Lone Rider Bodyguard. Harper Allen
before he hit the ground. But the damn gun wasn’t important.
She was wearing a summery dress, white with a pattern of red cherries. There were three red buttons on the opened bodice, one of them hanging by a thread, and the ripe swell of her breasts was almost fully exposed. In the hollow between them her skin was slick with sweat.
Her hair was the pale brown of buckwheat honey, deeper by a shade than his own dark blond. It hung in damp strands to her shoulders. The hands holding the revolver were propped up on the enormous curve of her belly.
She was pregnant. Make that very pregnant, Tye told himself hollowly. She was so pregnant that any time now she wouldn’t be pregnant anymore. Any time now the baby inside her was going to start coming out.
He saw her slitted eyes lose focus for a moment, heard her breath whistle between her gritted teeth. Slowly she exhaled.
“I suspect for the next little while I’m goin’ to be too busy to be able to worry about you, mister,” she said softly. “This isn’t anything I ever thought I’d find myself doing, but you people left me no choice.”
He’d told himself the damn gun wasn’t important, but he’d been wrong about that, too. The explosion split the dusty silence like a thunderclap.
He couldn’t remember actually making the decision to hit the ground, Tyler thought a second later. But apparently he had and apparently he almost hadn’t been fast enough. The slashed shoulder of his leather jacket was evidence of that. Losing your edge, buddy, he told himself tightly. Better start getting out in the field again, sharpen up those reflexes.
“You shouldn’t have done that, mister.” The soft voice shook. “I was going for a wing shot, but if you’d jumped the other way this whole thing would have turned out bad for the both of us. I’ve got no desire to bring my baby into the world with blood on my—oh!”
The abrupt exclamation ended in a small gasp, and something about the vulnerability of that noise drove all caution from his mind. Quickly he got to his feet.
Her eyes were squeezed shut and the gun was beside her on the floor of the car. Tye seized his chance.
“Whoever you think I am, you’re wrong, lady,” he said tersely. “You need to get to a delivery room, and fast. Where are the car keys?”
“I guess the part Granny Lacey used to call the rest-and-be-thankful stage is over.” Her voice was thready. “The car broke down, mister. Did I make a mistake about you?”
“I made a couple about you, so I guess we’re even,” he answered briefly. “Just tell me if I’ve got it right. Someone’s after you, this junker isn’t going anywhere and you’re about to have a baby. That about it?” At her nod he went on, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. “How long have you been in labor?”
“My water broke about half an hour after the car died,” she murmured. Which explained the dampness of the ground between her heels, he thought in relief. “I’m pretty sure I’m fully dilated now. My body’s telling me it’s time to start pushing.”
Tye could still remember the first foal he’d watched being born. Del Hawkins had rousted him, Connor, Riggs and Jess from their beds, only waiting long enough for them to pull on jeans and boots. The four of them had exchanged furious glances, but after a week at the Double B they’d known better than to flat-out confront the wheelchair-bound ex-Marine.
He’d been a tough and surly sixteen-year-old at the time, Tye reflected. He’d thought nothing could get to him. But at the sight of that wobbly foal scrambling up on ridiculously long legs he’d realized there was a lump in his throat. In the glow of the lantern he’d seen the others averting their faces, too.
That night had been a turning point, but he wasn’t sure it qualified him for this.
“There’s a plaid carpetbag on the front seat. I need the newspaper that’s in it.”
Her top lip was dewed with moisture and she’d closed her eyes again. The pain had to be bad, Tye thought. It had her talking crazy—although stress and fear might have something to do with that, too. Who was after her? An abusive husband, despite the fact she wore no wedding band? That seemed unlikely, since from her few cryptic remarks he’d received the impression there was more than one person looking for her, but his questions would have to go unanswered for now. Unzipping his jacket and slinging it onto the roof of the car, he bent down beside her.
“You don’t want to read the paper. If there’s something in that carpetbag I could use to boil water in I could get a fire going.”
“Newspapers are the most sterile thing you can use in an emergency like this, mister. I need it to cover the car seat for when my little one comes out.” She opened her eyes, and for the first time he saw they were almost the same color as her hair—a clear honey-gold, but with a flash of unexpected humor in them. “My Granny Lacey was a midwife, and I started attending birthings with her when I was just a teeny girl myself. I’d be beholden to you for any help you could give me, though.”
She bit her lip, the smile in her eyes disappearing. “But no matter how far along I am, if a car with out-of-state plates slows down you grab ahold of that gun. I can’t explain now, but it appears someone’s looking to bring harm to me and my baby. I—I figured you were working with them,” she added. “I’m real sorry for shooting at you, mister.”
“The name’s Adams. Tyler Adams.”
He reached over the seat for the carpetbag, oddly glad for any excuse to take his gaze from that steady golden one and surprised to find himself feeling so off balance. It was the situation, not the woman, he thought. It couldn’t be the woman, because women never made him feel off balance.
“Susannah Bird. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ad—”
Her heels were no longer dug into the earth, but braced on the edge of the seat. As he laid another section of newsprint beneath her upraised knees, her words broke off and the next moment he felt his wrist being held in an unexpectedly strong grip.
“This is it.”
The soft tones had been replaced by an effort-filled mutter. Her bent legs opened, the cherry-patterned skirt that till now had provided a tent-like decorum slipping up her thighs. Automatically he moved his gaze to her face, feeling unexpected heat mount in his own, and found himself meeting a fierce honey-gold glare.
“This isn’t no time to stand on ceremony, Tye. And if you’re the squeamish kind, I’ll thank you to leave me to handle this myself,” she ground out between cracked lips.
She was right, he thought, angry with himself. Even though he’d only met Susannah Bird moments ago, even though what she was about to go through would leave no room for modesty, it was the most basic, natural act in the world. And although there’d been a more immediate reason for his returning to New Mexico after all these years, there was no denying that in the back of his mind he’d also had the vague thought that in the place where his life had been turned around once, he might again find some kind of renewal, some kind of grounding.
Before he’d even reached his destination he’d stumbled onto the opportunity to help bring new life into the world. How much more grounded could he get?
“You don’t get rid of me as easily as that,” he said, the curtness in his voice not directed at her. “I’m no Granny Lacey, but I’m all you’ve got. I’m staying.”
Incredibly, the parched lips curved into a smile even as the harsh panting continued and her brows knitted together. For a second her grip on him slackened and he reached into the carpetbag by his feet.
Despite the climbing morning heat, the bottle of water he’d noticed was still cool. Rummaging a little deeper, he came up with a neatly-folded washcloth. Gently he ran the dampened cloth over her moisture-beaded forehead, her dry lips. Through her lashes she shot him a grateful glance.
“Feels…good,” she managed. “Baby…crowning yet, Tye?”