The Drifter (9 page)

He hesitated. “No, not just because of Bartholomew.”

“But a little while ago you just said you don't want entanglements.” Her heart hammered as she gazed into his eyes.

He slid his hand behind her neck and massaged gently. “Yeah, and I'll probably say it again at some stupid moment. For years I've guarded my freedom like a junkyard dog. Old habits die hard.”

“Sometimes they never die.”

“Just bear with me a while, Amanda.”

With a shuddering sigh, Bartholomew drew their attention down to where he clung to Amanda's breast.

“I love watching you nurse him.” Chase outlined the curve of the baby's cheek with one finger. “That's another thing I shouldn't have said. Maybe you were flirting with me last night. Maybe you were just acting natural. Whichever it was, I'd never want you to be embarrassed about doing this in front of me.”

“For some reason, I haven't been,” she murmured. “Not even that first time in the van.”

“Good.” He traced a path along Bartholomew's chin and continued the caress over the fullness of Amanda's breast.

She gasped and looked up at him.

His gaze was fathomless as he continued to trace soft patterns over her breast. “I've never wanted a woman the way I want you,” he said softly. “I haven't wanted to admit that, for fear I'd jeopardize my precious freedom, but it's true. I know it's not convenient for either of us, but you're driving me crazy.” His mouth curved in a smile and his dimple flashed. “From the look in your eyes, I think you feel the same way.”

She had trouble breathing. “Chase, we can't—”

“I know.” He glanced down at Bartholomew. “But I couldn't resist touching you, just this once.” He levered himself away from her with a sigh. “And once is about all I can manage without forgetting myself.”

She almost moaned in frustration. He was right, though. They couldn't keep playing with fire when they had a baby to consider. Bartholomew loosened his grip on her nipple and gazed up at her, as if to remind her of that fact. He needed to be changed, and she had to figure out where he could be settled for a short nap. “Where's a safe place for him to sleep?” she asked as she refastened her nursing bra.

“That depression between the exposed tree roots should make a perfect bed for him.”

She studied the spot Chase had indicated and decided it would work. “There's another blanket and a clean diaper in my saddlebag, if you wouldn't mind getting them.”

“I'll do better than that. I'll change him for you.”

“You will?” She looked up and discovered he was already halfway across the clearing.

“Sure,” he called over his shoulder. “With those sticky tab things instead of pins it should be a cinch.”

Amanda was touched by his eagerness to participate. She'd read once that a new father's willingness to help could be destroyed if the mother hovered around offering suggestions. Difficult as it would be for her, she'd let him change Bartholomew without interference.

Chase returned with the blanket and diaper. He folded the blanket and arranged it in the natural depression between two cottonwood roots, put the fresh diaper to one side, and held out his arms for the baby. She gave him Bartholomew with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Okay, buddy,” Chase said, settling the baby on the blanket and pulling at the tabs fastening the old diaper. “Time for an oil and lube job.”

Amanda kept quiet as he wrestled with the fastenings. When he leaned closer, his medallion dangled within Bartholomew's reach. Gurgling happily, the baby grabbed it and pulled, nearly throwing Chase off-balance. Amanda pretended not to notice.

The diaper came off in shreds, but Chase finally removed it. “This doesn't seem very wet,” he said, glancing at Amanda. “We may have wasted a perfectly good—”

“Chase, look out.” But the warning came too late. A steady stream rose in the air as if from the nozzle of a miniature fire hose.

As it splattered against Chase's neck and ran down his chest, he yelped in surprise. “It's a gusher!”

Amanda couldn't hold her laughter another second. “I forgot to warn you,” she gasped, holding her sides. “Sometimes when fresh air hits, he—”

“No kidding.” His attempt to look stern was marred by the amusement dancing in his green eyes. “At least I know the equipment works.”

“I'll finish up if you want to go wash in the pond.”

Chase got to his feet with a show of dignity. “Guess I'll take you up on that. Next time I'll be ready.”

Next time. Amanda smiled at the pleasant sound of that promise as she diapered Bartholomew while Chase cleaned off in the pond.

Soon he was back. “You can swim now if you want,” he said, kneeling next to Bartholomew.

She considered the welcome treat versus the wisdom of undressing in this sensually charged atmosphere. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

He glanced up. “If you think I'll be tempted to make love to you if you take off your clothes, you're right. But if you think I'll forget about Bartholomew and seduce you on the spot, you don't know me very well.”

She couldn't resist a smile. “That's the whole point. I don't know you very well.”

“Then it's time to learn. The water's cool. And you look—if you'll excuse the expression—hot.”

And so she was. She wanted to take off her clothes, all right. But not necessarily to go swimming. Considering their obligation to keep a watchful eye on Bartholomew, swimming was the safer option. “All right,” she said, turning toward the pond.

She walked down to the narrow strip of sand beside the water and unbuttoned her blouse. She didn't look to see if he was watching, pretty certain that he would be. A large boulder provided a seat while she pulled off her boots and stuffed her socks into them before placing them next to Chase's on the sand. Then she wriggled her bare toes in pleasure. Before she'd come to Arizona, she'd treated herself to a pedicure—the salon hadn't minded that she held Bartholomew on her lap during the procedure—and her toes were tipped in cranberry. Of course, her decision to get a pedicure had nothing to do with the fact that Chase had remarked on her delicate feet the night they'd made love. Of course not. She was beginning to wonder just how much she'd been fooling herself.

As she stood and unfastened the waistband of her jeans, she felt a little like a nightclub stripper performing for a single customer. She was unsettled to discover the idea exciting. She remembered that she'd worn a favorite pair of silk bikinis under her jeans. Cut high, they were trimmed around each leg with a ruffle of Belgian lace. When she stepped out of her jeans, she imagined she heard Chase catch his breath. But it could have been a lizard moving through dry leaves beneath the trees. She'd seen several today, harmless little creatures with no teeth. Still, she walked toward the water as if she were a model on a runway, admitting to herself that she wanted him to want her.

At the edge of the pond, sand gave way to mossy rocks, and her graceful entrance into the water was marred by some hobbling until she finally launched herself with a satisfying splash. Ah. For a moment, she forgot about Chase as she slipped along in a slow crawl, her self-made current swirling past her body and cleansing away the dust and sweat of the ride. She'd only been swimming in private pools and Long Island Sound, and she kept expecting either the taste of chlorine or salt. This water held neither, and she rolled to her back like an otter, reveling in the pond's crystal perfection. No wonder Chase loved swimming here.

She floated for a while, her hair billowing out around her, and gazed up through the leaves to the blue sky beyond. Life at the ranch was the complete opposite of her life in the city. Work there was indoors and cerebral; work at the ranch was outdoors and physical. She'd probably be bored in no time out here. It was okay for a change of pace, but she needed intellectual stimulation, the thrill of business competition, the—

Something yanked at the hem of her panties. After her experience the day before, all she could imagine were water moccasins. She flipped over in a panic and swallowed some water. Another yank, this time from the front. With a yelp, she propelled herself through the water. “Chase!” she burbled, scrambling over the rocks. “Chase!”

He ran to meet her, catching her by the elbows and hauling her up onto the bank.

“Something tried to bite me,” she cried, her arms automatically going around him as she shivered. “I think it was a water moccasin.”

He enclosed her in arms warmed by sunlight and brought her against his chest. She laid her cheek there. As she listened to the rapid thud of his heart, her gaze rested on the pewter medallion that moved gently with his breathing. He'd put his jeans back on—she felt the brush of denim against her bare legs and wished he hadn't, wished...but that wasn't wise. As she slowly stopped shivering, she realized he was shaking with silent laughter.

“I forgot to tell you about the fish,” he said, chuckling. He tugged playfully at the Belgian lace decorating her panties. “They were probably after this.”

She sagged in his arms. “Fish,” she mumbled, feeling stupid. “I can deal with fish.”

“There's nothing dangerous in that water.” Chase had abandoned the lace and now cupped one hand under her bottom. “I wouldn't have let you go in if there had been.”

She stayed very still as he pressed her closer and his heartbeat grew louder. Beneath his jeans he was hard as stone.

“But there is danger right here,” he murmured against her wet hair. “Because now that I have you in my arms, I don't want to let you go.”

H
EAT SEARED
through Amanda's veins, bringing a flush to her chilled skin. She moaned softly. Then she lifted her head and gazed upward into Chase's passion-filled eyes. “Bartholomew,” she whispered in a voice heavy with disappointment.

“Yes, Bartholomew.” With a sigh he released her and averted his eyes. “I'll get the sandwiches and canteens if you'll go check on him. When you called from the pond, he was still asleep.”

Biting her lower lip in frustration, Amanda picked her way across rocks and sandy ground toward the tree where Bartholomew lay cradled between the exposed roots. He was still fast asleep and looking like an angel with his little snub nose and his tiny mouth pursed as if ready to give her a kiss. Except that Bartholomew's kiss wasn't the one she wanted at the moment. She loved her baby, loved him to distraction. But she hadn't anticipated the vigilance he'd require. Or the sacrifices.

She sat on a large section of root and combed her fingers through her wet hair as Chase came toward her, a canteen slung over one tanned shoulder, a bag of sandwiches in one hand and his shirt in the other.

He handed her the shirt. “I'd appreciate it if you'd put this on. You don't have to button it or anything, just...put it on.”

She glanced down at her damp underwear and understood his point. When wet, the silk items didn't disguise much. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the shirt over her shoulders. Immediately, she was assailed by the scent of Chase—his mint after-shave and the tang of male sweat. Her nipples tightened beneath her damp bra and tension collected at the juncture of her thighs. She looked up at him. “Better?” The question came out sounding like a throaty invitation to share more than lunch.

Chase stared at her, his gaze tortured. “Not a hell of a lot, but I don't know what else to do short of tying myself to my horse.” He tossed the sandwiches and canteen to the ground and hooked his hands at his beltline. “We're either going to have to do something about this or I'll have to put you on a plane very soon.”

Desire had turned her into a temptress. “And which would you rather do?”

He made a noise deep in his throat and pulled her to her feet. His mouth came down hard on hers and his tongue thrust forcefully, claiming her. The blood sang in her ears and desire pounded through her. His tongue probed deeper, and he wrenched open the cup of her nursing bra to capture her breast in his calloused hand. He kneaded her soft flesh with the experienced touch she'd craved that night they'd spent together in the truck, the forbidden touch she'd dreamed of for months afterward. Then he released her and backed away, panting. “Does that answer your question?”

She brought a hand to her lips. He'd nearly bruised her mouth with the force of his kiss. That night in the truck he'd never come close to being that rough, but then he'd never been pushed to the brink of frustration, either. She understood the forces that drove him to kiss her that way. They were the same forces that made her relish his demands.

He shook his head, his voice husky. “I knew that bringing you on this ride would be a temptation, but I thought I'd handle it better than this. I didn't realize how maddening it would be for us to be alone and yet...not alone.”

“No, we're not alone.”

He leaned down to retrieve the canteen and bag of sandwiches. “Well, we lugged food all the way out here. If we don't eat it, Belinda will be highly insulted.”

“Then let's eat.” She refastened the cup of her bra and lowered herself, still shaking, to the smooth tree root. They sat on opposite sides of the sleeping baby while they ate. Chase didn't seem in a hurry to reopen the conversation, and she didn't know where to begin with all the questions swirling in her head.

“Chase?”

He swallowed a mouthful of food and looked at her.

“I don't know what comes next. Where we go from here.”

He regarded her with a steady, yet heated gaze. “I have some ideas we might be able to live with.”

“Such as?” Her mouth was dry with anticipation.

“I can't expect you to give up your career and life back in New York, and I'm stuck out here for the time being, but you could schedule trips out to Arizona as often as possible. I'd want to help you with expenses, especially all the traveling.”

She started to tell him that was ridiculous and he held up his hand.

“I know you don't need my money. That you're even afraid it comes with strings attached. That's not true.” He gave her a wry smile. “Okay, one string. I'd want to share your bed when you came out.”

A new wave of heat washed over her. “What...what would I tell people about all these trips I'd be taking?”

He was very quiet. “You could try the truth,” he said at last.

She struggled with that concept. It would be tough facing her family and friends and explaining that she'd lied about the sperm donor when in fact her lover in Arizona was the father of her child. The whole truth would have to include that Bartholomew had been conceived in the bunk of an 18-wheeler. Her best friends would stick by her, but her parents...she shuddered to think how they'd react to that story, and to their grandson after they'd heard it. But maybe it was time to come clean. Maybe—

“Or not,” Chase said, his tone bitter and impatient.

Amanda had the feeling a door had just slammed in her face before she'd been able to see what was on the other side. “Chase, maybe—”

“I don't really care, I guess. What does it matter what everybody else thinks?”

She glanced at him and tried to gauge his sincerity, but his expression was unreadable.

“Tell them you've developed a crush on the True Love Ranch,” he continued. “Or tell them you're working on a big advertising campaign for us. Tell them you come here to have an out-of-body experience. Or to get laid by a cowboy.”

“Chase!”

“Too crude, Amanda? Or too close to the truth? Forget pretending you don't want to go to bed with me again. That little cat's out of the bag.”

She looked away, knowing her cheeks were pink.

“That's okay, sweetheart. You can blush and be coy to your heart's content, just so you'll let me enjoy that tempting body of yours. So what do you think? Can we work something out?”

Although she didn't like the cynical tone he'd adopted, he was offering her a way to keep her reputation intact. She'd flit out to Arizona once in a while, let him be with his son, make passionate love when Bartholomew was otherwise occupied and go back to her life in New York when the vacation was over. She should love the idea. She didn't. “What if I don't like that plan?”

A hint of vulnerability shone in his eyes as his mood shifted subtly. “Consider it, Amanda. We...might get to know each other that way.”

“Why?” His statement about never getting married jangled in her memory. “Why get to know each other?”

He held her gaze, and the light slowly died in his eyes. He turned away. “Hell, I don't know. You're not interested in someone like me, no matter what. I don't know why I keep banging my head against a stone wall. Forget it. Just agree to bring Bartholomew out a few times a year and I promise never to lay a hand on you again.”

It was the exact opposite of what she'd hoped for. “That isn't—”

“Oh, I know you want me, but you hate wanting me because you don't think I'm good enough for you.” He stared into space. “You've made that very clear.”

She was stung by his conclusions, but she could hardly blame him for drawing them. She had rejected him before, and that rejection had carried an unspoken implication that she didn't consider him good enough. He had no way of knowing how her feelings had changed in the past two days and she wasn't sure how she could tell him now that he'd become so defensive. Swallowing a nervous lump in her throat, she chose her words carefully. “Let's back up a minute. Were you trying to say that someday, if we discovered we got along really well, we might...make the arrangement between us...permanent?”

He glared at her. “Pretty stupid idea, right? You don't even know how stupid.”

“No, it's—”

“You see, I'm not good enough for you. My pedigree has some serious problems. Last night, I spent an hour on the phone, got in touch with all the people I could think of who might be able to track down my mother. No luck. I'm not surprised—this isn't the first time I've tried to locate her. Maybe she doesn't want to be found. Maybe she's going by a different name. Maybe she's even dead. She always had lots of men around, so God knows if she could identify my father in the crowd, anyway.” He sneered. “There's your family history. Pretty picture, isn't it?”

Amanda's heart wrenched with remorse at her insensitivity. How she'd pounded him with questions about his family. How those questions must have hurt him. “Chase, I'm so sorry. I didn't—”

“Save it.” He didn't look at her. “I was a cute little kid. I always got into foster homes real easy. Some kids didn't.”

“How...old were you?”

“When Mom checked out?” He picked up a stone and examined it as if it were the Hope diamond. “Three.”

Three.
Not even able to read. Barely able to understand what was happening. But understanding enough. Her chest tightened in grief. “How many foster homes?”

“I lost track after the first six.” He threw the stone in a long arc. It landed in the pond with a loud plop and sent out ripples that made the reeds on the far shore dance. “Doesn't matter, anyway. Some were nice, some weren't so nice. They just all kind of ran together after awhile.”

She didn't realize she was crying until a tear dropped onto her sandwich wrapping. Maybe before she'd had Bartholomew she wouldn't have been stabbed with so sharp a pain at the idea of a little kid left to fend for himself. But now she could hardly stand the thought. She wiped at her damp cheeks and gazed at his rigid profile.

“You're pretty quiet over there, Amanda. Guess you're about to pack up the kid and hightail it back to New York.” He turned to her. “Right? You—Aaw, hell!” He stormed to his feet and towered over her. “I can take just about anything you have to dish out, babe, except pity.”

“It's not pity! I feel terrible about hounding you for details of your family, when you—”

“And in my book, that adds up to you feeling sorry for me,” he cut in, scowling down on her. “Spare me, little rich girl. I can do without your tears!”

Bartholomew began to cry.

“How about his tears?” She scooped him up and got to her feet. All sense of control and decorum had left her. “If you're so eager to be a daddy, how about taking care of a crying kid, huh? You woke him up with all your blustering about pity, so take some pity on this little baby, who didn't ask for any of this and was only trying to get a little sleep!”

Chase stared at her, his expression thunderous as Bartholomew's cries grew louder. Then his gaze dropped to the squalling infant in her arms and the anger drained from his face. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse but gentle. “Yeah, none of this is his fault. Come here, little guy.”

She was surprised that he took the baby, but she loosened her hold and allowed Chase to lift him from her arms.

“Hey, Bartholomew,” Chase murmured, cuddling the baby against his bare chest. “Take it easy, buddy. We'll work it out.”

Bartholomew's cries slowed.

“That's it, buddy. Listen, kid. Bartholomew's a pretty long name for such a little guy. How about if I call you Bart instead?”

The baby snuffled and rubbed his nose against Chase's shoulder.

Amanda looked at them and her heart cracked down the middle. “I'll be glad to bring him to Arizona as often as I can,” she whispered in a broken voice.

Chase glanced at her, his gaze impersonal. “Good. Because you may not need me, but he does.”

I need you, too,
she thought. He probably wouldn't believe her.

“Now that we have that settled, it might be better if you catch a plane out of here tonight and give us both a chance to cool down a little before we see each other again.”

She could barely speak around the lump in her throat. “I suppose you're right.”

After a brief moment of eye contact, Chase returned his attention to his son. “Hey, Bart, when was the last time you went fishing? Come on and I'll show you some big ones.” He turned and started walking toward the pond. “Once you can hold a fishing pole, buddy, we'll have some great times up here, you and me. Early morning's good. You like to get up early? I do.”

Amanda clutched her stomach and sank onto a rock. Chase and Bartholomew made an idyllic picture down by the lake—the tanned muscular father crouched by the shore balancing his tiny son on his denim-clad knee. Bartholomew waved his arms and gurgled at the sun striking sparks on the surface of the water. Such a beautiful picture. And just like that, Chase had shut her out of it.

* * *

T
HEY DIDN'T TALK MUCH
as they packed up and headed toward the ranch. Amanda couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be misinterpreted as pity for Chase's childhood. She hadn't agreed to his proposal of regular visits right away because she was beginning to think she wanted more from this relationship. Apparently, he'd thought her hesitation meant she didn't want to have anything at all to do with him, and he'd shut down his feelings for her.

He'd probably had a lot of practice cutting himself off emotionally from people, she thought as they rode in silence. That skill would be a requirement for anyone being jerked from one foster home to another. And she'd had the nerve to whine because her father hadn't been as loving as she would have liked. Chase probably would have been willing to trade places with someone like her any day.