A Fortune's Children's Christmas (7 page)

Her breasts were full and spilled over the top of her bra. He kissed each rounded mound, then lowered a lacy strap, exposing her nipple, dark and dusky, hard as a button. With a groan he lowered his head and suckled, his lips teasing, his tongue lapping and the taste of milk filling his mouth.

Her fingers slid through his hair and held him close, her breath, in short pants, hot against his scalp.

Though he knew he was making a mistake, fording a river he wouldn’t ever be able to cross again, he slipped her blouse and bra off her body, tossed his own sweater onto the growing heap of discarded clothes on the floor and kissed her everywhere. He half expected her to resist him, to tell him that she couldn’t continue with the madness of lovemaking, but she arched against him and as he eased her skirt over her hips, she quivered with desire. “Chase,” she said, but it wasn’t a protest.

God, help me,
he thought as she helped peel his
jeans down his legs and he was naked as she, his body lying muscle to muscle over hers. Warm and willing, she stared up at him as he gently nudged her knees apart with his own.

“Lesley,” he whispered, “sweet, sweet Lesley. I—”

“Shh, Chase. This is good,” she said as if she could read the protests forming in his mind. Her eyes shined a vibrant green, her lush body was rosy with passion, her arms wrapped around his torso.

His erection throbbed and he knew that she was the only woman on earth who could assuage the ache deep in his body, the only one who could soothe the anguish in his soul. Staring deep into her eyes, he thrust into the welcoming warmth of her body.

She gave out a lusty cry, and he withdrew only to plunge forward again.

“Please,” she whispered, tossing her head, her hair a fiery mass on the couch cushions. “Oh, please—”

He didn’t stop. Sinew and muscle and bone seemed centered in that one spot between his legs. Sweat dotted his forehead and ran down his back. His brain thundered, his body strained as he held back, making love to her slowly until he saw the widening of her pupils. He felt the shift of her body beneath his, heard her breath catch, and he lost control. With a primal roar he let go, spilling himself inside her, feeling the release as he fell against her, flattening her breasts and kissing her as he’d never kissed another woman in all of his life.

“S
o, you’ve been seein’ a lot of Chase Fortune, eh?” Ray Mellon had stopped by and was leaning over the top rail of the fence that separated the barnyard from the garden, where Lesley was planting a row of corn. The May sun was warm, the earth smelling fresh and wet, as winter had disappeared a month ago.

“We’re neighbors,” she said, wiping the mud from her gardening gloves before sticking them into the pocket of her apron, where she kept her unopened packages of seeds. “And he’s been good enough to come over and help me out once in a while.”

“I heard,” Ray drawled, and Lesley bristled. She didn’t like the idea of being the subject of gossip in Larkspur. “I guess it makes sense. You need a man around here to help out with some of the chores, and Chase, well, we know that he’s connected to the place.” He reached into his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes and slid a glance at her from under the wide brim of his cowboy hat.

“I’m not so sure I
need
a man,” she said as he lit up and waved his match out with the help of a cool spring breeze that raced across the land.

“Maybe that was a bad choice of words, but Chase
would certainly be the likely candidate as he’s so familiar with your spread.”

“Familiar?” she repeated, her eyes straying to a movement in the paddock near the barn. A sorrel foal with a crooked blaze and three white stockings was kicking up his heels, long, spindly legs flashing in the afternoon sunlight.

“Yeah, bein’ as he lived here.”

“Wait a minute.” Her attention was suddenly riveted on Ray. “He didn’t live here. I thought he ranched in Wyoming and Western Washington and—”

“He did. But he was raised here.” Ray’s eyebrows drew together thoughtfully, and he took a long pull on his filter tip. “His folks owned this place.”

“Zeke Fortune was his father,” she said, wondering why she’d never made the connection. She knew Chase was related somehow to Zeke, of course, but there were so many branches of the Fortune clan that she had never put two and two together and Aaron never spoke much about Zeke Fortune.

“You didn’t know?”

“He never mentioned it,” she said, stung. Why? Yes, Chase was a guarded man, a man who valued his own privacy, but they’d become so close, and this was not just any little topic he’d avoided.

“Well, I can’t say as I blame him. A lot of bad memories here for him.” Ray pointed a finger toward the north field where the grass was growing long and green as it climbed up a ridge. “That spot up there is where the tractor that killed Chase’s twin brother overturned, pinning poor Chet beneath it.”

Lesley’s stomach turned over. She thought she might be sick. “I had no idea.” Her heart twisted painfully.

Shaking his head, Ray smoked for a few minutes. “That was the beginning of the end for Zeke’s family,” he thought aloud. “Once Chet died, the rest of the family fell apart at the seams.”

Lesley felt as cold inside as all of winter. Only on a few occasions did Chase mention his family, and whenever he did, it was in broader terms that included his great-aunt and various cousins.

“Well, I’d best be gettin’ along. I just wanted to see how you and that baby of yours were doin’.”

“We’re okay,” she said automatically. “Angela’s down for her nap right now, but she’s growing like a weed.”

“They all do.” Stomping out his cigarette with the toe of his worn boot, he eyed the small herd of horses grazing near the barn. “Let me know if you ever want to sell any of your stock. I just might be interested.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully on her bay broodmare. “Matter of fact, I could use three or four.”

“I’m not interested in selling,” she said, refusing to give in just yet. Sure she had bills and a mortgage that didn’t seem to quit, but her horses were the reason she stayed here. She planned to sell off a few, of course, maybe later in the summer, but not yet, not when she was feeling the pinch of desperation tug at her wallet.

“Fair enough. When you are, just give me a jingle.”

Lesley watched him climb into his old truck and
leave, but she wasn’t thinking about the plume of blue exhaust that followed Ray’s pickup or his offer of buying some of her horses.

Absently she pulled on her gloves and dropped dried corn into the freshly turned earth. She worked by rote, not having to concentrate, her thoughts instead turned toward Chase.

They’d been lovers for three months, and though she felt lighthearted whenever she was around him, she’d suspected that something was bothering Chase. Something important. He hadn’t said a word, been more than attentive, but beneath his smile, he was guarded. Lesley had told herself she was being sensitive, that he was just working hard to turn his ranch around, that he seemed distant because of his worry about his bargain with Kate, but deep inside she felt it was something more, something deeper, something to do with her.

She’d convinced herself she was imagining things, but now she wasn’t so sure. She looked around her ranch and saw it through new eyes. Aaron hadn’t bought the life insurance he’d promised, and Lesley had been making payments to the bank on the mortgage rather than keeping up with repairs. The farmhouse needed a fresh coat of paint and new gutters, the barn could be reroofed in the next couple of years, and each time she did a wash, she crossed her fingers that the old washer and dryer wouldn’t give out on her. Despite its problems, however, these weary acres were home. Her home. Angela’s home.

Never once had she thought that it might have been Chase’s. Why hadn’t he confided in her, she wondered
as she added fertilizer to her fresh row of corn, then turned dirt over the exposed kernels. Well, he was due over tonight, and she’d find out why he was being so secretive. She’d just started for the house when she heard Angela’s whimper. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called, running up the back steps and unlacing her boots. She had a half hour before her next student arrived, and in that time she would be able to feed and change the baby. Later, after she’d finished tutoring for the day, she’d talk to Chase. He was scheduled to come over this evening, anyway. Good. It was time to have it out with him.

Chase punched out the numbers of his great-aunt’s office and waited while the line connected. He hated calling Kate, but decided he had no option. He expected to hear Kelly Sinclair’s cheery voice on the other end of the line, but was connected directly to Kate.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been demoted,” he joked.

“Chase!” She chuckled. “No such luck, I’m afraid.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you. As for answering the phone, well, Kelly’s had to take a couple of weeks off.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more but didn’t.

“Even Kate Fortune’s secretary deserves a vacation.”

“Yes, well, it’s not that. It’s not your concern. You called me with what I assume is a report on the ranch.”

He launched into a quick report about the old Waterman place, about projected hay yield, wheat crop and cattle. Most of the calves had been born, he’d only lost a couple of heifers, the wheat was in, and he’d begun mending weak spots in the fence line while inoculating and tagging the herd. He mentioned that he’d been seeing Lesley and her baby, as well, but didn’t add that he’d begun to suspect that Kate was pulling his strings—that she’d not only inherited the Waterman place as payment for a bad debt, but also that she’d chosen it specifically to put him in close proximity with his old home. Anything else relied too heavily on coincidence, and Chase wasn’t one to believe in providence in a situation such as this.

Finally he got to the problem at hand.

“There’s just no way around it, Kate,” Chase admitted. “I can’t divert any water to Lesley Bastian or anyone else without charging them.” In frustration he raked his fingers through his hair with one hand while holding on to the receiver with another.

“And Lesley needs the water in order to keep her ranch afloat?” Kate surmised aloud.

“So she claims.”

“Do you think she’d lie?”

“No!” he said vehemently, surprised at the strength of his convictions. Lesley was nothing if not honest. Brutally honest at times.

“How’s that little girl of hers?”

Chase’s gut clenched, and he felt an unlikely sense of protection toward the infant. “Growing. Smiling. Holding her head up and looking around.”

“Sounds like you see a lot of her.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. The truth of the matter was that Lesley and her daughter intrigued him more than he’d ever thought possible. More than he wanted to admit. He was getting too close to them, too tangled up in emotions that were dangerous, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew the pain that came with love, the torture of losing a child, and he had no intention of risking his heart again. But his intentions seemed to crumble each and every time he looked at mother and daughter. “That’s what makes this situation more difficult,” he admitted warily. “Because Lesley and her baby are good friends.”

“Mmm.” Kate seemed to understand all too well what Chase was going through, as if, despite his being vague, she could see into the conflict raging in his soul. “Well then, I guess it’s something you’ll have to work out.” Any hope he’d had of getting some sound advice from his aunt was instantly quelled. And, he supposed, she was right to keep her opinions to herself. This was his personal dilemma, part of figuring out how to turn his ranch around, as well as deal with his neighbors and friends. The trouble was Lesley Bastian was more than a neighbor. More than a friend. A lot more.

Lesley lifted Angela onto her shoulder and, humming under her breath, gently rubbed the baby’s back. Within seconds Angela’s little body stiffened, her head bobbed and she let out a burp. “Feel better?” Lesley said to the squirming little body. It was amazing how close she felt to this little lump of flesh who couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk, couldn’t do much more
than watch her with round eyes that were curious and bright and offer a smile that was a reflection of Lesley’s own grin.

She set the baby in a mechanical swing that gently rocked, then finished peeling potatoes, her thoughts centered on Chase. He’d been a godsend, more of a guardian angel than the one she’d seen or imagined while in the throes of labor. Whenever he came over, he fed the horses and checked on the buildings as well as expressed more than a little concern about the baby. He’d shored up a broken step, replaced several shattered windowpanes in the barn, exchanged worn-out washers in the faucets with new ones, sawed down a dead tree that was threatening to fall on the back porch and offered advice about the baby. In return she cooked for him, and after they ate and Angela had gone to bed, they watched television, listened to music, talked and made love.

But Chase never spent the night.

There was always a reason he’d left before dawn, throwing on his clothes in the darkness and stopping to look in on Angela before he crept down the stairs. Lesley had accepted whatever excuse he’d given her; now, in light of what Ray had said, she wondered if his explanations had been simple platitudes that never really touched the heart of the matter.

She heard his truck pull into the drive and watched as he parked, climbed out of the cab and, with a quick look at the house, walk to the barn. Rambo ran ahead, nose to the ground, flushing a robin from a bush near the garage. “I think it’s time for a showdown,” Lesley said to Angela as she found the baby’s snowsuit.
While Angela gurgled, kicked and smiled, Lesley bundled her up and placed her in the front pack.

Outside, the wind was racing across the land, smelling fresh and wet, tangling in Lesley’s hair as she pushed through the gate and walked across the gravel-strewn parking area to the barn. The door gave way and the scents of warm horseflesh and aging leather greeted her. The light was dim, but she saw Chase, pitchfork in hand, tossing forkfuls of hay into the manger. Broodmares and foals peered at him with wide, liquid eyes.

He glanced at her and noticed the backpack. “Kind of cold out here for the baby, isn’t it?”

“She’s fine.”

“Little things are tender.” He slit the strings on another bale.

“Since when did you get to be such an expert?” she asked, and she noticed his eyes darken.

“I’ve brought a lot of calves and foals into the world.”

“I know, I know, just like you helped with Angela’s birth, and, trust me, I appreciate the advice, but she’s fine.”

“Whatever you say.” He didn’t seem convinced, but she let it go. Walking along the length of stalls, she patted one velvet-soft nose after another and watched as the horse’s ears flicked with the changes in the conversation. As if they felt the tension in the air, they were restless, tails switching, hooves shifting in the straw.

“Why didn’t you tell me you used to live here?” she asked.

He was shaking hay into one manger, but stopped, every muscle in his body coiling. For a second he seemed about to disagree with her, to deny that he’d ever set foot on these acres before meeting her, but instead he thrust his pitchfork into a bale and leaned his hips against the slats of a stall door. Dust motes swirled, and one of the horses let out a nervous whinny.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Have you? When?”

His mouth tightened at the corners and his gray eyes, usually so warm, turned frigid. “Whenever the time was right. It just never seemed to be.”

“Zeke Fortune was your father.”

“Yep. Zeke, Jr.”

She let out her breath and glanced to the ceiling where the last rays of sunlight were burning through the circular window in the hayloft. “Some people around here think Aaron took advantage of him. Aaron didn’t seem to think so.”

“Dad was desperate to sell.”

“Why?”

“The gossip mill hasn’t given you the rest of the story?”

“I don’t listen to gossip.”

He inclined his head and proceeded to tell her about Chet’s death and how it had affected his parents. “When the bank threatened to foreclose on the ranch, Dad sold out to the highest bidder, which wasn’t all that high.”

“Aaron,” she said numbly.

“Bingo.”