Duncan's Bride (18 page)

She felt drained, more exhausted than before. She lay limply as he knelt between her legs and tore at his clothes, throwing them aside. She could barely open her eyes as he positioned himself and then invaded her with a slow, heavy thrust that carried him into her to the hilt. As always, she was faintly startled by the overwhelming sense of fullness as she adjusted to him.

His full weight was on her, crushing her downward. There was nothing gentlemanly about him now, only the need to enter her as deeply as possible, to carry the embrace to the fullest so that there was no part of her that didn't feel his possession. His lovemaking was often dominant, but she could usually meet it with her own strength. She couldn't now; there was a savagery in him that had to be appeased, a hunger that had to be fed. Even though he restrained himself so that he never hurt her, she was helpless to do anything but lie there and accept him, and feel her passion rising within her again with a beating rhythm.

He paused when his tension reached the critical level, not wanting it to end just yet. His green eyes glittered as he framed her face in his hands and measured the strength of her arousal.

He brushed his mouth against her ear. “Did you know that a man normally has…”

She listened to the words rustling in her ear, her hands tightening on his back as she struggled for control. Though she loved their trivia game, she wasn't in the mood for it now. Finally she gasped, “I wonder why there are so many, when one will do.”

In his best big-bad-wolf voice, admittedly ragged, he said, “The better to get you pregnant, my dear,” and he began moving again, hard and fast. And, sometime within the next hour, he did.

R
EESE WENT OVER
the figures again, but the totals didn't change. He got to his feet and looked out the window, his hands knotted into fists and his jaw set. All those years of work. All those
damn
years of work, for nothing.

He had done everything he could think of, cut down on every expense until there was nothing left that could be cut, and still those figures spelled it out in black and white: he had lost. The January blizzard that had killed half of his herd had pushed him so far under that the bank couldn't carry him any longer. He couldn't make the mortgage, and there would be no more extensions.

He had three options: one, he could let the bank foreclose, and they would lose everything; two, he could file chapter eleven bankruptcy and keep the ranch but ruin his credit; and three, he could accept Robert's offer to be an investor. He smiled grimly. Number three was an option only if Robert's offer was still open, considering that he had made it when the ranch was profitable and now it was going under fast.

He had been so close to making it. He thought that was what made the final defeat so bitter, that he had been close enough to see the end of debt. What April had started almost eight years before was finally coming to fruition: the destruction of his ranch. Who knew what her reasoning had been? Maybe she had done it
because he had loved the ranch so much, more than he had ever even thought he loved her. It was his lifeblood, and he was losing it, unless Robert Cannon still wanted to invest. Reese went over the options again, but Robert was his only chance, and a slim one at that, because when Robert saw the figures he would have to be a hell of a gambler to go through with the deal. Reese didn't hold out much hope, but he would make the effort, because he couldn't do otherwise. He didn't have just himself to consider now; he had Madelyn, and he would do what he could to keep her home for her. She hadn't married him expecting bankruptcy or foreclosure.

It was March; snow was still on the ground, but the throbbing promise of spring was in the air. In another week or so buds would begin to swell on the trees and bushes; the land was alive, but the taste of ashes was in his mouth, because this might be the last spring he would ever see on his ranch.

He could hear Maddie in the kitchen, humming along with the radio as she gathered the ingredients for baking a cake. She'd gotten good at baking, so good that his mouth began watering every time those warm smells drifted his way. She was happy here. He hadn't married her expecting anything more than a work partner, but instead he'd gotten a warm, intelligent, amusing and sexy woman who loved him. She never seemed embarrassed about it, never tried to pressure him into giving her more than he could; she simply loved him and didn't try to hide it.

He didn't know how he would tell her, but she had a right to know.

She was licking cake batter from a wooden spoon
when he walked in, and she gave him a wink as she held the spoon out. “Wanna lick?”

The batter was on her fingers, too. He started at her fingers and worked his way up the handle of the spoon, his tongue scooping up the sweet batter. When the spoon was clean he turned to her fingers to make certain he'd gotten it all. “Any more?”

She produced the bowl and swiped her finger around the edge, then popped it in her mouth laden with batter. “Your turn.”

They cleaned the bowl like two children. That was probably Maddie's most endearing trait, the ease with which she found enjoyment in life, and she had taught him how to have fun again. It was just simple things, like their trivia game or licking a bowl, but he had lost the knack for having fun until she had entered his life and taken over.

He hated having to tell her that they might lose their home. A man was supposed to take care of his wife. Maybe that was old-fashioned and chauvinistic, but that was the way he felt. It ate at his pride like acid not to be able to provide for her.

He sighed and put his hands on her waist, his face grim. “We have to talk.”

She eyed him cautiously. “I've never liked conversations that begin with that phrase.”

“You won't like this one, either. It's serious.”

She searched his face, her eyes becoming somber as she read his expression. “What is it?”

“When we lost half the herd, it put us under. I can't make the mortgage.” That was it in a nutshell, as succinct and bald as he could make it.

“Can we get an extension—”

“No. If I had the full herd as collateral, then it would
be possible, but I don't have enough beef on the hoof to cover the outstanding debt.”

“Robert said you have the best head for business he's ever seen. What do we have to do, and what can we do?”

He outlined the three things that could happen, and she listened to him with an intent expression. When he had finished she asked, “Why don't you think Robert's offer would still stand?”

“Because the ranch is a losing proposition now.”

“You're still here, and it was you he was willing to bet on, not X number of cows.” Then she said, “There's another option you haven't mentioned.”

“What's that?”

“I told you before, I have some money—”

He dropped his hands. “No. I've told
you
before.”

“Why not?” she asked calmly.

“I've told you that before, too. It hasn't changed.”

“Do you mean you'd actually give up the ranch before you would let me put my money in it?”

His eyes looked like flint. “Yes, that's exactly what I mean.” Maddie had changed a lot of his attitudes, but that one was still intact and as strong as ever. A business partner was one thing, because rights were limited by contract. A marriage was something else, subject to the whims of a judge with little regard to fairness. April had proved that to him.

Madelyn turned away before her expression betrayed her. Not for anything would she let him see how that hurt her. With perfect control she said, “It's your ranch, your decision.”

“Exactly, and it will stay my ranch, my decision, until the day I get thrown off.”

Her mind was busy as she cooked dinner, and determination grew in her. If he thought she would stand by
and see the ranch go under when she had the means to save it, he would learn differently. She didn't know how much the mortgage was, and she had told him the truth when she'd said that her trust fund was far from being a fortune, but surely it was enough to buy them some time until the ranch was on a firmer footing.

He'd never said he loved her. Maybe he didn't, but Madelyn thought he was at least fond of her. He certainly desired her, though it was true that a man could physically desire a woman without caring for her as a person. If he had lived with her for nine months and still thought she was capable of doing the sort of thing April had done, then perhaps he didn't care for her as much as she'd thought. She had been happy, but now her balloon was fast going flat.

Now wasn't the time to tell him she was pregnant. Or maybe it was. Maybe knowing about the baby would bring him to his senses, reassure him that she wasn't going anywhere, and that they had to use whatever means were at their disposal to save their child's inheritance.

But she didn't tell him. His mood varied from taciturn to biting sarcasm, the way it did when he was angry, and she didn't feel like prodding him into a full-scale blowup. Though she was only two months along, she was already beginning to feel the effects of pregnancy in lower energy levels and a slightly upset stomach—not the best time to battle with her husband.

He was still in a bad mood when he left the next morning, and he took a lunch with him, which meant he wouldn't be back until it was time for dinner. Madelyn hesitated for maybe five minutes.

She didn't like going behind his back, but if that was the way it had to be, then she would face the music
later. It was a long drive to Billings; she might not make it back before he did, but that was another bridge she would cross when she came to it. While she was there she would also phone around for an obstetrician, because there wasn't any sort of doctor in Crook, and she didn't know of one any closer than Billings. It could get interesting around her delivery time, she thought, with her doctor a three-hour drive away.

She hastily dressed, got her checkbook and the necessary documents, and ran out to the car. It had snow tires on it if she needed them, but the highways were clear, so she hoped she would make good time.

She drove quickly but carefully, thankful that there wasn't much traffic to contend with, and reached the bank at eleven-thirty. She knew who Reese dealt with, having accompanied him before, and she only had to wait about fifteen minutes before the man could see her.

He was smiling the way bankers do, his hand outstretched. “Good morning, Mrs. Duncan. What can we do for you?”

“Good morning, Mr. VanRoden. I'd like to know the amount of our outstanding mortgage.”

He stroked his upper lip as if he had a mustache, which he didn't, and looked thoughtful. “Well, I'm not certain I can tell you. You see, the mortgage is only in your husband's name.”

She didn't bother trying to argue with bureaucracy or banking rules and went straight to the point. “If it's under two hundred thousand dollars, I want to pay it off.”

There was nothing that got a banker's attention like money. He chewed his lip, studying her. She sat very calmly and let him try to pick up what clues he could from her appearance, though she had deliber
ately dressed that morning in one of her New York suits and twisted her hair up. If he could read anything in a charcoal suit with a pink silk blouse under it and an iridescent peacock pinned to the lapel, he was welcome to draw any conclusions he could.

He made up his mind with a minimum of dithering. “Let me check the file,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

She waited, certain of the outcome. No bank would refuse the repayment of a loan, regardless of who was doing the paying. She supposed a rank stranger could walk in off the street and pay off any loan he chose, as long as he had the means to do it.

VanRoden was back in less than five minutes with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “I believe we're ready to talk business, Mrs. Duncan. Mr. Duncan doesn't have enough in his checking account to cover the loan, so how were you proposing to pay it?”

“I have a trust fund, Mr. VanRoden. I transferred it from New York to another bank here in Billings. First, is the outstanding debt on the mortgage less than two hundred thousand?”

He coughed. “Yes, it is.”

“Then I'll be back. I'm going to my bank now to have the trust fund transferred into my checking account. I've had full access to it since I was twenty-five, so there's no problem.”

He pushed the telephone toward her. “Call them, so they'll let you in. They'll be closing for lunch shortly.”

She smiled at him as she reached for the phone. “By the way, do you know a good obstetrician?”

A phone call later, it had been arranged for her to enter the other bank by a side door. An hour later she was back at the first bank, cashier's check in hand for the amount VanRoden had given her before she left.

She signed the necessary papers and walked out of the bank with the deed to the ranch and the papers that said the debt had been paid in full. She also had an appointment the following week with the obstetrician VanRoden's wife had used. She grinned as she got into the car. Contacts had their uses, even unlikely ones. Poor Mr. VanRoden had looked startled at being asked to recommend an obstetrician, then had offered his congratulations.

She had no illusions that everything was going to be fine now just because she had paid the mortgage. She hadn't done it lightly; she had done it with the full knowledge that Reese would be furious, but she was willing to fight for their future, their child's future. She had to deal with the scars left by Reese's first marriage, and this was far more serious than painting the house. As a matter of fact, he
had
drawn up a note stating that he would repay her for the cost of the paint and estimated labor, which she thought was ridiculous, but was a fair measure of how determined he was in the matter.

But knowing she had to tell him and knowing how to tell him were two different things. She couldn't just say, “I went into Billings today to make an appointment with an obstetrician because I'm pregnant, and by the way, while I was there I paid off the mortgage.” On the other hand, that was certainly a good example of killing two birds with one stone.

She was still worrying it over in her mind when she got home at about four-thirty. There was no sign of Reese's truck, so perhaps she had made it without him even knowing she'd been gone. If he had come back to the house for any reason during the day, he'd ask questions as soon as he got back, and one thing she
wouldn't do was lie to him. Delaying telling him about the mortgage was different from lying to him about it.

It was amazing how tired she was, and equally amazing how she could feel so exhausted but still feel well.

She would be having his baby sometime late in October or early in November, if she had figured correctly. The knowledge of it was like a great inner warmth, and she had never wanted anything more than to share it with him. Only the worry he had been enduring over the ranch had kept her from telling him, because she didn't want to give him something else to worry about. The stern lines in his face were deeper, and his eyes were habitually grim these days, as he faced losing everything he had worked so hard for, for so long. How could she burden him with the knowledge that now they had medical bills to consider, as well?

How could she
not
tell him?

As she changed clothes, her fatigue suddenly became overwhelming. She fought it, knowing that it was time to begin cooking dinner, but the thought of all that preparation made the fatigue even worse, and her stomach suddenly rolled. She broke out in a sweat and sank weakly onto the bed. What a great time for morning sickness to hit—late in the afternoon on a day when she needed all her wits about her. She sat there for a minute, and the nausea faded, but the fatigue was worse. There was no way she could summon the energy even to go downstairs; exhaustion pulled on her limbs and eyelids, dragging both down. With a sigh she stretched out on the bed, her eyes already closing. Just a short nap; that was all she needed.