The Drifter (3 page)

“Good God.”

“It's for the best! We're from different worlds. I thought we settled that when you dropped me off at my apartment the next morning. A baby doesn't change that fact.”

“The hell it doesn't! We were talking about whether to
date.
I don't remember giving up my rights as the father of our child.”

Her throat felt tight as tears threatened. “Oh, Chase, you don't realize how my parents would react. I can't tell them that I...”

“Gave yourself to a disreputable trucker in the middle of a freak snowstorm?”

“That's not—”

“Yes, that's exactly what you mean.” His green eyes flashed with something that looked like pain, and then his expression became hard. “And I can see that a woman like you would never admit to a one-night stand in the cab of a truck. What was I thinking?”

“You make me sound like a snob. I'm not.”

His laugh was bitter, his tone suddenly coarse. “That night you weren't, lady. In fact, I really believed I had a full-blooded woman on my hands. Instead, I discover you're a cowardly little girl. But that's okay. You were still the best lay I've ever had.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You're being crude on purpose.”

“I'm a trucker, sweetheart. We're all crude. Haven't you heard that?”

She turned away from the taunt in his eyes. With her back to him she transferred Bartholomew to the other breast.

“So tell me.” He ran a finger up her spine over the damp material of her thin cotton blouse and she shivered. “What brings you to Arizona? Got a hunger for some of that trucker loving?”

She fought down her rage so that she wouldn't frighten Bartholomew again. “If my hands were free, I'd slap your face for suggesting that,” she snapped.

“That isn't the reason you flew all the way out here? Shucks, I'm just a dumb trucker, so I can't imagine any other reason. You don't need money, and you don't want my name. What else could you be after besides my body?”

“Will you stop that?”
she hissed.

“Listen, Ms. Drake, and listen good. You've just stepped off that plane with my baby and announced that everyone thinks his daddy is some sperm-bank donor. You just lost the right to dictate to me! Now tell me what you came for and save us both some time. Then I can put you on the next plane to New York and get on with my life.”

She shuddered. If she'd thought he would react in the easy, civilized way her other male friends might have, she'd sadly miscalculated. In her heart she'd known what to expect, though. A man who could love with such thoroughness could hate just as thoroughly. She kept her back to him and took a deep breath. “I need to know something about your family's medical history. An incident with a friend of mine convinced me that's it's irresponsible of me to raise Bartholomew without knowing if he's genetically predisposed to any life-threatening diseases.”

“I'm surprised you didn't send me a form to fill out.”

She'd thought of it. “I was afraid you'd ignore a form.” Or barrel back to New York and confront her. “Also it seemed a little...cold.”

“Really? So instead, you traipse out here, dangle my son in front of me while you get your information and whisk him away again. You're all heart, Amanda.”

Amanda gritted her teeth and prayed for the strength to get the information she needed without killing the man who possessed it. “I've tried to handle this so that it's best for all of us. Someday you might even realize that.”

“I assume you didn't tell anyone the real reason you decided to come out to Arizona, then,” he said.

“I said I needed a vacation and I'd heard good things about this guest ranch.”

His dry laugh held no humor. “Your friends and family must be even dumber than I am to fall for that one. An Arizona ranch in July? With a baby?”

“I've always had a fascination with the West. My maternity leave isn't up for another two weeks, and the agency suggested I take a little trip. My mother thought I should go to Colorado instead, but I told her I wanted to see one of those giant cactus with the arms, like the one they have back at the airport.” She remembered the name she'd been trying to think of. “Saguaros.”

“You pronounce the name with a silent g,” he corrected.

“Oh.”

His voice gentled. “But I said it wrong when I first got here, too.”

Bartholomew's tug at her nipple grew gradually weaker. Amanda eased him away from her breast and refastened her clothing before holding him against her shoulder and patting his back. Soon his burp came, loud as a bullfrog's mating call.

“My God, was that
him?
”

She glanced at Chase, a smile tugging at her mouth in spite of herself. “Are you suggesting it was me?”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “He sounds like a trucker with a belly full of beer.”

“He does, at that.” The moment of shared delight took her breath away. She'd had no idea what she'd been missing. As tears welled up in her eyes again, she averted her gaze and rubbed Bartholomew's back until he relaxed into sleep. “Are you willing to give me the information I need?” she asked without looking at Chase.

There was no reply.

“I'm sure you're upset, but the medical background is really important. Just tell me if you know of any diseases I should watch out for.”

Still no answer.

She glanced sideways and found him staring straight ahead, his arms draped over the steering wheel. She could read nothing from his expression. “There's a notebook in the outside pocket of the smaller of my two suitcases,” she said. “If you'd be willing to get it and write down the information, you could take me back to the airport and I'll book a flight home. I can see that I shouldn't stay here any longer than necessary.”

“Is there someone else?” he asked at last, without changing position.

“Someone...you mean another man in my life?” Her heartbeat quickened at the personal nature of the question, and the implication of his asking it. As furious as he must be, she was astonished that he'd want to know. “No. I haven't dated since I found out I was pregnant. Starting a relationship seemed an unnecessary complication.”

He glanced over at her. “Did you mean it about wanting to see saguaros, or was that just another lie?”

“Dammit, I do not habitually lie,” she said, hurt by the unexpected accusation. “I swear, if I didn't have a sleeping baby in my arms, I'd—”

“If you didn't have a sleeping baby in your arms, you wouldn't be here, would you?”

“No, I wouldn't,” she admitted.

“My giving up trucking and investing in this ranch wouldn't have made any difference to you.”

“Why would I start a relationship with a man in Arizona? I have a career based in Manhattan.” She wondered why the explanation sounded restrictive today, when she usually took great comfort in the foothold she'd gained. “Besides, we have nothing in common, Chase. We established that ten months ago.”

His glance flicked to Bartholomew.

“Okay, one thing.”

He met her gaze with bold assessment in his eyes. “Oh, I think we have two things in common, Amanda. Even you can't deny that. We spent several hours proving it to ourselves.”

She blushed. “Sex is not enough to base a relationship on. You know that as well as I do.”

“I always figured it was a damn good start. But I wouldn't want to meddle with your prejudices.”

Her heart thudded erratically as she tried to maintain her poise. Despite the joyful outcome of having Bartholomew, she'd been a fool to give in to her impulses that night in the storm and she mustn't let good judgment desert her again. She just needed her information and she'd be on her way back to her ordered life. “Don't worry about the notebook,” she said. “Just tell me what you can. I have a good memory.”

“I don't.”

Her chest squeezed. “What do you mean?”

“I can't just spew this stuff out. I'll need some time to think, maybe check with a few people. So, did you want to see the saguaros or not?”

She could see where this was leading. “It's not important. I think it would be better if we ended our association as quickly as possible. A letter would be fine. Now that you know what I need, you can send a letter to the agency.”

“Scared, Amanda?”

Her pulse raced. “Of what?”

His knowing smile, this time including his dimple, was the only answer required.

“Of course not!”

Chase opened his door. “Then let's strap the baby in the infant seat and start out to the ranch. Along the way, I'll show you a few saguaros.”

B
ARTHOLOMEW SLEPT
the entire ride to the ranch, leaving Amanda free to gawk at the unfamiliar countryside. And gawk she did. Used to the gentle slopes of the Adirondacks, she stared in amazement at the rough-hewn peaks of the Santa Catalina Mountains towering above Tucson. The route to the True Love curved around the backside of the range, and by the time Chase had guided the van onto a dirt road marked True Love Guest Ranch, Amanda had seen enough saguaros and other prickly plants to last her a lifetime. She had the urge to encase Bartholomew in a suit of armor to protect his soft baby skin from the bristling terrain.

Chase drove in silence, his expression as austere as the landscape. If she didn't so desperately want the information about his family, she'd consider calling a cab when she arrived at the ranch and returning to the airport. His question about whether there were any other men in her life made her wonder if he had ideas of renewing their sexual relationship. If so, he'd be disappointed—she had no intention of letting that happen. Or maybe he just wanted a little more time with Bartholomew. She could hardly deny him that, considering her request for his medical background, but she hoped he wouldn't become too attached to the baby.

The van jounced over a pothole in the dirt road and Chase muttered a curse under his breath.

“Is it your back?” she asked, recalling belatedly that a couple of months ago he'd been in a hospital bed.

“No. I didn't want to wake the baby,” he said.

She was unexpectedly touched. “Don't worry. He'll probably sleep until the van stops. How is your back?”

“Not bad.”

She decided to press the point. “But you gave up your truck-driving career because of your back, didn't you?”

He nodded. “The physical therapists said it would be at least a year before I could get through a day without pain, and the doctors doubted I'd ever go back to trucking. But I've had a sort of miracle cure out here. Four weeks ago, I started riding, and now, on a good day, I can stay in the saddle for several hours.”

It wasn't hard to picture him galloping through this rugged country. The role suited him in the same way driving a powerful 18-wheeler had, and both images stirred her sexually. But she'd already indulged herself in the fantasy once, and the price had been high. Indulging again could threaten her whole way of life. “I imagine the climate would help a bad back.” She lifted her hair to let the air-conditioning find the nape of her neck.

He glanced at her, and his gaze warmed. She remembered too late that he'd once commented on that gesture, calling it “damn sexy.” Self-conscious, she released the weight of her hair to her shoulders. She hadn't meant to be provocative. She didn't want him to want her.

“The warm weather helps,” Chase said after a moment. “And the head wrangler, Leigh Singleton, well, she has some amazing massage techniques.”

“Oh.” The jolt of jealousy that hit Amanda caught her completely off guard. She had no right to those kinds of emotions. And they were a dangerous sign that she might have been fooling herself about why she'd come to Arizona. “You're lucky to have found someone like that,” she said.

“Leigh is a fascinating woman. I never believed in psychics or natural healing before, but Leigh's changing my mind.”

Amanda didn't trust herself to speak. It was one thing for her to decide their relationship had no chance. It was quite another to hear Chase praising the “fascinating” attributes of another woman. Yet she could hardly expect a man with Chase's sex appeal to remain without a woman for very long.

“Well, here we are,” Chase said, pulling the van to a stop.

Amanda had a brief glimpse of a low wall that arched over a wrought-iron gate. Behind the wall was a large one-story structure of whitewashed adobe with a red-tiled roof and a wide front porch splashed with red geraniums in pots.

Bartholomew started to whimper in the seat behind her, cutting short her inspection.

“I'll get him,” she said, opening her door. By the time she'd extricated Bartholomew from his infant seat, Chase was already striding down the flagstone walk carrying her luggage. Leaving the van door open, she followed him.

The lightweight designer blouse and skirt she'd chosen for the trip had seemed sensible enough at the airport, but now she could see they belonged at a beach cottage, not a ranch. Her open-toed sandals collected dirt and small stones that bit into the soles of her feet and threatened to destroy her nylons.

Shielding Bartholomew from the relentless sun, she hobbled up the walk toward the porch, where an old cowboy sat in a cane chair with a black-and-white dog at his feet. Except for the aluminum walker beside him, the old man looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Amanda could imagine using him as part of an ad campaign for the True Love, and automatically began composing copy to describe the timeless appeal of a shady porch on a summer afternoon.

Chase set the luggage down on the porch and touched the brim of his hat. “Afternoon, Dex.”

The gesture of respect charmed Amanda more than she cared to admit. She remembered the crudeness with which he'd described her as “the best lay he'd ever had,” and wondered which was the real Chase, the rough-edged trucker or the gallant cowboy.

“Who's this?” the old man asked with disarming bluntness.

“I'd like you to meet Amanda Drake,” Chase said, turning toward her. “And...her son,” he added, glancing away.

“Your girl?”

“No, she's...someone I knew in New York. Amanda, this is Dexter Grimes. He used to be foreman of the True Love.”

Amanda stepped onto the porch where the shade enveloped her in coolness. She shifted Bartholomew to the crook of her left arm and held out her right hand. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Grimes.”

“Likewise.” He gripped her hand firmly just as Bartholomew began to fuss.

“Excuse me.” She extracted her hand and began to jiggle the baby against her shoulder. “He's had a long trip.”

Dexter held out his arms. “Here.”

She stared at the old cowboy. Relinquish her precious baby to a man so uncoordinated he needed a walker to get around? “That's okay, Mr. Grimes. I'd better just take him inside.”

Dexter lowered his arms, his gaze sad. “Too old.”

“Oh, no!” Sympathy washed over her. “I just...” She glanced at Chase for help, but he returned her gaze without saying a word. Slowly, she turned back to Dexter. Mentally crossing her fingers, she leaned over to offer him her squirming child. “He's a handful,” she said cautiously, lowering Bartholomew into Dexter's arms.

“Yep.” Dexter cradled the baby as if he'd been holding children for years, and an expression of delight spread over his leathery features. Bartholomew stopped fussing and stared up at the old man. “Pretty,” Dexter said.

Amanda's eyes misted. She hadn't received such an uncomplicated expression of joy from either of her own parents. “Yes, he's very pretty,” she said.

“Stinks some,” Dexter said.

Amanda's chuckle mixed with the lump of emotion in her throat. “I think he needs a change.”

Dexter laughed softly as he looked down at the baby. “Could be.” He brushed a finger under the tiny chin. “Could be.”

And then something happened that took Amanda's breath away. Bartholomew grasped the old man's finger tight in one small fist, and smiled.

She grabbed Chase's arm. “Did you see that? Bartholomew smiled! Chase, he's never done that before. It's the first time!”

Chase glanced at her hand on his arm and she quickly removed it. “Guess he likes ol' Dex,” Chase said easily.

“Likes me.” Dexter played a gentle tug-of-war with the baby.

Behind them the carved double doors opened. Amanda turned at the creak of hinges and discovered a gray-haired woman with an ample bosom standing in the doorway. “What are you folks standing out in the heat for?” she asked in a lilting voice.

“Foal...no...little...baby!” Dexter said. “There! I said it! Baby!”

“What?” The woman circled Chase, the luggage and Amanda to stand in front of Dexter. “Sakes alive! It is a baby!”

“I said so.”

Chase cleared his throat. “Belinda, this is Amanda Drake. Amanda, this is Belinda, Dexter's wife and the person who supervises the kitchen.”

Belinda glanced quickly behind her with a smile and a nod. “Nice to meet you,” she said before returning her attention to Bartholomew. “But who is this, Dexter?” She reached for the baby and Dexter handed him up to her.

“Baby,” he said.

“I can
see
that.” Belinda cradled Bartholomew in the crook of her arm and beamed down at him. “And a beautiful baby you are, too,” she crooned. “Look at those big eyes! And such curly hair. And a cute little button nose, and rosy cheeks! You are a charmer, you are!”

Chase shifted his weight and hooked his thumbs through the loops of his belt. “That's Amanda's son.” He coughed into his hand. “Bartholomew.”

Amanda knew in that moment that Chase didn't like the name she'd chosen, and disappointment pricked her. Not that she should care if he liked the name or not, she told herself.

Belinda looked up at Chase. “Why, he looks just like
you,
Chase,” she blurted out. Then she blushed. “Goodness, I probably shouldn't have said that.”

“It's okay, Mrs. Grimes,” Amanda said. “Chase is technically the father.”

Chase spun toward her. “Technically? What kind of ridiculous statement is that?”

Heat rose in Amanda's cheeks. A moment ago, she'd been enjoying the response of these two sweet old people to her baby, almost as if she and Chase had brought Bartholomew home to adoring grandparents. Now the illusion was shattered. “Simply that I don't expect you to shoulder any of the responsibilities of being a father,” she said.

Bartholomew, as if he were a barometer of the mood, began to cry.

“I need to take him in and change him,” she said, holding out her arms toward Belinda.

“Of course.” Belinda leaned down to drop a kiss on the baby's forehead before she gave him up. “He's so sweet.”

“Stinks some,” Dexter said.

“I'll just go inside and take care of that,” Amanda said. “Mrs. Grimes, where would be a good place for me to change him?”

“Come with me. And call me Belinda.” The older woman picked up the diaper bag, circled Amanda's waist with one arm and guided her toward the open door. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “Chase, take Amanda's luggage out to the cottage. I think we have an old cradle in storage. Get Rosa to help you find it and clean it up.”

Amanda couldn't help smiling at Belinda's tone. She didn't speak to her boss as if she were an employee. Amanda suspected it had been many years since Belinda had felt like anyone's hired help.

They entered a high-ceilinged room that was blissfully cool.

“That was kind of you to let Dexter hold your baby,” Belinda said. “Ever since his stroke, he's been so frustrated—can't always find the right word, can't move around as well as he used to. He was such a vital man. It's heartbreaking.”

Amanda met the older woman's gaze. “I can imagine it would be,” she said gently.

“He was delighted with that baby.” She gave Bartholomew a wistful smile before gesturing toward a door to the right. “This way. We'll change him in Freddy's office.”

Amanda surveyed the room as they started across it. Directly opposite the front door, a huge picture window revealed a landscaped patio with a pool and a Jacuzzi. A low wall swooped up to an arch, where a waterfall cascaded into the pool, transforming the surface of the water into dancing points of sunlight.

It would have been an idyllic setting except for the cowboy and cowgirl arguing heatedly beside the pool. Intrigued, Amanda paused. She couldn't tell what they were saying, but from the arm-waving and belligerent stances of both, she knew they were furious.

Belinda noticed Amanda's preoccupation. “Never mind them. They're in love.”

“Doesn't look like it.”

Belinda laughed. “It's been like that between those two ever since T. R. McGuinnes came to the ranch. Now, of course, we all call him Ry instead of T.R. That was the first thing Freddy did—got rid of those stupid initials and gave him a name you could say without laughing.”

“Freddy's a woman?” Amanda had assumed the office they were heading for belonged to a man.

“I'm sorry. I forgot that you don't know who anybody is around here. Ry is one of the three owners of the ranch, and Freddy's the foreman. They're getting married in two days, so we don't have any regular paying guests staying here just now, only members of the wedding party. I guess that's why Freddy and Ry feel free to carry on like that by the pool. When we have paying guests, they usually save their spats for the corrals or the open range.”

Just then, the dark-haired woman out on the patio pushed the broad-shouldered cowboy into the water.

“They're getting married?” Amanda jiggled Bartholomew on her shoulder to buy a little time so she could watch the exciting show outside. She'd never known anybody who acted this way, and she was fascinated. “But she just pushed him in the water, clothes and all!” The cowboy swam awkwardly to retrieve his floating hat while the woman stood back, arms crossed, and watched.

“They'll make up. Wait and see.”

The woman named Freddy turned on her booted heel and marched, head down, toward the French door leading into the room where Belinda and Amanda stood. She opened the door and turned to shout over her shoulder. “They could rope me with barbed wire and drag me to the altar and I still wouldn't marry the likes of you!” Then she closed the door with enough force to rattle the panes. She obviously didn't notice she had an audience until she turned her attention away from the man still groping for his hat in the choppy water.