cops could take Frank into custody.

  Cole turned toward the door.

  “Hey,” Frank called after him. “I can tell you why the feds attacked. You want to know that, don’t you?”

  Clearly, Frank was grasping at straws, trying to play him. In other circumstances, Cole might have been interested in his information, but he was weary of
these games. “Whether you tell me or not, I don’t give a damn.”

  He wanted to get back to a semblance of normal life, to take Rachel home to California with him and show her his favorite beach. He hadn’t seen much of her body, except when she stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, but he thought she’d look good in a bikini.

  “It’s about the money,” Frank said. “Penny told me that she was keeping the place she’d sent the last three packages a secret from Baron. That’s got to be close to seventy thousand bucks. Just sitting there. Waiting to be picked up.”

  “I don’t believe you. Penny wouldn’t try a double cross on Baron.”

  “She said that she wasn’t going to steal from him. She just wanted to see him. And she knew he’d come for the money.”

  Though the idea disgusted him, Cole understood Penny’s reasoning. Baron wouldn’t come to see his pregnant girlfriend or his newborn child. But he’d make an effort for the money. “So what?”

  “I’m betting Rachel knows where it is. She and Penny were getting real chummy.” He gave a grotesque wink. “We can make her tell us where the money is hidden.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  He closed the bedroom door and stepped into the front room, where Rachel sat in the rocking chair feeding Goldie by the golden light from the gas fireplace. Cole felt as if he’d entered a different world. A better place, for sure. The energy in this room nurtured him and gave him hope.

  When Rachel met his gaze and smiled, he wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her close. He needed her honesty and decency. She was the antidote to the ugly life he’d been living.

  “How is Frank doing?” she asked.

  “I checked the wound. There’s very little bleeding.”

  “He needs to get to a hospital tomorrow.”

  He wanted to tell her that tomorrow would bring a solution to all their problems. But he couldn’t make that promise.

  * * *

  IN THE DIM LIGHT OF DAWN, Rachel stepped onto the porch of the cabin and shivered. The furry bristles of her parka hood froze instantly and scraped against her cheek as she adjusted Goldie’s position inside the sling carrier under her parka.