The Drifter (7 page)

Amanda lifted the carrier in her arms. “Bartholomew's no papoose.”

“He'll be okay. Babies are tougher than you think.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you've never had little brothers or sisters, how come you know so much about babies?”

“I pay attention. Here, let me take him.” He relieved her of the infant seat before she had a chance to protest, and felt a rush of pleasure that he had his son back in his grasp. This father business was dangerously habit-forming.

On the way back through the patio he spotted Dexter sitting in his usual corner with Chloe at his feet. “Let's go pick up your bodyguard,” he suggested as he walked toward Dexter.

Chloe lifted her head and thumped her tail against the concrete.

“Baby,” announced Dexter with a grin.

“Yeah, and its time for him to turn in,” Chase said, crouching next to Dexter's chair so the old man could get another look at Bartholomew. “Is it still okay if Chloe stays at the cottage tonight?”

“It's okay.” Dexter tucked a bony knuckle under Bartholomew's chin. “Smile, some?”

Bartholomew responded with a gummy grin.

Chase's heart swelled. He could see what Leigh meant about losing her heart to that smile. “He's sure taken a shine to you, Dex.”

“Yep.”

“Guess we'd better get him tucked in, though.”

“Yep.” Dexter gave Bartholomew another chuck under the chin before Chase stood, lifting the infant seat.

He grunted as pain squeezed his lower back.

“Chase?” Amanda's forehead puckered with worry.

Great, just what he needed, to wimp out now and show he couldn't even carry his own kid around. “I'm fine,” he said.

“It's your back, isn't it? Let me—”

“No, I'm really fine. See you later, Dex.”

“Yep.”

“And thanks for the loan of Chloe.” Chase whistled and the dog came instantly to his side.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Amanda asked as they crossed the patio in the pink light of sunset.

“Yes.” The spasm was easing a little, but he desperately needed to get into the pool and swim the laps he'd missed today. Leigh had said stress would make things worse, and as always, she was right.

“Why didn't Dexter eat in the dining room tonight?” Amanda asked.

“He can't take too much confusion. The stroke messed up the circuits in his brain, and he has to concentrate really hard to find the words he wants. He has something called aphasia. When a lot of people are talking, it's an overload situation. Quiet routine is the best thing for him.”

Amanda nodded. “And so you just let him stay on, even though he doesn't have a specific function at the ranch. I think that's wonderful. Some efficiency expert would have Dexter out of here in no time.”

“But then we'd lose Belinda, and I don't know if the ranch could function without her.”

“You mean if something happened to Belinda, Dexter would be out on his ear?”

The idea took Chase by surprise. “No, I guess not. Dexter's as much a part of this ranch as anyone.”

“Exactly as I thought. It's nice to see business partners with heart.”

Chase fell silent. Affection for the ranch and the people who lived here was sneaking up on him, muddying his thinking. He needed to remember that he still wanted to sell the place one day soon, even if Ry seemed to be waffling on that point these days. Chase had figured out that if he made enough profit on the ranch sale, he might be able to return to New York in style and claim his place as Bartholomew's father. But selling the ranch meant ripping people like Belinda and Dexter out of the only home they'd ever known, as Leigh had so cleverly pointed out today. She knew good and well that would bother his conscience.

They walked along the path, lit by ankle-high landscape lights, the silence punctuated only by the chirp of crickets in the creosote bushes.

“It's beautiful out here this time of day,” Amanda said after a while. “I've never seen sunset colors like that, so fiery.”

Chase remembered he'd intended to tell her that her hair reminded him of the colors in the evening sky. But that was when he thought they'd be strolling back to the cottage for a night of lovemaking. “It's nice.”

“Are you watching for snakes?”

“Sure am. So is Chloe. Guess I could have sent you back with her.” He should have thought of that, but of course he'd been determined to protect her himself, while he still had the chance. And he might be about to pay the price. The weight of Bartholomew in the infant seat began to pull at his back muscles. He shifted the burden cautiously.

For the first time in weeks, his back seized up on him. “Damn!”

“What?” She clutched his arm. “A snake?”

“No.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “My...back. Take the infant seat.” When she'd relieved him of it, he doubled over.

“I'll get help.”

“No. Just...give me a minute.” He hoped to hell a minute would do it. Chloe nuzzled his hand.

“Can you walk?”

He groaned. “Maybe.”

“Then come this way. We're closer to the cottage than we are to the house.”

The pain made him too weak to resist as she guided him, hobbling like somebody Dexter's age, up the path. Commanding Chloe to stay with him, she hurried inside the cottage and returned a short time later to help him up the steps and through the door. She closed it behind him.

If he didn't hurt so damned much, he would have laughed. He was inside her cottage at night with the door closed, and he was barely capable of moving, let alone making love. He sank to his hands and knees on the Indian rug, and his hat toppled to the floor in front of him.

Chloe circled him once, obviously unsure whether to help him or guard the baby.

“Go lie down,” he rasped. She trotted to one corner and plopped to the floor.

“Tell me what I can do to help,” Amanda said just as Bartholomew started to cry.

Chase forced the words out past his pain. “Take care of the baby. And don't step on my hat.”

“But you—oh, damn. Okay. I'll change him.” She whisked Chase's hat off the floor and out of his sight.

He tried the imaging techniques Leigh had taught him and pictured himself cradled in warmth while gentle fingers worked lovingly at his tortured muscles. The picture wouldn't hold through the steady wailing of his son.

“I guess he's still hungry.” Amanda sounded upset. “Let me call someone. Maybe Leigh could—”

“Feed him,” Chase muttered. “Leigh's gone for the night.”

“All right. I'll feed him.”

Chase closed his eyes and imagined himself sliding into hot mineral springs. Hell, he might as well imagine someone handing him a cold beer. Might as well picture Amanda, wearing a string bikini, sliding into the mineral springs with him.

“I have one hand free.”

He glanced sideways to see her kneeling on the rug, the nursing baby balanced in the crook of her left arm.

“I can massage with one hand,” she said almost impatiently, as if talking to someone who wasn't very bright. “Just tell me how Leigh does it.”

Not with her blouse open and a baby at her breast,
he thought. But her concern for him had apparently overridden her modesty. And maybe she could ease the bunching of his muscles. “Okay.” He took a shallow breath. “The heel of your hand, circular motion, above my belt.”

He hadn't expected her to pull his shirttail out to do it, but that was her first move. He found himself dealing with the sweet pressure of her soft hand on his bare skin, and he wanted to weep with frustration. He'd spent hours recalling the intimate nature of her caresses. He'd loved imagining those caresses being repeated, expanded....

“Here?”

“Yes. Harder.”

She bore down, and he gasped.

“Too much?”

“No. Keep going.” He lowered his head and tried to help with deepening breaths and a conscious loosening of his muscles. Close to his ear the sound of soft sucking reminded him of the nursing baby and unfastened buttons, velvet breasts and firm nipples. As Amanda rose higher on her knees to reach across to his right side, the silk of her blouse brushed against his bare back. Despite his pain, his mouth moistened with need. Then there was the scent of her—that expensive cologne mixed with baby powder and the tantalizing fragrance of mother's milk. He wondered if he'd go insane right here in this little cottage.

“Is it getting any better?”

“Some.” Or maybe the intensity of his desire was making him forget the spasm in his back.

“Good. Let me switch Bartholomew.”

His peripheral vision had always been excellent, which had been a plus when he'd driven trucks. Now that talent taunted him with a pretty good view of Amanda sitting back on her heels, undoing the other cup of her nursing bra, and giving her right breast to Bartholomew. She didn't bother to fasten the left side.

Maybe she thought he was blind with pain, but if so, she was very mistaken. He took in every detail of each creamy mound, traced with delicate blue veins and crowned with moist tips darkened to burgundy. He'd never realized that a mother nursing her child could be such a turn-on. Sore back or not, he had to get out of here before he humiliated himself by begging.

Clenching his jaw, he brought one booted foot under him.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” Sweat stood out on his forehead as he got to his feet. He couldn't stand straight, but he could stand.

“You're in no condition to walk. Let me—”

“You've been a big help,” he said, staggering toward the door. “I'll be fine.”

“You won't! Let me work on those muscles some more.”

He paused, his back to her. “And then what?”

There was a significant silence. “What do you mean?”

“After you've finished the massage, will you refasten your blouse and send me on my way?”

Another silence lengthened between them. “Chase, I was only trying to take care of you. I wasn't trying to seduce you.”

“Then I guess the seduction was a bonus. Congratulations.” Standing as tall as possible, he hobbled out the door.

I
T WAS THE WORST NIGHT
of Chase's adult life. The only good news was that Ry and Freddy had organized the wedding guests for a boisterous game of Trivial Pursuit and he had the patio to himself. He soaked in the Jacuzzi until his toes wrinkled and then forced himself to swim ten laps. He repeated that routine until he was loose enough to sit through a few telephone calls, but the hour he spent on the phone in his room yielded no answers to Amanda's questions. Finally, he went into the kitchen, pulled a six-pack of beer from the walk-in refrigerator and headed back for some more soaking and laps. Ry came out once to ask if he wanted to join the group and he begged off in the name of pursuing his therapy.

Eventually, the game broke up and everyone trailed off to bed. Chase was sitting in the Jacuzzi, working on his fourth beer and feeling extremely sorry for himself when Leigh arrived home and strolled out to the patio.

She glanced at the beer.

“Help yourself,” he said.

“Sure you can spare it? Looks like you need all six.”

“Be nice to me, Leigh.”

She unhooked a can of beer from a plastic ring and popped the top. “Your back went out tonight, didn't it?”

“Among other things. How was your date?”

“Boring.” She pulled up a chaise longue and sat on the edge of it. “We didn't laugh at the same jokes in the movie.”

“Bad sign.”

“Yeah.” She stood up and patted the chaise. “Come on up here and let me work the kinks out for you.”

“You don't have to.”

“Don't be an idiot, Lavette. That macho pride doesn't cut any ice with me.”

“Okay, okay.” He climbed out gingerly, using the steps and the rail. Yesterday he would have been able to hoist himself out using his arms. “I hate this.”

“I suspect you were a little too proud of your male physique, my friend. The universe has a way of evening things out.”

“The universe has been chopping away at me ever since the day I was born.” Chase eased himself facedown on the chaise. “I'm so far from even, it's pathetic.”

“My, we are into self-pity tonight.”

Chase muttered an oath.

“Well, pain does put people in a foul mood,” Leigh said, sounding more sympathetic. She dropped to her knees and began an expert massage of his back.

At her touch, Chase could feel the healing begin. “You have a real gift for this, Leigh. You could set up a clinic and charge people.” He congratulated himself on coming up with the perfect solution to what Leigh would do once the ranch sold. He'd been thinking about that tonight, as if he didn't have enough to worry about.

“Nope.” Leigh leaned into the massage. “I have a theory that once I started charging, I'd lose my abilities. Did you know I'm also a water witch?”

“A what?”

“I can find water with a forked stick. I've been able to do it ever since I was a little girl. But my dad warned me never to charge for the service, or I'd lose the gift. I think it's the same with massage.”

Chase sighed. Another of his great plans down the drain. But his back was improving radically. He considered it one of the great mysteries of nature that Leigh could give him a rubdown and he felt no sexual arousal at all. One soft caress from Amanda, however, and he was a basket case.

Leigh paused to sip her beer. “Did Belinda find that cradleboard?”

“I don't know, but it doesn't matter. I wouldn't dare take Amanda and the baby out.”

“Why not?”

“Look at me! What if my back seized up out on the trail?”

“I guess you could ride home facedown over the saddle.”

“Not funny, Leigh.”
Ride home.
How easily she'd said that. Home wasn't a foreign concept to Leigh, but it was to Chase, who'd never allowed himself to call anyplace home. When an apartment got too cozy, he moved, just to keep in practice. He'd become very good at leaving.

“I'd give it a try,” she said.

He had to think for a moment to remember what she was talking about. Oh, yeah. The horseback ride with Amanda.

“I gather you don't have much time to settle things between you two,” Leigh added.

“That's right.”

Leigh resumed the massage. “The way I see it, your best hope is to get her to bring Bartholomew back to the ranch every few months. If she has a good time here, she might be more willing to do that.”

“Define a good time.”

Leigh chuckled. “Oh, no. I'll leave that up to you. But it's evident your charms worked on her once before.”

“Are you telling me to seduce her?”

“I'm telling you to make use of your strong points, cowboy.” She gave him a sharp whack on the butt. “Now get back in the pool and do ten more laps. I'm going to bed.”

* * *

W
HEN
A
MANDA AWOKE
the next morning, the first thing she saw was Chase's black Stetson dangling from the bedpost where she'd tossed it the evening before. Bartholomew had gotten her up once during the night to nurse, and now he and Chloe were sound asleep. As the room filled with pink light, Amanda snuggled under the covers and contemplated Chase's hat. The black felt bore scuff marks on the crown, as if it had landed in the dirt a few times, and the brim dipped down in front, as if molded that way when Chase had repeatedly tugged it low over his eyes.

She remembered her first glimpse of him in the hat when she'd stepped from the jetway. On a virile man like Chase, a black Stetson was almost overkill. Now that she thought about it, she could trace her loss of detachment from her first encounter with his hat.

Then he'd compounded the hero effect by charging in after the snake, and after that, by holding her while she'd cried. But maybe she could have dismissed those incidents, even turned her back on the desires he'd stirred in her, if only he hadn't walked toward her, still wearing that darned hat, and carrying Bartholomew. She hadn't anticipated how she'd feel seeing their son in his arms.

Had Chase and Bartholomew been strangers, it still would have been a compelling picture—a rugged cowboy whose big, work-roughened hands cradled a tender little baby. But they were not strangers. Chase was the man who had made such beautiful love to her months ago, and Bartholomew was the stunning result. The image of Chase holding their child would haunt her for the rest of her life.

On the bedside table the telephone buzzed. She reached for it quickly.

“Good morning, Amanda.”

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice and curled the cloth-covered telephone cord around her finger. “Good morning, Chase.”

“I know it's early, but we ought to beat the heat if we're going up into Rogue Canyon today.”

“Are we? What about your back?”

“My back's fine. Belinda found the cradleboard and she's packing us a lunch. I'll have Duane bring the horses up to the house so we don't have to fool with driving down to the corrals. How soon can you be ready?”

“I, ah, imagine because of your back you didn't have a chance to make any calls last night.”

“Actually, I did. I thought we could talk about it up in the canyon. It's a beautiful spot, Amanda.”

She hesitated, then succumbed. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Great.”

“Unless Bartholomew's poky about eating. Then I might need longer.”

“I'll be waiting in the dining room with a cup of coffee for you.”

“That would be nice.” She played with the telephone cord, pretending she was in an old black-and-white movie. “I take sugar.”

“I know.” He sounded as if he might be smiling. “Tons of sugar.”

Then she remembered the cups of coffee they'd shared in the cab of his truck and how he'd teased her about the amount of sugar she put in hers. And later, when he'd sampled nearly every inch of her body, he'd said, “I know why you taste so sweet. It's all that sugar you put in your coffee.”

“Amanda? Are you still there?”

She took a shaky breath. “Yes, I'm still here.” She glanced up at the bedpost. “I have your hat.”

“Wear it. I have another one. See you soon.” Then he was gone.

Amanda held the phone to her ear a moment longer as she gazed at the hat. He loved that hat. Even in the midst of his agony the night before, he'd warned her not to step on it. Her heart beat faster. Perhaps she was being wooed.

Probably because she was impatient to get out the door, Bartholomew seemed to nurse more slowly and wouldn't burp for her. Accustomed to meeting deadlines and arriving on time for appointments, she was irritated at being five minutes later than she'd estimated when she dashed out the door with Chloe trotting by her side. She'd thrown a clean diaper over her shoulder to protect her blouse in case Bartholomew decided to burp or worse on the way to the main house.

Instead of braiding her hair as she'd intended, she'd settled for the quicker solution of tying it back with a silk scarf. Chase's hat was slightly big, but she loved the way it looked when she pulled it down in front, the way Chase wore it. And the brim offered wonderful protection from the sun, which already felt warm on her shoulders.

When she opened the patio gate and stepped inside, she was greeted with bedlam as Belinda supervised the stringing of thousands of tiny white lights, the placement of tables and chairs and the arrangement of baskets of huge paper flowers from Mexico. Some of the guests were attempting to help, while others had abandoned the idea in favor of a swim, which caused more commotion as they were warned not to splash and damage any of the decorations.

Dexter sat in a shady alcove watching the proceedings. Chloe's breakfast was in a dish beside him.

“Go on, girl,” Amanda said, stroking the dog's head. “And thanks.” As Chloe navigated the crowded patio toward her owner, Amanda waved at Dexter. “Thank you,” she called. “She made me feel much safer.”

Dexter waved back. “Yep!”

Belinda turned, a string of lights in her hand, and smiled at Amanda. “The cradleboard's all ready.”

“Are you sure it'll work okay?”

“Absolutely. Freddy and Leigh spent hours in it when they were babies. Now go have fun.”

Amanda had noticed how Belinda doted on Bartholomew, and took heart from the woman's confidence in the cradleboard. “I'll do that,” she said, returning Belinda's smile.

She skirted a man carrying a ladder and nearly bumped into Leigh and Freddy, who were walking across the patio deep in discussion.

Leigh surveyed Amanda's outfit and nodded in satisfaction. “You're looking more and more like a cowgirl. I guess you're going on that ride.”

“I guess I am. And I'm late.”

“Don't sweat it,” Freddy said. “With Chase still around, Ry had an excuse to hide out in the dining room and drink coffee instead of coming out here to help decorate.”

Amanda adjusted Bartholomew against her other shoulder. “Did Chase mention he had a problem with his back last night?”

“Yes,” Leigh said. “And as his unofficial nurse, I urged him to go. He's borrowing Ry's cellular telephone, so if you have any trouble you can call the ranch for help.”

“Oh!” Amanda hadn't expected such amenities as cellular phones at a place like the True Love. Her anxiety level dipped considerably. “That's a terrific idea.”

“The phone works even up in Rogue Canyon,” Freddy said. “I didn't want to get one, but Ry insisted and now I love it.”

“It makes me feel a lot better about going up there with Bartholomew,” Amanda said, “although I hate to leave you with all this work and take Chase away, on top of it.”

Freddy waved a hand dismissively. “The work will get done, and you shouldn't go back to New York without a ride up to Rogue Canyon. Besides, it's cooler up there.”

“If you're sure...”

“We're sure,” Freddy said. “Go find Chase. And tell Ry he's needed out here.”

“Cancel that last part,” Leigh said. “Freddy and I have to get something straight before her beloved groom shows up. Just go, Amanda, and have a great time.”

“Thanks.” As Amanda started toward the French doors leading into the house, she overheard a few words as Leigh turned to Freddy.

“Before he comes out, promise me you'll tell him you're allergic to roses.”

“But then I'll never get roses my whole married life!”

“Maybe he'll go for diamonds, instead.”

Amanda decided against trying to puzzle out the meaning of the exchange as she headed for the dining room.

Sure enough, Ry and Chase were in a far corner hunched over coffee mugs, a third one steaming by Chase's elbow right next to the cellular phone. A disreputable-looking brown hat pulled down over Chase's forehead made him look more like a rogue than a gentleman, but his idea of using the cellular phone showed that he was obviously taking his responsibility for her and Bartholomew seriously. A rogue who took his responsibilities seriously. It was a tantalizing combination.

Both Chase and Ry glanced up and started to rise as she approached.

“Please don't get up,” she said, touched by the courtly gesture.

Ry sank back to his seat but Chase moved toward her.

“Let me hold him so you can drink your coffee.” He'd extricated Bartholomew from her arms before she could protest.

“You'd better take this diaper to protect your shirt.” She tried to hand it to him but he shook his head. “Chase, you—”

“I'll be fine.” His eyes had a stubborn gleam.

“If you say so.” She sat down in the chair he'd just vacated. “Good luck.”

“I don't need special equipment just to hold you, do I, son?” Chase hoisted Bartholomew to his shoulder with a manly heave.

Bartholomew responded by upchucking down the back of Chase's shirt.

Chase's eyes widened but he kept his grip on the baby. “Damn. I think his radiator just overflowed.”