Baby Enchantment Page 12

  You believe you do not love this child yet. Love will come in due time. You must open your heart. Yes, I know that is not easy. I know that your heart is hurting because of the bad experience with the man you loved. But there will be another man for you, a better man. A man who understands the specialness of children.

  I am a poor humble priest, only doing the job that is set before me. I do not question the ways of God. I only question the ways of man, which is something you are familiar with, no? You have questioned the ways of men many times. Many, many times.

  I am smiling to myself. It is good that you have a questioning mind. You will find out what you need to know. This I promise you.

  Now I must rest. Writing is not easy for me. If we could talk, I would ask you the nature of this magic book that you use for your work. Por Dios, but it is a clever sort of machine! I would like it if you would write back.

  But I suppose that communication from you is too much to expect when you don’t seem to know that I exist. Even I am not so sure sometimes that I exist! Ay de mi, this is a strange life for a priest. Perhaps I should pray.

  Pray, then rest. That is a good plan. Peace be with you, dear Brooke. Hasta la vista! Until later.

  Your humble servant,

  Luís Reyes de Santiago

  Chapter Eight

  “The chili smells absolutely wonderful,” Brooke said.

  “It is,” Cord assured her as he bore steaming-hot enamel bowls of food to the table. Brooke had set the table with cloth napkins and flowers. He’d asked where she’d found them, and she told him that the napkins had been in a kitchen drawer and the flowers in a trash bin behind the communal dining hall.

  “Left over from the wedding, maybe,” she said as she tore open a package of saltines.

  “Ah, the wedding.” He didn’t know why he felt so bleak every time he thought about Hank and Erica’s being married. He’d always considered it something of an advantage to be single, especially when he was traveling with the rodeo. He hadn’t had time for serious relationships.

  Brooke set the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “There,” she said. She glanced at the overhead light. “I wonder if there are any candles around here.”

  Candles? Such refinements were foreign to him. Silently, he watched as she rummaged around in cabinets until she came up with a couple of half-burned candle stubs. She dug around until she found a pack of unpopped popcorn and poured it into glasses, into which she stuck the stubs.

  “Voilà!” she said. “We have candles.”

  He sat down at the table while she lit them. She looked beautiful in the candlelight, and when she took her place across from him, he could almost believe that they were dining in a fine restaurant in some big city, not in a small kitchen in an apartment attached to the Rancho Encantado stable.

  She lit into the chili with gusto. “Mmm, this is good,” she said.

  He’d been a little bit worried that Brooke, because of her nausea, might not be able to eat something as spicy as Mattie’s chili. He was pleased to see that this didn’t seem to be a problem.

  “Who made this?” she asked.

  “I told you, a friend.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “Not a girlfriend.”

  She stared at him. “I didn’t imply that,” she said coolly.

  “You didn’t have to. I knew what you were getting at.” He went on spooning chili into his mouth, impervious to her raised eyebrows.

  “You thought I was fishing for information.”

  “Sure did.”

  “Why would I do that when I can eat in the communal dining hall and find out all sorts of things that I really don’t need to know about you?”

  This only confirmed his suspicion that people discussed him in places that they shouldn’t have. “Like what?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “You probably know very well what.”

  “Maybe I don’t. Unless it has to do with visiting a certain yellow-painted building hereabouts.”

  “Bingo,” she said. He thought she might be struggling to maintain a disinterested position.

  “For your information, I have never been inside that place.”

  “It is of no matter to me if that’s how you wish to spend your time. The only thing is, maybe you’d better think twice before you stint on your duties around the ranch to hang out at Miss Kitti-Kat’s.”

  “I told you, that’s not where I go.”

  “Care to enlighten me?” She shot him an arch look and reached for the butter.

  This stopped him abruptly. Only a week or so ago, he wouldn’t have wanted to tell anyone about his ongoing work at Jornada Ranch. Suddenly and again, he was on the verge of telling Brooke.

  Not a good idea. He stood up and went to the sink, where he refilled his water glass.

  “Well?”

  When he turned, she was watching him.

  He sat down and leaned across the table. “Maybe I’d better tell you a story,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  He thought for a moment about whether he really wanted to do this. He wouldn’t have to tell Brooke everything. He still needed to protect himself and his position with Justine.

  “Once there was a boy,” he said slowly. “A little boy who lived in a small mining town in Nevada. The family wasn’t too respected in those parts. The father drank a lot, and the mother—well, the boy never knew her. Since his father used to beat him with great regularity, he hoped that his mother would show up someday and rescue him.”

  Brooke had gone still and quiet, and she had stopped eating. He studied her reaction for a moment before plunging ahead.

  “The boy didn’t do well in school. He couldn’t. He didn’t get to go every day because someone had to take care of his father, and it was usually him. When a teacher reported his truancy, the state stepped in and sent him to a series of foster homes, where he suffered even more abuse.”

  Brooke looked stunned and shocked.

  “I won’t finish the story if you don’t want to hear it,” he said carefully, keeping his tone level.

  She drew a deep breath. “I do want to hear it. Continue, please.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “As the boy got older, he rebelled. He ran away from a couple of foster homes and punched a social worker in the eye. He was sent to juvenile detention, where he picked fights with everyone he could. He quit school and hooked up with the rodeo circuit. He stole things that he couldn’t afford to buy, and he got into trouble with the law. He spent some time in jail, and no one ever came to see him on visitors’ day. His father died in a drunken brawl that he started, which reaffirmed the local people’s opinion that the family was no damn good. The boy was now a man, but he was an unhappy man, a man with no purpose in life.”

  “Cord,” Brooke said. “You were that boy, weren’t you?”

  He held her gaze and nodded slowly. “Yes, I was,” he said.

  “Tell me the rest of it.”

  “When I figured out that my life would never get better until I changed my ways, I decided to walk the straight and narrow. I did well on the rodeo circuit and was starting to be well known. Then I had the accident.”

  “A rodeo accident?”

  “No, ironically enough. I was driving a pickup hauling a trailer with a couple of horses inside when a tractor-trailer rig ran a stop sign and hit us broadside. The horses were injured and had to be put down. I broke my back, got a gash in my chin. For a while I wished I’d been put down, too. That accident may have been the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “You had to quit the rodeo, right?”

  He nodded. “No way I could ride in competition after they patched up my vertebrae with a couple of steel rods. I had to find me a real job. I landed here at Rancho Encantado because Justine was desperate for a ranch manager and I could do the work. Been here ever since.”

  Brooke was silent for
a time. “What does this have to do with your frequent absences?”

  “I’m getting around to that.” He leaned back in his chair. “I want to help boys who have had a rotten life. Boys like me.” He felt uncomfortable with portraying himself as a do-gooder.

  “How will you help them, Cord?”

  “By giving them something worthwhile to do with their lives. I don’t want to say too much about it right now.”

  “Any special reason?”

  “So Justine will keep me on until I decide to go. I need the money I earn here, Brooke. If Justine knew that I plan to quit soon, she’d toss me out on my ear.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Cord, that’s only because you’re neglecting your work here and she thinks you’re goofing off. Set her straight about where you are and what you’re doing. Surely she’d understand.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “She seems like a decent person.”

  “Decent, yes, but like everyone else in these parts, she’s heard stories about my family. I know my reputation around here. It’s not good.”

  Brooke appeared on the verge of asking questions, but she must have thought better of it. She finished eating her chili and pushed the bowl to one side. “Cord, why did you tell me this story?”

  “I’m not sure.” It may have had something to do with the fact that she was the only person who had been able to get close to him in a very long time. Or it may have been because she had told him about her pregnancy and made it clear that no one else knew. He felt secure with her, which surprised him.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t betray your confidence.”

  “I hope not. My success depends on my earning as much as I can here at Rancho Encantado before I give my notice.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Depends.” He still needed to make small repairs to the little cottage where Mattie and Jonathan would live once he moved into the big sprawling ranch house.

  Brooke got up and began to rinse the dishes in the sink. She glanced over her shoulder. “Would you like to see the diary I found in the old trunk?”

  He didn’t think he did, but she looked so all-fired enthusiastic. He followed her into the living room, where she turned on a light and slid a leather-bound book down from a shelf over the desk in the alcove.

  She sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. He joined her, finding it hard to concentrate when they were sitting with their thighs almost touching. Fragrance wafted from her hair, and he was conscious of her graceful hands as she carefully turned the pages of the old book.

  “See, here’s the page where Jerusha Taggart, the diary’s author, listed all the members of the wagon train. My great-great-great-grandmother’s name is right here. Her husband, James, was my great-great-great-grandfather. The names beneath theirs are those of their children.”

  Cord began to read the diary entry.

  November 15, 1849

  Today we walked even farther in the desert than usual. We are still hoping to cross the mountains before it gets too cold in the higher elevations. Our wagon master, Mr. Tyson, showed us the map that was given to him by the Mojave Indians. I must say that the journey seems arduous, but Mr. Tyson says—

  Cord couldn’t read any more. Agitated, he stood up abruptly. “I really should go. We’ll need to start out early tomorrow morning.”

  She shot him a puzzled look. “It’s not very late.”

  He couldn’t tell her that seeing the name Tyson written in that diary was more than he could bear. He’d spent most of his life trying to avoid the name’s stigma, and he thought he’d succeeded. He’d gone away, become a rodeo star and was making plans for a new life. He had put the past behind him—until now.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. He pivoted on his heel and started through the kitchen.

  “Do you want to take anything from the refrigerator with you?”

  A beer would taste mighty good. He stopped and opened the refrigerator door. The beer was cold in his hand as he turned and saw Brooke standing there, looking hurt.

  Oh, great. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. All he’d done was to adopt his customary gruff facade so that he could distance himself from his emotions. Usually, it worked. But not now. This time he felt responsible for hurting another human being, one who was becoming important to him.

  Brooke met his gaze, refusing to be the one who looked away first. As she watched, his eyes lost their hard glint and softened considerably. The tense lines around his mouth relaxed, and slowly and deliberately, he set the beer can down on the counter. Her brain barely registered this, however. She found herself leaning toward him and hoping that—

  She was hoping that he would kiss her.

  She had no business wishing for such a thing. But he was no longer a stranger, and she didn’t feel rushed, hustled or taken advantage of in any way. Instead, she felt a slow yearning curling in the pit of her stomach, a sensation she had thought she would never feel again. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling and the hope that went along with it. The experience with Leo had convinced her that she should put love and sex behind her, but she had been wrong, wrong, wrong.

  “Cord,” she said unsteadily.

  His head dipped closer; his eyes never left hers. There was something compelling in their golden depths, an urgency that made her breath catch in her throat. Her heart started to hammer. At first she intended to push him away, but her resolve evaporated when his arms went around her and pulled her close.

  “Let it happen, Brooke,” he said. “Don’t fight it.”

  She rested her cheek against his shirt, weary of resistance. Such close contact went a long way toward dispelling her loneliness, and in that moment, she wanted his arms around her forever. They were strong arms, thick with muscle, and they felt like a barrier between her and the rest of the world.

  “I—I’m not fighting anything,” she said. “I don’t know where this is going, that’s all.”

  His voice rumbled in his throat. “Does it have to go anywhere, Brooke? Can’t two people find comfort together without playing games?”

  “Games,” she said unsteadily, thinking of Leo. “I don’t like games.”

  His beard grazed her cheek. “Neither do I. But I do like you, Brooke Hollister. I like you very much.”

  She drank in the warm musky scent of him, redolent of the outdoors, of sagebrush and eucalyptus and sunbaked desert rock. The fragrance was uniquely Cord’s, didn’t remind her of anyone else.

  Slowly, his hand came up and tilted her face toward his. “May I kiss you, Brooke?”

  “Usually, men don’t ask.”

  “Usually, people don’t get off to such a bad start as we did.” The corners of his mouth curved upward.

  “Yes, Cord, you may kiss me. Only, make it a long one. I’m not in the mood for any other kind.” She gave him a tentative smile and then he laughed.

  “Neither,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek, “am I.”

  His lips descended toward hers, and she let her breath out in a sigh. He reared back. “What was that sigh all about?”

  “Relief that we’re finally doing this,” she managed to say, which made him chuckle.

  Then he kissed her thoroughly and robustly. Her arms went around him, pulling him closer so that she felt his thickly braided chest muscles through his shirt, so that she felt enveloped by his warmth. His lips were firm, his tongue insistent, and his hands came up to burrow through her hair, cupping the back of her head so that she couldn’t escape.

  Not that she wanted to. He was a good kisser, the kind of man who could knock a girl off her feet with only one kiss. He knew all the variations and had mastered them well. She was tingling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, ready for more but still unsure whether she should allow this to proceed.

  When he finally released her, she clung to him, all but gasping.

  “Well? Want to go for another one?”

  “I—I think so,” she sai
d.

  “I know so,” he said gently, but this time he turned her so that her back was to the wall and his body pinioned her there. He slid one hand around her waist and flipped off the harsh kitchen light with the other so that the only illumination came from the light above the range. His face was dark above her, but she could imagine the intensity of his expression as his lips first nuzzled her temple, then rained a string of light kisses down her cheek to her lips. To be kissing him, to be tasting his lips and tongue in so leisurely a fashion, was utter pleasure. He took his time about it, learning the contours of her mouth as she wanted him to learn the contours of her body.

  Something stirred in the deep recesses of her brain—a flicker of bewilderment that she wanted this man in that way. She shouldn’t be thinking of becoming intimate with Cord McCall. She should be focused on the overwhelming task of accepting her new role as a mother. How could she, though, with his lips and teeth and tongue so insistent? With his hand skimming up the curve of her waist to cup her breast? There was nothing tentative about his touch. It was demanding, and there was a fierceness about his kisses now, a change that had crept past her consciousness while she reveled in almost-forgotten sexual feelings.

  She wrested her lips away.

  “Cord,” she gasped against the roughness of his beard. “I don’t know about this.”

  “You seemed to know what you wanted a minute ago,” he said, his voice rasping against the smooth skin of her throat. His lips continued down her neck, dipped into the hollow at the edge of her collar.

  “I did. I don’t.” She melted as his thumb and forefinger found her nipple erect beneath her clothes. He caressed it.

  “I didn’t mark you for a tease,” he said close to her ear. “I’m usually right about that.”

  “I’m not teasing. I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  Slowly, his hand slid away from her breast. His weight eased away, and he wore an inscrutable expression.

  “If it’s not good for you, Brooke, it sure as hell won’t be good for me,” he said.