A Babe In The Woods. Cara Colter
by this man!
A stranger, with a suspicious wound, and a baby she did not think was his.
The air around him practically tingled with danger, mystery and an aura of exotic worlds she knew nothing about.
She had a lot of questions to ask and she ordered them in her mind as she bent to the task at hand, knowing, even before she asked, that his answers would not satisfy her curiosity, nor lessen the sense of danger vibrating off him in waves that were unmistakably sensuous.
“You’re trussing me up like a mummy,” he complained.
“Since you mention it, where is junior’s mommy?”
“She died. She died when he was born.”
“And you’re his daddy, right?”
A flick of emotion in those complicated eyes. “Right.”
She felt a shiver go up and down her spine as she registered the lie, but she said with absolute calm, “Well, you’re welcome to the cabin. It’s primitive but if it’s fresh air and fishing you’re looking for, you’ll find plenty of both here. I have to move on, but if you need me to leave you anything—”
“You can’t go anywhere tonight. It’s nearly dark.”
It was said pleasantly enough, but she had the uneasy feeling she had just become a prisoner. Still, she had her shotgun outside the door, and her wits.
“That’s probably a good idea,” she said pleasantly. “It wouldn’t be smart to go thrashing around the mountains in the dark. We’ll muddle through tonight, and I’ll go in the morning.”
She cast him a look from under her lashes. She knew these mountain trails, night or day. And besides, there would be a moon.
Ben McKinnon watched his prisoner carefully. Because that was what she was now. He could not risk letting her go and telling anyone she had seen him with the baby. He wondered if she knew it, and suspected she did. Her eyes, gorgeous blue, almost turquoise, sparkled with spirit and intelligence, despite the folksy cobwebs and chimney soot routine.
She was a complication he didn’t need. One he resented. He had not planned on anyone being at the cabin. He needed five days, maybe six, in a place where he could not be found and would not be looked for. Meanwhile, Jack Day, a friend from the Federal Intelligence Agency, would find out who had betrayed him and if the vengeance of Noel East’s political enemies extended to the baby. Back there in the woods, Ben had ditched a high-tech two-way radio that he could check in on later.
Noel East. A humble and courageous man, a single father, who had put his name forward as a candidate in the tiny country of Crescada’s first free elections.
Ben had been assigned to protect him. The immensity of his failure would haunt him into old age.
The baby began to howl, thankfully, bringing him back to the here and now before he saw again in his mind’s eye that strangely peaceful look on Noel’s face, heard again his dying words.
“How can something so small make so much noise?” the woman asked, astounded.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing for three days,” he said, and saw his mistake register in her face. He’d just said he was the kid’s father, one of those lies he had become adept at telling in the course of his work. Necessary lies. “He’s hungry,” he said, hoping that interpreting the caterwauling would win him back some lost ground.
“Have you got food for him?”
“In the pack.” He sprang up when she moved toward it, intercepting her smoothly. “I’ll get it.”
He seemed to be doing very poorly here. He had failed to allay her suspicions, failed to convince her he was the baby’s father, now she knew there was something in that pack he didn’t want her to see.
“We need to heat this stuff up,” he said, again hoping to impress her with what an expert he was on formula preparation.
“I’ll get some wood and we’ll light the stove.”
As soon as she was out the door, Ben set down the formula. He shut his eyes and pressed a hand against his wound. Hell, he hadn’t hurt like this for a long time. But turpentine and brown sugar?
He limped over to the small window and looked out into the gathering darkness. She was splitting kindling, not heading for the horses. He could hear her whistling, which he thought was probably a ploy to make him think she was more accepting of this situation than she was.
“Would you give it a rest?” he asked the baby.
The baby ignored him.
He was not a man used to being ignored. Or used to babies. And certainly not used to a woman like that. When he’d first seen her on the porch, he’d thought she was a boy. Then she had stretched, and not only shown him some very unboyish curves but her face had come out from under the shadow of the brim of her hat, and her thick dark braid had flopped over her slender shoulder. She was more than lovely. Striking. Stunning.
What was a woman like that doing running a rugged business like this by herself? Hiding, he figured, probably every bit as much as he was. Just from something different.
He was willing to bet, from the suspicion in her eyes, it had been a man.
He resented that unknown man, too. Destroying her trust when he needed a trusting woman most.
Giving her one more glance, he went back to his pack and found a little plastic container of green powder that claimed it became peas when water was added. He dumped some into a dish and added water. Instant pond scum.
The baby stopped crying as soon as he picked him up, a reaction that pleased and horrified him at the same time.
“Open up,” he muttered.
The baby opened his mouth, then closed it firmly just before the spoon made it in. Green stuff dribbled down his little blue outfit.
Ben scowled. The baby pouted. Ben glanced around. He listened. He could still hear the ax biting into wood.
“Okay, okay. Chugga-chugga choo-choo. Here comes the train. Open the tunnel. Open the tunnel!”
The baby laughed, the tunnel opened, the green slime went in, was chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. He held out the spoon again. The baby pouted. The kid wouldn’t eat now without the train routine.
Ben felt he had been through just about the toughest week in his career, first losing Noel East, who had become his friend, and then smuggling this baby, Noel’s child, out of Crescada. And now he had to play choo-choo to get the damn kid to eat? It didn’t seem that life could get much more unfair.
The baby got a look of intense concentration on his face. He turned a most unbecoming shade of purple. A horrible aroma drifted up to Ben’s nostrils.
He conceded his fate; it could get more unfair after all.
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