A Wife for a Westmoreland / Claiming His Royal Heir: A Wife for a Westmoreland

Jason rubbed his chin a moment. “I would have to say nothing in particular unless they are white, granny-style ones.”

“They aren’t.” He hadn’t told Jason why he was asking, and Jason, the easygoing Westmoreland, wouldn’t ask … There was no doubt in Derringer’s mind that everyone else would.

“Then I really don’t know,” Jason said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I think some pieces of clothing are supposed to convey messages about people. I picked white because it usually means innocence. But then again, Fannie Nelson had on a pair of low-riding jeans one day that showed her white panties, and she is a long way from being innocent.”

“Aren’t you curious as to why I want to know?”

“Yes, I’m curious, but not enough to ask. I figure you have your reasons and I don’t want to come close to thinking what they might be.”

Derringer nodded, understanding why Jason felt that way. His cousin knew his history with women. And what Jason said was true. He had his reasons, all right.

“So what do you plan to do today now that you’ve returned to the world of the living? I heard the E.R. doc tell you to take it easy for at least a week or so to recuperate, so you’re still under restrictions,” Jason reminded him.

“Yes, but I’m not restricted from driving. I’m going to hang around here and take it easy for a few more days before venturing out anywhere.”

“I’m glad you’re following the doc’s advice. Although things could have been worse, that was still a nasty fall you took. And as far as your question regarding women’s undergarments, I suggest you talk to Zane when he gets back from Boulder.” Jason chuckled and then added, “And be prepared to take notes.”

Two days later Derringer left home for the first time since his accident and drove to Zane’s Hideout. He was glad to see his brother’s truck parked in the yard, which meant he was back. Jason was right. He should have been prepared to take notes. Zane, who was only fourteen months older but a heck of a lot wiser where women were concerned, had no qualms about telling him what he wanted to know.

According to Zane, the color and style of a woman’s panties said a lot about her. Sexually liberated women wore thongs or barely-there panties, all colors except white, and they rarely wore pastel colors. Most of them preferred black.

Zane further went on to say that women who liked to tease men wore black lace. Women who preferred lace to any other design were women who liked to look and feel pretty. And bikini panties weren’t as popular these days as thongs and hipsters, so a woman still wearing bikini panties weren’t as sexually liberated as others.

Derringer smiled when Zane, with a serious look on his face, advised him to steer clear of women who wore granny panties. Zane furthermore claimed that women who wore red panties gave the best blow jobs. Those with yellow panties the majority of the time weren’t afraid to try anything and were pretty good with a pair of handcuffs. Blue panties–wearing women were loyal to a fault—although they had a tendency to get possessive sometimes, and those who preferred wearing green were only after your money, so the use of double condoms was in order.

It had taken his brother almost an hour to make it to pink panties and, according to the Laws of Zane, women who wear pink panties were the ones you needed to stay away from because they had the word marriage written all over them, blasting like neon lights. They were a cross between innocent and a woman with an inner hunger for getting laid. But in the end she would still want a wedding ring on her finger.

“Okay, now that you’ve taken up more than an hour of my time, how about telling me why you’re so interested in a woman’s panties,” Zane said, eyeing him curiously.

For a moment Derringer considered not telling his brother anything, but then thought better of it. He, his five brothers and all his cousins were close, but there was a special bond between him, Zane and Jason. Besides, it was evident that Zane knew a lot more about women than he did, so maybe his brother could give him some sound advice about how to handle what had occurred that night, just in case he had been set up.

“Some woman came over to my place the night I was injured and let herself in. I can’t remember who she was, but I do remember making love to her.”

Zane stared at him intently for a moment. “Are you absolutely sure you made love to her and didn’t imagine the whole thing? When we took you home from the hospital—right before I had to take off for the airport—you were pretty high on those pain meds. Megan figured that you would probably sleep through most of the night, although she set out more medicine for you to take later.”

Derringer shook his head. “Yeah, I was pretty drugged up, but I remember making love to her, Zane. And to prove I didn’t dream the whole thing, I found her panties in bed with me the next morning.” What he decided not to say was that as far as he was concerned, it had been the best lovemaking he’d ever experienced with a woman.

Zane drew in a deep breath and then said on a heavy sigh. “You better hope it wasn’t Ashira. Hell, man, if you didn’t use a condom she would love to claim you’re her new baby’s daddy.”

Derringer rubbed the ache that had suddenly crept into his temples at the thought. “It wasn’t Ashira, trust me. This woman left one hell of an impression. I’ve never experienced lovemaking like it before. It was off the charts. Besides, Ashira called a few days after hearing about the accident. She left town to go visit her sick grandmother in Dakota the day before the accident and won’t be back for a few weeks.”

“You do know there’s a way for you to find out the identity of your uninvited visitor, don’t you?” Zane asked.

Derringer glanced over at him. “How?”

“Did you forget about the video cameras we had installed on your property to protect the horses, the week before your fall? Anyone pulling into your yard would be captured on film if they got as far as your front porch.”

Derringer blinked when he remembered the video camera and wondered why he hadn’t recalled it sooner. He got up from Zane’s table and swiftly strode to the door. “I need to get home and check out that tape,” he said without looking back.

“What happens when you find out who she is?” Zane called out.

He slowed to a stop and glanced over his shoulder. “Whoever she is, she will be sorry.” He then turned and continued walking.

He meant what he said. Thanks to Zane, the mystery might have been solved. But once Derringer discovered the woman’s identity, her nightmare for what she’d done would just be beginning, he thought, getting into his truck and driving away. He had a feeling his nightmare would continue until he found her—their night together had been so good, it haunted his dreams.

He made it back to Derringer’s Dungeon in record time, and once inside his house he immediately went to his office to log on to his computer. The technician who had installed the video camera had told him he had access to the film from any computer anywhere with his IP address. This would be the first time he had reason to view the footage since the cameras had been installed.

A year ago his Westmoreland cousins from Montana had expanded their very successful horse-breeding and training business and had invited him, Jason and Zane to join as partners. Since all three were fine horsemen—although you couldn’t prove how good he was, considering what had happened on Monday—they had jumped at the chance to be included. In anticipation of the horses that would be arriving, they had decided to install cameras on all three of their properties to make sure horse thieves, which were known to pop up every so often in these parts, didn’t get any ideas about stealing from a Westmoreland.

Derringer hauled in a deep breath when the computer came to life and he typed in the code to get him to the video-camera channel and almost held his breath as he searched for the date he wanted. He then sat there, with his gaze glued to the computer screen, and waited with bated breath for something to show up.

It seemed it took forever before the lights of a vehicle came into view. The time indicated it wasn’t early afternoon, not quite dark, but there had been a thunderstorm brewing. He then recalled it had been raining something awful with thunder and lightning flashing all around. At one point the intensity of it had awakened him.

He squinted at the image, trying to make out the truck that turned into his yard in the torrential rain. It seemed the weather worsened and rain started to pour down on the earth the moment the vehicle pulled into his yard.

It took only a second to recall whose SUV was in focus and he could only lean back in his chair, not believing what he was seeing. The woman who got out of her truck, battling the weather before tackling the huge box on his porch by dragging it inside his place was none other than Lucia Conyers.

He shook his head trying to make heads or tails of what he was seeing. Okay, he had it now. He figured, for whatever reason, Lucia had come by—probably as a favor to Chloe—to check on him and had been kind enough to bring the box inside the house, out of the rain.

He sat there watching the computer screen, expecting her to come back out at any minute and then get in her truck and pull off. He figured once she left, another vehicle would drive up, and the occupant of that car would be the woman he’d slept with. But as he sat there for another twenty minutes or so viewing the screen, Lucia never came back out.

Lucia Conyers was his Puddin’ Tame?

Derringer shook his head, thinking that there was no way. He then decided to fast-forward the tape to five o’clock the next morning. His eyes narrowed suspiciously when a few minutes later he watched his front door open and Lucia ease out of it as if she was sneaking away from the scene of some crime. And she was wearing the same clothes she had on when she’d first arrived the night before. It was obvious she had dressed hurriedly and was moving rather quickly toward her SUV.

Damn. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t seeing it for himself. She was the one woman he would never have suspected, not in a million years. But from the evidence he’d gotten off his video camera, Lucia was the woman he had slept with. Lucia, his sister-in-law’s best friend. Lucia was innocent—at least his assumption of that had been right. His mystery lover had been Lucia, the woman who would shy away from him and act skittish whenever he came around her.

Last month he recalled hearing Chloe and his sisters tease her about this being the last year of her twenties and challenge her to write a list of everything she wanted to do before hitting the big three-oh. He couldn’t help wondering if she had added something outlandish like getting pregnant before her biological clock stopped ticking or ridding herself of her virginity.

Anger filled him, seeped through every pore in his body. Lucia Conyers had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. She better have a good reason for getting into bed with him that night two weeks ago.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number to his sister-in-law’s magazine.

“Simply Irresistible, may I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to speak to Lucia Conyers, please,” he said, trying to control his anger.

“Sorry, but Ms. Conyers just stepped out for lunch.”

“Did she say where she was going?” he asked.

The receptionist paused and then asked. “Who may I ask is calling?”

“This is Mr. Westmoreland.”

“Oh, Mr. Westmoreland, how are you? Your wife and baby were here a couple of days ago, and your daughter looks just like you.”

Derringer shook his head. Evidently the woman thought he was Ramsey, which was okay with him if he could get the information he wanted out of her.