Sheri WhiteFeather - Warrior's Baby

He seemed mildly satisfied. “Do you have any children?”

Melanie shook her head. “I’ve been too busy with my career. I’m an illustrator. I’ve designed just about everything. Greeting cards, posters, calendars, book covers. There hasn’t been much time for anything else.”

He pushed his half-eaten salad away and leaned forward, dark eyes probing. “You don’t look familiar.”

Her pulse raced. “Should I?”

“You said you were Gloria’s neighbor. That’s means you grew up around here.”

He studied her carefully. She thought he liked what he saw. Melanie recognized masculine admiration. She’d worked hard to achieve it: a strenuous daily workout, hair tinting, a carefully chosen wardrobe and just the right amount of makeup.

“Do you remember Gloria?” she asked. Colt wouldn’t have known that Gertrude had been friends with Gloria. The two had never been in his company together.

“Sure,” he answered. “I used to see her around. I went to high school with Fred. They were sweethearts.”

She smirked and raised a brow. “I went to Saint Theresa’s. I was a good girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” He laughed. “Well, I was probably the baddest boy in town. Lucky for you we never met.”

He was still grinning like a rogue when the waitress brought their meals. He cut into his meat. She studied the silverware pattern and pushed away her guilt. She wanted to be someone new in his eyes.

She glanced up and met his amused gaze. “Your reputation precedes you, Colt. I know all about you.”

His smile disappeared. “Everything?”

She wasn’t sure what everything was. “Just gossip, I suppose. People like to talk.”

He reached for his water. “The gossip started with my mom. Her folks, my grandparents, built Bluff Creek, the recreational ranch I inherited. Grandma ran the bed and breakfast and Grandpa took tourists on pack rides. Fishing and camping, nature trails, that sort of thing.” A short laugh barked from his chest. “But when Grandpa hired this big Indian fellow to help out, he got a little more than he bargained for. Toby Raintree took a shine to my mom. Problem was, she was only sixteen and Toby was twenty or so. Grandpa sent the Cheyenne packing, but the damage had already been done. I arrived nine months later.”

Colt raked his hands through his hair, deep-set eyes reflecting old wounds. Melanie thought about her own unbecoming beginnings. She was illegitimate, too. “You don’t have to tell me everything, Colt. If it makes you uncomfortable...”

“We’re talking about making a baby. I think we should be candid with each other.” A shrug jerked his brawny shoulders. “Besides, my family loved me, even if I had a bit of Toby in me. I wasn’t wild on purpose. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. It’s just who I was.”

She teased him with a feminine toss of her head. He was staring. Seriously considering her for the baby-making job, she thought. “I heard you were a spoiled rich boy.”

His grin was wry. “Overindulged, maybe.”

The waitress came by and cleared their plates. He had finished his meal, she’d done a lot of rearranging on her plate. If he noticed her lack of appetite, he didn’t comment on it. They both ordered a cup of coffee, passed on dessert.

“I have to know, Melanie. Is it the money?”

She couldn’t help herself from bristling. “I didn’t bring up your family’s money because I need it.”

“It’s my money now. My family’s gone. And I’m offering a fair amount to the woman who has my baby. I have a right to know what your true motivation is.”

She wanted to leap across the table, pummel his chest and shout that she loved him, that she hoped to keep his baby and share a life with him. “I plan to give the money to charity. A children’s organization of some kind. I have a successful career. I’m not in the business of selling babies.”

“And I’m not in the business of buying them,” he retorted, then softened his tone. “I had a daughter...a sweet little girl...” His eyes turned watery. “God, it seems like a lifetime ago. I just miss being a father. I didn’t mean to offend you. What you do with the money is your prerogative.”

He reached across the table for her hand, squeezed it apologetically. “Are you still interested, or did I just prove what an idiot I can be?”

Longing made her voice breathless. “I’m still interested.”

His fingertips brushed hers. “Will you come by the ranch tomorrow? I’d like to show you around. It’s a great place for a kid to grow up.”

“Certainly. I’d love to.”

Two hours later Melanie rocked on Glona’s weather-beaten porch, wearing a red cotton blouse, faded blue jeans, Harley-Davidson boots and an anxious expression that mirrored her fluttering heart.

Gloria’s youngest hummed a contented tune. The towheaded four-year-old reached for his favorite toy, a yellow dump trunk packed with tiny stones from the freshly graveled driveway. When he grinned, the cherry Popsicle stain around his mouth widened.

Seated beside him on the front step, his mother touched the back of his head and shuddered. “Colt’s daughter was about Joey’s age when she died. I can’t imagine losing a child.”

Melanie stilled the bentwood rocker. She remembered that summer. She’d come home for one of Gloria’s baby showers and learned Colt had just buried his estranged wife and daughter As usual, he’d been the talk of the town. She’d heard he was inconsolable, shutting out the world around him.

“What do you really think about him looking for a surrogate?”

“Truthfully?” Gloria ruffled her cropped hair, the spiky strawberry-blond strands still damp from Joey’s swimming lessons. She had always been fresh-scrubbed looking with a generous supply of freckles, cosmetics low on her list of priorities. “I think he’s lonely and misguided. He should marry again and have children the traditional way.”

“I had lunch with him today.” Melanie set the rocker in motion. It felt good to breathe the clean Montana air. Almost as life-sustaining as the sound of Colt’s husky drawl.

“A date? Oh, Mel, that’s wonderful.”

She gnawed her bottom lip. “It wasn’t exactly a date. I didn’t tell him my name used to be Gertrude. You see, we weren’t really meeting for old time’s sake.”

Joey’s mother shooed him into the house, bribing him with another Popsicle. “Just one,” she cautioned as the boy forgot about the truck and dashed off. She turned to Melanie, one eyebrow arching. “What’s going on?”

Melanie gazed out at the front yard. Along the fence, rows of late-blooming flowers and tall, scattered weeds fought for control. The garden hose attached to a sprinkler head slithered across the overgrown lawn like a giant snake. In the center of the damp grass a proud tree yielded a makeshift swing, a big, black tire swaying in the breeze.

Her beachfront property paled by comparison. A happy home surpassed a lonely, upscale, condo any day. “I told him I was interested in being his surrogate.”

“Oh, my Lord! You didn’t!”

Melanie set her jaw. “I did. And I am.”

Gloria shook her cropped head. “You, my dear, are not a good candidate. You’ve never even had a child. You’d never be able to turn your baby over to him.”

Plastering a smile on her face, Melanie ignored the other woman’s disapproving scowl. “Yes, I could. I’m too wrapped up in my career to think about raising a child. I’m—”

“Lying,” Gloria provided.

The phony smile faded. “You said it yourself. Colt needs a wife.”

“But he doesn’t want a wife. He wants a child, no strings attached.”

“I’ll make him change his mind.” That car accident had given her a new outlook on life. It had taught her to go after what she wanted. And more than anything, she wanted Colt.