Warrior's Baby. Sheri WhiteFeather
head, trying to expel the unwelcome desire. Lovemaking and babies. The two, of course, were meant to go hand in hand. Just not in this case. If he made her pregnant it would be done in a doctor’s office by way of a syringe. He did not want an emotional involvement in his life, and even though sex didn’t always lead to one, an affair with his surrogate was asking for trouble. With a capital T.
“Where exactly in California do you live?” he asked.
She had already begun setting the table. From the moment she’d arrived, she’d rolled up her designer sleeves and pitched right in, chopping potatoes and squeezing oranges. Colt allowed his gaze to roam over her backside. Her jeans were a little too tight for proper ranch wear, but he didn’t mind.
Melanie turned and smiled, silverware in hand. She had a genuine smile. A nice feature his child might inherit.
“Santa Monica. As close to the ocean as I could get.”
He tried not to widen his eyes. Ostrich cowboy boots and the beach. “Isn’t that expensive?”
“Not as expensive as Malibu. And I live in a condo, a leased one.”
He cracked another egg into a mixing bowl, then tried to fish out a renegade shell that had settled with it. “But still...even a rental next to the ocean must cost a small fortune.”
“It’s worth it.” She watched him chase the eggshell around with a tablespoon. “Colt, do you need some help?”
“Actually, yes, I do.” He grinned. “I’m not too macho to admit when I need a woman.” Immediately he bit back his grin, wishing he could bite back his words. “In the kitchen, I mean,” he added, much too late.
Melanie handled his blunder like the true lady she was, ignoring it, much to his relief. “Here.” She took the spoon and scooped out the shell on her first try. He stood nearby while she finished his original task. The eggs were cracked with one hand, shells discarded quickly.
Colt liked having her in such close proximity so he didn’t move away. Instead he made a point of watching her scramble the eggs as though her culinary skills fascinated him. Her deft movements reminded him of his grandmother in the kitchen, of happier times and his favorite meals.
Colt took pleasure in having a woman cook for him. Of course, not enough to welcome one back into his life, but what harm was there in allowing her to fix breakfast? “I’m great on an outdoor grill or over a campfire, but I never liked to fuss in the kitchen much.”
Melanie poured the eggs into a pan, immediately stirring them with a rubber spatula. “Well then, we ought to get along just fine. I can never get the charcoal lit, and I don’t know the first thing about campfires.”
Ten minutes later they shared breakfast in the dining room, at the table his grandmother used to dust religiously with lemon oil. Colt noticed Melanie ate sparingly and avoided the bacon all together. He thought about teasing her about being a “cheap date,” but decided it would probably be in bad taste. There was nothing cheap about their impending relationship.
Colt gobbled up the bacon she had rejected. “So, when are you going back to California?”
“I have to head back by the end of next week for a couple of business meetings. If and when I come back to Montana depends on—” a bright blue gaze met his “—what you decide.”
Colt bit the inside of his lip, an irritating if not painful habit. Once he divulged the skeleton in his closet, would Melanie Richards want to bear his child?
“If we decide on this arrangement,” he said, “I was wondering where you plan on living, because a long-distance pregnancy isn’t what I had in mind. I want to be involved the way a father should be, attending doctor visits.”
Melanie had a quick response. “The lease is almost up on my condo, so moving back to Montana isn’t a problem. I can pretty much work from anywhere, as long as I meet my deadlines. And since the situation would be temporary, Gloria said I could stay with her.” She sipped her juice. “But I’d rather get my own place. She already has eight kids underfoot. They don’t need me and my art supplies taking up space.”
He smiled. She always managed to say all the right things, put him at ease. “This house used to be a lodge. I’ve got an empty cabin out back. Maybe you could take up residence there.”
“A cabin?” Her eyes sparkled. “That might be just what I need. I have to admit I miss Montana. The rat race in L.A. gets to me sometimes. And the rent has to be more reasonable than a beachfront condo, right?”
Colt realized they were both acting as though she were already his surrogate. “If you become my surrogate, there’s no way I’d expect you to pay rent. I intend to cover your housing and medical expenses in addition to the fee we talked about.” He couldn’t resist a wink. “I’ll even buy your groceries. You need to eat more, put some meat on those tiny bones of yours.”
She laughed. “Oh, I think pregnancy might take care of that.” Colt finished his coffee. “How would you feel about me being present at the birth?”
A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “I don’t know...I hadn’t thought about—Were you there when Meagan was born?”
He nodded. “Most incredible experience of my life.”
The pink stain on her cheeks remained. “Maybe we could start with those birthing classes and work up to the actual event.”
Colt smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re modest. I thought California girls ran around in those itty-bitty bikinis.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s entirely different.”
His body temperature rose a degree. Melanie in a skimpy bikini was a pleasant thought. “Why don’t you talk to Gloria about the actual event? She must be a pro by now. And speaking from experience, women forget all about modesty when they’re delivering a baby.”
Melanie looked up from her unfinished meal. “Do you always say everything that’s on your mind?”
“Pretty much.”
But not always. He wouldn’t dare say what was on his mind now. She was concerned about modesty? What about his part in the insemination?
Colt had already discussed the clinical details with the doctor. Fresh sperm versus frozen. Heck of a thing for a guy to have to contemplate. After weighing the facts, he’d opted fresh since usually twice as many inseminations were required with frozen.
He gazed at the beautiful woman seated across from him and couldn’t help wishing another option was available. What? Penetration instead of insemination? He had no business entertaining that thought. None whatsoever.
Three
As she and Colt strode across the grounds to the barn, Melanie noticed it had been refurbished since the last time she had seen it. Everything was the same, yet different. The east side of the ranch still yielded a rodeo arena, the west, a chicken coop no longer clucking with life. There were almost as many horses as there had been, but a lot fewer steers.
Most of all, she was different. Inside and out. Gertrude Richards had been tucked away, and Melanie, confident California artist had emerged. Colt, too, it seemed had changed. True, his silky, black mane and heart-stopping wink were the same, but the wild teenage boy was gone. The brisk Montana winds had carried him away and brought back a man—mature, strong and proud, as rooted to the land as a tall ponderosa pine.
Colt went into the tack room while Melanie waited in the barn, amusing herself with a friendly mare. As she stroked the horse’s blaze, it nodded in approval. In the next stall, a flashy, red dun gelding poked out its big, snorting nose and whinnied. “Just like a male,” she said to the mare, “always looking for attention.”
Colt’s laughter sounded behind her. “Young Rocky there doesn’t even know he’s male. Now, I’ve got a champion stallion—Outlaw’s Fancy...”