The Trailrider's Fortune (45 page)

"You have
influential men hiring you and an elegant home. You wouldn't be embarrassed for
me to read tarot cards? Rafe, you're richer than Dr. Barlow, and he wouldn't
have allowed it."

"If I
recollect, that's part of why you're Miz Conley instead of Miz Barlow. And this
ain't my elegant home," he corrected. "It's
ours
."

She smiled and took
his hand as they ascended the staircase.

"Almost like
havin' a saloon and livin' above it, though," he taunted, chuckling.
"Fancy as the Bold Adventuress, but no murals." He winked, then
sobered as they started along the upstairs hall.

Sparkle discovered
two modest bedrooms, then went stock still when they entered a nursery,
complete with a child's low bureau and lacy bassinet. Four small chairs
encircled a low table in one corner beside a dormer window. In the center of
the tabletop was a miniature silver tea service.

"You knew? But—"

"That you'd
want kids right away? You asked how many I wanted, and you're not wearin' a
pisser anymore. Odds are, it won't be long." He rubbed the tip of her nose
with his index finger. "Want our first to be a pretty filly like her ma,
with a cute little turned-up nose and aquamarine eyes. Can you work on
that?"

She was too choked
up to reply.

He drew her down
the hall to a large raised-panel door. "Ready to see our room?" She
nodded. When he ushered her inside, the breath left her body in a rush. Their
room was immense, decorated with flocked wallpaper and crystal sconces. In the
center stood a gleaming brass bed.

"It's just
like the panel crib, Rafe!" Happy tears trickled down her cheeks.

He lifted her in
his arms and deposited her in the center of the bed. "Yep, except there's
no mirror or hidden panel. And we got our own bathroom, complete with a footed
tub."

"This whole
house is beautiful, Rafe."

"So are you,
darlin'." She reached for the buttons of his shirt as their lips met.

"There's
somethin' else I need to show you," he whispered in a husky tone. "I
been wonderin' if I should do it now, or wait till after we break in this new
bed. I'm mighty riled up just now." He drew her hand to his crotch to
prove it. "What do you think?" he asked, nuzzling her throat.

"We should
definitely christen the bed first," she murmured, feeling her
over-sensitive nipples stiffening. "Then I have something to share with
you, too."

An hour and several
orgasms later—she lost count—Rafe was stretched out on his side next to her,
still teasing her breasts with his lips and tongue. Afterplay, foreplay…it was
always fantastic. Except when he used the edge of his teeth, as he was doing
now. Her breasts were too sensitive these days for that.

"You're going
to have to be gentler from now on," she whispered. "For the next
several months, at least." His mouth froze. "And I won't be able to
indulge all your fantasies when my time gets closer."

He loomed up on one
elbow, peering into her eyes. "That's why you looked so peaked downstairs.
You're expectin'?"

"Yes. It seems
you're going to be a father before next winter's over. We'll be using the
nursery sooner than you thought. I hope you don't mind I waited to tell you. I
wanted to share the news after we made love the first time in our new
home."

"A
father?" he repeated, dark eyes widening. "You're havin' my
baby?"

"That's often
a result from your favorite activities," she reminded, laughing. He pulled
her close and began nuzzling her throat. "It's really comin' true. All of
it," he mumbled. "Damn."

"What?"
His lips had been half buried.

"Get dressed. I
want you to see the view from our balcony." She thought his voice sounded
oddly strained. Maybe he was more shocked than she realized about the
pregnancy.

They donned their
clothing, Rafe settling for just pulling on his jeans. He opened the French
doors and moved to the wood railing. She tiptoed out behind him, coming to
stand at his side. "Rafe you
are
happy about the child, aren't
you?"

He reached to pull
her close to his side. "Yeah, darlin'. I was just contemplatin' things.
Life. Findin' out I'll be a father soon…" He looked down into her eyes,
and she saw the love shining in the dark depths of his. "I'm better than
happy." He kissed her forehead. "It's almost time for supper. Can't
let you skip meals or get overtired."

Her fingertips
stroked his arm. "You're going to make me crazy for the next few months. I
can see that. I'm perfectly fine, Rafe. The doctor came out to see me while you
were gone one afternoon last week. And I hope you're planning to put your shirt
on before we go downstairs to eat," she chided. "What will your poor
butler think?"

"Dan's more
than a butler. He's also the best back-up man I've ever known besides Sam
Parker."

"That
kindly-looking man?"

"Thought by
now you knew how looks are deceivin'. The outside's got nothin' to do with who
a man is inside."

She blinked.
"I do believe that's the first time you've ever acknowledged that. You're
not upset about your scar anymore."

He jerked his
shoulders. "Doesn't seem worth focusin' on. Not compared to what's in your
belly or to that." He pointed at the vista of the Rockies. "They're
why I don't mind livin' in this city. Don't feel so penned in with mountains so
close, I can almost smell the pines. Hell of a view, ain't it?"

Sparkle smiled and
followed his gaze.

"
Rafe
."
She clutched his arm.

He moved a step
closer and braced her back with his palm. He'd known all along, she realized
numbly. Since the night he'd come to the Anderson's barn…these past weeks…on
the train, all day…While she thought she was being clever, saving her surprise
about the baby, he'd known about
this
.

"You never
said anything. You let me apologize, thinking I'd gone too far. You
knew
."

"You had to
see for yourself," he answered simply. "Did sort of influence my
thinkin' on the card parlor for you, though."

Sparkle noticed a
pair of rocking chairs a few feet away. "You always insisted you'd never
grow old and gray, or sit on a porch in one of those."

"This ain't a
porch, it's a balcony." He turned to face her. "You saw this.
Tomorrow. Years to come. You saw it all, darlin'."

She gulped.
"My mother could do it. I'd seen her…" Her words trailed off as she
gazed into the distance and took in the headstones, sprinkled randomly around a
grove of aspen and spruce over the foothill several miles away. An ebony
carriage draped with stark white bowers waited next to a small knot of
black-clad mourners and a clergyman. As Sparkle and Rafe watched, they
disbanded and left the cemetery. The cemetery within view of where the couple
stood—on the balcony of their big house on a hill.

Rafe reached into
his jeans and withdrew his pocket watch. He flicked open the gold case. A watch
and chain was something many a bride gave her groom on their wedding day, but
Rafe knew this was different.

His wedding present
from her was more than a simple gold watch as a token of her love. It was a
tangible promise from a fortune teller. Sparkle's personal guarantee.

He held the object
with reverence and cherished the gift she'd bestowed when she became his wife
and saved his soul. The precious gift and a way to measure it. A watch with its
golden case symbolically engraved with the word that mattered most: 
TIME
.

Dear Reader,

This is the first novel to
feature Rafe Conley, his brother Travis, and best friend, Wil Bregon Several
readers who read the romance told me they couldn't forget sexy gunfighter, Rafe
Conley. They dreamed about him. They also wondered about his feisty younger
brother and handsome best friend.

Naturally I responded by penning two
more tales. What happened to Travis once Rafe settled down and stopped visiting
the ranch? Funny you should ask! Read on for an excerpt of:

SWEET
TALKER

By
Shannah Biondine

Travis pulled
sharply to a halt near the base of the drive and slid down from Rye's back. A
shapely woman beneath a crown of thick dark hair yammered and gestured toward
half a dozen hands gathered nearby. They listened in rapt fascination, rooted
inside Crockhead's gate like trees in a windbreak. Just about as mobile and
helpful.

From somewhere amid
the mammoth heap of boxes and containers piled beside the drive, a crate
yowled. Travis bent down to inspect it. He could tolerate just about any furry
critters, except cats. Glowering from inside the dark crate were two sets of
unblinking, feline eyes. Both animals hissed in unison, no happier to be
visiting Travis than he was playing host to them.

A few of the men
noted the arrival of their boss, who they should realize would disapprove of
untended nags nibbling the grass of his front lawn. Travis planted his feet in
a domineering stance. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed the masculine
assembly.

"Picnic's
over. I better see every one of your scrawny butts in those saddles past twilight
if you expect to be paid for the day."

He tried to ignore
the female and keep his gaze trained on his men, but it was nigh impossible.
Not only did she edge over to stand between him and his crew, but she was
exactly as Mick had described. Not a filly any virile man could overlook.

Travis saw at first
glance she was indeed young, close to his own age. That was the first factor
against her. Then there was that peculiar, exotic look about her. Dusky
coloring and penetrating dark eyes clashed with unremarkable garments. The
effect was to make her all the more compelling. As she lowered her arms, Travis
gulped. He'd never seen breasts the size of hers that weren't a trick of
whalebone and padding. Gals just weren't naturally endowed like that.

Yet the uncomfortable
sensation inside his jeans said this gal was. His parts instinctively knew her
parts were genuine, not padded. Her flesh would be firm to the touch. Jesus,
did he hear what he'd just whispered in the back of his mind?
Firm to the
touch?
There'd be none of that!

Besides the fact he
couldn't make out most of what she said…besides her damned cats and four tons
of luggage…besides her being in the wrong place entirely if she came as
somebody's mail-order bride…Besides all that, she had to leave because every
man there stared at her in reverent awe. All of them bemused. Completely at a
loss. She might not be classically beautiful, but a cougar could sit down to
dinner if she wasn't breathtaking.

So wrong.
Definitely
not
what Travis had advertised for.

One of the men
slapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "She cooks, Boss. Ain't that
somethin'?"

"Yeah,
somethin', all right." One female corralling him with matrimony on her
mind was bad enough. He sure as hell didn't need one who looked like a Dodge
City madam having similar notions.

"I don't know
where you get the idea that anybody here's itchin' for a wife, but—"

"You are Big
Crockett, yes? No? Sorry, my English has mix me wrong." She laid a hand to
her bosom as if to still her beating heart. A collective sigh rose from the
men. Travis saw Mick reach over to physically restrain Danbers.

"No, ma'am, I
ain't Crockett. I'm Travis Conley and I own this spread." He pointed to
the wooden sign hanging over the gates. "My ranch is called Crock
head
.
There's nobody here by the name of Crockett. I'm afraid you've come to the
wrong place. If you'll wait while my fellas hitch up the wagon, they'll take
you back into town and—"

"No, no!"
She gave an emphatic shake of her head, sending lush brown tresses swirling
around her shoulders. "Today is bad day for town."

Her reaction
suggested others had informed her of that, probably owing to the big picnic. He
wanted to stay irritated, but he couldn't help a twinge of guilt. She was out
of her element. He glanced over at the fidgety row of men behind her. The
threat of lost pay still hadn't prompted anyone to mount his horse and get back
to work.

"Any of you
fellas know someone named Crockett in these parts?"

"Was a Tony
Crockett over at the Bar M," Lawson offered. "But he left Canon City
last year. Maybe one of the miners outside Cripple Creek?"

Travis moved closer
to the gal, using sheer force of will to keep his gaze on her face, though he
suspected she must be accustomed to men conversing with those magnificent
breasts of hers.

"This fella
who advertised for a bride, did he dig for gold and silver?" She looked
confused. He pantomimed using a shovel. "Dig, in the ground or a mountain,
to make money?"