The Drifter (8 page)

Amanda tried not to laugh, but Ry was chuckling gleefully, and finally she couldn't help herself. “I warned you. You'd better put that shirt in to soak and get a clean one.” She held out her arms. “I'll take him so you can go do that.”

“No,
I'll
take the little buckaroo,” Ry said. “But I'm not too manly to wear a diaper over my shoulder while I do it. Give him to me, Chase. I might as well get in shape. I have a feeling Freddy's going to be in the market for a couple of these pretty soon.”

“Hold him real careful,” Chase said, relinquishing control of the baby with obvious reluctance. “Get both hands under him. Support his head. Not like that, like this.” He adjusted the baby in Ry's arms.

Amanda brought her coffee mug to her lips to hide her smile.

Ry frowned as Chase kept repositioning his grip. “Hell, Chase, I think I can hold a baby without you giving me lessons.”

“Don't cuss in front of him, either.”

“Why not? You did when he barfed on you.”

“He caught me by surprise. No, move your arm a little the other way. He likes it better if you—”

“Will you
leave
?” Ry glared at Chase. “I never knew you were such a fussbudget, Lavette.”

“I'm leaving.” Chase backed away and adjusted his hat. “Don't drop him.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

After Chase left, Ry shook his head. “The boy's gone haywire. By the way, do you want anything to eat? The kitchen's a disaster, but I'm sure we can round up a cinnamon roll or something.”

“Coffee's fine.” She took another drink of the warm liquid, which was the perfect temperature and sweetened exactly as she liked it.

“I envy you two riding out of here today,” Ry said. “If I didn't think Freddy would have my head on a pole, I'd go with you.”

“She did mention something about your hiding out in here so you wouldn't have to help,” Amanda said.

Ry grinned, and Amanda glimpsed the good humor that Freddy must have fallen in love with. “I don't stand a chance,” Ry said. “That woman's had my number since day one.”

“It looks like an pretty even contest to me.”

Ry gazed at her, his smile softening. “All I know is, she's the one. I'm a lucky man to be marrying Freddy Singleton tomorrow.”

An unexpected lump formed in Amanda's throat at the tender admission. “I wish you both the best.”

“Just keep your fingers crossed that the horses don't buck. I should have my head examined for agreeing to this wedding on horseback. At least you'll have something unique to tell your friends in New York.”

“I...may not be here for the wedding.”

“Oh? I thought your reservation here ran through the week.”

She glanced away from him. “It does, but I think it would be best for all concerned if I left sooner. Chase said he had some information for me on his family's medical history. He thought I should see the canyon before I go, and he'll give me the information while we ride, I guess. I'll probably catch a night flight out.”

“Have you made plane reservations?”

“No.” She looked at him and her chest tightened. “Perhaps I should do that now.”

His gaze was speculative. “No rush. Flights usually aren't crowded this time of year.”

The tightness in her chest eased. “I suppose not. And I don't know exactly when we'll be back from the ride.”

“Or how it'll go.”

She swallowed. “That's not really—”

“For the record, I think Chase deserves a chance to be a father to this baby.”

She gasped at his directness. The charming good humor was gone from his expression and she remembered he was also a high-powered commodities broker. In retaliation, she adopted her big-city, don't-mess-with-me attitude. “I don't believe that it's any of your business.”

“He's my partner.” Ry's blue eyes narrowed. “That makes it my business. I've advised him to take you to court if necessary, and I'm in contact with lawyers who could win the case, hands down, but he won't discuss that option, so I'm appealing to you. Do the right thing, Amanda.”

“I believe I am doing the right thing!”

“Then I guess we have a difference of opinion on the matter.” Ry stood and walked around the table. “If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go out and help Freddy with the decorations.” He handed Bartholomew to her with care, but there was no smile on his face. “Chase would have wanted a connection with his son even if he'd never seen him, but now that you've brought the baby out here, you can't just snatch him away. If Chase is the man I think he is, he won't allow it. Have a nice ride.” Then he tipped his hat and left the room.

Bartholomew began to fuss and Amanda rocked him against her as she tried to regain her composure. It was difficult. Everything Ry had said had struck a nerve and challenged her sense of fair play. And he was right that she'd have the same moral dilemma whether she'd come to Arizona or not. The trip had simply brought it to a head sooner.

“Where's Ry?” Chase asked, striding into the room.

“He, um, decided to go out and help with the decorations.”

“You're kidding.” Chase glanced in the direction of the patio. “He told me he'd rather shovel a corral of manure than arrange paper flowers in a basket.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. Ready to go?”

She could tell him she'd changed her mind and insist that they talk about the medical history now. Then she could book a flight out this morning and leave the True Love and all the conflict it caused within her. Except she knew her problems couldn't be solved that simply anymore.

A
HALF HOUR LATER
, Amanda had plenty of time to contemplate the wonders of a cradleboard as she rode on a gray mare named Pussywillow. Ahead of her, Chase, mounted on a bay gelding named Mikey, carried Bartholomew on his back. Chase had assured her that Mikey was the steadiest horse the True Love owned.

Amanda had been introduced to Rosa, the head housekeeper, who'd shown them how to wrap Bartholomew securely in a blanket and lace him inside the cradleboard, which was made of leather, not wood as she'd imagined. He looked like a little mummy with only his face peeping out. Even that was protected from the sun with a leather hood projecting from the top of the board. Apparently, the arrangement suited Bartholomew. After a huge yawn, he fell asleep.

A western saddle felt cumbersome to Amanda after riding English all her life, but she loved having a horse under her again. Pussywillow had a soft mouth and responded to Amanda's slightest pressure on the bit. Amanda knew instinctively the little mare would be terrific at a fast lope, and she battled her impatience at the slow pace of the ride.

But slow was the only way to take Bartholomew along, so she settled back and savored the rolling gait of her horse and a luxurious sense of freedom. It had been months, ten to be exact, since she'd been on an outing with an attractive man. Raising her son alone had seemed like a liberating thing to do until she'd actually had the baby and realized how drastically her life had become circumscribed by her new role. She had no idea how she'd successfully resume a career that required the same single-minded dedication her son demanded.

This morning, however, with Chase carrying Bartholomew, she felt unencumbered, a little less like an overburdened mother and a lot more like a woman—a desirable woman. The pleasant friction of the saddle against her thighs and the constant view of Chase's broad shoulders and narrow hips drew her thoughts once again to that night in the truck cab.

She and Chase seemed destined to meet during temperature extremes. That night she'd been in danger of freezing to death. Today perspiration trickled between her breasts. She unfastened her canteen, unscrewed the lid and took a drink. Then she dabbed some water on her neck and between her breasts. A swim in the pond would be nice, but of course she'd brought no bathing suit....

Wanting to hear the sound of Chase's voice, she cast around for a neutral topic of conversation. “Does it ever rain here?” she finally asked.

“They tell me it does,” he replied over his shoulder. “But I've never seen it. Sometime after the Fourth of July it's supposed to rain nearly every afternoon, and that goes on until September, but here we are in the middle of July and not a drop. The desert's dry as a tinderbox. Leigh keeps threatening to stage a rain dance.”

“After the wedding.”

Chase laughed. “Yeah. After the wedding.”

She liked his laugh. She hadn't heard it all that much since she'd arrived.

He guided his horse into a clearing dominated by a pile of clay-colored rubble. “And speaking of the wedding, this is where it will take place at nine in the morning. Almost twenty-four hours from now, as a matter of fact.”

“Here?” It seemed a most unremarkable spot to her.

“It's the original homestead of Thaddeus and Clara Singleton. Leigh told me it was built in 1882 and the walls were still standing until a couple of months ago. A stampede flattened the house the day I got here.”

“Belinda told me about the stampede. And the smashed lintel with the True Love brand on it. Aren't they mounting it on an easel or something for the ceremony?”

“Yeah.” Chase adjusted the cradleboard straps over his shoulders.

“Is your back okay?”

“So far, so good.” He surveyed the clearing. “You know, it doesn't seem like much of a place for a wedding. When I was living on the road, I saw the perfect wedding church in Upstate New York, sitting smack-dab in the middle of a green meadow. White clapboard siding, stained-glass windows, a steeple and a bell. I thought about stopping, but I was late for a delivery. Didn't matter, anyway. I never planned on getting married.”

Some of her sensual fog slipped away. “I know. You told me that.”

He glanced over at her. “I did? When?”

“After we...while we were driving home, when we discussed whether we should see each other again. I didn't think it was a good idea, and you said I was probably right, because I looked like the type who might get serious, and you had no intention of letting that happen with any woman.”

He studied her for several moments. “Is that one of the reasons you didn't tell me about the baby?”

“Yes.”

He dropped his gaze and swore softly.

Hope ignited by Ry's statements earlier burst into flame within her. “Did I misunderstand you?”

He raised his head and gave her a long, level look. “No, you didn't,” he said at last. He reined his horse around. “We'd better go on. It's getting hot.”

Amanda rode along the path lined with bleached-out bushes and bristling cacti and wondered what she was doing on this stupid outing. She usually liked being right, but in this case it hurt like hell. Chase was exactly what he'd proclaimed himself to be in the first place, a drifter who wanted no entanglements. He might expect some contact with his son, on his terms, but he wasn't about to beg her to marry him and establish a traditional home together. And she also had to face an unsettling truth about herself. Increasingly, she wanted him to do exactly that.

Not that she'd come to Arizona with that in mind, at least not consciously, but every moment with Chase had made the idea seem less crazy, especially when she saw him with Bartholomew. Then he'd practically insisted on this ride so they could be alone, and he'd offered her his hat to wear. Silly her, she'd thought he might be moving in the same direction she was. Obviously not.

The trail wound upward as they worked their way into the canyon along a dry creek bed. Granite cliffs rose ever higher on either side of them. There was no sound save the crunching of the horses' hooves in the sand, the creak of leather and the muted drone of insects. Amanda realized she'd never been out of reach of traffic noise. Lured by the absence of civilization's clamor, Amanda began to fantasize what it might have been like for a frontierswoman and her man carving out a life in the desert.

It would have been physically very difficult, but that might have forged a stronger bond. Men and women seemed to depend on each other more back then. Except for the drifters, she thought with a grimace. The frontier had fostered its share of those, too, and Chase Lavette was a throwback if ever she'd seen one. He needed the equivalent of a string of dance-hall girls and no children whatsoever. Ry McGuinnes could think what he wanted, but Chase wasn't the type to be tied down by a wife or a baby.

“The pond's just over there, up where those cottonwoods are,” Chase said, pointing.

She sighed in audible relief at the sight of a swath of emerald green tucked into the canyon ahead of them.

He turned slightly in his saddle. “Are you going to make it?”

She straightened, not wanting his concern. “Of course. I rode Thoroughbreds in competition when I was a teenager. It's not the riding. It's the heat. I can't believe Bartholomew's still asleep. I bet he'll be soaked with sweat.”

Chase faced forward again. “I guess it wasn't such a good idea, coming up here.”

“Then why did you suggest it?”

“God knows, Amanda. But we're almost there, so we might as well spend some time near the pond and cool off a little.”

The horses apparently smelled the water and quickened their pace. Within minutes, they'd climbed past the rock-and-earth dam barricading the creek, and Amanda caught her first glimpse of the pond. Huge cottonwoods, their trunks dappled gray and white, grew beside the sandy bank, shading the oasis created by the pond. Amanda had already learned the dramatic difference between sun and shade. Shade next to water looked like heaven.

They dismounted and tethered the horses to a low-hanging branch.

“Let me help you get that cradleboard off,” Amanda said as she crossed to Chase.

“Thanks.” He lifted the straps away from his shoulders and Amanda took the weight of baby and carrier. She noticed the dark stain of sweat covering Chase's back before she returned her attention to her baby. Bartholomew opened his eyes and blinked.

“Hello. Trip's over, sweetheart.” Amanda settled the board on the sand and unlaced the fastenings.

“Is he okay?”

“Just a little sweaty and hungry,” Amanda said without glancing up. The cool shade had improved her mood a bit. “He'll be fine after I change and feed him.”

“Then I think I'll take a swim if you don't need anything right now.”

“Oh.” She glanced up and saw him already stripping away his shirt. The pewter medallion winked in the sun. “That sounds wonderful. Do you swim here often?”

“Whenever the pool in the patio is too crowded to do my laps.”

Sweat trickled down her back and she cast a look of longing at the pond.

“You can go in after you've fed Bartholomew. I'll watch him.”

“I...didn't bring a suit.” She pulled Bartholomew out of the wrapped blanket and stood, holding his damp little body against her shoulder.

“Neither did I.” He sat on a rock and pulled off his boots. “Didn't think I'd go swimming, but I should have figured I'd need it after carrying the baby.”

“Well, I have no suit and no excuse of a bad back.”

He stood and unbuckled his belt. “So what? Swim in your underwear and sit in the sun until it dries.” He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them over his hips. Then he glanced at her. “You're staring, Amanda.”

Her face grew hot and she turned toward her horse, where she'd packed extra diapers in the saddlebag. “I'm just not as casual about these things as you are, I guess.”

“The hell you're not. At least not around me, for some reason.”

She jerked her head up to meet his challenging gaze. “If you're referring to last night—”

“Yes, I'm referring to last night. I've been thinking about that, and I've decided you knew, on some level, how you were affecting me, breastfeeding while you gave me a back massage. You were flirting with me, Amanda.”

“I was not! It was an emergency and I couldn't come up with any other solution.” But a guilty conscience pricked her. Perhaps she had enjoyed teasing him, just a bit, under the guise of ministering to him. Maybe she'd enjoyed it a lot. And she was furious with him for figuring it out.

“Well, this is an emergency and I can't come up with any other solution.” Chase kicked away his jeans and walked toward the pond. She drew in a quick breath. The last time she'd seen him, his body had been white as sculpted marble, but weeks of swimming and sunning at this pool had transformed him into a bronzed god. He strode into the water, flexed his back muscles and executed a shallow dive. He was, she concluded, definitely flirting with her. And the effect was exactly what he would have wished.

While Chase swam, Amanda changed Bartholomew and found a large cottonwood tree to sit against. From her position slightly above the pond, she watched Chase's steady, clean strokes through the water while she nursed the baby. The pond was bigger than she'd expected, at least fifty or sixty yards at its longest point. Chase swam to within a few feet of the shore, where he turned and started back across. Patches of sunlight gilded his shoulders, and the reeds bordering the far edge of the pond swayed in the current he created.

His graceful movement seduced her with memories of the fluid surge of his hips as he'd loved her. That night in the truck nothing had seemed important but the melding of two bodies. Now that she had time to reflect, what amazed her was the effortless way they'd come together, how synchronized their rhythm had been from the start.

That rhythm seemed to have followed them to this glade. It echoed in his purposeful stroke through the water, the pulsing buzz of insects, the suckling of their child at her breast. The air smelled warm and ripe, and she vibrated to the subliminal beat, unable to stop herself from slipping into the sensuous cadence.

When he left the water, she wasn't surprised when he walked toward her with deliberate strides, as if in time to the unheard rhythm. He dropped to one knee beside her, his gaze on the nursing baby. He reached out to stroke the downy head, and she sighed.

“Amanda. I don't want to fight with you.”

She lifted her head slowly. “Then let's not fight.”

His hand still cupping the baby's head, he looked at her, his eyes as green as the sunlit canopy of trees. Slowly, he reached behind her and gently untied the scarf from her hair. It floated to the ground as he used his fingers to comb her hair forward until it shimmered in a fiery curtain just above where Bartholomew clung to her breast. His eyes grew shadowy with desire as he gazed at her, and her breathing quickened.

Carefully, he leaned toward her. Her eyelids drifted closed in surrender when his lips, cool from the pond, touched hers with no more pressure than a falling leaf fluttering to the ground. She met his gentleness with her own, warming his mouth as if in apology for all the hurt they'd showered on each other. She leaned into the kiss, balancing herself with one hand against the powerful bulge of his biceps. It flexed beneath her touch, coolness turning to heat. Then, before the heat could turn to fire, he pulled away.

She opened her eyes again. His gaze probed hers. “You were right,” she whispered, her lips tingling, wanting more. “I am afraid of you.”

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I don't want to make problems.” His voice was husky. “But I can't let you walk out of my life and never come back.”

She thought of what Ry had said. “Because...because of Bartholomew?”