The Drifter (4 page)

“Oh!” she said, her hand going to her throat. “Sorry about that.”

“Freddy Singleton, meet Amanda Drake and her son,” Belinda said. “I didn't catch the baby's name, Amanda.”

Amanda lifted her chin. “Bartholomew.”

“What a lovely name,” Belinda said, earning Amanda's immediate loyalty.

“I'm pleased to meet you,” Freddy said, coming forward with her hand extended.

Amanda barely managed to return the handshake as Bartholomew began wriggling and protesting. Amanda could read questions in Freddy's eyes, but the woman voiced none of them.

“We need your office as a place to change this little boy,” Belinda said.

“That's fine.” Freddy glanced out toward the pool as the cowboy hoisted himself out. “I think I'll be going now, anyway.”

Belinda smiled. “I would, if I were you. I doubt if the water cooled him off any.”

“He is so pigheaded!” Freddy said, edging toward the front door as a dripping Ry McGuinnes headed purposefully in her direction. “Well, see you later. Gotta run.”

As she dashed out the front door, her wet fiancé entered through the back, his jaw rigid. “Freddy!” he called. Then he glanced over at Belinda and Amanda. “Afternoon, ladies.” He tipped his hat, sending a stream of water to the tiled floor.

“Ry, this is Amanda Drake and her son, Bartholomew,” Belinda said. “Amanda, this is Ry McGuinnes.”

His intense blue eyes widened as he looked at the tiny baby squirming and squalling in her arms. He started to say something but closed his mouth again.

“We have to get this baby's diaper changed,” Belinda said, turning Amanda toward an office off the main room. “And you'll need to dry off or get back outside. We can talk later.”

“Sure.” Ry touched the brim of his hat. “Nice to have met you, Ms. Drake.”

Amanda followed Belinda toward the office. Behind her she heard the front door open and Ry bellow Freddy's name again. It didn't sound to her like the call of a lovestruck fool, but what did she know? She had obviously left the familiar world of Eastern manners and conventions for the wild, wild West.

* * *

A
FTER
B
ARTHOLOMEW
had a clean diaper and a more pleasant disposition, Amanda felt ready to view her accommodations.

Belinda walked her over to the little cottage. Chloe, Dexter's black-and-white dog started to follow them, but Belinda ordered her back to the ranch house. “Did you bring any other kind of shoes?” she asked as Amanda struggled along the rutted road toward the cottage.

“They all have open toes, if that's what you mean,” Amanda said. “I knew it would be hot, so sandals seemed like the obvious choice.” She looked at Belinda's leather running shoes. “Apparently not.”

“Out here you're better off in these or boots. But don't worry. I'll bet we can find something you can borrow. You should have seen Ry McGuinnes when he first got here. Polished wing tips, designer tie, the works. Freddy fixed him up in no time.”

“I'll bet Chase didn't arrive in wing tips.”

Belinda laughed. “No, he didn't. Looked like a catalog cowboy at first, but he broke in those new duds real fast. He's taken to ranch life like a duck to water, especially now that Leigh's put him on a program to keep his back limber and healthy.”

Leigh again, Amanda thought sourly. And if Leigh looked anything like her sister Freddy, she'd be very attractive.

“In fact, Chase has become such a cowboy, I doubt he could be happy living back East now,” Belinda said.

Amanda got the message. “Don't worry, I'm not here to drag him back there,” she said.

“I'm very glad to hear that, because I think it would break his heart to have to choose between his obligation to you and his love of the ranch.”

“As I've told Chase, he has no obligation to me or Bartholomew.”

Belinda met the comment with silence broken only by the crunch of their shoes on the path and the drone of insects in the nearby bushes. “I see,” she said after a moment.

Amanda expected a question about why she was here at all, but none came, and for that she gave Belinda credit.

As they neared the cottage, Amanda's artistic sense was aroused by the quaint adobe structure, whitewashed like the main house, with the same red-tiled roof and a miniature porch shaded by several gracefully arching trees. Two Adirondack chairs on the porch reminded Amanda of her parents' beach house and made her feel more at home.

“I didn't expect so many trees in the desert,” she said to Belinda as they reached the porch.

“Many Easterners don't.” Belinda mounted the single step to the porch and produced a ring of keys from the pocket of her cotton trousers. “The ones with the avocado-green trunks and branches that look like feather dusters are palo verde, and the ones with the gnarled black trunks and delicate leaves are mesquite. Out here we prize our trees, because we prize the shade.”

“I can understand that.” She was drenched in perspiration. “Is the cottage air-conditioned?”

“Oh, yes.” Belinda opened the door and cool air poured out, beckoning Amanda inside. “And fortunately, Chase had the good sense to turn it on for you when he brought over your bags,” she added, stepping inside and walking over to adjust a crooked window shade.

Amanda followed her in and closed the door of the one-room cottage. The high-beamed ceiling and whitewashed walls gave it an open, airy look. Amanda's practiced eye noted genuine antique furnishings, and the comforter on the black walnut four-poster was trimmed in Battenburg lace. On a bedside table sat an imitation 1920s phone, and through the open bathroom door she glimpsed a clawfoot tub.

Belinda cleared her throat, and Amanda realized she expected a comment on the cottage. “It's lovely,” she said, and meant it.

Belinda smiled. “Most think so, even the ones who've stayed at fancy hotels. We're proud of the True Love. Did Chase tell you that John Wayne used to stay at the ranch when he was filming in Old Tucson?”

“No, he didn't.”

“Shame on that boy. Then he probably didn't tell you how the ranch got its name, either.”

Amanda sank to the edge of the bed and hoped it wasn't a long story. Belinda had been so good to her, but she was very tired, and Bartholomew would want to nurse again soon. “No, he didn't.”

“Thaddeus Singleton—he's the one who homesteaded the ranch in 1882—fell in love with a dance-hall girl and decided to marry her. Well, the proper ladies of Tucson thought it was scandalous and told him so. He married Clara anyway, and called the ranch the True Love, just to show those old busybodies. His brand is a heart with an arrow through it.”

“I've seen that logo.” Amanda was unwillingly drawn into the tale. “Did they live happily ever after?”

“Absolutely. Thaddeus built Clara a little adobe house, not much bigger than this cottage, over near what's now the north boundary of the ranch. He even burned that brand into the lintel above the door.”

“How sweet.”

“Up until six weeks ago, you could still see the ruins of it, but there was a stampede that leveled it. Freddy and Ry found the lintel, split in two, and Ry had it pieced together and framed. They're mounting it on an easel for the wedding ceremony out by the old homestead.”

“The wedding's going to be outside?” Amanda had a tough time imagining it in this heat.

“Outside, and on horseback,” Belinda said.

“Really!”

“It should be interesting, what with Ry's best man being a dude and all. He's a commodities trader from New York who says he can ride, but we've all heard that before.”

To her surprise, Amanda discovered that she wanted to see that wedding, especially after witnessing the pool incident between this intriguing couple. But she probably wouldn't be around day after tomorrow.

Bartholomew began to wiggle and make squeaking sounds.

“Looks as if the little fellow wants something to eat, so I'll leave you alone,” Belinda said. Then she glanced around and scowled. “I just noticed Chase doesn't have that cradle in here yet. I'll go ride herd on him and find out what he's doing with all his time.”

Amanda started to rise to bid Belinda a proper goodbye.

“Sit down, sit down,” Belinda said, waving her hand at Amanda. “You must be exhausted. I'll have that cradle over in a jiffy, and then you and the little one can take a nap before dinner. We eat at six. Will you be able to find your way back to the main house?”

“I'm sure I will. And thank you for all your help, Belinda.”

Belinda cast a fond look at Bartholomew. “I didn't realize I was so eager to have a baby around. We don't accept guests with children that young, so I don't get much chance to see really little ones. They brighten up the place. I guess I'll have to start pestering Ry and Freddy about having one.” She paused to gaze at Bartholomew again. “Well, I'd better go hunt down that Chase Lavette.” With a smile, Belinda left, closing the door firmly behind her.

Still holding Bartholomew, Amanda propped pillows against the headboard of the bed and kicked off her shoes before she unbuttoned her blouse and allowed him to nurse. With a sigh, she relaxed against the soft pillows. Maybe it was exhaustion, as Belinda had suggested, but she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. She hadn't realized keeping secrets could be so stressful. Here at the True Love her secret was out, and nobody had shunned her, which brought more relief than she could have imagined. Chase had been upset, but who could blame him?

Maybe all he needed was a little time to see that she'd done the right thing. Perhaps she wouldn't have to cut off all contact. As long as Chase planned to stay in Arizona, she could bring Bartholomew out here once in a while for visits and nobody back home would ever have to know the truth. Of course, that would depend upon Chase and what he'd agree to, but it seemed like an ideal situation. Eventually, she might even tell her friends and family about Chase, when time had softened the scandalous nature of her behavior in the cab of that big black truck.

She and Chase had produced such a beautiful baby that night, she thought, stroking Bartholomew's downy head as he suckled on her breast. Had she gone to a sperm bank as she'd told everyone, she couldn't have found a finer candidate to father her child. A memory of Chase floated up, not the angry Chase she'd dealt with today, but the daring man who'd dug through three feet of snow to free her from her car and had carried her, shivering and scared to death, back to his truck. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the truck, the warmth of his arms.

He hadn't kissed her then, or made any sexual advances. Once he'd settled her safely in the cab with a cup of coffee in her hands, he hadn't touched her except to rub her feet to make sure they weren't frost-bitten.

Then when he was convinced she was okay, he'd pulled the big truck onto the snowy road, determined to drive them both safely back to the city. They'd talked as he'd battled the treacherous road conditions for another hour, until finally he'd given up and pulled into a rest stop. That's when it had dawned on her that she was about to spend the night with this sexy truck driver, that prim and professional Amanda Drake had never had a one-night stand in her life and that it was an extremely tempting possibility.

Bartholomew's suckling grew less vigorous and she eased him away from her breast. It didn't look as if Chase would arrive with the cradle in time for the baby's nap, and she didn't trust putting him on the bed now that he'd begun to roll. Lifting him in her arms and reaching for a diaper to protect her shoulder, she climbed off the bed and studied the room while she burped him.

The floor would do, she decided, pulling the comforter off the bed and folding it awkwardly with one hand. Finally, she'd created a soft padded surface that would cushion Bartholomew as he slept. A nap would be nice for both of them, she thought with a sigh as she settled him on the comforter.

On her hands and knees, she was stroking his back when a movement from the bedskirt caught her eye.

The bedskirt, also made of Battenburg lace, fluttered gently. She wondered if a draft from the air conditioner had caused it. The lace fluttered again. But there is no breeze down here, she thought, her heart pounding, her hand reaching for Bartholomew.

From beneath the lace darted a forked tongue.

A
FTER NEARLY
a half hour of looking, Chase and Rosa found the cradle behind boxes of Christmas decorations in a little-used storeroom. With a dustcloth Rosa gave him, Chase cleaned the cobwebs from it and in the process noticed the handholds carved into the headboard and footboard were in the shape of a heart. He wiped the dust from the handholds with care.

Rosa returned with a clean quilt that she folded into a serviceable mattress. After thanking her, Chase picked up the cradle, his fingers fitting perfectly into the hearts on either end, and started for the cottage. Carrying a cradle wasn't how he'd pictured this little trip to visit Amanda, he thought with a grimace. Now the scenes he'd imagined taking place in the cottage weren't likely to happen, unless he'd completely misread the signals she'd been giving him.

About a hundred yards from the cottage he heard a screech. He dropped the cradle and started forward just as the door flew open and Amanda bolted out, barefoot, with her blouse undone and Bartholomew clutched against one shoulder, screaming lustily.

“Snake!” she cried above the sound of Bartholomew's screams. She ran toward him, her eyes wide, her face the color of snow.

His blood froze in his veins. “Where?”

“Under...under the bed!”

He tasted the metallic flavor of fear. “Did it bite you?” He reached for the wailing child. “Is the baby—”

“No!” She stepped out of reach. “We're not bitten! Get it out, Chase! Just get it out!”

He glanced around for a stick and broke a forked one off a palo verde. “Stay there.”

“Don't worry.” She gasped for breath. “I'm never going back in that place.”

He approached the door of the cottage with caution and listened, trying to tune out the baby's crying. Rattlers didn't always rattle, he'd learned, but if he heard the buzzing sound first, at least he'd have a better idea what he was dealing with. The cottage was silent. He knocked the stick against the open door. He heard nothing but the baby's ratcheting complaint.

With slow, even steps he walked through the door and cast a look over the polished oak boards covered with Indian-patterned throw rugs. On the far side of the room a white comforter lay folded on the floor, an indentation in the middle where the baby had obviously been lying. He shuddered. Amanda should have put him in the bathtub, but then, she didn't know. A New York copywriter would have no experience with snakes.

Not that a snake was even supposed to be in here. A maid had cleaned the room just that morning. He wondered if the reptile could have slipped through the door when he'd brought Amanda's suitcases over earlier, but he doubted it. He might be a little distracted by Amanda and the baby's arrival, but not
that
distracted.

Since the snake wasn't coming out to greet him, he supposed he'd have to search for it. Too bad it was probably hiding under the bed. He didn't relish putting his face down there at striking level to find out whether or not it was a rattler. Using the stick to lift the bedskirt at the foot of the four-poster, he hunkered down and peered into the shadows. His gut tightened. There was something under there, all right. Something big. He sure wished he had a flashlight.

Bartholomew's crying lessened, then stopped. Chase didn't like the idea of the little guy's being out in the sun too much longer. Time to get the damn snake out from under the bed. He rounded to the side, lifted the skirt with one hand and began to poke the thick body. If it was a rattler, it might come charging out at him. Despite the air conditioner blasting through the cottage, he began to sweat as he poised on the balls of his feet, ready to react.

With a dry whispering sound the snake began to uncoil. He waited, heart pounding, to see which side it would choose. It started moving away from him. Chase eased onto the mattress and inched to the other side, the forked stick poised. The shape of the head would tell him everything, but he hadn't been able to see it in the murky light sifting under the bedskirt. He held his breath.

The bedskirt moved, and the snake started out, its body thick as a baseball bat. Chase shoved the stick down hard just behind the creature's head, which was oval, not triangular like a rattler's. The intruder was a very large, very harmless, bull snake.

Weak with relief, he had a hard time holding the stick steady. Fortunately, the snake had become as motionless as a length of cable, as if complete stillness would keep it safe. It was several seconds before Chase gathered the coordination to reach down and grasp the snake behind the head where his stick had kept it pinned.

He wriggled off the bed and hauled the snake up. Chase was nearly six feet tall, and he had to hold the snake head-high before its tail no longer touched the oak floor.

“I have the snake, Amanda,” he called out the door. “It's big, but it's harmless. I'm coming out. Don't be scared. It won't hurt you.”

“You mean it's still
alive?
”

“You shouldn't kill them,” Chase said, walking toward the door as the snake undulated in the air. “They help keep things in balance around here.”

As he walked out on the porch, she gasped and stumbled backward, nearly running into Chloe, Dexter's dog poised right behind her. Chloe's ears pricked forward and she gave a sharp bark.

“Careful,” Chase warned. The upended cradle lay a few feet beyond where she stood. “You could trip over the dog, and if you fall, there's a lot of prickly stuff you could land in.”

“Of course there is.
Everything
around here is dangerous. I'm in the middle of `Wild Kingdom'!”

Chloe wagged her tail and sat down next to Amanda. Chase could have sworn the dog, a golden retriever and sheepdog mix, had decided to guard Amanda and the baby.

“Maybe you'd better go back inside while I take this guy out and let him go,” he said.

“Oh, God. You're letting it go?”

“I'll walk pretty far out.” Chase stepped off the porch and Amanda backed up another step, nearly landing on Chloe's tail. “Besides, this fellow attacks rodents, not people. This snake is no threat to you or the baby. I promise. Now go on inside and wait for me. I'll be back real soon.”

She shook her head.

He controlled his irritation. “Amanda, it's safe now, and the baby should be out of the sun. Chloe will react if there's anything else in there to be afraid of.”

“I won't go in, and stop calling him
the baby!
If you can call a dog by her name, you can call him by his name, which is Bartholomew!”

God, how she tested his patience. “But I didn't get any say in that choice, did I?”

“And you hate his name.” Her lips quivered as her gaze remained riveted on the snake he held aloft.

“No, I don't hate it. I just—aw, hell, Amanda. It's hot and I'm holding a very athletic snake. Can we discuss this later?”

“Just get that thing out of here,” she said, her voice strained.

“You should go inside.”

“No.”

She looked pretty close to hysteria, so he decided not to insist. “Okay. You and...Bartholomew wait here. Chloe, stay with Amanda.” The dog wagged her tail in response.

Chase started off through the desert as quickly as he could walk, considering he was wearing boots, avoiding cactus and carrying a six-foot snake that very much wanted to be loose. “Take it easy,” he told the snake. “You were probably more scared than she was.” Although he doubted it. Amanda had been pretty freaked-out.

She was right about his reaction to the baby's name. He didn't like it. Maybe that was because he'd had no say in naming the kid, but more than that, he thought “Bartholomew” sounded too long and involved for the kind of son he'd like to have, a sturdy little boy who lived to run and throw balls and eat ice cream. A kid who—

Chase brought his imagination to a halt. Where had all that come from? He'd never wanted a kid. Or had never admitted it. But then Amanda had arrived with his son, and unexpected dreams were surfacing. Dreams of a family. For all the good those dreams would do him. Just as Amanda hadn't given him any say in naming the baby, she hadn't invited him to help raise the boy, either. He'd have to fight for that right, and he didn't like the idea of what that might do to Bartholomew.

About two hundred yards from the cottage, he figured he could set the snake free. He lowered it slowly to the ground, released the head last and stepped away. In five seconds the snake was gone, taking off through the creosote bushes. Chase turned and hurried back to where Amanda still stood in the path, Chloe stationed right beside her.

“Where did it go?” she asked.

He tried a smile out on her. “Packed a bag and lit out for Texas.”

“Don't try to joke about it. That snake was headed straight for Bartholomew.”

“I guess I would have jumped out of my skin myself if I'd been there,” he said, softening his tone. “Now let's get him back inside.”

“Not until you check everything in the cottage.” Her blue eyes still reflected full-scale panic.

“Then at least wait up on the porch in the shade,” he said, taking her elbow.

She was stiff, but she allowed him to guide her to the porch. Chloe followed right beside her, panting loudly in the heat. “I don't belong here,” Amanda said. “I want you to give me your medical history now, so I can take a flight out. Maybe I can even leave tonight.”

“We'll talk about it in a minute.” His first concern was getting them all into a cool environment. He left Amanda and the baby on the porch and took Chloe with him into the cottage. “Check it out, girl,” he said, and Chloe seemed to understand, because she circled the perimeter of the room and sniffed every corner. Then she snuffled under the bed, obviously still smelling traces of the snake. Chase scoured every nook and cranny, including a closet, all the dresser drawers and a cupboard in the bathroom. He found only one small spider, a harmless kind, which he captured and tossed out the door as he came back to the porch.

“All clear,” he said.

She entered slowly, her gaze sweeping the room several times.

“I'll get the cradle,” Chase said. “I hope I didn't break it.”

“It doesn't matter. I'm not staying.”

Chase went after the cradle, anyway. He sincerely hoped he hadn't broken it when he'd dropped it. It had probably been built for a Singleton baby somewhere back in time, and he'd bet both Freddy and Leigh had been rocked to sleep in it. For a reason he didn't want to explore too thoroughly, he wanted Bartholomew to sleep in it, too. And he hoped Amanda wouldn't take the next plane out of town. Not because he wanted anything more to do with her, but because he couldn't say goodbye to his son just yet. Maybe in a few days he'd have it all worked out in his mind, but for now, he wanted that baby around.

The cradle was still in one piece, but the quilt had fallen in the dirt. He shook it out and tucked it under his arm. He'd noticed an extra blanket in the closet that he could use instead. Tossing the quilt on one of the porch chairs as he walked by, he carried the cradle into the room and shut the door behind him.

Amanda stood by the table jiggling Bartholomew against her shoulder as she stared out the window. “I'm sorry I blew up, but I want to go home, Chase,” she said softly. “This isn't my type of place. Will you help me get back?”

“Not yet.”

She looked up at him, rebellion flickering in her eyes. “I can just call a cab. I haven't even unpacked.”

“I thought you needed information before you left.”

“Maybe it's best if we communicate by phone.”

His gut twisted. She could leave, and he had no power to stop her. He swallowed. “Please don't leave yet.”

She studied him for several moments. “Chase, a snowstorm brought us together,” she said finally. “Otherwise, we'd never have met because our lives were so different. They still are, even more so now that you're out here. Give me what I need and let me go. It's the best thing we can do with a situation we didn't ask for.”

He struggled with the urges coursing through him. He'd never felt possessive about a woman in his life. Easy come, easy go had been a motto that had served him well for years. Yet he couldn't imagine watching Amanda walk out of his life. She was the mother of his child. That created a bond he couldn't take lightly. A shrink would probably say it was because in his own case, that bond had been so carelessly broken. At any rate, apparently Amanda didn't feel connected to him; she could hardly wait to get away from the True Love.

“I told you, I'm not very good at remembering things,” he said. “I need to make some phone calls before I can give you what you've asked for. I haven't had a chance to do that yet.”

“Can you do it now?”

“Maybe.” Once he figured out where to start. He'd been out of touch for so long, he might find only dead-end streets. “I'll make some calls, Amanda, but I can't promise I'll get you quick results. If you really want to fly out now, I could mail you something, but I'm lousy at writing stuff out. I'd probably miss some detail you'd want.”

She heaved a long, shaky sigh. “You're right. It's late, and we're both tired, and Bartholomew's been through enough for one day. I should at least stay until tomorrow, but...” She raised her eyes to his. “That snake frightened the daylights out of me, Chase. I don't know if I can sleep in this cottage tonight.”

He almost offered to stay with her, but he thought she might misunderstand the offer. Maybe he didn't even mean it so innocently. Scared as he'd been when she ran out the door and shouted the word
snake,
he'd still noticed her unbuttoned blouse and had glimpsed her bare breast. Sometime during the incident, she'd refastened her blouse, but that didn't eliminate the air of sensuality that still clung to her like morning dew on clover. He might not love her, but he definitely lusted after her. “I'll bet Dexter would let you have Chloe for the night,” he suggested.