Dear Reader,

A funny thing happened on the way to the delivery room isn’t how most women talk about the miracle of life, but the phrase perfectly fits Cheryl Anne Porter’s story Drive-By Daddy, Harlequin Duets #21. Yes, the hero really does deliver a baby by the side of the road…but leaving mother and child behind is more difficult than he expected. Then Patricia Knoll weaves a charming tale of the eccentrics and matchmakers in a small town and the intrepid girl reporter who is trying to get herself out of Hicksville in Calamity Jo.

In Harlequin Duets #22 Liz Ireland returns with The Love Police. Sure, police officer Bill Wagner is a hunk of burning love, but that doesn’t mean he has the right to interfere in Trish Peterson’s love life—or does he? Then, fans of Colleen Collins will enjoy the return of Raven from Right Chest, Wrong Name (Love & Laughter #26). He’s changed his rough and rugged image slightly…but magazine editor Liney Reed wants to pull out the animal in him to sell her magazine. Only problem is she finds herself far too attracted to the primal man he really is.

Treat yourself to a good time with Harlequin Duets.

Sincerely,

Malle Vallik

Senior Editor

Drive-by Daddy/Calamity Jo
Drive-by Daddy
Cheryl Anne Porter
Calamity Jo
Patricia Knoll

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Drive-By Daddy

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Patricia Knoll

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Drive-By Daddy

“She looks a little like that cowboy who brought you in yesterday.”

Her mother had a one-track mind. Darcy shifted…painfully…in her bed. “Oh, stop that Mother. He delivered her. He didn’t father her.”

“Well, I wish he had. I saw him, you know. A handsome man, with that white hat and white truck. It’s all just unbelievable. And in the newspaper. See,” she said, handing Darcy the folded newspaper, “big headlines. And a nice picture.”

“A picture?” In her mind, Darcy again saw the camera flashes as she and her baby, wrapped in a Navajo blanket, were carried in by the cowboy whose unbuttoned chambray shirt had bared his chest to her cheek. “Dear God, I must have looked a fright.”

Her mother waved her hand. “With that gorgeous cowboy in the picture, nobody will be looking at you, dear.”

A Note from the Author

Heaven forbid you ever find yourself in Darcy Alcott’s, the heroine of Drive-By Daddy, position. But if you do, I hope a tall, strapping cowboy like Tom Elliott happens to be driving by in his white truck. In my book, you just can’t get any better than a guy like him. When I was a little girl living in Tucson, I had a thing for cowboys. I dreamt about them day and night. So I was thrilled that this book gave me the chance to do a little more “research.”

I discovered that those gorgeous cowboys still exist today. They still wear white hats…and tight jeans. And yes, I probably still dream about them a little more than I should. Well, what can I say? I guess I still have a thing for cowboys.…

Cheryl Anne Porter

Books by Cheryl Anne Porter

HARLEQUIN DUETS

12—PUPPY LOVE

HARLEQUIN LOVE & LAUGHTER

21—A MAN IN DEMAND

44—THE GREAT ESCAPE

63—FROM HERE TO MATERNITY

To my fiction writing class at Hillsborough Community College in Brandon, Florida…all of whom I know will be checking this book to see if I’ve adhered to everything I’m teaching them.

And to Mary Rodriguez, my “boss” at college, who insists she’s never met the person who can boss me.

1

“THIS IS NOT happening to me.”

Darcy Alcott really needed to believe that. Because if she didn’t, then this was happening to her, she was here alone, on a deserted stretch of southwestern Arizona highway. On a bright and steadily warming Wednesday in May. With a car that had broken down. And she was in labor. Big time labor. Baby-on-its-way labor.

“Don’t panic, Darcy,” she told herself, breathing fast and furiously. Don’t panic? Here I am—my baby about to make an appearance any moment and me, stuck to the tacky vinyl of the back seat of my secondhand sub-compact car. With the doors open for air. And Mom waiting on me in town for lunch. And what did I forget? The cell phone. So…don’t panic? Right.

As the full extent of her situation hit her, she came close to hyperventilating. “Oh, God, I’m panicking. I can’t panic. I have to…” Her mind went blank. “What do I have to do? Keep talking. I have to keep talking. Maybe someone will come. Someone other than this baby. Maybe they’ll see the open doors and the raised hood and stop. Oh. Another pain. Oh, baby, not now. You don’t want to start your life with me mad at you. Please.”

But baby, who was having none of it, only tried harder to make a grand entrance. Darcy’s body bore down with the contraction, although she did her darned level best to breathe shallowly, to hold off the inevitable, to not help her daughter come into the world just this minute. However, two weeks early by everyone’s estimation except apparently her own, baby had obviously decided to throw herself a birthday party today—before the hour was up, if that birth video Darcy and her mother/coach had suffered through in Lamaze class was to be believed.

Because according to what she’d learned from that calm, never-will-experience-labor-himself videotaped doctor and his oh-so-capable nurses, filming in the controlled setting of a hospital’s delivery room…which by the way, Darcy wanted now to point out, never covered anything practical, like what to do if you were alone and in labor on a deserted highway, in both the pitcher’s and the catcher’s positions…she was about to become a mother. A single mother. In every sense of the word.

The pain peaked and passed. Darcy collapsed against the seat, panting and crying. Then she heard someone yell, “Please won’t someone help me?” She looked around, then realized the voice was her own.

Suddenly, she heard the screech of tires, and saw a rising puff of dust and grit as a white pickup truck came to a stop. Someone was here. “Help!” Darcy cried out. “Please help me. My baby…” Her voice trailed off. And please don’t let it be some film crew. Or a passing band of ex-cons.

Just then a long, tall shadow settled over Darcy, starting at the opened door at her feet. Not her best angle. A low whistle followed. “Sweet Jesus. Lady, you’re about to have a baby.”

“You think?” Darcy gasped out. Then, peeling herself off the sticky vinyl, she struggled up onto her elbows…and saw a handsome big ole white-Stetson-wearing cowboy peering in at her. “That clears everything up, doesn’t it, mister? For a minute there, I thought I was—Ow, ow, ow.” She shrank back against the vinyl. “Oh, no. Another…pain…help me…please…my baby.”

“Yes, ma’am. Hold on. I’ll help you.” He pulled back and disappeared from view.

“No,” Darcy whimpered, unable to move. “Come back. Don’t leave me.”

Then, through the glaze of her pain, her mind registered what sounded like a truck’s tailgate being dropped open. Then there was silence as a few more seconds ticked by. A few minutes later, the cowboy reappeared. Only this time, he was behind her. Hatless now, his face hovering above hers, he shoved his big hands up under her shoulders, holding her. “When this pain passes, get ready to help me move you. I’m going to get you into my truck bed. I spread a blanket there for you.”

Darcy shook her head, and licked at her dry lips. “No. Can’t move. My baby. She’s—”

“I have to move you. There’s no room here. My truck’s brand-new. It’s clean. And I’ll have more room to operate there.”

Operate? A doctor word. The pain was subsiding. Darcy caught a quick breath. Thank God…a doctor. The world was, after all, a good place. “Are you a doctor?” she managed to say past her panting breaths.

“Relax,” he told her. “Save your strength for the next pain. And no, ma’am, I’m not a doctor. I’m a rancher. Okay, here we go. One. Two.…”

A rancher? He’s a rancher who’s going to operate? Why operate? What’s wrong? My baby. Is something wrong with my baby?

“Three.” He tugged her backwards…gently but firmly. Gasping, Darcy crabbed her feet along the seat as she reached up behind herself and grabbed at the rock-solid support of his arms. “Hurry. Faster. The pains…”

“Yes, ma’am. Let me get a hold of you. I’ve got to get my arm under your legs now so I can carry you. Like that. That’s good. Okay, sweetheart, here we go. Ready?”

No. She wasn’t ready. Not for any of this. Not labor. Not delivery. Not motherhood. “Yes,” she cried out. Anything to get this ordeal over with. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t, honey. I won’t leave you.”

“Darcy. My name is Darcy. Not…honey.”

His blue-eyed gaze met hers. He nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am. No disrespect meant…Darcy.”

And then he had her in his arms and was carrying her as easily as if her pregnant weight were of no consequence to him. In only a matter of seconds—with Darcy realizing that her bare bottom was exposed to the world at large, should it care to pass by at this moment—he was settling her into his white truck’s bed. He was so tall, he managed to reach in right over the fender that covered the wheel well and laid her down like a mother…okay, like a father…putting a baby in its crib.

Darcy exhaled her relief at being lain down and instantly clutched at the blanket under her, concentrating on taking deep breaths and on watching him sprint to the tailgate. In one quick movement, he hauled himself up into the grooved bed with her. Then, with his boots thudding dully against the metal of the truck deck, he stepped around her, positioning himself at her head and shoulders. “I’m going to pull you up more,” he warned. “Keep your hold on that blanket.”

Darcy did. Sure enough, he tugged on the brightly patterned Indian blanket’s hem and effortlessly slid her farther into the bed until her head was resting against the bulkhead, at the cab’s back. “This is the best I can do for you, Darcy,” he told her, looking concerned. “I just wish there was some shade out here to make things easier for you.”

“While I…” Darcy rasped, “just wished…there were…some drugs out here…to make things easier for me.”

He chuckled. “I expect you do. Here. Raise up some.” With that he levered her up and wedged another rolled blanket under her shoulders. “That ought to give you something to lean against.” He stepped around her, and squatted down, all denim-covered muscle, at her feet. Lowering his gaze, he put a hand on her knee. “Bend your knees more…as far as you can. There. That’s good. Now hold on to them. And keep them bent like that.” He glanced up, looking into her eyes. “How’re we doing?”

“Great,” Darcy gasped out, feeling the onset of the next pain. “Want to…trade places?”

“Not for all the blue sky in Montana, ma’am. Easy now. Just take it as it comes.” He reached up, smoothing his hand up under her maternity top and rubbing her belly. “You’re doing fine, Darcy. Just breathe through it, make it easier for your baby. You say it’s a girl?”

Biting at her bottom lip, with her eyes squeezed shut, Darcy nodded.

“Good for you. A daughter. But how do you know? Ultrasound? Or woman’s intuition?”

The pain lessened. Darcy cried out, wanting to give up. It hurt so bad. But her body and her baby wouldn’t let her. “Ultrasound,” she finally sighed. “I don’t…have…woman’s intuition. If I did…I wouldn’t…be in…this position.”

The cowboy nodded. “I see. All men are slime, right?”

Darcy shook her head. “Not all. Just some.” Then she remembered something. “A minute ago…in my car. You said ‘operate.’ Is…is everything okay? Can you tell?”

His expression clouded. “Operate?” Then it cleared. “Oh. No. I mean, yeah, everything’s fine. Well, as far as I can tell. I just meant operate as in move around better.”

Relieved beyond measure, Darcy exhaled. Then she thought of something else. “Have you…ever done this before?”

“More times than I care to count,” he said with easy confidence. “But of course, I was helping to birth calves. I raise beef cattle.”

Great. Beef cattle. And now me. Darcy’s chin began quivering.

Which the cowboy obviously noticed because he changed the subject. “How’d you end up in this mess, Darcy? I mean out here on this road all alone. I figure the rest of it isn’t any of my business.”

Another pain began. Darcy gasped, her eyes widened, she tightened her grip on her knees. “Car trouble. Lunch. With my mother. Baby…not due…for two weeks.”

The cowboy grew alert, quietly looking from Darcy’s face to the place where the action was. “Well, someone forgot to tell your daughter, I reckon. Okay, here we go. Ride it out, Darcy. That’s good. Breathe. You’re doing fine. You need to push?”

Her eyes now squeezed shut, her neck muscles corded with her effort, Darcy nodded and shrieked, “Yes. I need to push, dammit. That’s what I’m doing. My back! My back is killing me.”

Suddenly her eyes popped open. The cowboy had grabbed her arms and was—she couldn’t believe it—literally pulling her to her feet, to a squatting position. “I’ve obviously never had a baby before, Darcy—”

“Well, neither have I, you…man, you!” It was the worst thing she could think to call him at this moment.

He blinked but otherwise ignored her outburst. “But I know what the Crow women say. It doesn’t hurt so bad if you’re squatting. It relieves some of the pain.” Then, holding her steady he reached around her with his other hand and rubbed her lower back.

Blessedly, unbelievably, she did feel better in this position. But weak, tired, certain she couldn’t keep this up, and wanting to be anywhere but here, Darcy leaned her weight into him, resting her forehead on his shoulder and clutching at his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m not usually this mean.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not usually this helpful.”

Darcy sniffled into his shoulder. Something else, something totally inconsequential, occurred to her. “Where’s your white hat?”

“In the cab.”

She nodded, breathing in the clean scent of warm man and aftershave. “Like the Lone Ranger.”

His hand on her back stilled. “What?”

“Your white hat. The white truck. Your being here to help me. Like the Lone Ranger.”

“I’m hardly the Lone Ranger. I don’t make it a habit to go around looking for damsels who need rescuing.”

“Well, I’m glad you did today. You got a cell phone? Need to call my mother.”

“Your mother? How about an ambulance?”

“My mother’s a volunteer at the hospital. She’d get an ambulance out here.”

“Makes sense. Yeah, I’ve got one, but not with me. Can you believe it? It’s back at the hotel.”

“Mine, too. At the house. Forgot it.” Then Darcy felt the surging pain again and clutched at him. “Oh, no. Here comes another one. Hold me.”

And he did. As her pain escalated, as it ate at the fringes of her consciousness, he talked to her…and rubbed her lower back. Darcy could only capture a few words, but she clung to them as if they were the keys to her sanity. Montana…means mountainous regions…land of blue sky…and cattle…beautiful country, Darcy…you ever been there…that’s good, you’re doing fine…lots of good grazing land…just here on business…can’t believe he came down this road…he’d been turned around, going the wrong way, otherwise—

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, Cowboy—here she comes! Help me!”

“I will.” And he did. Quickly but gently, he laid Darcy back on the blanket, propping her shoulders against the rolled blanket and forcing her grasping hands around her bent knees. From his shirt pocket he pulled a bandanna and quickly rolled it, finally tying a big knot in it. “Here.” He stuffed it in her mouth.

“Bite down on this.” She did, never taking her gaze away from his face. Sweat trickled down his temples. “Okay, Darcy, a few good, hard pushes, and we’ll get your little girl out here where we can look her over.”

With that, he scooted back on his knees, assumed a catcher’s position, and put a hand on Darcy’s knee. Then his gaze met hers. “You can do this, Darcy.”

He sounded so sure. Darcy nodded, her jaw clenching around his bandanna. And then wave after wave of searing pain hit her, nearly casting her into unconsciousness. All she could hear was the cowboy’s calm voice, urging her, encouraging her. All she could feel was the hard truck bed under her, the heat of the glaring sun above her. All she could do was push and breathe and groan and push again. And watch his face and listen to his voice…the Lone Ranger.

“Son of a—Here she comes, Darcy!” Excitement captured him. “Push, Darcy. Ohmigod. I’ve got her, Darcy. Here’s her head. Breathe. Push, push. Okay, got her shoulders. She’s a beauty. A ton of black hair. The hard part’s over. Quit pushing…okay, I—well, I’ll be damned. A baby. A whole brand-new baby! She’s here, Darcy. We did it. Our little girl. Look!”

Exhausted, wringing with sweat, tired beyond belief, but elated to the point of tears, Darcy looked. Sure enough. There she was…a beautiful little pinkeningup and squalling baby girl. The child had black hair. Just like her mother’s. And was mad at the world. Just like her mother. Darcy pulled the bandanna out of her mouth and reached for her daughter. “My baby. Give me my baby.”

“Congratulations, Mama,” he said, handing the baby to her and grinning from ear to ear. Then, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do, he leaned over Darcy, smoothing her dampened hair back from her forehead as he kissed her there and cupped her cheek with a warm and work-callused hand. With his face close to hers, he said, “You did just fine, Darcy. Just fine. Your little girl looks just like her mama. Real beautiful.”

Lost in the moment, Darcy covered his hand with hers and then lifted it to kiss his palm. “Thank you.” The sobbing words were all she could get out as her gaze locked with his. She saw his mouth working as he nodded and moved back. Then she turned her complete attention to her daughter. Darcy carefully lifted her baby until the soft, wet head was nestled in the crook of her own neck, and whispered, “My baby. My sweet little girl. I love you.”

In the next few moments, Darcy’s attention remained riveted on her child. She wiped at her, cleaning and caressing her, looking her over, checking her color and making sure she was breathing okay. She all but forgot her cowboy deliverer as he worked quietly to help her body complete the birthing process.

Once that was done, he caught her attention as he worked his way up to her head and gently removed the blanket from under her shoulders and wrapped it around her waist and legs. Then, with his shadow casting Darcy in blessed shade and drawing her attention up to him, she saw him reach into the pocket of his jeans and pull out a pocket knife…which he opened. Darcy’s eyes widened.

“Umbilical cord,” he said. “Got to cut the little filly loose.”

“Oh, God.” Darcy clutched her tiny daughter tighter.

The cowboy hunkered down beside Darcy, putting a big, warm and strong hand on her shoulder. “I’ll leave it pretty long, enough to tie it off into a knot. The doctor can clean it up later.” Darcy whimpered. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “It’s okay. I’ve done this before, Darcy.”

“To calves,” she blurted.

“Yep. Same principle.” Very matter-of-factly, just like his answer, he opened the knife’s blade and reached into a shirt pocket to pull out a match book. Darcy’s eyes widened even more. “Got them at the hotel. Always pick them up even though I don’t smoke. They’re more of a reminder of all the places I’ve been. Glad I grabbed them, though. I need to sterilize the blade.”

“Oh, God.”

His eyebrows rose. “You can trust me. I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Much less a sweet little baby.” His gaze then locked with Darcy’s. “Or her mama.”

Darcy swallowed, nodded, and looked down, kissing her baby’s head. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she cooed. “We won’t let anything happen to you.” We? Who’s this we, Darcy? She shot a look to the cowboy…and simply took a deep breath, suspending any further thoughts of him.

Thankfully—to Darcy’s way of thinking—he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he’d set himself to his task, lighting the entire book of matches and running the flame back and forth under the blade. Darcy watched in horrified wonder. He intended to put that flaming-hot knife to her baby. And then she surprised herself with the realization that she trusted him to do so.

Really, really trusted him. His calm, quiet ways. His slow and sure movements. His very steadiness, like a rock, invited confidence in him. But when the matches were blown out, and the knife readied, when he reached for her daughter, turning the mewling, naked, precious little bundle over, Darcy began some mewling of her own.

The cowboy met her gaze, his blue eyes steady. “It won’t hurt her. She won’t feel a thing. But maybe you shouldn’t watch.”

Darcy liked that idea. She turned her head as he talked softly to the baby and performed this last task. “How do you know so much about this,” Darcy asked, “if all you’ve delivered are calves?”

“I learned it from the Crow. I spent a lot of time with them when I was a boy.”

Darcy rolled her head until she was looking at his square-jawed and tanned face. Bent over his task, intent on his handiwork, he was smiling at the baby. “The Crow?” she deadpanned, drawing his gaze her way. “I hope you mean the Native Americans, and not the kind that migrate in the winter.”

“Well,” he said, raising a hand to swipe it under his nose, as if it itched. “The Crow used to migrate in the winter, but not anymore. And I do mean the Native Americans.” A slow grin now warmed his strong, weathered features. “This kind of job isn’t for birds, Darcy.”

She exhaled. “Imagine my relief. It’s nice to know you’re not crazy.”

He shrugged, winking at her again. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Great. Especially since I’m a little vulnerable here. And you have a knife in your hand.”

His chuckle told her it would all be okay. He closed the knife, and put it down on the truck bed. “All done, Mama.” He gently handed the rooting, mewling baby girl back to Darcy. “We’ve been lucky so far. But we need to get you two into town and pronto.” He made as if to stand up, bunching his muscles and bracing his hands against his bent knees.

Darcy stopped him with her hand on his chambray shirtsleeve. “Wait.” He did, his eyebrows raised. Darcy looked at the cowboy, at the stranger who’d saved her life—and her baby’s—the stranger with the white hat and the white truck. “Thank you. Really.”

Grinning, proud, he ducked his head, nodding his you’re-welcome. “Nothing to it, ma’am. Like I said, just glad I could help.”

Darcy couldn’t believe his humble speech. “Help? You saved us. Literally. I don’t know how to repay you.”

He put his hand atop hers now and gently squeezed it. His blue-eyed gaze and wide grin warmed her more than the sun above. “No need. It’s payment enough for me to have been here when you needed me.”

When she needed him. Darcy’s chin trembled, her eyes teared up. He was the only man in her life with the exception of her now-deceased father, who’d ever been there for her when she needed him. “Well, still…thanks.”

He winked at her, and released her hand as he stood. And became all business. “We need to wrap this baby girl in something before we hit the road.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “About the only thing I’ve got—” He pulled the shirt off, tossed it to the truck bed, and began tugging his white cotton T-shirt out of his waistband “—is my T-shirt. It’s clean enough, I suppose. Probably only smells like man and sweat and dust and aftershave. What more could you want?”

What more could I want. He’d meant it to be funny. Darcy knew that. But mesmerized, lost in watching him, and holding her child close in her arms, Darcy swallowed, feeling her growing admiration of him, of his resourcefulness—not his physical presence. His kindness. Not his tanned and muscled chest. She bit at her bottom lip. Not his gorgeous smile or his blue-eyed gaze. No. Not any of those. Or even the whole mixture of them all.

Because now that she had her daughter, she was through with men. Over them. And some Montana cowboy who’d come upon her in her hour of need wasn’t going to change that.

2

“I NEVER SAW the like of that navel knot your cowboy tied yesterday. Must be something they use on a ranch.”

“I suppose. And he’s not my cowboy, Mother.”

Darcy watched her mother shrug. “Anyway, your 7-pound, 8-ounce daughter now has an innie navel. Dr. Harkness fixed it nice, didn’t he?”

From the comfort of her hospital bed, all stitched up and still sore from yesterday’s truck-bed birth, Darcy nodded as she eyed her mother. “Yes, he did. And no, I don’t want to go out with Dr. Harkness.”

“Well, not now. It’s a little too soon.”

“No. It’s a little too late, Mother. Not soon. Late.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Darcy stared at her mother. “Yes, I do. Dr. Harkness is 800 years old, if he’s a day. Why don’t you go out with him?”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I can’t. I’m saving myself for Brad Pitt.”

They’d had this conversation before. “Brad Pitt is too young for you, Mother.”

Margie Alcott bristled in her chair next to Darcy’s bed. “Well, thanks. I needed that.”

Darcy sighed. “No offense meant. But admit it, Brad Pitt is even too young for me.”

“Darcy, the man is in his mid-thirties. About six years older than you.”

“Well,” Darcy groused, crossing her arms, “he seems younger than me.”

“Everybody’s younger than you, honey. You’re such a little old lady. Always have been. Anyway, I think you two would make a nice couple.”

“Who? Brad and me? Or Dr. Harkness and me?”

A sly look came over her mother’s pleasantly rounded face. “Actually, you and that cowboy.”

“Here we go.” Darcy threw her hands up, more to dispel her persistent thoughts about her mystery cowboy than to wave away her mother’s words. Still, those she had to challenge. After all, she’d stuck herself firmly in this I-don’t-need-a-man corner for the past nine months. She couldn’t now, because of a chance meeting, admit that she was wrong. Darcy exhaled sharply, signaling her determination to reentrench herself in her own views. “What makes you think I need a man?”

“Well, that tiny little baby wrapped in swaddling clothes down there in the nursery, for one thing. She needs a father. You know—that nucleus family thing you hear so much about.”

“Nuclear, Mother.”

“Is that it? Well, it’s the same thing.”

“I guess.” Darcy looked down at her hands and picked at a nail. Could she feel more guilty right now? It had taken her by surprise, this feeling of being alone in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Could it be that she wasn’t cut out to be a mother? She shook her head. No. The last thing she needed right now was to doubt herself. She couldn’t, not with another life depending on her to be the adult here.

“It’s not as if I’m deliberately denying my daughter a father,” Darcy suddenly blurted into the silence that had settled between them. “I’m not trying to make some politically correct feminist statement here. Being a single mother wasn’t exactly in the game plan, remember.” To her distress, Darcy’s chin quivered.

Her mother reached out, laying a hand on Darcy’s arm. “Oh, baby, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Darcy squeezed her mother’s hand…and felt worse. Now she’d upset her mother too. “I know. God, Mother, the hormones. I’m all over the page with this. One second I’m mad, the next crying. Is this normal?”

Margie Alcott nodded, her smile returning. “Oh, sure it is, baby. You’re a mess, and you’re fine. It’s all normal.” Her mother squinted, as if in thought…which she promptly shared. “Well, honey, as normal as you’ve ever been. You always have been a little bit different, you know. Special, I like to say.”

“Thanks,” Darcy replied. It was moments like these that reminded Darcy that the reason her mother knew where all her buttons were and how to push them was because she’d installed them.

“Now, Darcy, don’t you make that face that says I don’t know what I’m talking about. Because I do.”

Knowing she and her mother would never agree about Darcy needing a man in her life, she sighed and changed the subject. “Isn’t your little granddaughter the sweetest thing you ever saw?”

At the mention of the baby, Margie Alcott put her hand to her bosom, and her smile turned beatific. “She’s so beautiful, Darcy. I think she looks a little like that cowboy who brought you in yesterday.”

Well, that hadn’t worked. Here they were…back to the cowboy. Darcy shifted…painfully…in her bed. “Oh, stop that, Mother. He delivered her. He didn’t father her.”

“Well, I wish he had. I saw him when he brought you in yesterday, you know. A handsome man, with that white hat and white truck. It’s all just unbelievable, Darcy. And in the newspaper. You can see it for yourself right here. Big headlines. And a nice picture.” She handed Darcy the folded newspaper she brought with her.

“A picture?” In her mind, Darcy again saw the camera light flashing as she and her baby, wrapped in that Indian blanket, were being carried in by the cowboy whose unbuttoned chambray shirt had bared his chest to her cheek. “Dear God. Was I covered?”

“Well, I should say so. Look for yourself. It’s right there on page one.”

“Page one? Great. Slow news day in Buckeye, Arizona?”

Margie Alcott puffed up sanctimoniously.

“It was until you decided to deliver your baby out in the desert. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life, Darcy. Why, it’s a wonder your…stuff didn’t get all sunburned, just hanging out there like that. What if someone had come by and seen you?”

Darcy could only stare at her mother, and fight the heat staining her cheeks. “Someone did come by and see me, Mother.”

“I know. It’s all there. On page one. Look at it.”

Against her better judgment, Darcy finally looked. Yep, there she was. On the front page. Atop a gurney and being wheeled into surgery for stitching. The look on her face was probably the same one she’d have if she’d just escaped an alien abduction. But the accompanying picture was of her proud and grinning mother, fresh from the beauty shop, holding her new grand-baby, whose tiny little face was scrunched up in a scream. Darcy flopped the daily paper down. “Lovely. You look great, Mother.”

Margie patted her silver-gray hair. “You think? Let me see that.” She reached for the paper, and Darcy gave it to her, lovingly watching her mother scan the photo. “Well, I do, don’t I?” Then she began turning pages, perusing them carefully. “But I’m going to get after that Vernon Fredericks. After all, he’s the editor. And there’s not one picture in here of your hero.”

“My hero? You mean the Lone Ranger?”

Margie looked up from today’s copy of the Buckeye Bugle. “Is that what you call him? The Lone Ranger?”

Darcy shrugged, seeing again, in her mind’s eye, the man’s blue eyes and hearing his calm voice. “I have to call him something. In all the excitement, I forgot to ask him his name. And then, once we got here, he just drove off.”

Margie folded the paper and tossed it on the floor. “Well, who do you think he is?”

“Just some turned-around cowboy from Montana. At least, that’s what he said.”

Her mother pulled her chair closer. “I hope you at least thanked the man, honey. He did save your life. And your baby’s.”

“I know, Mother. And I did thank him.”

“What’d he say to that?”

Darcy exhaled her frustration sharply. The woman wanted all the details. “He said it was nothing, as I recall.”

Her mother sighed romantically. “Cowboys. They’re just the most polite breed of man around.”

Darcy shrugged. “I suppose.”

Her mother’s raised eyebrow said she’d detected something in Darcy’s shrug that she didn’t like. “Now, don’t go blaming him for what that stupid old professor of yours did to you.”

Darcy crossed her arms defensively. “Oh, you mean ask me to marry him, get me pregnant and then run off…for a second honeymoon with his wife?”

“I told you he was a married man.”

“You told me nothing of the sort. You didn’t even know him.”

“I know his big-city kind.”

“You do not. Buckeye’s the only place you’ve ever lived. And Dad was the only man you’d ever known.”

Her mother’s chin rose a notch. “That may be. But I read a lot. And I watch those talk shows on TV. I’ve learned a few things.”

What a sweet, confined little world her mother lived in—one Darcy had hated to intrude on, last Christmas at semester’s end, with her own harsh reality. “I’ll bet you have.”

“I have. Now I’ve been thinking about something else, too.”

“Dear God.”

“Don’t be disrespectful, Darcy Jean Alcott. I’ve been thinking about your cowboy. I think this whole thing—him being there when you needed him—is not just chance or luck. No, he was supposed to be here at that time for you. That’s all there is to it. After all, his home state is off the beaten path.”

Darcy remembered him saying the same thing yesterday. But she wasn’t about to tell her mother that. “Off the beaten path? Like Buckeye, Arizona isn’t? We’re fifty miles southwest of nowhere, Mother.”

“Hardly. Phoenix is just down the road. I swear, Darcy, you act like you left civilization when you came here from Baltimore. But anyway, what was I talking about?”

Darcy sighed. It was pointless to fight. “My screwed-up life.”

“That’s right.” With that, Margie Alcott opened her sack lunch, arranging everything atop Darcy’s bedside tray. She pulled a roast beef sandwich from a plastic bag. Darcy had to grin. It was ten-thirty in the morning. Volunteering was a hungry business.

“So. What was he doing down here? That cowboy, I mean.”

Relentless, the woman was. Darcy could only stare at her sweet mother in her pink hospital uniform as she bit into her early lunch. “You mean besides delivering your granddaughter?”

“I do,” she said, chewing. “I can’t imagine.” She swallowed, grabbed her soda, held it out for Darcy to pop the top, and then slurped from the can. Finally, she pointed at her daughter. “And don’t you ever go off again without that cell phone, you hear me? It scared me to death yesterday when you were brought in. I don’t think I could go through that again.”

“I think you came through just fine, Mother. After all, you were front-page news.” Darcy didn’t have to be told how the Buckeye Bugle was there to get its headline. Who didn’t know that Barb Fredericks’s son, Vernon, was the editor? The same Barb who weekly played bridge with Darcy’s mother and their two other partners in crime, Jeanette Tomlinson and Freda Smith. The bane of Buckeye. All four of them.

“Don’t be silly,” Margie Alcott said, crunching now on potato chips. “That cowboy is the star. And, of course, my new granddaughter.”

“And me,” Darcy reminded her.

“Of course, you. I was just mentioned because I’m the one who called Barb and got Vernon on the story. It’s not every day something like this happens.”

“Well, certainly not to me.” Darcy decided to try one last time to change the subject before her mother started her speech on how 50-year-old Vernon would make a great husband and father…if he could ever move out of his mother’s house. “Have you seen the baby today?”

“Have I seen her? Is my name Margie Alcott? Of course I’ve seen her. I’ve all but conducted tours by the window that looks into the nursery. Why, she’s the most beautiful child on the face of this earth. Everyone says so.”

Everyone better. Darcy knew that much, knowing her mother—the social ringleader, as well as the resident bridge champ, of her group of lady friends.

Just then, her mother set down her soda and pursed her lips. This was never good. “Well? Have you named her yet? You’ve known for months you’d have a girl. And yet my grandchild is a day old and doesn’t even have a name. ‘Baby Alcott, female’ it says on her little wrist ID. That’s just plain awful. Everyone’s calling her Louisa May. I just won’t have that, Darcy. Louisa May Alcott. Why, the very idea…naming her after some dead romance writer.”

Sighing, Darcy the English Lit professor reached over to the bedside table and picked up the form the nurse had left her to fill out, hoping her mother wouldn’t obsess on the still-empty box marked “Father.” She just couldn’t bring herself to write Hank’s name in the space. The very married Hank Erickson wanted nothing to do with her or his new daughter. He had two of his own with his wife, Darcy now knew. “Relax. I named her. See for yourself.”

Her mother took the clipboard Darcy offered her…and read aloud. “Montana Skye Alcott.” She looked up, a tremulous smile on her lips. “That’s beautiful, honey. Really pretty. Little Montana.” Then a knowing look claimed her grandmotherly features. “Something to do with the Montana cowboy who helped bring her into this world?”

Darcy shrugged. “I suppose. It seemed like the right thing to do, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’ll say I do.” Margie handed back the form and looked down, swiping at some crumbs on her uniform. “Too bad you don’t know what that cowboy’s name is,” she said with oh-so-much innocence in her voice. “Otherwise, you could put his name here in the blank place for a father.”

Darcy slowly pulled herself up in her bed. “Look at me, Mother. He’s not the father. Not. Even if I knew his name, I wouldn’t do that. It’s not right. Or legal.”

Her mother fingered a bedside flower arrangement—one of about twenty in the room—and played with the card. “Well, we wouldn’t want to do anything against the law, now would we?”

“Mother.” Margie looked at Darcy, her brown eyes wide and guileless. Darcy wasn’t going to fall for that. The last time she had, she’d ended up going to the senior prom with her nerdy, pimply-faced cousin Mel when her own date had stood her up—the start of a definite trend in her life, it seemed. Darcy shook her head for added emphasis. “No. We. Wouldn’t. Say it with me.”

Instead, Marge said, “You know, we could find out who he is.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Yes, we can. Ask me how.”

“No. I don’t care how.”

“You do, too.”

Silence followed. Darcy stared at her mother. Her mother stared at her. Darcy caved. “All right. How?”

Margie smiled triumphantly. “By some of the things he left behind.”

Darcy flopped the clipboard onto her bed and folded her hands together in her lap. “Like what?”

“Like that Indian blanket. And a matchbook with the name of a fancy Phoenix hotel on it. I forget which one just now. And a pocketknife with engraved initials. T.H.E. His initials, don’t you think? Anyway, those things were all tangled up in the blanket’s folds. And I have them.”

Darcy remembered the knife and the matchbook. But his initials were THE? The what? Tom? Terry? Ty? Her interest quickened…before she remembered she wasn’t interested. But it was too late. Her mother had noticed. Great. “What about them?” she was forced to ask, even as she tried hard, and failed, to sound as if she couldn’t care less.

“Johnny Smith. That’s what about them.”

A sick feeling came over Darcy. She gripped her covering sheet in her hands. “Not Johnny. Mother, what are you thinking of doing? Don’t do it. I swear—”

“Not in front of me you won’t.” With that, Margie Alcott stood up and collected her lunch leavings. “Now you rest easy, honey. They’ll be bringing Montana in to you in a minute, I believe. And I’ve got to get back to work. That sweet little old lady, Mrs. Hintzel, is back in the hospital. I think she’s just lonely. But I swear, that tiny stick of a woman—you know she’s 87?—well, she just plain worries if I don’t come around. So I’ll go check on her first and then—”

“Don’t practice medicine, Mother. You know how the doctors get. You’re supposed to be volunteering in the admissions office. Not making patient rounds.”

Her 70-year-old mother pursed her lips. “I know what my job is, Darcy. But it doesn’t hurt a thing if I visit those poor old people. I can’t imagine why that young Dr. Graves can’t figure out Mrs. Hintzel has something wrong with her uterus. Must be inexperience.”

Darcy sighed out her breath. “Or the fact that Mrs. Hintzel had a hysterectomy thirty years ago. You told me that the last time she was admitted.”

Margie Alcott frowned. “I see your hormones are making you testy again. I’m going to go check on Mrs. Hintzel. And then I’m going to call Johnny Smith.”

Darcy’s mouth dried. Johnny Smith, bachelor son of bridge-playing Freda Smith, was also one of the small town’s few policeman. The man looked like a bloodhound. But if anyone could track down a Montana cowboy…with no more information than what her mother had to give him…it would be Johnny Smith.

This was not good. For her. Or for T.H.E. Lone Ranger.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT The Ranch, an upscale hotel in Phoenix, Tom Harrison Elliott was back in his room after the morning’s meeting with the land brokers who were interested in his grandfather’s plot of land here. Quickly changing clothes, Tom picked up his white Stetson, settled it low on his brow, headed for the door…and called himself a fool in love.

He stopped…as if he’d smacked into an invisible brick wall…and just stood there, staring into space as the realization washed over him. He was in love. Instantly. This was the way it happened in his family. Every one of them. One day you’re just walking down the street, minding your own business, when you see that special someone and…bam, right between the eyes. In love. First-sight love. And here he’d thought the rest of his family was crazy. He’d teased his sister and cousins mercilessly about succumbing to—and believing in—the old family tradition. And now, here he was…succumbing. To two women. Well, a woman and her baby girl. Head-over-heels in love with both of them…since the moment he’d taken Darcy in his arms to lift her out of her car, and when he’d first held the baby girl in his arms.

Tom made a face. Lordy, he’d never hear the end of this once he got home. Well, he’d never hear the end of it, if there was something to report. He supposed he ought to check on the beautiful woman he knew only as Darcy to see if she’d felt anything, too. But maybe not today. After all, she’d had a baby yesterday. Might not be in a mood to think about love right now, given the wriggling consequences that she could now hold in her arms.

Take it slow, Tom, he warned himself. One bright and shiny in-love day at a time. Give the lady some time. Speaking of which, it was time to go. Snapping out of his reverie, Tom turned around, checking his room, then himself. He had everything he needed. Tom still couldn’t believe he was doing this. He never did this. But then again, he’d never been in love before.

He’d bought flowers. A huge bunch of flowers. Pink roses, to be exact, along with something else the kindly white-haired lady in the lobby’s flower shop had dubbed a beautiful baby spray. Looked like a bunch of different colored flowers in a tub-sized ceramic baby cradle, if you asked him. Pink and blue and silver balloons with streamers sprouting from all angles out of the danged thing.

But the nice lady had said it was appropriate and, since what he knew about flowers wouldn’t fill a boot heel, Tom had trusted her. Signing the cards was another matter. After much thought, he signed, Congratulations on your new daughter. Tom Harrison Elliott. On the other one, in a moment of whimsy he now regretted—since he didn’t have another card and the flower shop was closed—he’d written Glad to have been at your coming out party, baby girl. He’d signed it The Lone Ranger and Silver.

Now, that was about the dumbest thing he’d ever done. Next to buying the flowers, and getting ready to make the trip back to Buckeye to see mother and daughter. And, yes, most likely…father. Because even though one hadn’t been in evidence yesterday, there had to be a father somewhere. And with Tom’s luck, the man was also Darcy’s husband.

Tom wasn’t reassured by her lack of an engagement or wedding ring. Hell, a lot of pregnant women didn’t wear them. Their fingers swelled, was his understanding. At least that’s what Sam said. And his older sister ought to know. She and Luke had given him two nieces and three nephews—so far. At 37, Samantha was pregnant again.

Tom shook his head as he plucked up the flowers and put the two cards in his shirt pocket. Then he crossed the room in long-legged strides more suited to raising Montana dust and tried to convince himself that a return visit to the maternity ward in Buckeye, despite his true feelings—feelings he had no intention of acting on…today—was nothing more than a polite call. After all, with Sam and Luke doing their best to populate the entire state of Montana, there was no call for him to marry and father a child.

Fighting the fact that he’d fallen in love…fighting because reason told him there was most likely a husband.…Tom reminded himself that he was a man who liked his space. The kind of space you find out riding the range. The kind of space where you don’t see another soul for days. Just you and your horse. And the mountains. And the big sky. He had no time for a family. Not when he had the ranch to run. It’d been that way for over a hundred years of Elliotts. With its thousands of acres and as many head of cattle every year to tend, it kept a man busy. It didn’t give him time to think about much of anything else. Like love.

Juggling the flowers in one hand, Tom wrestled the door open and waited while it swung closed behind him. Making sure it locked, he then transferred the roses to his other hand and set off toward the bank of elevators. As much as he tried not to, he couldn’t help thinking about the young woman he’d helped. He felt he knew her intimately. And he didn’t mean anything disrespectful by that. No, she’d done everything she could until he got there. He could respect that…and did.

She’d seemed an intelligent sort, too, from the little bit of talking with her he’d done. Probably a woman over his head, in terms of education. Not someone to look twice at him. But, hell, no matter how he felt about her, the odds were…given that suspected husband…he wouldn’t be here long enough to worry about that. Right now, he just wanted to see her—and her daughter—once more. To make sure they were really okay. And that was it.

No, it wasn’t. He stopped in front of the elevators and pushed the down button. And fought the fire of need that burned at his insides like a hot branding iron. He needed to leave the woman alone. He needed to take his silly Elliott love-at-first-sight heritage and get on back to Montana. If he had a lick of sense he’d do that. But he couldn’t. There was more here at stake than love. There was honor. He’d been raised to believe in the cowboy code…a life saved was a life owned. Darcy and her baby were now his responsibility in ways her husband probably wouldn’t understand.

But whether or not the man understood didn’t change anything for Tom. Because together, they…he and Darcy…had brought a new life safely into the world. And that new life was now his duty, too. Not just duty, either. The silly thing, the most surprising thing to Tom, was how proud he was of his part. How close he felt to that baby girl.

Son of a gun. If this wasn’t instant heartache, then Tom didn’t know what was. A new mother and her baby. He shook his head. He hadn’t been able to think about anything else since yesterday. How afraid and yet brave Darcy’d been. How tiny and fragile the baby’d been. Tom grinned now, thinking of this morning’s business meeting. More than once the bankers and developers had asked him if he was okay. He’d said yeah, that he was just tired. Then he’d asked them to repeat everything. And all because a dark-haired beauty had filled his thoughts and distracted him. He’d seen that she was a pretty woman, even despite her ordeal. Good bone structure. Nice, even teeth. Long legs. Clear eyes. Lots of curly, glossy hair that spoke of health.

The elevator bell finally dinged. The doors slid open. The car was empty. Tom stepped inside, managing…despite being flower-challenged…to press L for the lobby. When the doors closed and the elevator car began its quick trip down three floors, Tom suddenly realized he’d described Darcy in terms of a healthy horse. A booming laugh spilled out of him…just as the elevator reached the busy lobby and the doors opened.

All heads turned Tom’s way. He instantly sobered, clearing his throat and managing to glare as he crossed the lobby and went out into the Arizona heat…trailing pink, blue and silver balloons and streamers.

Fortunately, the ride out to Buckeye wasn’t an overly long one, once he cleared noontime Phoenix traffic. If it had been, the pink, blue and silver balloons and streamers…which kept floating over into his line of vision in the truck’s air-conditioned cab…would have found themselves ornaments for the prickly saguaro cacti that dotted the sandy landscape. And the accompanying roses would have made a ready dinner for the Gila monsters. But as it turned out, Tom, the roses, and the beautiful baby spray made it safely to the parking lot of the Buckeye Community Hospital.

So far, so good. Tom opened the white truck’s door and squinted against the heat that poured in waves over him as he scooped up the flowers from the seat.

Hitting his remote lock button and then backing out of his truck, given his floral overload, he nudged the door closed with his foot and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Glancing toward the hospital’s exterior, he thought he saw a dark-haired woman, up on the second floor, quickly duck behind a curtain. Tom grinned…and wondered if the curtains would be closed in Darcy’s room.

He walked through the hospital’s automatic front doors, took the elevator up to the second floor without asking—he just knew that’s where her room would be—and strode right up to the nurses’ station. Parting the flowers, he startled the red-headed nurse, who’d had her head bent over an open chart. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, laughing. “It’s not every day I see a walking flower shop wearing a cowboy hat.”

Tom grinned. “I expect not. Uhm, I’m looking for Darcy—” All he knew was her first name. “Well, I’m looking for Darcy. She had a baby girl yesterday. In the back of my truck. I brought her in.”

The nurse surged to her feet. “Ohmigod, you’re the Lone Ranger.” She looked him up and down. “I get it. The white hat. And you drive a white truck, right?”

Tom started to answer, but was distracted by the number of hospital staff pouring out of rooms and crowding around him. Murmurs of the Lone Ranger and white hat and saved Darcy Alcott and her baby and it’s him swelled around him. Tom’s eyes widened. He leaned over the counter, toward the nurse. “Yes, ma’am, I drive a white truck. Isn’t that what you asked me?”

“It sure is,” she said. “I can’t believe it, sugar. We’ve all been trying to figure out who you are.”

Tom suddenly thought he knew how a young bull felt when it was sent alone into the auction ring for everyone to gape at and paw over. “You have?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“We certainly have. Honey, you’re a hero around these parts. Just who the heck are you?”

“Tom Elliott, ma’am. From Montana. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, would it be all right for me to see—” What had one of them said Darcy’s last name was? Then, and blessedly, it came to him. “—Mrs. Alcott, please?”

“She went home already, mister.”

The voice came from behind him. Tom pivoted to see a pretty Hispanic girl with a thick ponytail standing there. She smiled and repeated, “Mrs. Alcott already went home. She worked until 2:00 p.m. and then left for her bridge club meeting.”

None of what this girl said made sense—even despite the corroborating nods and murmurs of the others with her. “Bridge club? She left for a bridge club meeting?” Then he focused on what else she’d said. “She worked today? But she just had a baby.”

Tom suddenly wondered if he’d stepped into the psychiatric ward. Then one of the nurses cleared things up. “Mrs. Alcott is Darcy’s mother. She’s a volunteer here. You want Darcy…Miss Alcott. Well, Professor Alcott, actually.”

Professor? Tom could only stare at her. What she’d said left more questions than answers. “I see. Well…Professor Alcott, then. May I see her, please?”

“Oh sure, honey. Will you look at me—standing here jawing when I should be working.” She picked up a form of some sort and scanned it. “Let me check the schedule. Yep. Marty—that’s the neo-natal nurse—just picked the baby up and took her back to the nursery.” She put the form down and leaned toward Tom…conspiratorially. “We’ve got to keep a close eye on that baby—she’s already got a mind of her own, as I’m sure you know.” Then she straightened up and reached for the phone. “Just let me buzz Darcy’s room and see if she wants a visitor.”

While they waited for Darcy to pick up, Tom stared at the folks still crowded in silent wonder around him. “Howdy,” he finally felt compelled to say. “How’re y’all doing?”

Everyone nodded, said they were fine, glad to meet him, enjoyed the article in the paper about him, nice flowers, loved his white hat. Just as Tom was sure he’d be asked for his autograph, the nurse hung up the phone. “She says she’s decent. You can go on down.” She pointed to a hallway right in front of him. “Room 234. On your right.”

Tom nodded his thanks. “I appreciate it, ma’am.” He turned to his crowd of admirers. “Good day to you.”

They variously waved, said goodbye, and began to disperse. And Tom made his escape. Only to realize he might be walking into a bigger hornet’s nest than the one he’d just left behind.

And it all had to do with Miss Alcott and her daughter, who’d apparently been born out of wedlock. While sympathetic to Darcy’s plight, and what the implications were for her, Tom still had to fight a silly grin that said there was hope. He had a chance.

3

WITH TWO PILLOWS fluffed behind her, Darcy tugged her hospital robe and then the covers around her. She smoothed the sheets as best she could, given her remaining soreness. He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming. She folded her hands in her lap, looked toward the doorway, and pasted a smile on her face. And waited.

The curtains. Darcy’s eyes widened guiltily. The curtains were still yanked closed. Dear God. She just knew he’d seen her standing there at the window, watching him. Great. Did she have time to hobble over there and open them before he—she turned back to the doorway. Her breath caught, her heart thumped excitedly.

There he stood.

Well, she assumed it was him in the doorway. All she could see was a white Stetson, a body comprised of flowers and balloons and streamers, and then long legs encased in denims…and dusty boots. The flowers parted. It was him. “Howdy, Darcy.”

Her belly twitched. Smile, Darcy. She smiled…acted nonchalant, pleasantly surprised. “Why, hello. How nice to see you. What beautiful flowers those are.” And groaned inside. Could I sound more like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood? My, what big flowers you have. Come in, dearie, and let me gobble you up. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Or ever again.

Just as she feared, his gaze riveted on the closed curtains. “You weren’t? You sure about that?”

Only through sheer will did Darcy’s smile and her gaze remain steady. At least with the curtains drawn he couldn’t so readily see the heated blush blooming on her features. Speaking of blooms… “Oh. Come in. Please. Set down your load—the flowers. I mean the flowers.”

He did. He came in, put the flowers on the bedside tray stand and pushed the wheeled cart aside. “You’ll need a vase for those roses, I suspect. I should have thought of that.”

“No problem,” Darcy chirped. She grabbed her pitcher of ice water from the nightstand next to her and held it out. “Here. Put them in here.”

His blue eyes mirrored his uncertainty. “You sure? What if you want a drink of water?”

“Oh, well, I’ll just have rosewater, I guess.” Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He unwrapped the roses, handling them awkwardly. “I’ve never done this before.” He plunked them in the ice water. Then those blue eyes narrowed in her direction. “You okay, Darcy? You sound a little hyper.”

“Hormones,” she blurted. And wanted to bite her tongue off.

He nodded, completely calm and accepting. “I expect so.” Then he gestured to the tacky molded-plastic chair beside the bed, as much as asking her permission to sit down. “You mind?”

“No. Please do. You made all this effort. You may as well sit a while.”

And then he did, removing his Stetson, running a long-fingered hand through his black hair…Darcy watched, remembering how comforting and reassuring those hands were. Then, perching his Stetson atop his bent knee, he met her gaze. Darcy swallowed. “I hope you like roses. I didn’t know—”

“The roses.” She put a hand to her bosom. “Of course. I love roses. They’re wonderful. Thank you. And the baby spray. It’s beautiful. All those balloons and streamers. I don’t know what to say.”

His frowning expression considered the circus-in-a-ceramic-cradle on the bedside tray with the ice-watered roses. “Neither do I, mostly.” Then he swung his attention back to her. “I’m not doing this very well, am I? Let me start over. Uhm, how are you today?”

Darcy, who thought he was doing just fine, didn’t like herself any better for being so excited that he was here. After all, wasn’t she through with men? He was just being nice, given the unusual circumstances under which their lives had collided, and wasn’t the least bit interested in her, nor her in him, despite the flowers and this visit. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m fine.”

He nodded, looking around the flower-littered room. “Looks like you have a heap of thoughtful friends and family. That’s nice.”

“Oh. Those. Well, my mother does. I don’t live here anymore.” She then remembered she did live here. “Well, I mean I do. For now. I’m just visiting.” Visiting? She’d be here for a little over a year before she went back to Baltimore and to teaching. “Well, more than visiting, I suppose.” She realized she was babbling. “And you? How about you?”

“I don’t live here, either. I’m just visiting.”

That wasn’t what she meant, but still Darcy nodded. “You’re from Montana. Yes. I remember.” Could this be more awkward? Sure, it could. Some nurse could come in about now and want to check her sutures. “So. How are things in Montana?”

He nodded. “Fine.”

Silence. She smiled at him, wiggled her toes, and fiddled with her fingers. The man has seen me naked. And not in a good way. He smiled back, looked her up and down as she sat there in her hospital bed. And no doubt remembered he’d seen her naked. “So,” Darcy blurted. “What is your name? That has been the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question around here today.”

“I gathered as much from the crowd at the nurses’ station. It’s Elliott. Tom Elliott. Pleased to meet you, Darcy Alcott.” He stretched forward in the chair and offered his hand to her.

Inordinately pleased—he’d gone to the trouble, obviously, of finding out her last name—Darcy leaned over the slightest bit and took his hand, shaking it, feeling warm, firm flesh and the not-unpleasant roughness of calluses. A working man’s hands. A far cry from the softness of any self-centered, lying, cheating professor types she might know. “Very pleased to meet you, Tom. Now I can quit calling you the Lone Ranger.”

He chuckled…and her heart tripped over itself—and tried to jump right out of her chest so it could tackle him and lay a big smooch on his mouth…for starters. “Yeah. I got that at the nurses’ station, too.”

Darcy blinked. “You did? You got—” Darcy! Knock it off. He doesn’t mean he got smooched at the nurses’ station. Pay attention. She discreetly cleared her throat…and forged ahead. “Uhm, did you get to see the baby? I mean today. I know you saw her yesterday. Heck, you were the first one in the world to see her.”

His smile brightened. “I hadn’t thought about that. But no, I haven’t seen her yet. I came straight to your room. I couldn’t wait to see you. Her. You.” His smile faltered, his eyes widened…as if he’d just revealed too much. Darcy felt her mouth dry. “So,” he continued. “How is she? That navel get cleaned up okay?”

Still wide-eyed with wonder—he couldn’t wait to see her?—she nodded. “Uhm, yes. Dr. Harkness said you did a fine job, too. He was quite impressed with that knot you tied.”

“Yeah? That’s a good knot, all right.” Silence. “Well, since we’re on the subject of names…what did you name your daughter?”

Darcy’s insides melted. She took a deep breath, and confessed, “Her name is Montana Skye. Sky with an E.”

“It is?” A smile as big as all outdoors claimed his features. He sat back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be. Montana Skye. With an E. That’s about the best name I think I’ve ever heard. It’s perfect for such a pretty baby, too.”

Darcy’s cheeks heated up under his compliments. “I thought it was the least I could do, given your help. I didn’t know how else to repay you. And I thought I’d never see you again to say thank-you. So I…” She exhaled and just sat there, staring at her fingers. “I hope you don’t mind.”

He shifted in the chair and leaned forward, plopped his Stetson at the foot of her bed. From under her eyelashes, Darcy stared at him, noting his intense blue-eyed gaze. “I don’t mind at all, Darcy. In fact, I’m honored. I’m just pleased I could help. And that everything turned out so well.”

“Me, too.” And then she had nothing else to say. Nothing that could keep him here and talking. Which was crazy because all she really wanted was for him to go away. Because he filled this room with his presence—and made her feel small and warm and safe. All the things she couldn’t afford to feel. He was from Montana. And she and her daughter would be living in Baltimore. No chance of a relationship there. Not that she wanted one anyway.

“I noticed,” he said suddenly…and a little too loudly, “on the drive out here from Phoenix, that your car wasn’t beside the road. I guess someone took care of that for you?”

“Yes. My mother had it towed in. It’s at the garage now.” Her mother. Dear God. “Oh, no. I need to warn you about something.”

He sat up, alert, questioning. “What’s that?”

“My mother. She’s trying to find you.”

He looked askance at her. “And yet, here I am.”

“I know. But she doesn’t know that. And she has your stuff. But not your name.”

His frown intensified. “I don’t know what—”

“That book of matches. The blanket. And your pocket knife.”

Suddenly, understanding showed in his expression. “She does? That’s good. I realized this morning that I didn’t have my knife. I figured it’d dropped out of the truck in all the excitement. But it’s mighty nice of your mother to try to get it back to me. I appreciate that.”

Darcy shook her head. “No. It’s not nice. She’s not looking for you in a good way. Trust me. She’s like a bloodhound. In fact, she set Johnny Smith on you. And he’s a real bloodhound.”

“Someone named a bloodhound Johnny Smith?”

The man wasn’t getting any of this. “No. He’s a policeman,” Darcy explained. “He just looks like a bloodhound.”

“I see.” But his bewildered expression said he didn’t. “Why would your mother set a policeman on me?”

“Well, not set one on you, I guess. You didn’t do anything wrong. She means it in a good way.”

“A second ago you said it was in a bad way.”

“Well, a good way for her. But bad for you and me.”

He stared intently at Darcy. “Now it’s you and me. Bad how?”

Darcy put her hands to her steadily warming cheeks. “I am so embarrassed.” She plopped her hands down to her lap. “Okay. Here we go. First things first. Despite all my babbling here, I’m a college professor. A little over a year ago I earned my doctorate in English Lit. I teach in Baltimore. I’m here with my mother until I’m back on my feet. And I’m what you’d call an unwed mother.”

He nodded…calm, accepting. “Congratulations. About your doctorate, I mean. About the other…well, I thought something like that was going on, from the things you said yesterday.”

Darcy recalled yesterday’s labor-and-delivery tirade and nodded. “Yes. I said a lot of things, didn’t I? And I apologize.”

“It’s okay. Hormones, like you said. My sister’s had five kids. I know a little bit about that.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. “Five?” As he nodded his confirmation, her sore, sore, sore nether regions were screaming Never again. “Anyway, the you and me part,” she continued. “Mother believes that my baby needs a father.”

“Aah.” He firmed his lips together, and glanced around the room as if trying to figure out where the closest exit was.

That hurt. But Darcy couldn’t really blame him. After all, the man had no responsibility here, no relationship with her. So why else would he feel anything but trapped? But still, the last time she’d seen a similar expression, it had been on Hank’s face when she’d told him she was pregnant. It was just too funny, the effect she had on men. “Don’t worry. Montana already has a father. One who’s not the least bit interested in her. Or in me, either. Which is how I want it, believe me. But nevertheless, she has a father. You’re safe.”

He stared at her. Seconds ticked by on the clock mounted on the wall behind him. His expression never changed. Darcy swallowed, felt too warm. And then too cold. Finally, he said, “I wasn’t thinking that at all. Actually I was thinking of a man who didn’t live up to his responsibilities. Still that was quite a speech.”

Darcy raised her chin. “All that lecturing I do, no doubt.”

“I suppose. But I guess it’s my turn to spill my guts, right?”

Feeling a bit defensive, Darcy shrugged. “Sure. Why not? We’re all friends here.”

His eyebrows raised. “I sure hope we are, Darcy.

I’d like that. But it’s your call.”

His expression radiated sincerity. And intelligence. And kindness. Three things Darcy liked in people but pretty much hadn’t encountered in the men she’d chosen to have relationships with in the past. Which, she suddenly realized, said more about her than it did the men. She quirked her mouth and brushed her annoyingly curly hair back from her face. “We are, Tom. We’re friends. Someone just needs to knock this chip off my shoulder, I guess.”

He smiled. “It’s not as bad as all that, Darcy. I imagine you’re scared right now, maybe a little unsure of things. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, it sounds like. I can’t blame you for being a little wary.”

Darcy stared at this Tom Elliott, more and more convinced he was some wonderfully put-together animated robot programmed to say everything a woman wanted to hear. She felt certain she could go to a toy store and find a whole row of Tom Elliott look-alikes in bright, shiny packages. If she did, she intended to buy one for every female friend she had. “Are you always this wonderful?” she asked.

He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “No. Not usually. In fact,” he said, “I expect there are some lawyers and land brokers over in Phoenix who are tacking up Wanted posters of me this minute.”

“Really? Who’d you kill?”

He grinned. “Nobody yet. I’m down here on my late grandfather’s business. He owned—and now I do—a piece of land outside of Phoenix that some developers are interested in. I’ve been looking it over.” He sat up straighter and pointed at her. “As a matter of fact, I’d been looking at it when I came across you yesterday.”

“Well, thank God for your grandfather and his land, then. Or I’d have been scorpion bait. But you must have been really lost because Phoenix is a pretty good ride from here.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’d already found the land. I just wanted to take a look around a little farther out, maybe see why my granddad had hung on to it for so long. Periodically he’d have to make a trip down here and deal with some paperwork. So did my father. It was always a hassle for them. And now, it is for me, too.”

Darcy could see where this was going. “So you’re thinking if you unload this land, you won’t have to come back here, right?”

His gaze met hers and held. He nodded. “Pretty much. Yeah. This is my last trip here. If I sell it.”

“I see.” Darcy suddenly felt like crying. She’d never see him again. And that bothered her. Because she felt herself really starting to like this man—this man who’d delivered another man’s baby and saved her life. “So,” she said out loud, struggling to sound conversational, “is that why they’re taking out Wanted posters on you? You won’t sell?”

He shrugged those broad shoulders of his. “No. I’ll sell it. Just not at their price. I’m sticking around a while, letting them stew some. See how bad they want it.”

Darcy didn’t know what to think. Well, she knew what she should be thinking. She should be hoping they made a counteroffer today, one he could accept and so he would leave. Because here she was…liking him. Really liking him. He needed to go away—and now. But that wasn’t what she was thinking. She wanted him to stay. And that wasn’t good. Or even logical.

Then she thought of something else, something she hadn’t considered before. As she watched him, he reached into his white and starched Western-style shirt and pulled out two tiny envelopes. Before he could make his intentions known, Darcy blurted her belated thought. “Are you married?”

Tom Elliott froze, his hand poised in midair. Sober as a rodeo judge, he assured her, “No, ma’am. Why do you ask?”

You heard the man, Darcy—why’d you ask? “Well, I was just wondering, with all this latitude you have about staying here or going home whenever you choose…I wondered if there was someone…waiting, is all.” Lame, lame, lame.

Cool as a mountain breeze, his neutral expression never changing, he handed her the tiny envelopes. “I meant to give you these earlier. They go with the flowers.”

Darcy reached for the envelopes. His hand closed over hers making her mouth go dry. “And no, there’s nobody waiting. Just some cattle and several thousand acres of land.”

Darcy swallowed, then smiled…lopsidedly. “Oh. Thanks. For the cards. Not the explanation. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I—”

“I wanted to.” With that, he released her hand and sat back.

He wanted to? What does that mean? Why did he want to? Is he interested? Darcy did her best to keep her expression in check as she opened the first little envelope. She could see him watching her…and wondered what he was thinking. She sure wasn’t anything to look at. No makeup. In a hospital gown and robe. Her hair a fright. Her body wrung out from delivering a baby. Why, it was a wonder the man hadn’t run for the hills already.

Then, as the silence stretched out, Darcy concentrated on reading each card. Finally, she looked up, grinning. “Thank you, again. And Montana’s card…that’s cute. The Lone Ranger and Silver. I like that.”

His face actually reddened. He shifted in his chair and tried to look tough. But he failed—miserably. “It was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t. I think it’s cute.”

“It was stupid.”

“Seriously. It’s not. It’s cute.”

“Yeah? I’m not usually so…” He seemed to be casting about for the right word.

“Stupid?” Darcy finished for him, the conspiratorial grin she wore letting him know she was joking.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I deserved that.”

Darcy shook her head. The man was perfect. And would make some deserving woman a wonderful husband. Some unknown and deserving woman up in Montana…whom Darcy already hated. But that reminded her… “Hey, you want to see Montana?”

His grin died. “I already have. I live there.”

“What?” Then she realized his mistake. “No. Montana Skye. Remember? My baby. You know…the one you delivered?”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, hell. There’s that stupid gene again.” Then he sat forward and braced his hands on his knees. “Yeah. I’d love to see how that little lady cleaned up.”

“Okay. We’ll have to go down to the nursery.” Self-consciously, she started getting off the bed, realizing she was out of shape, her ankles were still swollen and she really looked a fright. She’d probably put the man off sex for the rest of his life. Why hadn’t she shaved her legs the other day?

Tom Elliott jumped up, coming to her bedside and gently gripping her arm. “Here. Let me help you. You got your land legs yet?”

His touch ignited her heart. And a few other related parts. “Yeah,” Darcy said around her bottom lip…which she was biting in penance for that momentary burst of lust as her intense soreness fairly shrieked here’s why you don’t need to be thinking about sex right now. “My slippers. Can you put them right there—” He moved them in place and she slipped them on her feet. “Thanks.”

She stood slowly and carefully, holding on to his rock-solid arm with one hand as she used her other to straighten out her gown and robe. His other hand covered hers on his arm.

It was a small gesture, but one so intensely intimate—especially here in the maternity ward—that Darcy looked up at him, felt her aloneness, and struggled with tears. As she straightened her robe and tried to cover her roiling emotions, she quipped, “I guess it’s a little late for me to stand on decorum with you, isn’t it?”

He reached out, wiping at a tear that spilled over. “You just had something on your face,” he said, covering for her. Then, he ran his booted toe dramatically over the flooring. “You say this is decorum we’re standing on? And here I thought it was linoleum.”

The man was killing her. Darcy fought to mortar up the bricks in her emotional wall that he kept knocking down with every kind word and thoughtful gesture. She just couldn’t feel this way toward him. She just couldn’t.

Then he winked at her and set them in motion…slow motion…as they headed for the opened doorway. “Come on, Darcy. Keep me from getting homesick. Show me a little bit of Montana Skye.”

4

“OH, LOOK…there she is. She’s so tiny and pink and sweet. I just love her so much.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Tom smiled at the pride evident in Darcy’s voice and longing expression. She’d make a great mother, he could tell. She had all the right attributes, ones he could admire. He felt qualified to draw that conclusion, too. After all, he’d observed Darcy with the baby from the first moment the little girl had come into the world. “She sure is a pretty little thing, with all that dark hair.”

Darcy sighed. “I know.” Then she leaned in toward him and whispered, “I think she’s the prettiest baby in the whole nursery, don’t you?”

Delighted with her whimsy, Tom whispered right back. “I sure do. I also think she’s the only baby in the whole nursery.”

Darcy gave a mock what-do-you-know roll of her eyes as she turned to once again stare longingly through the thick glass that separated her from her baby. “You do think she’s pretty, though, right?”

Tom turned his gaze from the pink-blanket-wrapped baby in the clear plastic crib to Darcy. Memorizing her profile, he said, “I think she’s beautiful.”

A big smile on her face, Darcy turned his way. “Yes, she—”

She caught him staring at her. He didn’t look away. He probably should have, he knew, but he didn’t. It was too late now. Darcy’s expression sobered, and became one of awareness. Intense awareness. She looked away first, lowering her brown-eyed gaze to the windowsill, where she rubbed a finger along its narrow ledge. Instantly, Tom felt bad. He’d embarrassed her. That hadn’t been his intention. “Darcy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No. It’s okay.” She met his gaze. “Really. I thought it was…nice that you’d look at me that way.”

Tom tried for humor to cover this embarrassing moment of possibly unrequited attraction. “Nice, huh? The next thing I know, you’ll just want to be my friend. And then I’ll have to go out and shoot myself.”

“Gosh, I hope not. Think of how bad I’d feel.”

How nice of her…and how noncommital. Tom decided he was right—she wasn’t attracted to him. He suddenly felt like the world’s biggest fool. Could he have made her any more uncomfortable? “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything like that, Darcy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t be coming on to a woman who only yesterday—”

“No. It’s fine. Seriously. I’m very flattered.”

That only made him feel worse. “Great. I flattered you.” Tom shook his head. “I need to stick with horses and cattle. Or maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I’ve been around them too long, and I don’t know how to talk to a woman—”

Darcy pressed her hand against Tom’s lips, cutting off his words. “Hold on a minute, will you? Quit beating yourself up.” When Tom nodded, she took her hand away and smoothed it through her black hair. “I just meant I can’t believe you’d find me…attractive, is all. For heaven’s sake, look at me in this hospital garb. I must look a fright.”

“A fright?” Intensely relieved—all she’d been worried about was her appearance when here he’d been kicking himself for thinking he had his wires crossed—Tom folded his arms together over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Not at all. Like I said, you’re beautiful.”

She smiled and still managed to look embarrassed. “Must be that new-mother glow, then.”

“Could be. But I doubt if that’s all it is.”

The wide-eyed, vulnerable look she sent him said she wanted to believe him…but couldn’t. Tom thought he understood, given her new single-mother status. The woman had enough on her plate without him adding to her woes. But still, and feeling disappointed somehow, as if the one moment in time for them to connect had slipped away, Tom silently watched her settle her gaze on the sleeping baby in the nursery. “Anyway, I think she looks like me.”

Still leaning against the wall, Tom turned to stare through the glass with her. “I guess I’d have to agree with you since her father’s not around for me to know what he looks like.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

Darcy jerked and Tom wanted to kick himself. Why had he brought up that man—the gutless son-of-a-gun who wouldn’t even acknowledge his own flesh and blood? Tom shook his head, as if to say he couldn’t believe his own stupidity. “Again, Darcy—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something that jackass stupid.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m getting used to it.” Then her eyes went big and round. “You know…everyone asks about my husband, what does he do, is he proud.” She looked down. “Things like that.” Then she raised her head and, dry-eyed, met his gaze. “So, it’s okay. Really.”

“No, it isn’t. How many times have I had to apologize to you already?”

She shrugged. “Almost as many as I’ve had to with you.”

“Well, thank God.” Tom offered a shy smile. “Want to start over—again?”

Her expression brightened. “Sure.”

Encouraged, Tom stuck his hand out for her to shake. “Howdy, ma’am. My name is Tom Harrison Elliott. From outside of Billings, Montana. My friends call me The Lone Ranger.”

Darcy laughed…a warm, throaty sound that went all over Tom…and grasped his hand. “Hi. Pleased to meet you. My name is Darcy Jean Alcott. From Buck-eye, Arizona. My friends call me Damsel in Distress.”

“Is that so? Well, Damsel, that’s a mighty fine baby girl you have yourself there.” Without releasing Darcy’s hand, which felt small and warm clasped within his, Tom nodded toward Montana Skye, who was now awake and crying heartily.

Darcy instantly sobered, pulling her hand away. A uniformed nurse came out of a backroom inside the small nursery and hurried over to pick up the baby and soothe her. Next to Tom, Darcy pressed herself against the glass and made a mewling sound that said she wanted to hold her child herself. Tom’s heart went out to her, but he didn’t know what to do. Just then, the nurse looked up and saw them there. Immediately she came to the window with the baby and held her up, so they could see her. Tom felt pride well in his chest and sudden emotion clog his throat. The redfaced baby’s clenched fists shook with her squalling displeasure.

Darcy grabbed Tom’s sleeve. “What’s wrong with her?”

Tom covered her hand with his own. “I don’t rightly know, Darcy. But the nurse doesn’t look too worried. See? She’s smiling. It must be okay, then, wouldn’t you think?”

Darcy relaxed her grip on his sleeve. “I guess you’re right.” She slipped her hand out from under his and stuffed it in her robe pocket. Then she turned her frightened gaze his way. “What am I going to do in a day or two when you’re not around to tell me these things?”

Tom put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll do fine, Darcy. It’ll all come to you. You’ll see. A mother’s instinct, they say.”

She looked unconvinced. “Oh, the famous they, huh? Well, then, will you leave me their phone number, please? Because they’re going to get the night shift.”

Tom didn’t know what to say. And considering the amount of apologizing he’d already done, he settled now for patting her on the shoulder and saying, “That’s the spirit. You’ll be fine.”

A tap on the thick, sound-insulating glass made Tom and Darcy turn toward the nurse on the other side of the window. With a puckered Montana Skye now perched in the crook of one arm, the blond nurse held up a clipboarded form, which she waved at Darcy. Then she placed it on a ledge just inside the room, and pointed to it, making writing motions with her bunched fingers.

Confused about what was going on, Tom glanced Darcy’s way…and saw her grow pale under her tanned skin. He grabbed at her arm, fearing she’d faint. “You need to sit down?”

Without looking at him, Darcy shook her head. “No. I wish that’s all it was. It’s just that…well, here we go again. That form she has is Montana Skye’s birth certificate. The nurse wants to know the father’s name.”

Newly enlightened, Tom bristled in Darcy’s defense. “I don’t rightly believe that’s any of her business.”

“Well, actually it is. It’s a legal thing.” Darcy exhaled, sounding tired. “I suppose she’s just being nice and thinks I overlooked it earlier.” She looked up at Tom. Her flat brown eyes upset him. “I didn’t overlook it. I just didn’t know what to do. So I left that space blank.”

Tom swallowed, uncomfortable with the situation. “Oh.”

Then Darcy’s expression became pleading, begging for understanding. “I can’t put that man’s name on her birth certificate, Tom. I can’t. He doesn’t want her. But I don’t want Montana to get hurt, years from now, if she should see it blank. I don’t want to lie to her, but—”

“Hold on, Darcy.” On impulse, Tom reached into his back pocket. “Wait just a minute.” He pulled out his wallet. “I think I can help you.”

“What are you going to do—bribe the nurse?”

“No. I’m getting out my driver’s license.”

“Your driver’s license? What—oh, wait. No. You can’t.” She put a restraining hand on his, covering his wallet with her long, fine fingers. “No, Tom. It’s a very nice thing you want to do. But no. You’ve done enough.”

She was right. He knew she was. At least from her point of view. But from his, knowing that he already loved Darcy, Tom wanted nothing more than to claim this baby as his own. Because if he had anything to say about it, Montana Skye would be his. “Let me, Darcy. I want to.”

She pulled her hand back, looking earnestly into his eyes. “I know you do. And you’re a very sweet man. But you can’t do this. You’re not her father. And besides, there are about a million reasons—most of them legal—why I can’t allow you to do this. God knows, I won’t make any child support demands on you. But you just can’t. Don’t you see?”

He did, but that sense of urgency still had Tom in its grip. “The only thing I see right now is your face, Darcy. And it clearly says this is eating at you. Let me help. Please. I promise you I’m thinking clearly.” She didn’t look convinced. Tom continued. “Look, you can tell Montana whatever you want, and I’ll abide by it. In fact, I’ll swear to you right now that I won’t ever make any claims on her, legal or otherwise. Or on you, either.” None that you won’t want me to, he added to himself, all the while holding Darcy’s gaze.

She still didn’t budge. Tom firmed his lips together, eyed the waiting nurse—who now looked thoroughly bewildered—and turned back to Darcy. “Please. Let me. For Montana Skye’s sake.”

“Her sake? Do you hear yourself?” Before he could answer, Darcy turned to the nurse and raised an index finger, mouthing just a minute. The nurse nodded and smiled.

Darcy waved her thanks and then turned to Tom. “I want you to think of fifteen years from now, when she’s a troubled teenager and she comes looking for you. What will you say to her? How upset do you think she’s going to be with both of us when she discovers that you’re not her father? Or what if she’s sick and needs your blood or a kidney and hunts you down? What then?”

Tom’s frown matched his disbelief. “Where did you come up with that stuff?”

Darcy scrubbed her hands over her face. “From life, Tom. These things happen all the time. I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“Realistic? Sounds more like one of those soap operas. There’re good things that could happen, too, you know.”

Darcy planted her hands on her hips. “Like what?”

Tom cast around…he couldn’t reveal too much about his hopes for Darcy and her daughter right now…and then he had it. “Well, like she can come spend summers with me up at my ranch, when she’s old enough.”

“Oh, really? And what will you tell her about why we’re—you and I—not together? She’ll want to know.”

But they would be together, he knew that. Still, in this conversation, he was losing and had to think fast. “I’ll tell her it’s because her mama is the most stubborn and argumentative woman I ever met.”

He was proud that he could think fast in this situation…but not well, apparently.

Darcy’s expression soured. “Oh, thanks. Now it’s all my fault. So there she is, a troubled teen, and you’re going to belittle her mother to her. That will be helpful.”

Frustration ate at Tom. He wanted nothing more than to tell her his true feelings, but he knew that would send her scurrying off down the hall…or would, if she could scurry at this moment. “Me? You’re the one who had her for fifteen years and made her a troubled teen.”

Darcy’s mouth dropped and she poked a finger at his chest. “I did no such thing. Do you even know how hard it is to be a single mother and have to deal with a teenaged girl who—”

“Darcy.”

“Don’t you Darcy me. I am not through here—”

Tom grabbed her fingers, held on to them. “Darcy, look at me.”

She turned. “What?”

“Why are we fighting?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Amused now—especially since a skinny elderly gentleman had just shuffled by as fast as he could while holding his hospital gown closed with one hand and towing his IV stand along with the other…all while eyeing them as if he expected their argument to escalate momentarily into a duel with pistols…Tom said, “Montana is a tiny baby in a newborn nursery who needs a name and that’s all. It’s what I’m offering. Say no, if you want. But I’m still going to set up a trust fund for her because I’d decided earlier today to do that. Somehow, I feel responsible for her.”

“A trust fund? I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say yes. After all, think about it—I did help you bring her into the world, didn’t I? Doesn’t that make her even a little bit mine?” And you, too? You’re mine.

Darcy’s gaze never wavered from his. But finally she exhaled and nodded. “All right. I think it’s wrong. It’s against everything I believe in—or thought I believed in. And I hope you don’t live to regret this someday, but—” She gestured in a dramatic be-my-guest manner toward the waiting, smiling nurse. “Go ahead. Make her day.”

An unexpected thrill raced through Tom. He’d won the moment. It was a small step, but a first step. “Thank you, Darcy.” Quickly, before she could change her mind, he pulled his driver’s license from his wallet and held it against the glass, at the nurse’s eye level, so she could copy his name onto the form in front of her.

When the nurse signaled she was done, Tom stuffed his license into his wallet and repocketed it as he, along with Darcy, watched the nurse pantomime that she was going to change the baby’s diaper. Darcy waved at her and nodded…and turned away from the window, walking slowly, stiffly back down the hall toward her room.

Tom wondered if she’d forgotten he was here. He didn’t know what to do, what to say in the face of her silence. Suddenly his act of kindness seemed like just what it was—a rash one made on emotion. He never did things like this. Usually he was plodding and methodical, so slow to make a decision that he drew groans from his ranch hands and his family. Well, that certainly wasn’t his problem in this instance, was it? No, he’d made up his mind and had acted on it immediately. Because he was in love.

As Tom kept pace with Darcy, but respected her silence, he decided that maybe that’s what being in love did to a man. Made him decisive. And made him do silly things. Like buy a big bunch of pink roses and a beautiful baby spray and then drive an hour to hand-deliver them…only to give a stranger’s child his name at the end of the trip. Tom looked over at Darcy, noting things now like her height, the shape of her nose, her general shapelessness under the hospital’s gown and robe. Yep. She was a stranger to him, and him to her.

He didn’t know any of the things about her a man would normally know about a woman whose child bore his name. Things like…what it felt like to hold her, what it took to make her laugh, to make her smile. Or cry. Or to make her mad. He didn’t even know her favorite flavor of ice cream. Or her favorite TV show or book. Where she’d gone to school? How would she raise Montana Skye? Where would she raise the little girl?

No, he didn’t have any of those answers. But he did know that he had the rest of his life…and Darcy’s…to find them out.

BACK IN HER room, having climbed slowly, sorely back into her bed—again with Tom’s help—Darcy sat with her bottom half covered with a light blanket, her hands folded in her lap, and stared at the man who’d just…well, fathered her child, in essence. Looking away from him to the end of her bed where his white Stetson still rested, Darcy exhaled sharply.

The sound made him glance at her. “You okay?”

She nodded haltingly. She’d come to the decision as she’d walked back to her room that she needed to give him a way out. “Look, if you’ve already thought better of putting your name on Montana’s birth certificate, I can—”

He raised his hand. “No. I’m not sorry.”

Darcy brightened. He wasn’t? Then she remembered she didn’t dare fall for him—not from a maternity ward bed, at any rate. This just was not good timing. So, she raised an eyebrow, trying for skeptical. “You look to me like you are.”

“And how’s that?”

She looked him up and down. The man was perfect. “Well, you’re a little pale under your tan,” she lied.

His gaze shifted away from her, to the roses he’d brought. Then he resettled his gaze on her. “Look, I admit that what I did back there is a big thing. Huge. But it doesn’t scare me, Darcy. I won’t run. And I won’t change my mind. I did it, and I’m glad.”

Pricked to her very core—could this man see all the way into her frightened soul?—Darcy stuck to her guns. She couldn’t afford to like him any more than she already did. Her first priority now was her daughter. She just didn’t need to keep thinking of him as good and noble and fine. But most of all, she didn’t want to let him hurt her first. And that, regrettably, gave her only one course of action. “Fine.” The one word sat him up in his chair. She snatched up the nurse-call button.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to call the nurse.”

Concern edged his sky-blue eyes. “You hurting somewhere?”

“Not anywhere it shows.”

Tom slumped back against the chair. “Then let me guess. You’re going to change the birth certificate, aren’t you?”

Darcy shrugged, adopting a bravado that hid her pain for her child’s sake. Montana Skye was about to lose another father. “If I can. There might be a law or something that says I can’t.”

“But you’re sure going to try, right?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, pressing wrinkles into his crisply ironed white shirt.

Well, she’d done it now…he was angry. Still, believing she was doing the right thing, Darcy looked him up and down, trying desperately to find fault with him. “Is white the only color you wear? I mean, are you really all that good all the time?”

His eyes narrowed. “You trying to pick a fight with me, Darcy? You think that’ll make me go away?”

Here was the opening she needed. She stabbed a pointing finger at him. “See? That’s what I don’t get. Make you go away? Tom, we don’t have a relationship. We’re essentially strangers. I shouldn’t have to make you go away—because you shouldn’t even be here. I mean, I’m thankful and all for everything you’ve done for me.” Her heart cried out for her not to continue, but as always, she didn’t listen to it. “But your work here is done, Lone Ranger.”

There. She’d done it…given him nowhere to go. No way to argue. A heavy silence filled the air between them. As she held his gaze, Darcy felt triumphant…and about ready to burst into tears. Why had she been so hateful? What was wrong with her?

Tom stood up slowly. Darcy figured she was about to find out exactly what was wrong with him. “All right. You’ve made your point. I’ll go.” He walked over to the foot of her bed and snatched up his Stetson, which he carefully fitted to his head, tugging it low over his brow. Then he looked her in the eye. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

Darcy didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She raised her chin a notch and tried to swallow past the knotted emotion in her throat. Her heart screamed for her to stop him…but she refused to open her mouth. And so, he turned and walked out of her room. And out of her life.

He was gone. Darcy sat staring at the opened doorway to her hospital room…and listened to his every booted footfall out in the hallway until they faded. She sniffed and looked all around her at the flowers and the balloons and the cards that congratulated her and wished her well. They suddenly blurred. Darcy blinked back the tears. She’d never felt more alone.

Just then, the air-conditioning came on, blowing cold air from the vent directly onto her. As if that were the final insult, Darcy’s chin dimpled and quivered. Releasing the nurse-call button, she slid down a bit in the bed and turned on her side, away from the door, drawing her knees up as much as her soreness would allow. Pulling her covers close around her, clutching a twist of the blanket in her hand, she put her other fisted hand to her mouth and bit down on a knuckle…so no one would hear her cry.

5

“WELL, HERE WE ARE, Darcy Jean, you and baby Montana home all safe and sound. Just be careful there, honey. Watch that threshold. Don’t trip. I’d hate for you to drop that two-day-old baby.”

“Why? Don’t they bounce?”

Everyone already in the living room, as well as those people crowding in behind Darcy, froze in place and got quiet. “Good Lord, don’t say things like that, Darcy,” her mother scolded.

Yeah, well…she was tired. It’d been a long convoy home with the Buckeye Bridge Beauties following in their cars, all of them loaded down with the flowers and plants from Darcy’s hospital room. “Well, what did you want me to say, Mother? I have no intention of dropping my baby. I would die first.”

“Well, thank heavens, it’s not required. I’m just nervous for you, that’s all. So don’t be testy. Just sit here. Freda, move that pillow for her, will you? Yes, that one. Good.” Then, over her shoulder, “Close that door, can you, Barb? We’ll get the flowers inside in a minute. Thanks. I know, but Darcy insisted on wearing these old maternity shorts—I just hate them—and I don’t want her to catch cold.”

Forget the shorts. Darcy hated being talked about like she wasn’t in the room. “A cold, Mother? In Arizona? In May?”

Her cheerfully oblivious and proud mother obviously chose to ignore Darcy’s questions in favor of overseeing her…with Montana in her arms…being lowered into the big, soft and overstuffed recliner—one Darcy stood no chance of getting out of without the able assistance of a construction-grade crane. “Thanks for helping, Barb,” Margie Alcott said. Then she straightened up and beamed at Darcy. “There, baby. All settled. Is there anything I can get—Jeanette, hand me that afghan to put over Darcy’s legs.”

“I don’t want the afghan—”

Jeanette Tomlinson bunched the knitted blanket around Darcy’s legs. “I just love this afghan,” the older woman said, a good-natured twinkle lighting her blue eyes. “I’ve told your mama that one day I’m just going to steal it from her.”

“Make that day today, will you?” Darcy coupled her words with a smile, but it was forced. Mrs. Tomlinson’s eyebrows rose. And Darcy felt sorry for herself. All she wanted was to be left alone for just a bit to get to know her daughter.

But just then, Barb Fredericks leaned over Darcy and gently tugged the baby’s blanket back. “Oh, she’s the prettiest black-haired little girl, Darcy. Now, what state did you name her after, honey? It was something with an M, wasn’t it? Missouri, maybe?”

Darcy stared soberly at the short, dark-haired woman whose only child was Vernon, the 50-year-old editor of The Buckeye Bugle. He still lived at home with her. “No. Not Missouri,” Darcy corrected. “But close. Michigan.”

“Darcy,” came her mother’s warning. “It’s Montana, Barb. Montana Skye. With an E.”

Barb turned to her friend Margie. “With a knee? What’s wrong with her knee?”

Not believing any of this, Darcy put her free hand to her forehead and rubbed. But before the ladies could get going on that tangent, a voice came from near the sofa. “Well, will you look at this. Isn’t it the cutest thing?”

They all looked. Freda Smith—sitting on the over-stuffed leather sofa and rooting through the big bag of helpful gifts the hospital had bestowed on Darcy—was holding up a typical, ordinary, everyday four-ounce glass baby bottle for all to see. Looking grave and judgmental, she glanced Darcy’s way. “We didn’t have these when Johnny was a baby 48 years ago. All we had to use were breasts.”

Amidst the collective gasps of embarrassment coming from the remaining bridge club members, Darcy…suddenly highly amused and truly loving every one of these ladies…assured Freda. “Women today still have breasts, Freda.”

“But are you using them?”

Darcy couldn’t resist. “Sure. Watch.” She began tugging on her maternity top’s buttons.

That cleared the room. The ladies bolted for the dining room around the corner, squawking about iced tea and calling home and how hot it was outside already. In the relative quiet of the abandoned living room, Darcy finally got to relax and look down at her daughter. “Your mother’s a stinker, Montana. But that may be the only thing that gets us through, kiddo.”

Wrapped from her head to her toes in swaddling blankets, Montana yawned and frowned and made awful faces…and dropped off to sleep. “Great,” Darcy said to the otherwise empty room. “I’m such a fascinating conversationalist. I’ve either driven everyone away—” She tried not to think of a tall cowboy in a white Stetson. “—or I’ve put them to sleep.” She smiled down at her tiny daughter and cooed softly, “My lectures on Chaucer have the same effect on my students, baby girl. Yes, that’s right. Your mama’s boring.”

Boring? I wish. Darcy thought about her upcoming car trip to Baltimore in January, a little less than eight months away. The child-care concerns she’d have once she got there. The effect of cold weather on a baby used to Arizona warmth. The demands of her new job. The grading. The paperwork. The seemingly endless classes she had to teach. The faculty give-and-take. The trying to pull her life together after her leave-of-absence, one she’d had to take after only one year at the university. It was a miracle she still had her position there. The new apartment she’d have to find since her upstairs one in the city only had one bedroom.

It all crowded in on her now, along with the alleged independent life she was supposed to be building for herself. All that—and on the same campus as Hank Erickson. Montana’s real father. Feeling defeated and overwhelmed, Darcy leaned her head back against the recliner’s dense padding and closed her eyes. Heighho, Silver. Where’s the real Lone Ranger when you need him?

The doorbell rang, startling Darcy into sitting upright and staring dumbly at the closed door. From around the corner, her mother called out, “Stay there, Darcy, I’ll get it.”

Under her breath, Darcy mumbled, “That’s a good thing, Mother, because I can’t get out of this chair.” But what she was thinking, as she busied herself with rearranging Montana’s soft blanket around her little face, was, Oh, surely I didn’t conjure the man up. And I mean my Lone Ranger. Not the Lone Ranger. Well, either Lone Ranger, actually.

Darcy looked up when her mother rounded the corner from the dining room. Barb, Freda, and Jeanette, all holding glasses of iced tea, were close on her heels. As one, all four of them headed for the door. And they all avoided looking at Darcy. Sudden dread filled her. Oh, this can’t be good.

“Well, I wonder who this could be,” Margie Alcott chirped.

Her mother’s voice, so falsely cheerful, told its own story, saying it would be just like Marjory Elaine Alcott to do exactly what she’d threatened yesterday—have Freda’s son use his sheriff/bloodhound skills to track that cowboy down. Johnny Smith could do it, too. It wasn’t as if Darcy’d been dumb enough to actually tell her mother that Tom Elliott had paid her a visit. But she supposed that anyone at the hospital could have done so. And probably had. They loved her mother. And were afraid of her.

So, yes, it could happen, Darcy knew. And here was the result—her mother had found the cowboy and then she’d invited him out here today. If she did, then I have to kill her…if I can get out of this chair.

At that point, her mother opened the door and stared outside. “Why, look. It is Vernon Fredericks. Hello.” She turned to Barb, the man’s mother. “Look, Barb. It is your son. Vernon. The town’s most eligible bachelor. I cannot believe he is here. On this day of all days.”

It was worse than Darcy’d feared. Her mother wasn’t using contractions. Darcy made a face of despair. Oh, dear God, not Vernon Fredericks.

“Why. What a nice surprise. Hello, son. How ever did you find me?” It was spreading. Now Barb had lost the ability to use contractions. Her stiffly repeated words sounded as if she were an amateur actor reading her lines from cue cards she’d never seen before.

Darcy slowly shook her head. Yep. Going to have to kill them…all four of them.

From outside, on the shaded verandah, a man’s whining voice said, “But you told me to come out—”

“Why, Vernon Fredericks, you silly ass—I mean man, you silly man. Now, we did no such thing and you know it. Come in, come in.” Holding her iced-tea glass out carefully, Margie Alcott snatched the skinny fellow in off the porch, closed the door behind him, and then turned him to face Darcy. “Look. Darcy’s home with her new baby.”

“I know. You told me she would be.” He was thoroughly bewildered, that much was obvious, as he looked from one woman’s face to the next. He was also balding and sweating and wearing an ill-fitting shiny suit.

Here was Bachelor Number One, Darcy had figured out. Taking pity on him—he really was a nice, if timid, man—she gave him a little wave and a smile. “Hello, Mr. Fredericks. It’s nice to see you again. I enjoyed your story about me yesterday in the newspaper.”

“You can call him Vernon. It’s okay.” This from bright-eyed, sweetly smiling Freda Smith. But the red-faced and unresponsive man himself had to be shoved forward by his mother. “Go say hello to Darcy, son. And remember to make a fuss over the baby.”

Thus pushed, the older man…more than twenty years Darcy’s senior…stumbled forward across the thick carpet and fell, landing—amidst gasps and shouted warnings from all sides—on his knees in front of Darcy. Startled awake by all the noise, no doubt—and by her mother’s whisking her up and out of harm’s way—Montana began screaming.

It was absolute chaos. Iced-tea glasses were plopped down everywhere. Helping hands reached out, taking the baby, helping Vernon to his feet, helping Darcy struggle awkwardly out of the chair, everyone shouting and blaming each other, all—

The doorbell rang again. Everyone froze. Except Montana, who apparently saw no reason not to continue flailing her arms and airing out her lungs. Stiff and sore and clutching at Jeanette’s arm, Darcy sought and found her mother, who was bouncing and rocking her granddaughter and eyeing Darcy guiltily. But Darcy wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “Would this be Bachelor Number Two?”

Margie pursed her lips and raised her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Darcy Jean Alcott.”

“Oh no?” Darcy pointed to Vernon. “Explain him.”

The doorbell rang again. Margie immediately handed Montana off to a thrilled Freda and stalked toward the wide entryway of her spacious ranch home. “I have to answer the door.”

And then, with everyone hushed and waiting in the living room, she opened the door to the Arizona heat. And just stood there. Then, planting a hand at her waist, she said, “Well, I’ll be.” She turned around to the group. “Will you look who’s here? It’s the Lone Ranger.”

OUT ON THE verandah, Tom pulled down the brim of his white Stetson. Yep. He should have turned around somewhere on the long sandy drive out here and gone the other way, especially when he’d seen all the cars. Hell, he shouldn’t even be here. Maybe he never should have even left Phoenix. But here he was. And so was Darcy.

Tom felt like a fifth wheel. She didn’t want to see him. She’d made that plain the other day in her hospital room. But now that everyone was staring at him, he didn’t have any idea what to say. Except, “Howdy.”

Still, no one said anything. He could hear little Montana crying. But no one moved. Tom focused on the big-haired, well-groomed older woman who’d answered the door, removing his hat and holding it in one hand, fiddling with the brim. “I’m here to see Darcy Alcott. That is, if she’s up to seeing another visitor right now.”

“Well, she sure enough is. Come on in. I’m her mother. You can call me Margie. Everyone else does.”

Tom nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. I will.” He stepped inside, and nodded to the folks facing him. “Howdy,” he repeated, with a duck of his head. “I’m Tom Elliott. I—”

The room exploded with noise. “That’s Tom Elliott?” “That’s his name?” “He sure is tall.” “And handsome.” “I have to get back to the Bugle office.” “Is he the one who stopped and—?” “Shhh, Freda. Don’t say that out loud.” “I have to get back to the Bugle office.” “Yes, he is.” “Well, I’ll be.” “He doesn’t look like he’s from Michigan.” “Montana, Barb. Montana.” “I have to get back to—”

“We know, Vernon. The Bugle office,” Darcy said, standing up. She extricated herself from the crowd and waved him into the room. “Come in, Tom, and sit for a while. Mother, perhaps you could get him some iced tea? And maybe see Vernon out? He has to get back to the Bugle office. Freda, if you’ll just hand me Montana, perhaps you ladies might want to get those flowers out of your cars before they wilt—the flowers, that is. Not your cars.”

It apparently didn’t hurt to be specific with this group. Having gotten their marching orders, everyone acted on Darcy’s instructions. As Tom watched from the safety of the entryway, they crossed each other’s paths and went their directed ways. Darcy got her baby back and, in the next instant, the room cleared. Doing his part, Tom opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the various ladies to pass by him, nodding at each one as they did. Some skinny older man in a shiny suit left with them. Margie Alcott headed for the kitchen.

And finally…they were alone. Tom stared at Darcy, who stood in front of an Indian-print recliner with her baby in her arms. She looked great. And tired, the poor kid. But great. Great enough to make his heart beat faster. Great enough to have him driving an hour from Phoenix, just on the off-chance that she might want to see him one more time. And now…here she was, staring at him, waiting. At a loss as to how to get the conversational ball rolling, Tom finally decided on the obvious. “I’m impressed. You really know how to clear a room.”

She grinned at him. “Being a teacher makes you bossy.”

“I expect it does.” He nodded toward the bundle in her arms. “Mind if I take a look at her? Or has she been pawed over enough for one day already?”

“Oh, she probably has. But I think she’d like to see you. Come sit on the sofa with us. I haven’t gotten to look her over yet myself, if you can believe that.”

“I saw the crowd. I can believe that.”

Darcy turned to the dark-blue leather sofa to her left and sat down at one end, carefully placing her child on the middle cushion. As she did, Tom stepped into the living room and crossed it, thinking how friendly it was between them today, as if she’d never told him to go away and not come back. But she seemed pleased to see him, and he was glad for that. Really glad.

Because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. After all, this was the first time he’d seen her when she wasn’t in a crisis—or in the hospital. He’d never noticed her slender, shapely legs. Or how tanned her arms were. Or how her black curly hair glimmered with red highlights as the sunlight streamed in through the big picture window behind her. How much prettier she was than the open vista he could see out there, the cactus-dotted desert, the blue sky, and the distant shadows of the dark mountains. But most of all, he noticed that her warmth and graciousness made his pulse go into overdrive. Made him feel silly and young and ready to whoop out loud.

Keeping his love-choked emotions on a tight rein, Tom carefully sat down at the sofa’s other end and put his Stetson on the coffee table in front of him. He shifted slightly, turning to put an arm along the sofa’s spine, as he watched Darcy unfold the baby from her receiving blankets. Then…there she was, Montana Skye Alcott, an alert, cuddly baby girl, dressed in white booties and a long thin gown with ducks on it. She waved and kicked and made faces and grinned and blinked and yawned. Tom felt his chest swell with pride. This baby was his—whether or not he could ever call himself her father.

“She’s pretty cute, huh?”

Tom looked up and met Darcy’s gaze as she leaned over the baby, bringing her curl-framed face very close to his. His grin faded and his gaze settled on Darcy’s lips. All he’d have to do to kiss her would be to inch forward a bit…But Tom swallowed that notion and just nodded. “Yeah, she sure is. You make awfully pretty babies, Miss Alcott.”

Darcy sat back, looking embarrassed. “Thank you. You want to hold her?”

Tom’s heart fluttered. “I’d love to, if you think it’s all right. I’ve held babies before. Lots of times. For Sam—”

Darcy chuckled. “It’s okay Tom. I don’t need a resume. I have no doubt that you’re much better at this than I am.” She picked her daughter up and placed the child in his arms.

Tom thought he would die from feeling the exquisite fragility of the tiny girl he held. She fit right in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t breathe. He was afraid to. He might hurt her. And he couldn’t believe how he was acting. He’d held lots of babies. But this was different. The baby in his arms bore his name. It was that simple. She was his. And so was her mother. Full of wonder, he looked over at Darcy…and saw the hesitant look on her face. His heart thumped. “What’s wrong? Am I doing this wrong?”

Shaking her head, she put a reassuring hand on his arm. “No.” But her voice sounded tight. “You just somehow look…right holding her. That’s all.”

“You sure? I can put her down. I—”

Darcy squeezed his arm. He wanted so badly to reach over and kiss her and tell her how much he loved her, to tell her she didn’t ever have to be scared or alone again. “No, Tom. You’re fine. Really. I mean it.”

He exhaled. “Okay. If you’re sure.” Then he concentrated for a moment on Montana Skye, noticing her thick dark hair. Like her mother’s. Her dark eyes. Like her mother’s. The baby flailed the air with her teeny little fists. Tom smiled, caught Darcy again staring at him. “She’s going to give this old world a bunch of hell, you know it?”

“I fear it,” Darcy told him. “And that would make her just like me, poor kid. Tilting at windmills.”

“I’ll bet that doesn’t pay much.”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask Cervantes.”

And there it was. That quick, educated mind of hers. Everything about her was a turn-on, a surprise. Tom beamed at her.

But Darcy suddenly looked down at her lap and exhaled sharply. Tom sobered as he gently rubbed Montana’s arm…not much bigger, it seemed, than one of his fingers. “What is it, Darcy? What’s wrong?”

She looked over at him. “Everything. And none of it’s your fault. And that’s why…look, the other day, at the hospital…well, I just want to say I’m sorry about my behavior, Tom. I don’t know what came over me. But you certainly didn’t deserve it.”

Tom smiled at her. And she was nice, too. Really nice. He saw the glint of gathering tears in her eyes. His chest tightened. “Don’t worry about it. In fact, I probably owe you an apology, Darcy. Because you were right. I was sitting there in your hospital room wondering what the hell I’d just done. I mean, giving your baby my name. I never even thought about how it would be for you.”

Wiping at her eyes, she cocked her head at a questioning angle. “What do you mean…for me?”

“I mean you being an Alcott and her being an Elliott. She will have all those questions you brought up. I realize that now.”

“No, she won’t.”

Tom frowned. “She won’t?” Acute disappointment ate at him. “Oh, I see. You changed her birth certificate, right?”

“No. I didn’t. I didn’t call the nurse. I just…well, I decided to have her go by Alcott. Your name’s still on her birth certificate. But I thought it would be easier for her—at least, at first—if her last name was the same as mine.”

Some of Tom’s disappointment eroded, but not all of it. “I see. Makes sense.”

“You don’t like that, do you? You thought I’d call her Montana Elliott.”

He’d hoped she would. But he just shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter if I do or don’t like it. She’s not my baby. She’s yours. You’ll do what’s right for her, I expect, Darcy.”

She exhaled raggedly. “I wish I could be as sure of that as you sound.”

Tom shifted the wriggling baby in his arms and frowned. “What do you mean? You’re a smart woman. Educated. You got yourself this far. You must have a good head on your shoulders.”

“Well, except for where love is concerned.”

He couldn’t argue with that. But he tried. “Maybe. But that doesn’t have anything to do with loving your daughter. You’ll be a fine mother to Montana, and I admire that in you.”

Darcy smiled, looking grateful. She started to say something else, but the front door opened and in blew the three other older ladies, their arms full of flowers…including the roses that he had brought Darcy. And then, from the other way, came Margie Alcott with that promised glass of iced tea.

Tom gently, carefully handed the baby back to Darcy and stood up, reaching for his hat. “I expect I ought to go. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. And it looks like you have—”

“Oh, pooh.” Margie Alcott waved at him to sit back down. “Here. You didn’t even have your tea yet.” She put it in his hand. “Now, sit right back down and have your visit with Darcy.”

Tom looked Darcy’s way, wanting her approval. “It’s just easier to go along with her,” she assured him. Tom grinned and sat down, only then realizing that Margie was still talking to him.

“When I get my bridge club gone—well, I suppose they’ll want to be introduced to you first. Anyway, once they’re gone I want you and Darcy to go into her bedroom and—”

“Mother!”

Tom didn’t know where to look. Certainly not at Darcy, who was laying the baby in her receiving blankets on the sofa cushion. So he settled for taking a huge swig of the tea. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Or how much he genuinely liked iced tea. Enough to scrutinize it carefully for several moments.

“Oh, Darcy. I don’t mean like that. For heaven’s sake. I was talking about that baby crib in there.”

“What about it?”

To Tom’s ear, Darcy sounded downright suspicious. He chanced a peek at her. Sure enough, her eyebrows were lowered.

“Well, I never could get it all put together right.”

“But you told me you had.”

“I know. But there were too many parts, and I couldn’t figure out where all of them went. And I didn’t want you to worry. But now I’m half afraid to lay that precious baby in it for fear it’ll collapse around her.”

Darcy sank back against the leather sofa’s thick pillows. “Oh, dear God, Mother. Don’t say things like that.”

“Well, it’s the truth. So I thought I’d get Tom here—” She turned to him. “By the way, it’s nice to meet you.” All he got to do was nod before she continued. “So I thought I’d get Tom, as long as he’s here, to take a look at it for us and make sure it’s safe for Montana. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

Tom saw his chance and jumped in. “I think it is. I’d be glad to troubleshoot for you.”

Darcy rolled her head. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve put up a crib or two in my time before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. Remember I said Sam had five babies?”

“You know a Sam who had five babies?” That was from Margie Alcott.

Tom turned to her. “Yes, ma’am. Sam’s my older sister. Samantha. She taught me a thing or two about babies and their contraptions along the way.”

Margie Alcott’s eyes lit up. “She did?”

“Mother. Stop it right there.”

Tom looked at Darcy. “What’s wrong?”

She looked tired, but she was grinning—and shaking her head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say another word, Tom.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you do, you’ll find yourself Eligible Bachelor Number Two.”

6

DARCY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on her twin bed with her mother next to her, who cuddled a sleeping Montana in her arms. They silently, companionably watched Tom trying to wrestle into submission an ornately carved, stubbornly constructed baby crib.

From her viewpoint, though, Darcy figured—even if she didn’t know him—she’d be happy to buy a ticket, climb the bleachers along with a throng of women, find her seat, eat her popcorn, and just watch him…oh, say…reconstruct a building, for example. Or put together a puzzle. Or paint a brick wall. Or rewrite, by hand, the entire phone book. Mud wrestle. It didn’t matter…as long as he was naked, of course.

It was true. The man was perfectly constructed, a work of art himself. Clothes couldn’t hide that, any more than she could hide, from herself, that she wanted him. Wanted him bad. Well, who wouldn’t? It’s not fair. Just look at him. The man’s physique screamed Take Me Now!

Darcy sighed. Great. She’d just objectified Tom. Made him a sex object, a great body with no thoughts or personality. Well, shame on her—especially since she knew all her own arguments. She didn’t want a man in her life…yada, yada, yada. Well, not wanting a committed relationship doesn’t mean I’m dead. Nor did it mean that her libido had been stitched up along with everything else. She could still appreciate his fluid movements, his muscled legs, that broad back—another sigh escaped her. She’d better stop right now with all this wanting him, before the rest of her body caught up with her thoughts and gave her hell.

“What’s all that sighing about, Darcy? Your bottom hurting?”

Darcy froze, wide-eyed. Her nails dug into her knees. His back to her, Tom made a choking sound. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if it took an act of conscious will, Darcy turned her head until she faced her mother. “No. My…bottom’s not hurting, thank you.” It was, but she wasn’t admitting it.

“Well, that’s good. Because it will when the numbness wears off—”

“Can we talk about something else, Mother?” Darcy counted it a victory that she got her words out without shrieking.

Margie patted Montana’s back and stared at Darcy. “Now, don’t get upset, honey. It’ll get your hormones bubbling and then you’ll be crying.”

“Now, Mother—let’s talk about something else now.”

“All right.” Her mother looked Tom’s way. “Just look at all that trouble he’s having, Darcy Jean. I told you it was a nasty piece of furniture. Myself, I got a blood blister on my thumb, trying to deal with it.” She held it up for inspection.

Warmed, despite herself, by her mother’s past attempts with the crib, as well as by every bit of support, emotional and financial, she’d unstintingly given in the past several, trying months, Darcy hugged her mother and then eyed her own infant daughter. She rubbed a finger lovingly over the child’s soft forehead. “I appreciate your war injuries, Mom. And I’m sure Tom appreciates your encouragement now.”

“I do,” he said. “And I’m doing fine over here.” Pieces of crib and tiny bits of necessary hardware littered the carpet around him. “Be done in a jiffy.”

No, he wouldn’t. That much was obvious to Darcy. Because, using one hand to hold up two ladderlike side-slats that threatened to collapse onto one another at any second, he picked up a screwdriver from the tool box Margie had presented and…lost his grip on his handiwork. The slats slowly, gracefully banged together and then backwards against the wall.

Darcy jumped at the sound and felt her mother do the same. She glanced at her baby. Surprisingly, Montana slept on. Darcy exchanged a what-do-you-know look with her mother. Then she heard Tom mutter something under his breath—something, no doubt, that was probably best left unheard. Darcy took pity on the man. “You don’t have to do this, Tom. I’m sure you hadn’t planned to sign up for crib construction when Mom had you tracked down and told you to come out here today.”

Tom turned to her. So did her mother. They spoke as one. “What do you mean—”

“Darcy Jean, I never—”

“She didn’t—”

“I went to the hospital—”

“He went to the hospital—”

“—and they gave me directions—”

“—and they gave him directions out here—”

“I hope you don’t mind—”

“They’re not supposed to do that—”

“Never mind.” As amused as she was overwhelmed with their denials, Darcy held up a hand. “Okay, I’m sorry.” She turned to her mother. “You really didn’t coerce him into coming out here?”

“She didn’t.”

Darcy’s heart took a thrilling leap as she turned to Tom. “She didn’t?”

His blue eyes regarded her sincerely. “No. Like I said, I came out here because I wanted to. I went to the hospital, where I was told you’d just left. Then the nurse at the desk gave me directions here. She said she wasn’t supposed to do that, but me being who I am and seeing how I’d helped deliver Montana…well, you know the rest.”

“Yes. I read about it in the newspaper,” Darcy said drolly. “Didn’t I, Mother?”

The older woman’s eyes widened…guiltily. But she recovered beautifully. “Do y’all smell something that’s soured?” She bent over the sleeping infant in her arms and sniffed at her. “Phew. I think this child has christened her diaper.” She stood up. “I’ll just take her in the living room and change her there where all that stuff—” She began her retreat from the room. “—they gave you at the hospital is and then I’ll—” She exited the room and took a sharp turn to her left, heading up the hallway. “—do something else, I don’t know what. It’ll come to me.”

Darcy waited a moment, giving her mother a chance to leave, and then turned to Tom. “Is she a piece of work, or what?”

“Museum quality,” he assured her, adding a wink to his words.

“She means well. Underneath that busybody exterior is a heart of gold. Even if she does go a bit far sometimes.” Warmed by his wink, and itching to stroke his face, his jaw, his neck…Darcy felt self-conscious now that she was alone with him in her bedroom, knowing he’d sought her out on his own. That knowledge had done nothing to settle her reawakening libido.

Hunkered down on a knee, with a screwdriver in his hand, looking like an open invitation, Tom smiled back at her. “She goes a bit far? You’re talking about me being Bachelor Number Two, right?”

Darcy put her hands to her suddenly too-warm cheeks. “You poor man. Yes. She thinks I need a man and Montana needs a father. Well, one who wants to stick around, I should say.”

Tom regarded her silently. Darcy thought maybe he was going to declare himself. An accompanying thrill raced through her, one she couldn’t quite put a name to. Good thrill or bad thrill? But Tom saved her from having to explore that feeling. “I see. So who was Bachelor Number One? That skinny man in the shiny suit?”

“You mean Vernon?” Darcy laughed. “You make him sound like a mobster. Which is probably the most exotic thing that’s ever been said about him. But yes. Vernon. Who lives with his mother.”

Tom seemed to be enjoying Darcy’s discomfort a little too much. “Any other competition I should know about?”

“Unfortunately, I won’t know until she trots them by. But for now it’s just you and Vernon.”

“Good. I think I can take him.” Tom’s gaze slowly traveled over her face. “How’re you doing, Darcy? I mean really.”

The genuine concern in his voice disconcerted her. “We’re not talking about my bottom again, are we?”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “No. But we can, if you like.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like.”

“I didn’t think so. But what I meant was…you look tired.”

“Great.” Darcy made an ineffectual swipe at her hair, trying in vain to brush back her tangle of shoulder-length curls. “Will the day ever come when I look presentable again?”

“You look just fine right now.”

Darcy scoffed. “Yeah, me and my leftover maternity clothes. Yuck.” She pulled at them. “And I look tired, too, remember?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Hell, you have every right to be tired. You just had a baby a few days ago…well, I guess you know that.”

Darcy dramatically shifted her stitched-up nether-region on her bed. “Good. We’re back to my bottom. Finally.” Then, belatedly, she realized how that sounded and to whom she was speaking. The man had been right there and had seen everything. “I mean, I…” She gave up. “Oh, the heck with it. You’re right. I am tired. Very tired. It’s been an exhausting day so far. For me and for Montana.”

“I expect it has. It’s hot outside. That’ll sap your strength. And then there was that long drive out here. You probably could both use a good nap about now.”

Something inside Darcy grew soft. Had there ever been a more sympathetic soul on the face of the earth than this man? Just his way of talking, so slow and calm, and his constant concern for her, was enough to make her want to crawl into his lap. And put her arms around him and her cheek against his chest so she could hear his heart beating and then just lay there against him and soak up—

“Darcy? Did you hear me?”

Blinking, embarrassed, she snapped back to the moment. “Oh. No. I’m sorry. I didn’t. What did you say?”

“I said I closed the deal today on my grandfather’s land.”

Darcy froze. She felt as if she’d just been slapped. “Oh, you did? Well…that’s great. Good for you. I guess that means…you’ll be going home soon.”

Distractedly twisting and turning the screwdriver around in his hand, he stared her way and nodded. “It does.”

Darcy looked down at her lap. She couldn’t imagine why the thought of him leaving upset her so much. But it did. It made her want to cry and left her feeling alone and scared. Immediately, she chastised herself for being so silly. She looked up at him. He was studying her. Darcy tried a smile, but it wouldn’t quite hold. “So. When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know. There are some details to see to and some papers to be drawn up and signed. I figure about the middle of next week.”

This was Friday. “Wow. As soon as that?”

“Yep. As soon as that.” He casually tossed the screwdriver into the tool box. It clanked against several other metal pieces and sounded unusually loud to Darcy. She watched Tom turn back to putting the crib together. “I got a good price for the land. The developers want to turn it into a golf course.”

“Well, you can’t have too many of those out here in the desert.”

Tom turned and eyed her. “You don’t approve?”

A shrug accompanied Darcy’s words. “I don’t have an opinion either way. It’s your land. Well, it was your land.”

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