Rancher's Baby

“Out!” Dulcie stomped her foot and flung out an arm toward the door.

With a last unreadable glance at his sister, Day left the room.

When the door closed behind him, Dulcie turned to face Tye. Or maybe turned on him was more accurate, he decided. The woman didn’t look happy. Even so, she was enchanting.

Her glossy black hair curled wildly to a point below her shoulders, and her dark eyes were sparkling with temper. Her brows were drawn together in a manner that she probably thought looked ferocious, but to him only emphasized her fragility and femininity. He’d been attracted to her quiet, self-contained beauty in Albuquerque, but he’d sensed there was more to her than she would share with him. Perhaps that had been part of her charm.

Now he was seeing what lay below the surface. And far from boring or repulsing him, he found this new, spirited woman more exciting than ever.

“And you,” she said in a tone laden with fury. “How dare you talk about me behind my back? If I’d wanted Day to know you were Ryan’s father, I would have told him myself.”

That stung. Already he was absurdly proud of his newfound parent status. “You should have told him,” he said harshly. “Just like you know in your heart you should have told me.”

That stopped her. Dulcie paused with her mouth open to deliver another verbal blast, and to his chagrin, he saw tears rising in her eyes. “This won’t work,” she said. “You’re going to have to leave.”

He would have gone to her and taken her in his arms, but she dragged her sleeve across her eyes and he realized her temper hadn’t abated. Instead, he crossed his arms and shook his head. “Nope.”

“But I can’t think when you’re around.” She crossed the floor to him and placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Tye. Each of us needs to have time to decide what we want for Ryan before we try to discuss it. I won’t try to exclude you anymore. I just don’t want to make any rash decisions.”

She looked so appealing that he couldn’t prevent himself from unfolding his arms and sliding his uninjured hand up to cup her elbow. Drawing her closer, he slipped his arms around her shoulders and dropped his head to nuzzle his nose in her soft hair. “I don’t need time,” he murmured. “I know exactly what I want for our son.”

“And what’s that?” she whispered. She held herself rigid and unyielding, but her breathing was shallow and uneven and her breath was warm against his throat. The tips of her breasts brushed his chest over and over again. He had to restrain himself from yanking her to him so that he could feel every womanly curve again.

But he didn’t want to spook her. And truthfully, he didn’t feel good enough right now for a serious advance. He wanted to do this right. Tye kissed her ear, then began to trail his lips along her temple. The blood was pulsing through his body in a stirring tempo heightened by her proximity. “I’m prepared to marry you.”

She stood frozen for a moment, but he’d expected some initial shock and he kept up the lightly sensual caresses. In a minute she’d think it through and be relieved. Maybe she would even be glad-”You’re prepared to marry me?” Her voice was strident and filled with fury as she tore herself out of his embrace, and he realized that she wasn’t reacting in quite the way he’d anticipated.

“Yes.” She should be pleased, shouldn’t she? It was important that Ryan have a father in his life. And legitimacy. That was important, too.

“You’re prepared to marry me.” This time it wasn’t a question but a statement loaded with sarcasm. “What a lucky girl I am.” Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed Tye from head to toe and back again with insulting thoroughness.

“Look.” He didn’t know what to say to reassure her. “We’ve both made mistakes. But I’d like to correct them. I can provide for you and Ryan, if that’s part of the problem here.” He knew he sounded defensive, but he couldn’t figure out why she seemed to be so mad now.

“Marriage to you isn’t going to correct anything,” Dulcie said emphatically. “I don’t need you to provide for Ryan and me. I have a family and work right here on the ranch. You, on the other hand, travel constantly. I have no intention of marrying another man who plunks me in an apartment somewhere and takes off for weeks on end.”

“You know my schedule is flexible. We could work something out.” Although he couldn’t think of anything workable right at the moment.

“How would I know your schedule is flexible?” Her voice rose. “I don’t know anything about your work! You take pictures.and that’s all you’ve ever told me. Pictures of what? Something that requires travel, obviously.”

He hesitated. His work was a private thing, always had been. Not even his family in Montana knew how well he’d done for himself. It wasn’t something he’d consciously planned. It was more that he’d felt separate, not quite a part of a family unit for as long as he could remember. He knew he was like a son to Uncle Ike and Aunt Gem, like a brother to their two daughters, but he’d always felt in his heart that he didn’t really belong.

His photography was the only way he’d ever found to define himself, to identify himself without needing the context of family to tell him who he was. He was proud of what he’d accomplished, proud of who he was. And if he wanted to create a family with Dulcie, he supposed he’d have to share that with her.

He crossed to Day’s desk, silently pointing to the cover of a glossy stock journal on the corner.

Dulcie raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is mine.” He could remember the day he’d taken the photo like it was yesterday. He’d waited for two hours in the hot sun for that Brangus bull to look his way. Finally, he’d begun to throw small pebbles to attract the dozing animal’s attention. It had worked a little too well. When the bull had spotted him, he’d not only looked but charged. It wasn’t the first time in Tye’s life that he’d been charged or chased, but it was the first that he’d ever vaulted a fence running uphill wearing more than a dozen pounds of camera equipment.

But Dulcie didn’t look very impressed. “You take pictures of cattle?”

“Among other things.” He shrugged. “I’ve been described as a photographer of ’the Western way of life.’“

“And magazines pay you for that?”

“Yep.” He hesitated, then figured he’d better let her hear it all. “I’ve sold prints to collectors and had two coffee-table books published. Dulcie, money is not a problem. I’m more than able to take care of you and Ryan. You wouldn’t have to work.”

“That’s not why I asked.” Her voice was still acid. “You know a lot about me, but in the time we knew each other, you never shared anything about yourself. All I Was to you was a warm body—” her voice rose “—and that’s no basis for marriage. So stop feeling guilty about me, cowboy. I wouldn’t marry you if you made a million bucks a year!”

She started past him, clearly planning a grand exit with the last word, but his temper, usually so even, snapped beneath the contempt in her tone.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her to a halt, shoving his face close to hers, ignoring the startled shock in her eyes. “Don’t think we’re done with this discussion,” he snarled. “I know all about how it feels to grow up as a bastard with no father, and my son is never going to be deprived that way!”

“Ryan is not a bastard!” she shouted back, yanking herself away. “And don’t you ever think that he’ll be deprived in any way. I did a fine job carrying him and bearing him alone, and I can do just fine raising him alone.”

He winced as her sudden movement jolted a shaft of pain through his damaged finger, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and find something soothing to say to her-The door slammed.

His eyes flew open and he groaned, putting a hand to his throbbing head. She was gone. He could hear her quick, agitated footsteps receding along the hall for a minute, but the room spinning around him claimed his attention and he dropped to his knees on the study floor.

Guess his timing wasn’t so great. Apparently, Dulcie didn’t see marriage to him as the sensible solution that he thought it was. When he felt better, he’d try to talk to her again. If he ever felt better. Right now, about the only thing he was sure of was that he’d like to detach his head and set it on a shelf for a few days.

* * *

She’d have sworn this mattress hadn’t been so lumpy yesterday. Dulcie turned over restlessly once more, resolutely ignoring the glowing numbers of her bedside clock. She already knew it was late.

For the past several hours, she hadn’t been in this bed, on this ranch.

No, she’d been several hours and many miles north of here. Once again, with the startling clarity reserved for memories of profound shock, she’d walked into the tiny living room of the Albuquerque apartment she shared with her husband, Lyle. Or at least, it was the home where she’d lived while Lyle was jetting around the country wheeling and dealing the way he insisted a successful businessman had to if he wanted to make it in a competitive market.

The apartment had begun to feel like a prison as her marriage unraveled. Finally, after a last huge blowup, when she’d faced the fact that her marriage was over, she’d gone home. Back to the Red Arrow, where she was needed, where she was loved.

But just as she had begun to see that life didn’t end with divorce, Lyle had called. Granted, he said he’d phoned to tell her that the divorce papers should be ready for her signature within the week, but it was what he didn’t say that brought her back to Albuquerque. Lyle had sounded…what? Lonely? Perhaps. Depressed? That, too. There had been some indefinable poignancy in his voice, in the way he’d simply hung on the line as if he had just needed to hear her….

And in that drawn-out, hesitant moment, all her rage, all the animosities that had built between them as a result of his frequent and protracted absences vanished as she remembered the way it had been when they first met. Was he sorry things had come to this? Was there still a chance that they could salvage their love and their life together?

She didn’t know.

And that was what took her back to the apartment that last time. She could never forgive herself if she walked out of her marriage without doing everything she could to preserve it. Marriage was a process of give and take. Maybe she hadn’t given enough. Maybe Lyle was having some of the very same thoughts.

The apartment door was locked when she arrived in the early evening. Good thing her husband got home so late—she’d have time to clean the place and fix dinner. When the lock clicked and the door smoothly opened, she walked into the living room, tossing her purse on the hall table. Absently she noted that Lyle must be home, after all—his briefcase lay in the middle of the living room floor. It struck her as odd, considering what a freak about neatness and order he’d always been, but she was too intent on her mission to really notice. Maybe it was better this way—more spontaneous. If she had too much more time to think about what she wanted to say, she’d have it so mixed up she’d never get it out.

Rounding the corner into the hallway, she headed past the kitchen and dining areas, eager to find Lyle. A cursory glance showed no one in the kitchen, and she started to move on, but then she looked farther, at the small pine table tucked into the nook.

And she stopped, riveted in a shocked horror that froze her into immobility.

Lyle stood in front of the table, between the legs of a woman who was reclining on her elbows, her long hair streaming down as her head drooped backward. She was naked from the waist down and the tailored blouse beneath her suit jacket was unbuttoned and shoved to her sides, baring her breasts. Lyle’s pants sagged around his ankles as the thighs of the woman on the table gripped his hips. His hands were on her breasts, kneading in rhythm with his thrusting hips. Amazingly, the pair were almost totally silent. Dulcie could nearly hear her own breathing.

She could definitely hear the hitching sob she sucked in as the scene before her seared into her brain.