Heartbreaker (25 page)

When John came to the house for lunch, she
had twisted her hair up and put on a bit of makeup, and she knew she looked a
lot better. "I thought I'd go to town for a few things," she said
casually. "Is there anything you need?"

His head jerked up. She hadn't driven at all
since the accident, and now here she was acting as nonchalant about driving as
if the accident had never happened at all. Before he had worried that she was
so reluctant to go anywhere, but now he wanted her to stay close. "What
things?" he asked sharply. "Where exactly are you going?"

Her brows lifted at his tone. "Shampoo,
hair conditioner, things like that."

"All right." He made an impatient
gesture. "Where are you going? What time will you be back?"

"Really, you missed your calling. You
should have been a prison guard."

"Just tell me."

Because she didn't want him to deny her the
use of the car, she said in a bored voice, "The drugstore, probably. I'll
be back by three."

He looked hard at her, then sighed and thrust
his fingers through his thick black hair. "Just be careful."

She got up from the table.' 'Don't worry. If
I wreck the car again, I'll pay for the damages with the money from the cattle
sale."

He swore as he watched her stalk away. Damn,
what could he do now? Follow her? He slammed into the office and called Andy
Phelps to find out if he had any information on Roger Beckman yet. All Andy had
come up with was that no one by the name of Roger Beckman had been on a flight
to France in the last month, but he might not have gone there directly. It took
time to check everything.

"I'll keep trying, buddy. That's all I
can do."

"Thanks. Maybe I'm worried over nothing,
but maybe I'm not."

"Yeah, I know. Why take chances? I'll
call when I get something."

John hung up, torn by the need to do
something, anything. Maybe he should tell Michelle of his suspicions, explain
why he didn't want her wandering around by herself. But as Andy had pointed
out, he really had nothing to go on, and he didn't want to upset her
needlessly. She'd had enough worry in her life. If he had his way, nothing
would ever worry her again.

Michelle drove to town and made her
purchases, steeling herself every time a car drew near. But nothing happened;
she didn't see anything suspicious, not even at the spot where the Chevrolet
had forced her off the road. Fiercely she told herself that she wasn't
paranoid, she hadn't imagined it all, Roger was there, somewhere. She simply
had to find him. But she wasn't brave at all, and she was shaking with nerves
by the time she got back to the ranch. She barely made it upstairs to the
bathroom before her stomach rebelled and she retched miserably.

She tried it again the next day. And the
next. Nothing happened, except that John was in the foulest mood she could
imagine. He never came right out and forbade her to go anywhere, but he made it
plain he didn't like it. If she hadn't been desperate, she would have thrown
the car keys in his face and told him what he could do with them.

Roger had been watching her at her house that
day. Could it be that he was watching that road instead of the one leading to
town? He wouldn't have seen her when she'd gone over to get the file from the
safe because she had ridden in from the back rather than using the road. John
had told her not to go to her house alone, but she wouldn't have to go to the
house. All she had to do was drive by on the road…and if Roger was there,
he would follow her.

She had to be crazy; she knew that. The last
thing she wanted was to see Roger, yet here she was trying to find him, even
though she suspected he was trying to kill her. No, she wanted to find him
because
of that. She certainly didn't want to die, but she wanted this to be over. Only
then could she lead a normal life.

She wanted that life to be with John, but she
had never fooled herself that their relationship was permanent, and the mood he
was in these days could herald the end of it. Nothing she did seemed to please
him, except when they were in bed, but perhaps that was just a reflection of
his intense sex drive and any woman would have done.

Her nerves were so raw that she couldn't even
think of eating the morning she planned to go to the house, and she paced
restlessly, waiting until she saw John get in his pickup and drive across the
pastures. She hadn't wanted him to know she was going anywhere; he asked too
many questions, and it was hard to hide anything from him. She would only be
gone half an hour, anyway, because when it came down to it, she didn't have the
courage to leave herself hanging out as bait. All she could manage was one
quick drive by; then she would come home.

She listened to the radio in an effort to
calm her nerves as she drove slowly down the narrow gravel road. It came as a
shock that the third hurricane of the season, Hurricane Carl, had formed in the
Atlantic and was meandering toward Cuba. She had completely missed the first
two storms. She hadn't even noticed that summer had slid into early autumn,
because the weather was still so hot and humid, perfect hurricane weather.

Though she carefully searched both sides of
the road for any sign of a car tucked away under the trees, she didn't see
anything. The morning was calm and lazy. No one else was on the road.
Frustrated, she turned around to drive back to the house.

A sudden wave of nausea hit her, and she had
to halt the car. She opened the door and leaned out, her stomach heaving even
though it was empty and nothing came out. When the spasm stopped she leaned
against the steering wheel, weak and perspiring. This had hung on far too long
to be a virus.

She lay there against the steering wheel for
a long time, too weak to drive and too sick to care. A faint breeze wafted into
the open door, cooling her hot face, and just as lightly the truth eased into
her mind.

If this was a virus, it was the nine-month
variety.

She let her head fall back against the seat,
and a smile played around her pale lips. Pregnant. Of course. She even knew
when it had happened: the night John had come home from Miami. He had been
making love to her when she woke up, and neither of them had thought of taking
precautions. She had been so on edge she hadn't noticed that she was late.

John's baby. It had been growing inside her
for almost five weeks. Her hand drifted down to her stomach, a sense of utter
contentment filling her despite the miserable way she felt. She knew the
problems this would cause, but for the moment those problems were distant,
unimportant compared to the bunding joy she felt.

She began to laugh, thinking of how sick
she'd been. She remembered reading in some magazine that women who had morning
sickness were less likely to miscarry than women who didn't; if that were true,
this baby was as secure as Fort Knox. She still felt like death wanned over,
but now she was happy to feel that way.

"A baby," she whispered, thinking
of a tiny, sweet-smelling bundle with a mop of thick black hair and melting
black eyes, though she realized any child of John Rafferty's would likely be a
hellion.

But she couldn't continue sitting in the car,
which was parked more on the road than off. Shakily, hoping the nausea would
hold off until she could get home, she put the car in gear and drove back to
the ranch with painstaking caution. Now that she knew what was wrong, she knew
what to do to settle her stomach. And she needed to make an appointment with a
doctor.

Sure enough, her stomach quieted after she
ate a meal of dry toast and weak tea. Then she began to think about the
problems.

Telling John was the first problem and, to
Michelle, the biggest She had no idea how he would react, but she had to face
the probability that he would not be as thrilled as she was. She feared he was
getting tired of her anyway; if so, he'd see the baby as a burden, tying him to
a woman he no longer wanted.

She lay on the bed, trying to sort out her
tangled thoughts and emotions. John had a right to know about his child, and,
like it or not, he had a responsibility to it. On the other hand, she couldn't
use the baby to hold him if he wanted to be free. Bleak despair filled her
whenever she tried to think of a future without John, but she loved him enough
to let him go. Since their first day together she had been subconsciously
preparing for the time when he would tell her that he didn't want her any
longer. That much was clear in her mind.

But what if he decided that they should marry
because of the baby? John took his responsibilities seriously, even to the
point of taking a wife he didn't want for the sake of his child. She could be a
coward and grab for anything he offered, on the basis that the crumbs of
affection that came her way would be better than nothing, or she could somehow
find the courage to deny herself the very thing she wanted most. Tears filled
her eyes, the tears that came so easily these days. She sniffled and wiped them
away.

She couldn't decide anything; her emotions
were see-sawing wildly between elation and depression. She didn't know how John
would react, so any plans she made were a waste of time. This was something
they would have to work out together.

She heard someone ride up, followed by
raised, excited voices outside, but cowboys were always coming and going at the
ranch, and she didn't mink anything of it until Edie called upstairs,
"Michelle? Someone's hurt. The boys are bringing him in—My God, it's
the boss!" She yelled the last few words and Michelle shot off the bed.
Afterward she never remembered running down the stairs; all she could remember
was Edie catching her at the front door as Nev and another man helped John down
from a horse.

John was holding a towel to his face, and
blood covered his hands and arms, and soaked his shirt.

Michelle's face twisted, and a thin cry burst
from her throat. Edie was a big, strong woman, but somehow Michelle tore free
of her clutching arms and got to John. He shrugged away from Nev and caught
Michelle with his free arm, hugging her to him. "I'm all right," he
said gruffly. "It looks worse than it is."

"You'd better get to a doc, boss,"
Nev warned. "Some of those cuts need stitches."

"I will. Get on back to the men and take
care of things." John gave Nev a warning look over Michelle's head, and
though one eye was covered with the bloody towel, Nev got the message. He
glanced quickly at Michelle, then nodded.