Pregnant In Prosperino (9 page)

He wouldn't be around to hear the sound of cattle
lowing from the pasture and the snort of horses in the corral. He'd miss walking the ranch at twilight and reflecting on a day well spent.

And, for the first time, he admitted to himself another truth. He would miss Lana.

 

Lana remained in bed, waiting for a wave of nausea to pass. For the past three mornings she'd awakened with a rolling tummy and the knowledge that if she moved too quickly, she'd be sick.

The first morning she'd assumed she'd caught a touch of a flu bug that had been making the rounds in the community. Yesterday morning she'd decided that perhaps the barbecue they'd eaten the night before had been too rich. This morning her heart pounded with the unsteady rhythm of uncertainty.

Was it possible? Now that she thought about it, she hadn't had a period since before their wedding. That knowledge, coupled with the early-morning queasiness made her wonder if perhaps she might be pregnant.

She touched her tummy, a curious mixture of excitement and just a tad of dread coursing through her. She was excited because it was possible she was finally going to achieve her dream of being a mother, but the dread came from knowing that if she was pregnant it would be the end of her marriage to Chance.

For six weeks she had been Chance's wife. September had gone and October had brought slightly cooler nights and a deepening love in her for the man who was her temporary husband.

When she told him she was pregnant, their bargain would be fulfilled and their lives together would be over. There would be no more reason for them to kiss, to touch, to make love.

Chance had almost finished the work on the outside of the ranch and had told her the previous day that before the week was over he'd be fixing the odds and ends in the house to get it ready for sale.

It was coming to an end, and even though she knew the right thing to do was to tell Chance immediately that she thought he'd fulfilled his end of the deal, she hugged the knowledge of her condition tightly inside and decided to wait a few days.

She knew why she wanted to wait. She wasn't ready to leave the marriage. She wasn't ready to leave him. She was praying for a miracle. She was praying he'd fall in love with her, realize he couldn't live without her. She was praying their marriage would become a real one, with a future of “until death do us part.”

And she knew she was being a total fool in hoping something might change between them. Aware that the nausea had passed somewhat, she decided to get out of bed.

Moments later as she stood beneath a warm shower, she once again touched her stomach, wondering if already Chance's baby was inside her.

Chance's baby. When she'd first contemplated getting pregnant, she'd never considered a father. In all of her thoughts, it was always
her
baby.

But now she couldn't separate the man from the baby. It was and always would be Chance's baby,
Chance's child. It was possible the baby would have his green eyes and square-shaped face. It was possible the baby would be a spitting image of Chance. And he wanted no part of it.

She finished her shower, dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. She was surprised to see Chance there, the top half of his body inside the cabinet beneath the sink.

“Good morning,” she said.

He jumped and banged his head on a pipe. “Ouch! Good morning.”

Lana stifled a giggle and leaned down. “Sorry if I startled you.”

He flashed the white of his teeth in a grin. “It's all right, you just gave me a concussion, but I'll be fine once the whirling stars go away.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I thought I'd fix the faucet, but when I got down here I found a leak, so I'm working on that first.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, help me out of here so I can have a cup of coffee before I finish this.”

Lana grabbed his hand and giggled as he once again banged his head before finally crawling out from beneath the sink. She helped pull him to his feet and laughed again as she reached up and finger-combed his messy hair. “You look like you've been working hard, Mr. Reilly.”

He grinned at her. “And you look like a lazy woman who slept late, Mrs. Reilly,” he returned.

“Guilty as charged,” she replied, her heart thrilling
at the light, teasing glint in his eyes. So often his eyes were stormy seas of intense emotions and she knew he was thinking of his father. But at the moment all was calm and his eyes were the sweet green of spring.

“You want coffee?” he asked as he stepped away from her and went to the counter that held the coffeemaker.

“I don't think so.” The very thought of drinking a cup made her stomach roll in protest. “But I'll sit with you while you drink yours.” She sat at the table and watched him get his cup.

She wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn't thrill to the sight of him. As always, his tight, worn jeans perfectly formed to the length of his legs and slender hips. His T-shirt pulled taut against the width of his shoulders and hugged his flat abdomen tightly.

On the trips they'd taken into town in the past six weeks, she hadn't missed the admiring glances of the women around him. Waitresses simpered, store clerks giggled and even older women's gazes lingered on him.

Not for the first time, she wondered if he'd left a special someone back in the Midwest. Was there a woman in one of those small towns he traveled through eagerly waiting his return? When he made love to Lana so sweetly, so tenderly, was he thinking of another woman? A woman he'd left behind in order to claim this ranch?

As he joined her at the table, she drew a deep breath and decided the only way to find out was to
ask. “Chance? Was there somebody special you were seeing in one of those little towns in Kansas?”

“Somebody special?” He shook his head. “No, nobody. Why do you ask?”

She wanted to tell him she'd asked because she loved him, loved him with all her heart and soul. She desperately wanted to tell him that she wanted their marriage to be real, to last forever, and if he wanted to sell this place and go back to the midwest, she'd go with him. She'd go wherever he wanted, if he would just love her.

She needed to know if the reason he wasn't sticking around here was because he was already in love with somebody and he was just marking time here until he could return to that special someone. But she didn't say any of this. “Just curious,” she finally replied, although she had no idea what she hoped to gain with the information.

She only knew now her competition for a lifetime with Chance wasn't another woman. Her obstacle to spending her future with him appeared to be nothing more than Chance himself. And she didn't know what to do about that—except to continue to love him for the time they had together.

E
mily unlocked the door to the unfamiliar small cabin and flicked on the lights inside. The bright illumination was a welcome relief after the short walk through the wooded area from her car in the parking lot of the motel.

The Hollow Tree Motel was located on the outskirts of Keyhole and consisted of small cabins spread among thick trees. The advertisement on the highway had indicated clean, inexpensive and private.

She'd called Toby from a pay phone just outside town and had told him to meet her here in the morning. She knew she had to talk to him, to tell him that although she would always treasure his friendship and support, there would never be anything romantic between them. It was the least she could do for a man who had shown her kindness in her darkest hours.

She set her overnight bag on the floor and took a brief moment to familiarize herself with the cabin. It was a simple setup. A combination living room with kitchenette, a bathroom and a small, but adequate bedroom. Although certainly nothing luxurious, it was fine for one night, and that's only as long as she intended to be here.

Kicking off her shoes, she flopped down on the sofa and drew a deep breath. She was exhausted. She'd pulled a double shift at the diner, then had hopped into the car to make the trip from Red River to this motel in Keyhole.

Thinking of the conversation she had to have with Toby the next morning only made her more exhausted…and sad. It would be one of the most difficult things she'd ever done in her life, and for the hundredth time, she wished her heart had been able to love Toby. And she did love him, but not in the way he needed to be loved.

Her thoughts turned to her mother, Meredith. As difficult as Emily's life had been from the time Patsy had orchestrated the car crash and pretended to be Meredith, Emily couldn't imagine what Meredith's life must have been like.

It must be horrid to have no memories of any family, of the past shared with loved ones. Meredith had lost everything. Her family. Her friends. Her memories. She had been utterly alone in the world after the car accident.

Still, Meredith had been strong enough to make a life for herself. Emily knew she had been working in
an office job at the University of Mississippi and lived in a house where she had a little garden.

Emily might have temporarily been displaced from her home. She might have momentarily lost her family, but at least she had her memories.

A smile curved her lips upward as she remembered how much her mother had loved working in the large garden at the ranch. Meredith and Marco Ramirez, the Colton gardener, had often spent long hours discussing various flowers and plants.

A vision of Meredith filled Emily's head. It was a vision of her wearing an old pair of jeans and one of her husband's shirts, gardening spade in hand as she planted in the garden that surrounded a huge fountain in the center of the courtyard.

And soon she'll be back at the ranch and gardening there, Emily told herself, refusing to believe in any possibility other than a happy ending.

Her heart crashed into her chest as a knock fell on her door. She glanced at her watch. Almost eleven. Surely the manager of the place wouldn't be bothering her at this time of night. There was only one other person it could be.

Toby.

She peered out the window next to the door. Even in the darkness of the night, she recognized his silhouette, tall and lean. She opened the door. “Emma.” He swept off his hat as he stepped through the door and set it on the nearby coffee table. A tentative smile lit his boyishly handsome face. “I…I couldn't wait until tomorrow to see you. I have been worried about you. I'll come back in the morn
ing if you want…I just…I just needed to see you.” His blue eyes gazed at her with warmth and confusion. “You left here without a word. I just had to see that you were okay.”

“I'm fine, Toby.” She knew the best thing to do would be to talk to him right now, to tell him that she cared about him, but would never be the woman in his life. But, she didn't feel prepared at the moment. She'd intended to pick and choose her words carefully throughout this night before speaking them to him in the morning. “Toby, I'm really too tired to talk tonight, but I'll see you in the morning at ten like we planned!”

“Sure,” he agreed instantly. “That will be fine. How about if I bring breakfast with me?”

Emily hesitated then nodded. “That would be nice,” she said. “Then I'll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, Emma,” he said with a last, lingering sweet smile, then he turned and left.

Emily closed and locked the door behind him, her heart heavy as she anticipated the morning to come. Once again she sank down on the sofa, her thoughts drifting back to the time she'd spent in Keyhole.

Her relationship with Toby was based on a series of lies. Initially, he'd believed she was part of a car theft ring operating in a nearby town. But, finally he'd come to believe the story she'd told him, that her name was Emma Logan and she'd lost her fiancé in a tragic car accident and had come to Keyhole, Wyoming to heal her broken heart.

It hadn't taken her long to realize he was a sweet, gentle man. He'd often talked about his older brother,
Josh, who worked the rodeo circuit and Emily had enjoyed him telling stories of the two when they had been young.

The bed looked wonderfully inviting as she entered the bedroom and she was just about to undress for the night when a soft knock fell on her front door.

Toby. He'd remembered his hat.

She hurried to the door and started to open it, then cried out as it was flung open with a force that threw her backward and nearly off her feet.

Horror swept through her, chilling her to the bone, etching terror into her heart as she stared at the man who stood before her.

Long, sandy-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a balding place on the top of his head. He was rather thin, with a slightly protruding pot belly. His Fu-Manchu-style mustache and goatee drew attention to his thin mouth…a mouth now smiling and exposing a large space between his two front teeth. In his hand, he held a gun.

Although she had no idea what his name was, she knew who he was, had seen him twice before when she'd barely escaped with her life. He was the man her aunt Patsy had hired to kill her.

“Well, if it isn't little Emily Blair…or would you rather I call you Emma Logan?” His dark eyes gleamed as he shoved the door shut behind him, then advanced closer to where she stood.

He walked with a limp, and someplace in the back of her mind, Emily thought that if she could just get away from him, she could outrun him. However, at
the moment she didn't attempt to run as she knew it was impossible for her to outrun a speeding bullet.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was stalling…hoping…praying for a miracle.

“The name is Silas Pike, but my friends call me Snake Eyes.” He grinned again, as if he liked the sound of his nickname.

Snake Eyes. Yes, she could understand why he was called that. His eyes, so dark they were almost black, were small and beady and held the same kind of malevolent blankness she'd seen in snakes.

Her gaze darted away from his, seeking, searching for something nearby that could be used as a weapon. But what made an adequate weapon against a gun?

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice slightly trembling. “If it's money, I have a little bit. I'll get it for you and you can leave. I won't tell anyone you were here or report you to the police.”

He laughed, the sound unpleasant and sending a new chill shimmering up her spine. “I'll take your money after I do what I've been hired to do.” He seemed in no hurry to accomplish what he'd come for. He walked around the room, his gaze darting here and there.

“Patsy hired you, didn't she? Patsy Portman?”

“I don't know any Patsy. I was hired by a woman named Meredith. Course, she didn't tell me her name, but I did some checking and found out who she was.”

Despair swept through Emily. Even though she'd suspected the truth, had feared it in her heart, the cer
tain knowledge that Patsy had, indeed, hired this…this Snake Eyes to kill her was devastating.

“I've been looking for you for a long time. If you'd been ugly, I might not have found you. But folks remember a pretty young woman with pretty long hair.” He smiled slyly. “And I've seen you cozying up to that local yokel deputy sheriff. Too bad it didn't do you any good.”

Silas stepped closer to her, close enough that she could smell him—the smell of stale body odor and sour breath, the smell of evil and imminent death.

“You've been a bad girl.” His voice was soft and his smile remained on his face. “You've wasted a lot of my time. You were supposed to be dead months ago.”

“Please, Mr. Pike. Whatever she's paid you, I'll double it if you just turn around and walk away from here.”

She knew it was no good to scream. The other cabins were empty and nobody would hear her. Nobody would even hear the gun when he shot it and sent a bullet through her. Oh, why hadn't she taken a room in town?

“That's real nice,” he said. “The way you called me Mr. Pike, all respectful-like. But I'm afraid it's less a matter of money and more a matter of honor. I was hired to do a job, and I don't want word to get around that I don't do what I promise to do.”

A bubble of hysterical laughter rose to her throat. A hired killer who was afraid of gossip. The laughter quickly transformed to tears.

She would die here alone in this cottage, away from
the family she loved, never to see her mother finally regain her place in that family.

“Those tears won't change my mind,” he said, a touch of derisiveness in his voice. “Let's just get this done, so I can get out of this one-horse town,” he finally said wearily.

“Turn around,” he instructed.

Emily drew a deep shuddering breath. “No.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“I won't turn around. I won't make it easy on you by letting you shoot me in the back.” She raised her chin, once again praying for a miracle. “You're going to have to look me in the eyes when you pull that trigger and kill me.”

He frowned, obviously not pleased with her words. Then he shrugged. “It don't make no matter to me,” he said. He raised the gun and a rush of adrenaline soared through Emily.

Before he could pull the trigger, she leapt over and behind the sofa. She hit the floor, painfully jarring her elbow and knocking the breath from her.

She'd rather be killed while doing something constructive than shot standing still like a deer frozen in a car's headlights.

“Dammit, why are you making this so hard? Say your prayers, Emily Colton.” He laughed, obviously amused by his tough-guy line. The laughter chilled Emily to her bones. “Here I come, and nothing is gonna stop me now.” The words were followed by a loud crash.

“Emma!”

Toby's voice was nearly swallowed by the sharp report of gunshots. Two shots in rapid succession.

Then silence.

Emily held her breath, her entire body shaking as she waited to hear a sound, any sound that would let her know what had just occurred. Seconds passed and she stuffed her fist against her mouth to still the cries of terror that begged to be released.

Finally, she heard something—a soft, almost inaudible moan.

She peeked her head up over the back of the sofa and cried out in horror as she saw Toby sprawled on the floor near the front door, a crimson stain spreading over the front of his khaki shirt. Silas “Snake Eyes” Pike was nowhere to be seen.

“Toby!” She pulled herself up off the floor and raced around the edge of the sofa. She fell to the floor beside him, her heart thundering in her chest.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The words reverberated in her brain. She could tell his wound was bad. Really bad. Blood was seeping not only from his chest, but puddling on the floor beneath him. “Oh God, Toby.”

He smiled at her, a brief, quicksilver smile. “I forgot my hat.”

She nodded, tears racing down her cheeks. His blue eyes gazed at her worriedly and he reached for her hand. “Did…did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice whispery soft.

“No…no. He didn't hurt me.” She tried to pull away from him. “I've got to get you help.”

“Too…late,” he said, the shine in his eyes fading and his voice even more weak. “You…have to get
out of here. He…ran out, but I don't know if I shot him.”

“I'm not leaving you,” she exclaimed and once again tried to pull her hand from his.

He released her hand and touched her cheek softly. “Don't fret…just get out of here. Everything is going to be all right, Emma.” His hand dropped to his side, and his eyes continued to gaze at her, only this time his gaze was blank.

“Toby?” She grabbed his hand, but there was no reciprocating movement in his. “Toby!” With trembling fingers she touched the side of his neck, trying desperately to feel a pulse.

Nothing. And his eyes continued to stare. She realized he was gone. Dead.

Deep, wrenching sobs overtook her as she held his hand, drew it to her lips and kissed it. Oh God, not Toby. Please, bring him back. Don't take him. Sweet, dear Toby, who had always looked out for her, who had suspected she might be in trouble.

Dead.

Dead because of her.

She wasn't sure how long she sat beside him, gripping his hand and sobbing, but through the grief that ripped through her, fear once again flurried inside her and she knew she had to do as Toby had told her to. She had to get out of here.

She pulled herself up, knowing there was nothing more she could do for Toby, and grabbed her purse and duffelbag.

Tears half blinded her as she glanced down at the body. “I'm sorry, Toby,” she whispered. “I'm so
sorry.” The grief that filled her was nearly debilitating, but she shoved it away. “You're a hero, Toby. You'll always be my hero.”