Collecting Evidence

Of course, they had to find the bastards first.

And if someone else was involved…well, he’d find that out and uncover their motive. If Jack wasn’t his son and another man was in the picture…

No, he couldn’t go there yet.

But he needed to brace himself for that possibility. Couldn’t allow himself to get too close to her or the baby until he knew the truth.

Did she think he wasn’t father material? Couldn’t she contemplate a future with him?

Agitated, mind racing with questions, he drove onto the reservation toward Aspen’s. He wasn’t surprised at the small pueblo style house with its adobe colors and Native American look. During their one glorious week in Vegas together, she’d talked about life on the reservation, her love of her culture, and her desire to teach the children and instill in them the importance of their heritage.

Aspen was deep in sleep, so he parked in the stone drive, climbed out and grabbed the key, his instincts on full alert as he scanned the property.

Satisfied no one was hiding in the shadows of the trees, he left Aspen in the car while he went to search the inside. Darkness bathed the interior as he entered, and he paused to listen for sounds of an intruder.

First thing tomorrow, he’d install a security system in Aspen’s home. One that went straight to him if anyone set off the alarm.

Slowly, he crept inside the dark entryway, flipped on a light, then scanned the foyer. Native American artwork decorated the adobe colored walls, collections of hand-made baskets, beaded jewelry, pottery and other artifacts and books filled the built-in shelves. A picture of a native Ute on horseback was centered over a soft brown leather couch opposite a woodstove in the den, which opened to the kitchen.

He moved to the left and found a master suite and bath, decorated in earth tones with accents of red, yellow and orange, and more Ute art. He searched the closet, beneath the bed, then moved to the guest bedroom on the opposite side of the kitchen.

His lungs tightened at the sight of the nursery. A primitive wooden crib sat in the midst of the freshly painted baby blue room, which held an assortment of stuffed animals, children’s books and infant toys.

Hissing a breath of relief that no intruder was inside, he stowed his gun inside his jacket, then went outside to the car and lifted Aspen from the seat. She moaned softly in her sleep, and snuggled against him as he carried her to the front stoop.

She was wrapped in the blanket, wearing the scrubs the nurse had given her at the E.R. when they’d removed her damp clothes, so he carried her to her bedroom, pulled down the covers and laid her on the crisp clean sheets. For a brief second her eyes flickered open, and she looked at him with glazed eyes.

He inhaled her sweet fragrance, the softness of her skin, and ached to crawl in bed beside her. To rekindle the heat between them.

“You’re home now,” he said gently, then pulled the quilt over her and brushed back her hair.

She tugged at his hand, and a hollow feeling of need gripped him.

“Where are you going?’ she whispered in a sleep-laced voice that triggered images of the two of them in bed together, of her voice purring his name after a night of lovemaking.

“I know it sounds silly,” she whispered, “but I don’t want to be alone.”

God, he didn’t want that, either. He wanted to make love to her.

Instead, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse. “If you need me just call.”

She nodded, closed her eyes again and curled into her bed. He ached to drop a kiss on her cheek, then her mouth, but remembered the doctor’s warning and forced himself to leave the room.

Still, his body hummed with arousal and a fierce hunger that could only be sated by Aspen.

A woman who saw him as a perfect stranger.

Chapter Five (#ulink_6af5ac36-00bb-511e-825f-85d6c2bb703b)

Dylan was exhausted but on edge, too wired to sleep.

It was the first time he’d been in Aspen’s home and he felt uncomfortable and intrigued at the same time. Her furnishings were exactly as he’d expected, reminiscent of her culture, yet the sight of the nursery made his chest ache.

How would she react when she saw the empty baby bed? When she saw Jack? Would she remember her son?

He yanked off his shirt and walked around the den/kitchen combination, wishing he was here under other circumstances. That Aspen had invited him into her home because she wanted to see him again.

He studied the Ute items in the room and was once again reminded of the road trips his family used to take when he was younger.

Once they’d stopped to observe a young Ute woman with a horde of children surrounding her as she taught them to weave baskets. His mother had photographed her, and he’d thought about that photograph when he’d first seen Aspen.

The Uncompahgre beaded horse bag on Aspen’s wall was made from tanned mule deer hide. Thousands of glass trade beads and tobacco balls were stitched into the sides and rim. The bags were used to hold pipes, carvings and religious totems and were opened only for private ceremonies.

An Uncompahgre Ute Shaved Beaver Hide Painting hung above the fireplace, and ceremonial pipes of salmon alabaster and black pipestone sat on the mantle. Several ceremonial rattles made from buffalo rawhide that were used to call spirits in Ute ceremonies decorated a pine sofa table.

Some Ute still used peyote in healing rituals. He wondered if Aspen did, or if she would use a traditional doctor with their son.

Her son—you don’t know yet that Jack is yours.