The Baby Race (5 page)

Once he took her to bed there would be no
banishing her from his life. Like an addictive drug, she would
become necessary to him. And he vowed long ago never to risk giving
his heart to a woman. His father had taken a chance on his mother
and in the end it was Race who paid the price. Race had no
intention of falling into that trap. Better to keep his affairs
short and emotion free.

His relationship with Claire was strictly
business. And no matter what his hormones might clamor for, he
intended to keep it that way.

The couch, lumpy as it was, would be his bed
for one night. Tomorrow, despite his slim coffers, he'd order two
mattresses and a new couch.

*****

Claire tossed restlessly on Race's large bed.
On the nightstand the clock glowed four am. Outside, the sky was
dark with night and clouds that rumbled, promising more rain.
Sheets twisted around her and her stomach growled in hunger. It had
been hours since she pushed away Cindy's stew.

Thoughts of that stew made Claire's mouth
start to water. Embarrassment took a back seat to hunger as she
climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. Surely, Race was fast
asleep. He wouldn't know or care if she helped herself.

The glow from a night-light guided her way as
she tiptoed downstairs and through the living room toward the
kitchen. She tried, but couldn't resist peeking over the back of
the couch where she knew Race slept.

The man there made her stop, her breath
catching in her throat.

A sheet was draped low across Race's lean
hips as he sprawled on the short, lumpy couch. The stark white
cotton contrasted sharply with the deeply tanned flesh of his chest
and arms. Just under his navel the dipping sheet revealed a
tantalizing narrow band of paler skin and hinted at the secrets
concealed below.

In the shadowy moonlight, his dark, smooth
skin gleamed like polished mahogany. Free of its ever present
rawhide thong, the black silk fall of his hair framed the harsh
planes of his masculine face, while sleep eased the fine lines
fanning out from his eyes and softened the deeper lines bracketing
his mouth. He shifted and a strand of hair caught on his cheek.

Before she could consider, the urge to stroke
away the errant strand had Claire leaning forward. Her fingers
hovered an inch above him. The warm male scent of him rose on the
heat of his body, flooding her nostrils. She inhaled, savoring the
unfamiliar yet enticing aroma. His breath against her palm sent a
wave of longing rushing through her. Loose beneath her cotton
nightgown and flannel robe, her breasts rubbed against the back of
the couch. Her skin prickled. Her nipples puckered. Moisture
gathered in her mouth and between her thighs.

She smoothed aside his hair. His skin felt
like warm suede under her fingertips. Lightning shot through her.
She gasped and jerked away.

His lips parted and his eyelids fluttered.
Shaken, she held her breath and eased back.

Since she'd met Race, her body had taken on a
mind of its own. The emotions and physical sensations he evoked
rocked her belief that she was basically a rational, non-sexual
person. He awoke primitive cravings that made her long for things
she knew he'd never be willing to give her - stability, commitment,
a future together - love.

Giving in to her desire for more from this
man was a sure road to heartbreak. She crept out of the living
room.

The soft stir of air woke Race from his dream
of warm wet kisses and silken skin gliding over him. He twisted and
grunted in disgust as a spring dug into the small of his back,
banishing any hope of retreating back into the dream.

A floorboard creaked. Someone was in the
house. Alert to danger, he stiffened.

Along with Claire's scent, memory returned
and he relaxed. Fresh and clean as the early morning air, her
fragrance wrapped around Race, bringing him fully awake and
aroused.

What was she doing wandering around the house
in the middle of the night? He sat up just in time to see her
disappear into the kitchen. The refrigerator door clicked open and
harsh white light spilled into the hall.

He pulled on his discarded jeans and padded
into the kitchen. Buried deep inside the fridge, just the rounded
curve of her behind and the fuzzy pink bunny slippers she wore were
visible. Smiling at the sight, he crossed his arms and propped
himself against the doorjamb.

"Hungry?"

She shrieked and bolted upright. He winced as
the top of her head cracked against the bottom of the freezer
door.

"Ooow!" She staggered back. A plate crashed
and shattered.

"Don't move." Race started toward her. His
bare heel came down on a sliver of ceramic. "Damn!" He limped
around the rest of the mess. Blood left a crimson trail on the
white tile.

"Oh no, you're bleeding." Claire touched his
arm.

He stopped and turned her to face him. "Never
mind that. How's your head?" He threaded his fingers under the
heavy satin weight of her hair to search out any injuries. Her head
felt small and vulnerable in the palm of his hand. She shuddered as
his fingers found the sore spot.

"It's fine...ouch."

"You've got a nice lump there. Do you feel
dizzy?"

"No, just foolish."

Then why am I trembling?

"No broken skin. You head's not
bleeding."

She pulled away and took a quick step back.
"Speaking of blood, you're dripping all over. Sit down." She pushed
him into one of the kitchen chairs.

Her flannel covered breasts brushed against
his bare chest. Throbbing in time with the suddenly rapid beat of
his heart, pain radiated up his leg. But another portion of his
anatomy was giving him more discomfort. He shifted on the
chair.

"Sit still. Where do you keep your first aid
kit?" She propped his foot on a second chair. Her fingers felt soft
and warm against the chilled flesh of his ankle and increased the
ache in his groin.

"There's one in the cupboard next to the
stove."

"Don't move."

"Watch out for the broken ceramic."

She skirted around the shards of the plate
and retrieved the kit as well as a bowl of water and a towel, then
knelt next to him.

He twitched when she sponged away the blood
and pulled out the sliver of ceramic. Her shoulder rubbed the
inside of his extended thigh. He groaned.

"I'm sorry. Does it hurt?" She looked back
over her shoulder, her chocolate brown eyes full of concern.

"No." At least not the way you think,
sweetheart. If she dropped her gaze, she'd soon know his real
problem.

She gave him a sweet smile and turned her
attention back to his heel. "It doesn't look too bad, it's only a
small cut. I don't think you'll need stitches."

"Real men don't get stitches. We staple our
wounds."

Her giggle vibrated through her hand on his
calf and traveled up his leg. He barely suppressed another
groan.

"Well, I don't think you'll need to staple
this wound. A bandage should do just fine. Just let me clean it off
with some peroxide and put an antibiotic on it."

White light from the open fridge provided
light while she bent over his foot. She shifted until she half
faced him. In the confusion, the tie of her faded pink robe had
come undone and the robe gaped open. Below she wore a long white
t-shirt. Her full breasts thrust against the soft worn material,
her nipples dark shadows.

Were they brown like her hair or dusky pink
like her full lips? The question haunted him. He shifted on the
chair in growing discomfort.

She glanced up. "Am I hurting you?"

"No," he snapped. "Just get it over
with."

"Poor baby. I'll be done soon." She ducked
her head and her hair screened her face from his view, so he
couldn't see the smile her words conveyed. "There, all finished."
The soft brush of her lips on his ankle sent a shiver through
him.

He jerked his foot back, nearly clipping her
chin with his toes, and stood.

Humor lit her eyes as she looked up at him
from where she knelt. "Why don't you go on up to bed? After I clean
up here, I'll use the couch for the rest of the night. It's almost
morning anyway."

He started to protest, but found himself
being ushered out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

Only as he removed his jeans did he realize
he'd never zipped them up.

~~~~~

CHAPTER FIVE

"Damn!"

At the sound of his vehement curse and the
slamming down of the phone, Claire paused outside Race's
office.

In the two weeks she and Bobbie Sue had been
at the ranch, she'd seen very little of Race. If she hadn't known
he was busy working with the horses and planning his annual 4th of
July fundraiser, she'd have thought he was deliberately avoiding
her. Why the thought should hurt, Claire wasn't sure, her days were
filled as well.

Determined to create a positive impression on
the social worker, Claire spent her time cleaning and fixing up the
house. Between Bobbie Sue, Vicki, Warren, and herself, they'd
managed to paint the house, inside and out, as well as weed and
reseed the yard. They'd also replanted the neglected flowerbeds.
True to his word Race had cleared away the clutter. The porch now
held several wooden rocking chairs and an array of hanging flower
baskets, making for a pleasant retreat at the end of the day.

Every night she fell into bed exhausted. Her
muscles ached from the effort, but the result was well worth it.
The house sparkled in the June sun. New shoots of grass spread a
pale green blush over rich dark soil and flower buds promised a
profusion of color to come.

"Damn!" Race swore again.

She peeked into the room.

When Race glared at her she almost retreated,
then decided it was time they talked. The social worker would be
visiting again soon and couldn't help but notice that whenever she
and Race were in the same room, which admittedly wasn't often,
tension blossomed between them. Hardly an atmosphere conducive to
convincing the social worker they had a happy home fit to raise a
little girl in.

"Problem?"

"Nothing you can do anything about."

Steeling herself against his antagonism, she
moved into the room. "Well, since I don't know what the problem is,
how can I be sure I can't help? Why don't you tell me and let me
decide?" She ventured a small smile. "Troubles shared are often
troubles halved."

Some of the hostility faded from his eyes. He
leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand across his face. "The
caterer up and quit on me. I've called every place I can think of
and no one's available on the Fourth of July."

He was referring to the black tie dinner to
be held in conjunction with a weekend of activities on the ranch,
including a carnival and small rodeo, for which all proceeds went
to support the ranch.

"The money's already been collected and
spent. How am I going to refund all that money? I wonder if I can
cancel my order for the equine ambulance?"

Claire thought it unlikely he'd even try.
Many horses he rescued were too weak to stand. The specially
designed horse trailer was equipped with slings, reinforced beams
and a wench to load and transport incumbent animals. Race would
probably beg on the street corner to keep that trailer. But maybe
he wouldn't have to.

"Has the food been ordered?" she asked.

"Yes, I got the caterer cheap because I
agreed to handle all the purchasing myself. Guess I should know you
get what you pay for. The vendors will deliver a ton of food, but
without the caterer there'll be no dinner. I can't cook a gourmet
meal for 200 people."

Claire rested her palms on his desk and
leaned forward. "But I can."

Race's head jerked up. "What?"

"I can cater the meal for you. Food
management is what I've been studying. Maxine's going to close down
the diner for the holiday weekend to go visit family, so I'm sure
she'll let me use the kitchen there. Was the caterer providing the
tables and service, or did you contract for that separately? What
about servers?"

Hope lit Race's eyes. "I'm renting the stuff
myself and to hold down costs some of Vicki's classmates are my
serving staff. Can you really do this?"

"Sure. Piece of cake." Claire sounded more
convinced than she actually felt, but she didn't let any of her
doubts show. Race needed her and it felt good. She wouldn't let him
down. "Once I cooked a feast for an entire village." She didn't
mention that the village consisted of only ten people and their
preferred diet was roasted grubs eaten off banana leaves. "Why
don't you show me what all you've got arranged so far, then leave
the rest to me? I'm sure you have more than enough to do handling
the arrangements for the carnival and the rodeo."

"Warren and Vicki are taking care of the
rodeo and Cindy is in charge of the carnival."

Did he realize how lucky he was to have such
good family and friends?

"The dinner was my job and I blew it." He
came around the desk and put his hands on her shoulders. "You're a
life saver, Claire, literally."

"If you came in for dinner once in a while
you'd know how well I can cook." There was only a little hurt in
her teasing. She tried not to let it bother her that he avoided the
house and her.

"I know." His voice deepened and his head
dipped toward her. "Where do you think all the leftovers have been
disappearing to? Petula? I just never thought you'd be willing or
able to take on such a big job."

"Why wouldn't I? Our marriage may be a bit
unconventional, but for the next year we're partners. What's
important to you is important to me. I'll do whatever I can to help
you succeed."

"Oh, Claire." His eyes closed, then opened
and looked straight into hers. "You shame me. I haven't been living
up to my part of this bargain, have I?"