Letter to Reader “Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked. Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Epilogue Copyright

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stones that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who experience the full emotional intensity of falling in love!

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Be sure to “rope in” the next installment of the exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB with Billionaire Bridegroom by Peggy Moreland When cattle baron Forrest Cunningham wants to wed childhood friend Becky Sullivan, she puts his love to an unexpected test.

The always-wonderful Jennifer Greene returns to Desire with her magical series HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Kiss Your Prince Charming is a modern fairy tale starring an unforgettable “frog prince.” In a sexy battle-of-the-sexes tale, Lass Small offers you The Catch of Texas. Anne Eames continues her popular miniseries MONTANA MALONES with The Unknown Malone. And Shen WhiteFeather makes her explosive Desire debut with Warrior’s Baby, a story of surrogate motherhood with a twist.

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“Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked.

He reached for her hair again. The fire-lit strands slipped through his fingers like ribbons of silk.

“Yes.” Melanie’s breathless voice sent a surge of sensual heat coursing through his veins.

Colt shuddered. He wouldn’t permit this to happen. He wouldn’t confuse his need for a child with desire for the woman willing to carry it. That’s what was happening, he told himself. He was vulnerable and so was she. Their physical compulsion to produce a baby was creating false intimacy. His urge to taste her citrus-scented skin and run his hands through her thick, autumn hair would go away once his seed was planted.

Wouldn’t it?

Warrior’s Baby

Sheri WhiteFeather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHERI WHITEFEATHER lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.

Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Native American husband, Dru. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.

To Dru and Nikki WhiteFeather for the beauty in my life,

to my mom and two dads for always believing in me, my

sister Elaine for heartfelt prayers and my in-laws for

sharing their heritage. A very special thanks to

Judy Duarte and Chris Green for being the most

dedicated critique partners in the world, and to

Maureen Child for her honesty and advice. Another

sincere thanks to Irene Goodman, Melissa Jeglinski

and Joan Marlow Golan, the hardworking professionals

who made this book happen. All of you have contributed

to the dream.

One

Melanie Richards had to do it.

Now.

As she strode onto the balcony, the sea breeze lifted her fire-tinted locks and billowed her loose cotton skirt. She slid onto a rattan chair, tucked her legs beneath her and stared at the cordless telephone.

How many times today had she chickened out? Five? Six? She’d lost count.

She gazed at the glass tabletop where the torn scrap of paper beside her coffee cup rippled in the wind, seven digits and an area code in danger of being whisked away.

She swiped the phone and began punching buttons. She didn’t need the number. She had memorized it.

The long-distance rings sounded in her ear. One...two... three...

A man answered. “Hello?”

Oh, God. The husky drawl was rich and smooth.

“Is this Colt Raintree?” She knew it was. Tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired Colt, a man as fast and dangerous as the single-action revolver he had been named after.

“Yes.”

“Hi, this is—” Gertrude. Geeky Gertie. The other teenagers used to call me that. Remember? You never did, though. You were sympathetic and kind. “Melanie Richards.”

“Do I know you?”

Yes, but it’s been thirteen years. I use my middle name now and look different. You wouldn’t recognize me. “No. Gloria Carnegie told me you were hiring a surrogate, and I—”

He interrupted, his tone edged with suspicion. “Fred’s wife?”

“Yes. Gloria’s a patient of Dr. Miller and just happened to hear about your situation. She contacted me because she thought I might be interested in helping you out.” Melanie paused and gulped a breath of salty air, her heart threatening to beat its way out of her chest. “And I am, but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

His voice softened, just a little. “I’d prefer to discuss this in person. Are you free tomorrow?”

She gazed out at the ocean. As dusk settled over a summer sky, streaks of mauve painted a foaming wave as it crashed onto the shore. A pair of seagulls frolicked in the swell, dipping and gliding. Did you know that I was in love with you?

“I can’t meet with you that soon. You see, I live in California,” she said, then added quickly, “but I’m coming to Montana next week.”

He heaved a sigh and she imagined him raking his hands through his hair. Such beautiful hair. Thick and shiny.

“I suppose next week would be all right. We could meet at the Steer House. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes.” She had eaten at the Steer House many times. Mountain Bluff didn’t have many restaurants. “Any day you choose is fine.” Her only other commitment was visiting with Gloria.

“How about Wednesday? We can discuss the details over lunch,” he offered, sounding more reserved than she remembered.

But then why shouldn’t he? To him Melanie Richards was a stranger, a woman who lived over nine hundred miles away.

“All right. I’ll call you to confirm.”

“Fine.” Colt ended the conversation politely. “It was nice talking to you but I have to go.”

They exchanged proper goodbyes. The receiver went dead.

On the following Wednesday, Melanie arrived at the Steer House wearing a simple black dress, a linen blazer and understated jewelry. Her freshly-washed hair fell freely about her shoulders.

Within minutes she was seated at a candle-lit table where she was left to wait for Colt.

Melanie was accustomed to business meetings. Luncheons, dinners. She always wore black, arrived early, ordered a light meal and smiled charmingly. She had it down pat. Today, of course, was different. She wasn’t in L.A., selling a chic artistic design. This was her hometown and the cowboy due to arrive wouldn’t be interested in seeing her portfolio. In fact, she had no idea what Colt Raintree would be interested in seeing. She’d never been considered for motherhood before.

When she looked up, her heart leaped into her throat. Tall and strong and more handsome than she remembered, Colt strode behind the hostess. When the girl stopped and Colt moved forward, Melanie feasted her eyes.

His slim-fitting jeans looked new. A fancy black-and-white shirt, combining embroidery and a western yoke, stretched the boundaries of his broad shoulders. Long black hair, secured at his nape, boasted his heritage. Colt had always reminded her of a jungle cat, sleek and muscular with exotic-shaped eyes and a raw sensuality of which he seemed unaware.

He slid into a chair across from Melanie and smiled politely. Neither spoke until the hostess departed.

He reached across the table to extend his hand. The flickering candle shadowed the sharp angle of his cheekbones. He had aged well. The lithe, rakish boy had grown into a warrior. Dark eyes revealed masculine depth.

“Melanie, right?”

She nodded and accepted his hand. It was big, callused and warm. His touch spread through her like an ache. She still loved him. Not just the memory, but the man. She believed in second chances. This was hers.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Colt.”

Hands separating, their gazes locked. “Am I late?” he asked.

“No.” She smiled. “I was early.”

Apparently he didn’t recognize her, but then she hadn’t really expected him to. She bore little resemblance to the timid girl he had known so long ago. During her third year in California, she’d been struck by a car. The near-fatal car accident had resulted in a necessary surgical procedure. One that had altered her features.

The busboy reappeared with another glass of water. Colt opened the menu. “Do you want to decide on lunch first?”

“Sure.” Although too nervous to be hungry, when the waitress arrived, she ordered broiled chicken.

Colt decided on the steak and scampi special. Both chose salad over soup. They muddled through small talk; the weather, the Western artifacts in the restaurant. She waited for him to get down to business. He did, right after their salads were delivered.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said. “I pictured someone, I don’t know, more momish.”

She had no idea what his concept of momish was. “Like a fifties television mom?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He grinned. The same, slow dangerous grin that had melted her heart thirteen years ago. When it faded, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Some of the women I’ve met with haven’t liked the idea that I’m single. How do you feel about that?”

Her stomach constricted. The interview had begun. “I can’t very well hold that against you. I’m not married, either.”

He reached for the bread basket. “No boyfriend to consult?”

She moved the lettuce around on her plate. “No. There’s no one.”

Colt tore a roll in half and buttered the center. “We need to be straight with each other. You tell me why you’re willing to be a surrogate and I’ll tell you why I’m looking for one”

The table was fairly secluded, for which she was grateful. She certainly didn’t want the other patrons to get an earful. She’d been rehearsing her speech all day. Being straight was out of the question. She’d have to combine bits of the truth with some creative story telling. California BS, she called it. Embellish your assets. Tell the client what they want to hear.

She started with the truth. “I’m a foster child. Consequently, I’ve learned to make my own way. When we were kids, Gloria and I lived next door to each other. We were best friends. As you know, she’s the one who mentioned your situation to me. The idea of a single man wanting a child so much fascinated me. That’s why I contacted you.” She sipped her water, then continued. She had Colt’s undivided attention, something she’d always longed for. “I don’t believe I could carry a child for a couple. I wouldn’t be comfortable being impregnated by another woman’s husband.”

He seemed mildly satisfied. “Do you have any children?”

Melanie shook her head. “I’ve been too busy with my career. I’m an illustrator. I’ve designed just about everything. Greeting cards, posters, calendars, book covers. There hasn’t been much time for anything else.”

He pushed his half-eaten salad away and leaned forward, dark eyes probing. “You don’t look familiar.”

Her pulse raced. “Should I?”

“You said you were Gloria’s neighbor. That’s means you grew up around here.”

He studied her carefully. She thought he liked what he saw. Melanie recognized masculine admiration. She’d worked hard to achieve it: a strenuous daily workout, hair tinting, a carefully chosen wardrobe and just the right amount of makeup.

“Do you remember Gloria?” she asked. Colt wouldn’t have known that Gertrude had been friends with Gloria. The two had never been in his company together.

“Sure,” he answered. “I used to see her around. I went to high school with Fred. They were sweethearts.”

She smirked and raised a brow. “I went to Saint Theresa’s. I was a good girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” He laughed. “Well, I was probably the baddest boy in town. Lucky for you we never met.”

He was still grinning like a rogue when the waitress brought their meals. He cut into his meat. She studied the silverware pattern and pushed away her guilt. She wanted to be someone new in his eyes.

She glanced up and met his amused gaze. “Your reputation precedes you, Colt. I know all about you.”

His smile disappeared. “Everything?”

She wasn’t sure what everything was. “Just gossip, I suppose. People like to talk.”

He reached for his water. “The gossip started with my mom. Her folks, my grandparents, built Bluff Creek, the recreational ranch I inherited. Grandma ran the bed and breakfast and Grandpa took tourists on pack rides. Fishing and camping, nature trails, that sort of thing.” A short laugh barked from his chest. “But when Grandpa hired this big Indian fellow to help out, he got a little more than he bargained for. Toby Raintree took a shine to my mom. Problem was, she was only sixteen and Toby was twenty or so. Grandpa sent the Cheyenne packing, but the damage had already been done. I arrived nine months later.”

Colt raked his hands through his hair, deep-set eyes reflecting old wounds. Melanie thought about her own unbecoming beginnings. She was illegitimate, too. “You don’t have to tell me everything, Colt. If it makes you uncomfortable...”

“We’re talking about making a baby. I think we should be candid with each other.” A shrug jerked his brawny shoulders. “Besides, my family loved me, even if I had a bit of Toby in me. I wasn’t wild on purpose. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. It’s just who I was.”

She teased him with a feminine toss of her head. He was staring. Seriously considering her for the baby-making job, she thought. “I heard you were a spoiled rich boy.”

His grin was wry. “Overindulged, maybe.”

The waitress came by and cleared their plates. He had finished his meal, she’d done a lot of rearranging on her plate. If he noticed her lack of appetite, he didn’t comment on it. They both ordered a cup of coffee, passed on dessert.

“I have to know, Melanie. Is it the money?”

She couldn’t help herself from bristling. “I didn’t bring up your family’s money because I need it.”

“It’s my money now. My family’s gone. And I’m offering a fair amount to the woman who has my baby. I have a right to know what your true motivation is.”

She wanted to leap across the table, pummel his chest and shout that she loved him, that she hoped to keep his baby and share a life with him. “I plan to give the money to charity. A children’s organization of some kind. I have a successful career. I’m not in the business of selling babies.”

“And I’m not in the business of buying them,” he retorted, then softened his tone. “I had a daughter...a sweet little girl...” His eyes turned watery. “God, it seems like a lifetime ago. I just miss being a father. I didn’t mean to offend you. What you do with the money is your prerogative.”

He reached across the table for her hand, squeezed it apologetically. “Are you still interested, or did I just prove what an idiot I can be?”

Longing made her voice breathless. “I’m still interested.”

His fingertips brushed hers. “Will you come by the ranch tomorrow? I’d like to show you around. It’s a great place for a kid to grow up.”

“Certainly. I’d love to.”

Two hours later Melanie rocked on Glona’s weather-beaten porch, wearing a red cotton blouse, faded blue jeans, Harley-Davidson boots and an anxious expression that mirrored her fluttering heart.

Gloria’s youngest hummed a contented tune. The towheaded four-year-old reached for his favorite toy, a yellow dump trunk packed with tiny stones from the freshly graveled driveway. When he grinned, the cherry Popsicle stain around his mouth widened.

Seated beside him on the front step, his mother touched the back of his head and shuddered. “Colt’s daughter was about Joey’s age when she died. I can’t imagine losing a child.”

Melanie stilled the bentwood rocker. She remembered that summer. She’d come home for one of Gloria’s baby showers and learned Colt had just buried his estranged wife and daughter As usual, he’d been the talk of the town. She’d heard he was inconsolable, shutting out the world around him.

“What do you really think about him looking for a surrogate?”

“Truthfully?” Gloria ruffled her cropped hair, the spiky strawberry-blond strands still damp from Joey’s swimming lessons. She had always been fresh-scrubbed looking with a generous supply of freckles, cosmetics low on her list of priorities. “I think he’s lonely and misguided. He should marry again and have children the traditional way.”

“I had lunch with him today.” Melanie set the rocker in motion. It felt good to breathe the clean Montana air. Almost as life-sustaining as the sound of Colt’s husky drawl.

“A date? Oh, Mel, that’s wonderful.”

She gnawed her bottom lip. “It wasn’t exactly a date. I didn’t tell him my name used to be Gertrude. You see, we weren’t really meeting for old time’s sake.”

Joey’s mother shooed him into the house, bribing him with another Popsicle. “Just one,” she cautioned as the boy forgot about the truck and dashed off. She turned to Melanie, one eyebrow arching. “What’s going on?”

Melanie gazed out at the front yard. Along the fence, rows of late-blooming flowers and tall, scattered weeds fought for control. The garden hose attached to a sprinkler head slithered across the overgrown lawn like a giant snake. In the center of the damp grass a proud tree yielded a makeshift swing, a big, black tire swaying in the breeze.

Her beachfront property paled by comparison. A happy home surpassed a lonely, upscale, condo any day. “I told him I was interested in being his surrogate.”

“Oh, my Lord! You didn’t!”

Melanie set her jaw. “I did. And I am.”

Gloria shook her cropped head. “You, my dear, are not a good candidate. You’ve never even had a child. You’d never be able to turn your baby over to him.”

Plastering a smile on her face, Melanie ignored the other woman’s disapproving scowl. “Yes, I could. I’m too wrapped up in my career to think about raising a child. I’m—”

“Lying,” Gloria provided.

The phony smile faded. “You said it yourself. Colt needs a wife.”

“But he doesn’t want a wife. He wants a child, no strings attached.”

“I’ll make him change his mind.” That car accident had given her a new outlook on life. It had taught her to go after what she wanted. And more than anything, she wanted Colt.

When Glona’s expression reflected Melanie’s biggest fear, her confidence wavered. Reminding herself to breathe, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Please God, make Colt want me, too. Don’t let me fail.

She opened her eyes and addressed her friend. “You’re the one who gave me this idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

Melanie took another deep breath. How typical of Gloria to act innocent. “You couldn’t wait to tell me that he was looking for a surrogate. And you even said that I should be the one to have his baby.”

Gloria wrung her hands together. “I was kidding.”

“Baloney, that was a subliminal message and you dam well know it.”

“Sublimi—” The other woman stood up and began to pace. “Oh, my Lord, what have I done?”

Melanie forced a grin. If she couldn’t convince Gloria, then how could she convince Colt? “Oh, quit fretting. A little subconscious matchmaking never hurt anyone. Just wish me luck. Support my decision.”

The other woman paused. “Are you sure you’re in love with Colt? True love happens over time, and the two of you have never really spent any time together. I want you to be certain before you—”

“I am,” Melanie professed adamantly, meeting her friend’s concerned gaze. “From the first moment I saw him, I knew he was meant to be part of my life. And we did spend time together—every weekend for almost two years—I rode at his family’s ranch. He was good to me, Gloria. The kindest person I’d ever known.”

“He may not be so kind once he finds out what you’re up to.” When Gloria paced again, the wood planks squeaked below her feet. “I hate to say this, but there is the possibility he might not fall in love with you. Think about how serious this is, Mel.”

“I have.” Long and hard, every waking moment. “I’m not trying to trick Colt. And I know what the consequences are. If he doesn’t fall in love with me, then I’ll honor our original agreement.” Deep down, she kept telling herself that wouldn’t happen, but the realist in her knew it could.

Gloria’s jaw dropped. “You’d give him the baby?”

“Yes.” The next breath she took hurt. Deeply. “I vowed a long time ago that if I could ever repay Colt for his kindness, I would. I’ve always wanted to change his life the way he changed mine.” She set the rocker in motion again—a movement as gentle as the breeze, as tender as Colt’s heart. “He made me realize my worth, helped me to believe in myself. I’m successful and strong because he convinced me I could be

“So you see, Gloria. If I have to, I’ll give him our baby.” She would give Colt a part of her that would live forever. “But as I said before, I’ll do whatever I can to make him want me.”

The other woman’s expression softened. “Oh, Mel, you really do love him.”

“Yes. I always have.” Melanie recalled how sensitive and protective he had been. When the other teenagers who frequented the rental stables made leering cracks about what a “nerdy brain” she was, Colt had countered their attacks, professing “I think intelligent women are sexy.” Time and time again, Colt Raintree had been her champion, her knight in shining armor. He would touch her cheek and tell her she was perfect—sweet and pure—one of earth’s angels.

Although their lives had taken separate paths, Colt’s image had never been far from her heart. She wanted him to be her first love. Her only love.

As an image of her teenage self surfaced, Melanie’s stomach fluttered. What an image: a shy, skinny little girl with mousy brown hair and a mouthful of silver braces. “Colt didn’t recognize me.”

“How could he? Let’s face it, you’ve changed.” Gloria tilted her blond head. “You do plan on telling him who you are, right?”

“Yes, but not right away.” Colt wanted a professional relationship with his surrogate. A woman who adored him during their teenage years certainly didn’t fall into that category. Until his baby lay cradled in her womb, she would keep her identity a secret.

“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean—” Gloria paused as Joey scampered out the front door and down the rickety porch steps. The boy had a Popsicle, probably his fourth, the rainbow around his mouth a conspicuous giveaway.

His mother latched on to his shirttail. “How many of those have you had?”

He squirmed. “Two.”

“Joey?”

“Three.”

She released her hold. “No more, okay?”

He grinned. His teeth were blue. “Okay, Mom.”

The child leaped onto the wet grass and both women laughed. Mom. Just the word alone made Melanie’s womb ache. The only man she had ever dreamed of having a baby with was Colt. At this point, being inseminated with his seed sounded romantic.

Melanie Richards had built a successful career, acquired self-esteem and survived a near-fatal accident, yet she had never forgotten the wild, black-haired boy who had treated her kindly when others had not; the boy with whom she had fallen hopelessly in love.

Colt wondered if she’d be early. They had agreed on 10:00 a.m. He glanced at his watch. It was 9:33.

Melanie Richards was an enigma. A beautiful, single, successful lady willing to have a baby for someone else. Something didn’t add up. Maybe she needed the dough. He wasn’t quite buying her I-plan-to-give-the-money-to-charity story. Being a surrogate was a job—nine months out of a woman’s life. He didn’t begrudge paying for the service, yet the idea of buying his own baby, in a sense, left him cold. He wanted the perfect scenario, a woman who needed to give a child as much as he needed to receive one. Melanie was going to have to tell him straight out why she was offering him the ultimate sacrifice. The most precious of gifts. Her motivation was still vague.

Colt flipped his leg over the leather recliner and reached for the coffee mug. Dang, he was actually anxious about seeing her again. Unfortunately he found himself physically attracted to her: a youthful complexion, big cornflower blue eyes, shoulder-length hair the color of autumn leaves, each strand unique in its vibrance. And her body? Enticing curves a man could ride, slow and sensual, like a smooth hypnotic current

He jerked forward when the doorbell sounded, locking the recliner in place. It was 9:40. She was early.

He pulled open the door. Pushed away his lust. Business and pleasure didn’t mix where women were concerned.

“Hi.” She smiled. She looked younger than the day before. Her blue jeans were faded, fraying at the knees, her denim blouse tied at the waist. A green ribbon secured her ponytail, but wispy tendrils had worked loose, gently framing a heart-shaped face. She smelled like citrus-scented soap, clean and fresh.

Colt glanced down and let out a low whistle. Her Western boots were ostrich. The lady had class. Money.

He stepped away from the door. “Come in.”

She was still smiling. “Boots are my weakness.”

Women like you are mine, he wanted to say. “Yeah, I can see that.”

She gazed around the room. “Impressive place.”

He followed the line of her eyes and assessed his surroundings with renewed interest. Constructed of native timber and pegged-beam ceilings, the six-bedroom homestead used to serve as the main lodge He’d considered renting it out and moving into one of the log cabins out back, but couldn’t bring himself to abandon his daughter’s room. Her pink canopy bed and favorite stuffed animals remained there, waiting for a child who would never return.

“Big place for one guy, huh?” he asked.

“Soon there will be two of you.”

He smiled at the thought. His home had been empty far too long. “The patter of little feet.”

“Little boots,” she amended.

He winked at her, something he hadn’t done to a woman in a long time. Melanie reminded him of his youth for some reason, and although she didn’t look familiar, she felt familiar. Something he didn’t quite understand. “Do you want a cup of coffee or iced tea or something?”

“Tea sounds nice.”

She followed him into the kitchen then sat down at the oak table in the adjoining dining room. It seated twelve. He poured a tall glass of sun tea and joined her. “We used to have people around all the time. Tourists. Sometimes I hated it, having strangers in my house. Other times, I really enjoyed it. When my grandparents died, I couldn’t keep the bed and breakfast going. I raise quarter horses. That keeps me busy.”

“My work keeps me busy, too.”

He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “If we decide to go through with this, I want full custody of the child. I’d want this to be like an adoption on your part.”

She gazed into her tea. “I know.”

“I couldn’t take another custody battle, Melanie. You have to be sure you can do this. You have to convince me I can trust you, that you’re being completely honest.”

A shadow hooded her blue eyes. They went from daylight to dark in an instant. “A custody battle? I don’t understand.”

He blew an anxious breath. His scars hadn’t healed. Dredging up the past hurt, but she had a right to know. “I wasn’t happily married. I married Shelly because of the baby. I never loved her the way a husband should. We argued all the time. She kept accusing me of cheating. I hadn’t been, but she was obsessively jealous. I couldn’t even talk to another woman. After a few miserable years, I told her I couldn’t take it anymore, that I wanted a divorce.”

Melanie twisted the dainty gold chain around her neck. Colt studied her nervous fingers, bit the inside of his lip and continued. “Things got real ugly after that And Meagan, our daughter, got caught in the middle.” He tugged a hand through his hair. “We ended up in court. It was a long, drawn-out process, but eventually I got custody of Meagan. Shelly was issued weekend and holiday visitations. The psychiatrist who testified seemed to think it was in our daughter’s best interest to remain with me.”

He pushed his chair back and gripped the tabletop, expelling pain and frustration from the past. “But the court ruling didn’t mean a damn thing because the first weekend Shelly had Meagan, she closed her bank accounts and ran. She kidnapped my little girl. Took her away from me.”

His brown knuckles whitened. The worst was yet to come. “Even though I searched and hired people, we never found them. A whole year went by and then one day the police showed up at my door Shelly and Meagan had been killed in a drive-by shooting in Chicago.” Colt caught his breath, felt the familiar sting beneath his eyes. “The last time I saw my five-year-old daughter was at her funeral.”

Someone had killed an innocent child because they’d mistaken Shelly’s car for one belonging to a rival gang member. His baby girl had met a violent death on a cold, empty street. Oh, they’d caught the lone gunman, but knowing that bastard was rotting in jail hadn’t eased his pain. Colt had vowed to himself over and over that no one would ever take another child from him again. Not the child’s mother nor some sick, violent stranger. He would protect this baby with his life.

Melanie looked up. Her eyes were lined with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Colt’s heart clenched. A part of him hated what he was asking her to do. Deep down, he knew a child should be raised by two loving parents, yet Shelly’s deception had made it impossible for him to welcome another woman back into his life. Had Shelly not kidnapped Meagan, his daughter would still be alive.

He trapped Melanie’s gaze. Finding a surrogate mother was his only recourse.

“If we create a child, are you willing to hand the baby over to me, walk away and not look back?”

Colt waited. Melanie Richards didn’t respond.

Two

“Melanie?”

“Colt?”

“I asked you a question.”

He hadn’t asked her a question. He’d asked her to give away her flesh and blood Their baby. She wanted to run, the very idea suddenly creating panic. How could she do this?

She gazed into his dark eyes, at the pain within. How could she not? Colt Raintree needed a family. A woman who loved him. A child. Melanie reached for his hand. She would tell him what he wanted to hear. Convince him to conceive a child with her.

His callused hand abraded hers. She squeezed it. He would fall in love with her before the baby was born, and later he would understand why she had kept her identity a secret. He would forgive her. After all, compassion had been what their past relationship was based on. How many times had he made her smile when she’d been on the verge of tears? And then there were the boosts of encouragement, the moments when he’d cupped her face and told her, “A smart girl like you can accomplish anything.”

Melanie sighed. Although she had accomplished plenty over the years, she still hadn’t fulfilled her biggest dream. Melanie Richards had yet to win Colt Raintree’s heart. “I want to give you a child, Colt. I know what this means to you.”

He withdrew his hand, then placed it in his lap, his posture stiff. “How can you want to do this for me? You don’t even know me. There has to be more to it than that. Women have all sorts of reasons for becoming surrogates. But you haven’t offered one logical explanation.”

Melanie tilted her chin. She had a logical explanation. Loving him was reason enough to expect to share a child with him. And then there were the hardships in her life, the things she had overcome. The accident had made her stronger, more determined to go after what she wanted. Life was too short to waste.

“I told you I was a foster child. Of course, that impacted my life, made me who and what I am,” she said. “I’ve learned to be comfortable and strong on my own. Yet, a piece of me wants to be part of a family, or at least know I contributed to one. It would give me a sense of peace to give someone a child. To know that I’d completed their family in some way. I could go on with my career, live my life and know it had purpose.”

She saw him weakening. Her words had penetrated his heart, yet they were twisted. The explanation she had given was the very reason she longed to keep Colt’s child and marry him.

“Would you think about the baby? Feel guilty about giving it away?”

She smiled softly. He looked as though he almost felt guilty for asking her to do it. “How could L knowing it’s your child? It would be well loved. And when I’d think about it, I’d envision it in your arms. Happy and smiling.”

She could see him in her mind’s eye, holding their baby, cuddling the tiny life against his broad chest. Only she imagined herself standing beside him, sharing the moment. Melanie’s smile faded. The real possibility of having to give him that child made her ache. What if Colt didn’t fall in love with her? She’d lose him and their baby.

“Do you want to see Meagan’s room?” he asked. “I want you to know her in some way. If you have my baby, it would be her brother or sister.”

She nodded silently and followed Colt down the hall. She’d been inside his house once before but only as far as the living room sofa.

The first time he had spoken to her was when she had fallen from one of his family’s rental horses and sprained her ankle. Abandoned by her horse, Colt had spotted the disloyal beast galloping back to the stable and rode out looking for the horseless rider. He’d found her lying on a grassy slope, lifted her in his muscular arms, gently slung her over his mount, took her to his ranch and packed her ankle with ice. She had sat on the cowhide sofa, nervously chewing her fingernails, her heart melting while he wrapped her swollen ankle.

After that life-altering experience, she’d discovered someone other than Colt had suspected she was smitten. Someone who must have felt compelled to mention it.

Shorty Miller, the ornery old ranch hand who saddled the rental horses hadn’t said beans to her until he’d learned about her mishap. When Melanie had returned to the stables the weekend following her injury, Shorty, a balding, beanpole of a man, sent a gruff compliment her way. “You stick with it, girlie,” he’d said, adjusting her stirrup. “You’ve got a natural seat. Someday you’ll be ridin’ just fine, real prettylike.”

Melanie had smiled proudly from atop the mount Shorty had chosen for her and scanned the grounds for Colt. “The boy ain’t here,” the old man had grumbled, his thick mustache twitching. “Took a group into the hills not more than twenty minutes ago.”

Melanie had blushed from the top of her straw hat to the tips of her boots. “What boy?”

“Don’t play me for a fool. The one you got yer eye on, girlie,” had come the gravelly reply.

Week after week, Shorty had quietly pointed out Colt’s whereabouts. “The boy’s in the barn.” “He just rode out.” “He’s team penning in the arena.”

In the end, it had been Shorty who had informed her of Colt’s impending nuptials. “The boy’s gone and done it this time,” the old man had said. “Got a girl in trouble, that one did. He’ll be marrying her right quick.”

Colt’s husky voice jarred her back to the present. “Melanie, are you all right?”

They were standing in Meagan’s room. Got a girl in trouble, that one did Somehow, she didn’t think Colt had ever thought of his daughter as trouble. “I’m fine.”

She found herself surrounded in feminine delight. A pink canopy bed overflowed with stuffed animals and a large bay window was covered in eyelet and rose-tinted lace. White shelves displayed a porcelain doll collection, each dressed in hand-tailored finery. The wood toy box in the corner was ornately carved.

“I used to read to her every night,” Colt said. “People think you should stop grieving after a few years. They don’t understand that the loss of a child never goes away. It’s always there, like a dull ache.”

Melanie watched him. He picked up a stuffed lion from the bed and stroked its mane. “And they thought it was weird that I kept her room the way it was. But it wasn’t as if I was trying to create a shrine. I thought that if I dismantled this room then I’d have nothing left of her.”

He gazed around. “But you know, since I’ve decided to bring another child into my life, I’m actually ready to pack up my daughter’s things. I thought this room would make a great nursery for the new baby. I’m sure Meagan would approve.”

Melanie walked over to the dresser. A framed portrait displayed a younger, smiling Colt cuddling a dark-haired little girl. Her eyes were wide and brown, her skin a rich, glowing copper. “She was beautiful.”

Colt replaced the fluffy lion. “Thank you.”

Our child will be beautiful, too, Melanie thought, running her fingers along the edge of the frame. “I believe when babies are born, there’s a guardian angel assigned to look after them. Meagan’s probably been waiting for you to have another baby. I’m sure she’s earned her wings by now.”

Within a heartbeat, Colt was standing behind her, the faint, spicy scent of his cologne wafting to her nostrils. “You say nice things,” he offered quietly. “I like you.”

She turned and faced him. They were inches apart but she had to tilt her chin to view his expression. He towered over her by nearly a foot. Her Western boots didn’t help much; he was also wearing a pair. “I like you, too.”

He stepped back slowly, widening the space until they were standing a respectable distance apart. For an instant, adoration flickered in his fathomless gaze. It flashed by like a shooting star. She made a wish.

“Would you be interested in helping me redecorate this room?” he asked. “After all, you’re the artist.”

Had her wish just been granted? Was that his way of saying he wanted her for his surrogate? “I love furniture shopping. Antique stores are my favorite.”

His dark eyes lit up. “Mine, too. I don’t know about an old crib, though. Some of those early designs weren’t too safe.”

A surge of adrenaline rushed through her. “We can improvise. Mix new and old. I think you should keep the toy box, though. It would fit right in with what I have in mind.”

Colt laughed. “You already have something in mind? You work fast, pretty lady.”

Pretty lady. She liked that. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Oh, yeah?” He crossed his arms over his massive chest and grinned. “Maybe you’d care to share some of those ideas floating around in your head.”

“Okay.” She pointed to the wall opposite the window. “The crib goes there. And here—” she turned and gestured “—would be the perfect spot for a rocking horse.”

He studied her enthusiasm through amused eyes. “That’s it?”

“No.” She thrust a playful fist forward; it barely grazed a rock-hard shoulder. “We need to find a marvelous old cradle to keep the stuffed animals in. Something from the 1800s maybe. The nursery should reflect the Western motif of the house. Of course, we’re going to have to add something colorful and animated, a paper border or some stenciled figures. Babies love bright colors.”

Colt gazed intently at her. The half smile on his lips turned into a straight, serious line. “Melanie, we need to talk.” He glanced over at his daughter’s picture. “Let’s go to the living room.”

Moments later the door to Meagan’s room was closed and Colt and Melanie were seated side by side on the cowhide sofa, the same one they had briefly shared thirteen years prior. The room was as she remembered it. Two brown leather recliners faced a stone hearth. An oak gun rack, timber wolf pelts and a bison head instilled the spirit of the west.

Colt’s handsome features looked harsh, even in the dim light. The tiny lines around his eyes were almost white against his bronze skin, his lips still set in a tight frown. The shape of his lips fascinated her. The upper was perfectly formed and the fullness of the lower created a natural, sensuous pout. The last time they had sat on the sofa together, she had studied that rakish pout. It had looked friendlier then.

Her stomach quivered. Had he decided she wasn’t the right surrogate? Had her excitement over the nursery given her away? “What’s the matter?” she asked, fearing the answer.

He pulled a hand through his unbound hair. “Maybe I jumped the gun about decorating the baby’s room so soon. The kid hasn’t even been conceived yet. And there are still a lot of issues that haven’t been discussed—legal documents, financial and medical arrangements.” He winced, as though his next words were forming a bitter taste in his mouth. “I hate to bring this up, but truthfully, it still bothers me that you’re not what I expected.”

Her professional side took over, the one that marketed concepts, drawings and ideas. It was too late to become the surrogate he had envisioned, but it wasn’t too late to promote the qualities she had. “How we imagine things is rarely how they really are. You want a woman who’s willing to give up a child, but you think she should be the stereotype of a fifties TV mom. That’s unrealistic, Colt.”

Below the pout, a muscle ticked. “I know.”

“What is it about me that concerns you?”

He kicked a booted foot onto the knotty-pine coffee table. “You’re successful, talented and beautiful.”

She sputtered a laugh. “Such terrible qualities. Your son or daughter might inherit them.”

“It’s not the kid I’m worried about,” he admitted with his usual candor. “It’s me. I had expected to feel a little more...clinical toward the woman I’m considering.”

Melanie withheld a satisfied smile. Apparently Colt found himself attracted to her. “You’re successful, talented and good-looking, too,” she said, eyeing him appreciatively. “It’s okay for us to admire each other. We’re human beings. This shouldn’t be ‘clinical.’ I don’t want to be thought of as just a hired womb. From my understanding, the most successful surrogate relationships are the ones that stern from friendship.”

Colt’s features relaxed, frown lines fading. “Friends I can handle.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Did you bring a pair of sensible boots with you, California girl?”

She lifted her ostrich covered feet. “Sensible?”

“Plain old leather. Something to ride in.”

“Are we riding?”

“Tomorrow at dawn. I supply the horses.”

“Does that offer include scrambled eggs and coffee?”

“Sure.” Colt smiled. “We’ll talk babies over breakfast.”

Melanie studied the delicious curve of his lip. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Montana man.”

The following morning Colt smiled at the lady seasoning the hash browns. He liked her, this classy California girl, even though he had never been around her “type.” Maybe she’d grown up in his hometown, but he envisioned her sunning on the beach, working out in an upscale gym and shopping in Beverly Hills. Who would have guessed she was surrogate-mother material?

She sprinkled bits of freshly-chopped garlic over the potatoes. Good thing they weren’t going to kiss, he thought, surprising himself by the spontaneous notion. Melanie was the first woman in a long time he actually wanted to kiss.

Make love to.

Colt shook his head, trying to expel the unwelcome desire. Lovemaking and babies. The two, of course, were meant to go hand in hand. Just not in this case. If he made her pregnant it would be done in a doctor’s office by way of a syringe. He did not want an emotional involvement in his life, and even though sex didn’t always lead to one, an affair with his surrogate was asking for trouble. With a capital T.

“Where exactly in California do you live?” he asked.

She had already begun setting the table. From the moment she’d arrived, she’d rolled up her designer sleeves and pitched right in, chopping potatoes and squeezing oranges. Colt allowed his gaze to roam over her backside. Her jeans were a little too tight for proper ranch wear, but he didn’t mind.

Melanie turned and smiled, silverware in hand. She had a genuine smile. A nice feature his child might inherit.

“Santa Monica. As close to the ocean as I could get.”

He tried not to widen his eyes. Ostrich cowboy boots and the beach. “Isn’t that expensive?”

“Not as expensive as Malibu. And I live in a condo, a leased one.”

He cracked another egg into a mixing bowl, then tried to fish out a renegade shell that had settled with it. “But still...even a rental next to the ocean must cost a small fortune.”

“It’s worth it.” She watched him chase the eggshell around with a tablespoon. “Colt, do you need some help?”

“Actually, yes, I do.” He grinned. “I’m not too macho to admit when I need a woman.” Immediately he bit back his grin, wishing he could bite back his words. “In the kitchen, I mean,” he added, much too late.

Melanie handled his blunder like the true lady she was, ignoring it, much to his relief. “Here.” She took the spoon and scooped out the shell on her first try. He stood nearby while she finished his original task. The eggs were cracked with one hand, shells discarded quickly.

Colt liked having her in such close proximity so he didn’t move away. Instead he made a point of watching her scramble the eggs as though her culinary skills fascinated him. Her deft movements reminded him of his grandmother in the kitchen, of happier times and his favorite meals.

Colt took pleasure in having a woman cook for him. Of course, not enough to welcome one back into his life, but what harm was there in allowing her to fix breakfast? “I’m great on an outdoor grill or over a campfire, but I never liked to fuss in the kitchen much.”

Melanie poured the eggs into a pan, immediately stirring them with a rubber spatula. “Well then, we ought to get along just fine. I can never get the charcoal lit, and I don’t know the first thing about campfires.”

Ten minutes later they shared breakfast in the dining room, at the table his grandmother used to dust religiously with lemon oil. Colt noticed Melanie ate sparingly and avoided the bacon all together. He thought about teasing her about being a “cheap date,” but decided it would probably be in bad taste. There was nothing cheap about their impending relationship.

Colt gobbled up the bacon she had rejected. “So, when are you going back to California?”

“I have to head back by the end of next week for a couple of business meetings. If and when I come back to Montana depends on—” a bright blue gaze met his “—what you decide.”

Colt bit the inside of his lip, an irritating if not painful habit. Once he divulged the skeleton in his closet, would Melanie Richards want to bear his child?

“If we decide on this arrangement,” he said, “I was wondering where you plan on living, because a long-distance pregnancy isn’t what I had in mind. I want to be involved the way a father should be, attending doctor visits.”

Melanie had a quick response. “The lease is almost up on my condo, so moving back to Montana isn’t a problem. I can pretty much work from anywhere, as long as I meet my deadlines. And since the situation would be temporary, Gloria said I could stay with her.” She sipped her juice. “But I’d rather get my own place. She already has eight kids underfoot. They don’t need me and my art supplies taking up space.”

He smiled. She always managed to say all the right things, put him at ease. “This house used to be a lodge. I’ve got an empty cabin out back. Maybe you could take up residence there.”

“A cabin?” Her eyes sparkled. “That might be just what I need. I have to admit I miss Montana. The rat race in L.A. gets to me sometimes. And the rent has to be more reasonable than a beachfront condo, right?”

Colt realized they were both acting as though she were already his surrogate. “If you become my surrogate, there’s no way I’d expect you to pay rent. I intend to cover your housing and medical expenses in addition to the fee we talked about.” He couldn’t resist a wink. “I’ll even buy your groceries. You need to eat more, put some meat on those tiny bones of yours.”

She laughed. “Oh, I think pregnancy might take care of that.” Colt finished his coffee. “How would you feel about me being present at the birth?”

A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “I don’t know...I hadn’t thought about—Were you there when Meagan was born?”

He nodded. “Most incredible experience of my life.”

The pink stain on her cheeks remained. “Maybe we could start with those birthing classes and work up to the actual event.”

Colt smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re modest. I thought California girls ran around in those itty-bitty bikinis.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s entirely different.”

His body temperature rose a degree. Melanie in a skimpy bikini was a pleasant thought. “Why don’t you talk to Gloria about the actual event? She must be a pro by now. And speaking from experience, women forget all about modesty when they’re delivering a baby.”

Melanie looked up from her unfinished meal. “Do you always say everything that’s on your mind?”

“Pretty much.”

But not always. He wouldn’t dare say what was on his mind now. She was concerned about modesty? What about his part in the insemination?

Colt had already discussed the clinical details with the doctor. Fresh sperm versus frozen. Heck of a thing for a guy to have to contemplate. After weighing the facts, he’d opted fresh since usually twice as many inseminations were required with frozen.

He gazed at the beautiful woman seated across from him and couldn’t help wishing another option was available. What? Penetration instead of insemination? He had no business entertaining that thought. None whatsoever.

Three

As she and Colt strode across the grounds to the barn, Melanie noticed it had been refurbished since the last time she had seen it. Everything was the same, yet different. The east side of the ranch still yielded a rodeo arena, the west, a chicken coop no longer clucking with life. There were almost as many horses as there had been, but a lot fewer steers.

Most of all, she was different. Inside and out. Gertrude Richards had been tucked away, and Melanie, confident California artist had emerged. Colt, too, it seemed had changed. True, his silky, black mane and heart-stopping wink were the same, but the wild teenage boy was gone. The brisk Montana winds had carried him away and brought back a man—mature, strong and proud, as rooted to the land as a tall ponderosa pine.

Colt went into the tack room while Melanie waited in the barn, amusing herself with a friendly mare. As she stroked the horse’s blaze, it nodded in approval. In the next stall, a flashy, red dun gelding poked out its big, snorting nose and whinnied. “Just like a male,” she said to the mare, “always looking for attention.”

Colt’s laughter sounded behind her. “Young Rocky there doesn’t even know he’s male. Now, I’ve got a champion stallion—Outlaw’s Fancy...”

Melanie smiled. It figured Colt owned a stud named Outlaw. She motioned to the mare. “What’s her name?”

He placed a bucket of grooming aids on the ground. “Sweet Cinnamon Surprise.”

She eyed the gentle mare. The feminine name fit. “Sounds like a dessert I used to order at this trendy coffee bar on Melrose. I want to ride her.”

Colt chuckled again. “Just like a woman to pick a horse for its pretty name.”

Her chin tilted. “I do the same thing at the track. Sometimes I even win.”

He looked amused by her admission. “Can you ride, California girl? I don’t want Cinnamon taking advantage of you.”

The chin protruded even further. “Of course I can ride. I was born in Montana, remember?” Besides riding on his ranch for nearly two years, she had also taken expensive lessons in California. Western pleasure and a little dressage. She wasn’t the best dressage rider, but she looked good in the tall, black boots. “I can saddle a horse, too.”

“Good.” Colt reached for the halter and lead line hanging from a nail. “Put this on Cinnamon and hitch her up outside. I’ll get a bridle and look for a saddle that will fit you.” His gaze sparked appreciatively as it slid down her petite curves. “You sure are a little one.”

“How does that saying go?” she asked, doing her best to seem innocent of his masculine stare. She didn’t think he was aware of the hungry look in his eyes. “Something about small things...”

“Good things,” he corrected, spinning on his heel, his husky voice fading as he departed. “Come...in...small...pack—”

“Like babies,” Melanie whispered to Cinnamon as she buckled the nylon halter and led the mare into the summer sun. A bright blue sky, horses frolicking in lush green pastures, and a mountain backdrop greeted her. In the distance she could see some of Colt’s ranch hands milling around. Behind the main house several rustic log cabins stood, one possibly waiting for her occupancy.

After securing the mare to a long, wooden hitching post, Melanie went back for the grooming supplies Colt had placed on the barn’s dirt floor. Holding the curry in one hand and dandy in the other, Melanie brushed Cinnamon, then began picking out the sorrel’s feet.

“Hey, Melanie.”

She placed the mare’s foot back on the ground and turned to the sound of Colt’s voice. Someone else stood beside him. A tall, lanky man with a bushy, gray mustache. She recognized him immediately.

“This is Shorty,” Colt said to her. “He’s about the only family I’ve got left.”

“The boy and me ain’t related,” the older man offered gruffly. “But I’ve been working this here ranch since before he was even born.”

She didn’t extend her hand. Both men carried saddles. “Nice to meet you. I’m Melanie.”

Shorty balanced the saddle on his bony hip and tipped his dusty, tan hat. “Ma’am.”

Colt slid the saddle in his arms over the hitching post rail and Shorty did likewise. She assumed the smaller one was hers. “Should I tack Cinnamon up?” she asked, hoping to avert Shorty’s scrutinizing gaze by turning away. The old man’s head was cocked in a birdlike pose.

“Sure, if you’d like,” Colt answered. “Everything’s there. The pad’s underneath. I’ll go get Rocky. He’s still a little green on the trail. He could use the time out.”

As Colt’s long, denim-clad legs carried him back to the barn, Shorty stepped forward. “You look a tad familiar,” he said.

“I grew up in the area. I live in California now.”

He snorted. “You and the boy old friends?”

The boy. “No, we’ve just recently become acquainted.” A truthful lie at best, since they had never really gotten to know each other in the past, at least not in the way she would have liked. There had been no romantic ties, at least not on Colt’s end. But he would have been blind not to have suspected her amorous feelings. No, the last thing she needed was Shorty blowing her cover. If Colt found out who she was, he might think twice about using her as his surrogate.

Shorty smoothed his peppered mustache. He didn’t look as old as he should. Maybe he hadn’t been as ancient as she remembered. At seventeen anyone over forty seemed like a fossil.

He wagged a long, slightly crooked finger. “I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere.”

Melanie reached for the bridle slung over the saddle horn, trying to appear too busy to chat. “Mountain Bluff is a small town.”

“It will come to me,” Shorty mumbled as he strode away. “I never forget a face.”

“You’ve been awful quiet.” Colt reined his gelding to a stop and glanced over at Melanie. “Is something bothering you?”

Cinnamon halted without being asked. “No, I’ve just been taking in the scenery.” And worrying sick over Shorty’s last words. Should she tell Colt who she was? Would it matter to him?

Of course it would, she told herself, once again.

“Do you want to stretch your legs a bit?” he asked.

“Okay.”

How accurate could Shorty’s memory be? she wondered as they dismounted. The man had worked on a recreational ranch for over thirty years. Most likely he had met hundreds of people. He couldn’t possibly remember them all and especially not a girl whose features had been altered.

Melanie watched Colt hobble the horses, and decided it was time to relax and enjoy the land. They had been riding for hours and in truth she hadn’t taken in the scenery at all. In doing so now, a wave of homesickness washed over her.

Patches of wildflowers colored the terrain, their tiny, bright heads swaying in a gentle breeze. Trees stood tall and green, gnarled roots clawing the rich soil, tiny animals nesting within.

Mountains peaked to an enormous summer sky filled with clouds so downy and white, she imagined tiny blonde cherubs peering over the floating cushions, bows taut, amorous arrows poised for flight This, she thought, was definitely the place to fall in love. Just a breath away, a small stream moistened the floral-scented air, bubbling and polishing stones as it moved, the clear water cool and inviting. Serenity. Pure and simple.

“I forgot how beautiful Montana is,” Melanie said, kneeling beside the stream.

“This is my favorite spot.” Colt moved toward her with long-legged grace, the ends of his shoulder-length hair fluttering like sleek, black wings. He placed a water flask on the ground between them and followed it down. “I feel content here.”

“I can see why.” She picked up a pinecone and studied it. “I used to collect these all year, then paint them at Christmas-time. I still make all my own ornaments.” Suddenly the need to move back to Montana grew fierce. “After all these years, waking up at the beach on Christmas morning still feels strange. That’s when I miss snow the most.”

He drew his legs up and leaned his elbows against his knees. A Stetson as dark as his eyes rested on his head, a blue denim shirt covered the broad expanse of his chest. Melanie glanced down at her own shirt; it was denim too, only it yielded a designer’s label. Colt’s probably came from the Western Emporium in town. He was a wealthy man but a simple one. She had heard his grandfather had made some sound investments, leaving Colt with quite a nest egg.

He looked over at her. “Do you ever visit your foster family during the holidays?”

Melanie cupped the pinecone and met his curious gaze. “No. They moved away years ago. Besides, I only lived there for a couple years, during high school. I’d been shuffled around a lot. Mostly city homes. I didn’t really grow up in Mountain Bluff, but I fell in love with it.” Because you were here. “And I was lucky enough to live next door to Gloria. Her family treated me like one of their own. I tell people this is my hometown because Gloria’s still here.” And so are you.

“I guess that explains why we never met. I pretty much know everyone who grew up around here or have at least heard of them, but if you only lived here for a few years...” He grinned. “You really are a city girl, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You mentioned Saint Theresa’s the other night. I used to know some girls who went there.” Colt paused, then shrugged. “But I can’t recall their names. It’s been a while.”

She remembered a few girls from her high school had briefly dated some of Colt’s buddies. She had always thought that they had spread her despised nickname around Colt’s elite circle.

“You’re such a mystery,” he said, leaning forward to skim his hand across the water. “I’m an open book...but you—”

“Then come to California with me,” Melanie blurted.

Beneath the Stetson, his features startled. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” She assumed her “sales pitch” posture, squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin confidently. She didn’t want to be so much of a mystery that it hindered his final decision. Colt seemed suspicious by nature, or had acquired the habit after his wife had kidnapped their daughter. Apparently trust didn’t come easily. That thought saddened her. Colt had been so trusting in the past, free spirited with a sense of humor. She intended to bring that part of him back.

“I’m assuming that if you were considering a surrogate who lived in Montana, you’d visit her home, see how she lived, meet her husband and kids. Of course, with me, there’s no husband, no kids and no home to visit, at least not in Montana. But if you come back to California with me, you could see for yourself who I really am. Clear up the mystery and ease your conscience.”

A majestic hawk circling overhead made a breathtaking sight but Colt didn’t appear to notice. He continued swishing the water as though deep in thought. Melanie fixed her gaze on the shadow of his bronzed hand beneath the surface of the stream. The water swirled around his fingers in clear, blue circles.

“We can’t drag this decision on forever,” she said, continuing her rationale. “Figure it this way—if we go to California together and you feel comfortable about my background, then I can tie up my loose ends there and come back here for the insemination.”

Colt lifted his gaze, removed his wet hand and dragged it across his jaw. “There’s something about me I think you ought to know. Something I should have told you before now.”

She flashed a teasing smile. She knew all she needed to know. In her eyes this man was perfect “I thought you were an open book—”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

Colt’s startling admission rammed her like a fist, jolting her mind with disturbing images of her youth. They filled her with despair: the pungent smell of cheap liquor permeating a dingy apartment, stale bread for lunch, nothing for dinner, unkind men frequenting her mother’s rumpled bed. She remembered ironing her own tattered clothes and getting herself off to school while the woman who had given her life lay in a drunken stupor. The day the authorities had placed her in foster care, her mother had solemnly promised to “do better.” She never had. Melanie had remained in the system until her eighteenth birthday.

“You drink?”

He steadied his gaze, spearing her with his guilt. “Used to. Partied a lot when I was a kid, got drunk for the hell of it, like teenagers do. It didn’t appear to be a problem, though, because I grew out of that phase when Meagan came along.” His fingernails scraped the dirt, imbedding the ground with catlike scratches. “But after she died... I hit the bottle pretty bad. The year she was missing I lived on hope...after I buried her, there was nothing left... nothing mattered. I’ve been sober, going on five years now, but it’s been a rough road, and I’m not sure I could have made it without Shorty. He never gave up on me.”

Melanie couldn’t think of anything to say. Because of her mother, alcoholics had always been intolerable in her mind. Yet this was Colt, the man who had helped heal her wounded teenage heart. If someone as beautiful as him had defended her, she used to tell herself, then she must be special, worth much more than her biological mother had thought her to be.

Colt’s humble voice interrupted the silence. “I hope this doesn’t affect your decision. Because I want you to know, no matter what hardship comes my way, I won’t choose alcohol as a remedy. I was a disgrace to my daughter’s memory, as well as to myself. I’d never consider bringing another child into my life if I had the slightest doubt about my sobriety.”

Melanie looked at the man questioning her gaze and did something she had hoped never to do in his presence. Burst into tears.

For a long uncomfortable moment, Colt just stared, uncertain of what to do. Although his first instinct was to draw her into his arms, he refrained. If he touched her and she shattered, broke into a million vulnerable little pieces right there in his arms, he’d be tempted to kiss the hurt away. To place his lips on every salty drop and taste her sadness. He recognized tears that ached, he’d shed enough of them.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...yes...I don’t know...” She covered her face with trembling hands.

He moved closer, knelt down beside her and cursed his knotting stomach. He tamed horses. This sweet little creature was a woman. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”

She dropped her hands. The dark smudges of mascara around her eyes made her look like a blue-eyed raccoon. Adorable, yet destructive to a man’s conscience—the kind of trophy he’d feel guilty about later.

“I wish she’d have cared enough to stay sober,” Melanie muttered bitterly.

“She?”

The dam looked like it might break again. Another flood of tears gathered in her eyes. “My mom.”

Colt swallowed. “Your mom was an alcoholic?”

She nodded. “My childhood wasn’t easy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserved better.”

“Yes, I did.” She blinked her tears back. “But it took a long time for me to believe that. I waited for my mom to change, to take me back home and live a normal life.” Her distraught gaze avoided his as her hand nervously picked at the pinecone, chipping pieces off. “But that never happened.”

“Is your mom still alive?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve lost touch with her. Is yours?”

“No.” Colt couldn’t contain the sadness in his tone. “My mom died of cancer when I was still a boy.”

She looked up and dropped the broken pinecone sending it into the stream. “I’m sorry.”

Colt removed the bandana around his neck, dipped a corner of it into the stream and gently cleaned Melanie’s mascara stained cheeks. The stricken blue gaze belonged to the neglected daughter of an alcoholic, the chic California girl hidden somewhere deep within. For one brief moment his lonely heart tagged after both.

“Life is hard sometimes,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” she whispered.

When they both fell silent, the beauty around them intensified: the morning sun teasing the jagged rocks, gold-tipped leaves rustling through the trees, the rush of cool water, his admiring gaze, her smooth skin.

Colt tucked her hair behind her ear and handed her the red cloth. She dabbed her runny nose with the dry portion. “I feel better now,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Good.” He smiled and reached for her hair again. The fire-lit strands slipped through his fingers like ribbons of silk. When she leaned toward his caressing hand, he realized how intimate their gestures were. “Are you still willing to be my surrogate?”

“Yes.” Her breathless voice sent a surge of sensual heat coursing through his veins.

Colt shuddered. He wouldn’t permit this to happen. He wouldn’t confuse his need for a child with desire for the woman willing to carry it. That’s what was happening, he told himself. He was vulnerable and so was she. Their physical compulsion to produce a baby was creating false intimacy. His urge to taste her citrus-scented skin and run his hands through her thick, autumn hair would go away once his seed was planted. Artificially, of course.

Colt transferred his hand from her hair to the water flask and took a cold, desire-dousing drink. As casually as he could muster, he uncoiled his long body and rose to his feet. “I think California is a good idea. And not because you need to be on trial. We’re both about sure as we’re going to get, so we may as well start on the legal and medical side of this. And you’ll probably need some help getting packed.”

Her smudgy eyes brightened, but he kept his expression tight and professional. “Before we leave for Los Angeles, we’ll see my attorney and get the contract drawn up so you can consult your own lawyer back home and have him look it over.”

“Her,” Melanie interjected.

“What?”

“My attorney is a woman.”

“Fine. You also need to make an appointment with Dr. Miller for a checkup, and of course, to discuss the best method of determining ovulation.” He caught her amused smirk and prayed to God he wouldn’t stutter like a flustered schoolboy. “I don’t want to waste any time, I want you ready for the procedure when we return.”

He cursed his traitorous body for what it wanted and continued in an unemotional tone. “I’ll hire a moving van and pay the storage fee for the things you don’t bring. Maybe you should consider subleasing your condo so you don’t lose it. I imagine a beachfront rental is hard to come by.”

“What altered your decision?” she asked, viewing his towering height from the ground. “I expected you to ponder over this for weeks.”

He resisted the nervous urge to pace. Regardless of the wide-open space, he felt like a caged tiger, trapped within his own distorted desire. “I’ve been thinking about this for years and meeting with potential surrogates for the past eight months—”

“You have?” She stood up and brushed off her behind.

“Yeah. And I’ve met with a lot of women. No one seemed right.” Not the fifties TV moms or the desperate ones with financial needs. He couldn’t see his unborn child in their eyes. With Melanie he could.

“What makes me right?”

Great Scott. Just like a woman to question a man to death, force him to spill his guts. “Maybe the idea that you’re single is growing on me. The fewer people involved the better. And the fact that you’re a career woman is a plus, too. I hadn’t thought so at first but with you being so into your profession, I won’t have to worry about your maternal instincts backfiring on me. My biggest concern is my surrogate deciding she wants the baby, but with you, I figure that won’t happen.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her jeans and began dusting off her knees.

Was his explanation so cold that she couldn’t meet his gaze? Damn it. He wasn’t about to tell her he wanted his child to inherit her smile.

“I like you, Melanie. That means something, too. I feel as though we’ve known each other for a while. As you said, being friends is important. We don’t want to get on each other’s nerves for the next nine months.”

She offered a smile that went straight to his groin. Thank God pregnant women didn’t really glow. His wife had whined and complained the entire time, making the gestation pretty darn unappealing. How attractive could Melanie possibly be in that state?

Colt’s jaw twitched. This California girl was going to bear him a child, but damn if he would allow her to get under his skin. This friendship would be short-lived. Fatherhood was the only emotional attachment Colt Raintree wanted, or needed. Once his son or daughter was born, Melanie Richards would be out of his life. For good.

Four

LAX had annoyed him. Actually, it more than annoyed him. The confusion of the fast-paced airport had made him feel like a big, dumb, country boy. Colt Raintree, Montana born and bred, was out of his element.

Rather than breathing crisp mountain air, he was choking down smog and riding shotgun in a red convertible piloted by an auburn-haired beauty who made Mario Andretti seem like a slowpoke.

“How about some music?” Melanie turned the knob on the stereo and started punching buttons.

She settled on a country station, for his benefit, he assumed. Willie Nelson’s nasal twang should have been a balm, but it only reminded Colt of how far from home he was. The unfamiliar roar of traffic offended the simple cowboy tune.

Melanie glanced over her shoulder, switched lanes and questioned his pouting profile. “Colt, what’s wrong?”

He answered as honestly as he could. “I never cared much for cities.”

Melanie slid her right hand from the steering wheel and placed it on top of his, which rested on the center console. “You’ll like the beach,” she promised with a quick, reassuring squeeze. “We’re almost there.”

She was right The moment they exited the freeway and the sea breeze tousled his hair, he appreciated the freedom the rag top provided. When the Pacific Ocean came into view, a sense of well-being entered his soul. It looked as big as the Montana sky and just as blue.

Saltwater, fresh-grilled seafood, hot dogs and lemonade permeated the air. They passed a pier that looked like a street fair—a menagene of blinking lights, twirling carnival rides and trendy teenagers, their colorful T-shirts, baggy shorts and bleached blonde hair whipping in the wind.

The sidewalks were lined with people, but they were different from the airport crowd. They moved at a pace his eyes could follow, dressed in sandals, suntan lotion and little else. Maybe it was the warrior in him, but the half-naked, bronzed bodies made him want to shed his own clothes, feel the sand between his toes, dive into the surf, let the sun beat down on his back.

He grinned at Melanie. Her unique style fit right in. “Interesting town.”

“I knew you’d like it.” She continued down the busy coast highway, turned onto a narrow street and then another, until she parked in the driveway of an attractive white building.

Her condominium faced the ocean. A wood staircase led to the front door, elevating the modern structure. Just like her denim and silk wardrobe, the eclectic style reflected the woman who lived there. A marble coffee table, gilt-framed mirrors and contemporary artwork were surrounded by seashells and scented candles. White leather sofas highlighted an exquisite fireplace, meticulously carved of polished stone.

Colt placed their luggage on the living room floor and peered out the French doors. A redwood deck lush with potted plants, rattan furnishings and a whirlpool tub graced his eyes. Seaside elegance at its finest.

“Your house is really nice.” He had planned on booking a hotel room, but Melanie had extended her California hospitality, persuading him to stay with her. Their platonic relationship was off to an awkward start. Her condo seemed like a romantic getaway, a honeymoon suite.

“Thanks.” She glanced down at the suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It has a private bath, so if you want to freshen up...”

Freshen up? As in strip down and shower? Unconsciously he took a step back. “I think I should get a hotel room.”

She sank into one of the leather sofas and sighed. “Why?”

Because if I shower in your tub or sleep in one of your beds, I’ll want you there beside me. “Your neighbors might talk.”

Melanie looked as though he’d just said something incredibly stupid. “This is L.A., Colt.”

When she crossed her legs, her ruffled miniskirt exposed just enough thigh to constrict his throat. He’d been trying to avoid the outline of her curvaceous little figure all day. On the plane ride, she had fallen asleep against his shoulder, her scant Hawaiian print blouse gaping open for a private peep show. Pink satin, a hint of lace and not one visible tan line. He’d never been so aroused.

“So?”

“So, people don’t care what their neighbors do.”

“Oh, yeah?” He trapped her gaze. “Would they talk if they knew you were going to be a surrogate?”

She held his dark stare. “Probably, but that’s a little more controversial than having a man stay over.”

“Really?” In his hometown, people still talked about who slept at whose house. Her casual attitude piquing him, he spouted off like an envious suitor. “And just how many men have stayed here?”

Her voice vibrated “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

Colt only stared. She looked mortally wounded and, God help him, way too vulnerable. He gazed into Melanie’s eyes and shook off a chill. Suddenly she looked like someone from his past—a sweet, innocent girl who had touched his reckless, teenage heart.

The name came to him in an instant, hovering like a ghost. Gertrude. Little Gertrude. He glanced at Melanie’s hands, at the slender line of her fingers, the long, perfectly manicured nails. Gertrude used to chew her nails, gaze up at him with those wide blue eyes and nibble her chipped, brittle fingernails.

Colt sat on the edge of his suitcase and raked his hands through his hair, pushing away Gertrude’s fragile image. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m sorry. I had no right to say that.” What was wrong with him? He’d never felt possessive of a woman before. “I guess I’ve been thinking about how much gossip you and I are going to stir up back home.”

“There’s no way to avoid that.” Melanie twisted a tassel on one of the decorative pillows. “Our situation is unusual.”

He rocked the suitcase and tried not to stammer. “Sure, but... we could at least try to keep a low profile. Not dating other people while we’re expecting might keep some of the tongues from wagging.”

Colt blew an anxious breath and waited for her response. He couldn’t stand the thought of Melanie being with another man while she carried his child, not even something as innocent as dinner or a movie.

Her near-timid smile warmed his heart. “Can we put that in the contract?” she asked. “Because you’re the one who will still be trim and attractive. I doubt anyone’s going to want to date me four or five months from now.”

“I’ll take you out so you don’t get lonely,” he said, telling himself it would be for the sake of the baby. “And I promise not to get involved with anyone if you don’t.” A married surrogate was one thing, but making a single woman pregnant and dating another seemed disrespectful. “A jealous lover could create stress and even more gossip,” he said, trying to justify his odd request. “We don’t need either.”

When she promptly agreed and extended her hand, he clasped it in his. As they shook on the verbal agreement, Colt realized how unusual their situation was.

“And I am going to rent a hotel room while I’m here,” he reiterated, breaking contact. Her fingertips were too soft, the feminine touch warm and inviting. “Regardless of what you say, people talk. I’ve tarnished enough reputations in the past. I don’t need yours on my conscience, too.”

The following evening Melanie convinced Colt to accompany her to the mall. They’d spent the morning apart and the afternoon together. She’d attended a business meeting while he explored the beach. By noon, they’d met for lunch and began packing immediately thereafter. He’d worked in the kitchen, she’d been in her bedroom. When she’d tackled the grueling task of organizing her closet and choosing a suitable Montana wardrobe, she’d decided shopping for fashionable maternity clothes was definitely in order.

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