Expecting Thunder's Baby

She glared at him all over again. “What for?”

“Because my mom asked me to. She wants my family to entertain yours.”

Good grief. “When? And where?”

“Tomorrow at the old homestead.”

The ancient property where he’d grown up, she thought. A place with mesquite trees, an adobe patio and a weathered barn.

“My family misses yours,” he said, his expression deep and dark, his frown lines more pronounced. “They wanted to stay in touch, but it got awkward after the divorce…”

His words trailed, but his meaning was clear. For him, it was still awkward. For Carrie, too. They’d got married on the homestead.

“Our folks were compatible in-laws,” she said.

“Yeah.” He tugged his hand through his hair, making the strands spike. “I’m supposed to invite you, as well. My parents miss you, too.”

Her heart squeezed. She’d loved the Truenos as much as they’d loved her. “Will you be there?”

He nodded. “Mom would pitch a fit if I bailed out.”

“What about Dylan?”

“He’ll be around. He just got back in town.”

“I’d like to see everyone.”

“Then I’ll tell my meddling mom that you’re coming.” He smiled a little. “I don’t know how my dad deals with having such a pushy wife.”

She smiled, too. “The same way my dad does.”

“Poor bastards.”

“Thunder.” She scolded him, and they both laughed.

Then she caught him giving her one of his blatant looks, stabbing her with hot, hard energy. She lifted her soda and took a sip, wetting her mouth.

But it didn’t help.

Carrie’s ex-husband was seducing her all over again.

On Monday Carrie took her own car to the Trueno’s house. She pulled into the graveled driveway and parked behind her parents’ sedan. Scanning the other vehicles, she noticed a big black Hummer vehicle with California plates. Thunder’s L.A. lifestyle was showing.

Nervous, she climbed out of her car and smoothed her clothes. She’d chosen jeans and a white eyelet blouse, with a turquoise tank top underneath. Her belt and boots were tooled leather.

The property looked nearly the same, close enough to pincushion her memories, to leave sharp little points in her brain. The house had been built before Cactus Wren had become an official county. The Truenos’ neighbors were still few and far between. Carrie looked at the trees that shaded her path. They were twenty to thirty feet tall, with smooth, dark brown barks that separated into long, shaggy strips. On her wedding day, they’d been decorated with silver ribbon.

She shook away the image and proceeded to a wraparound porch. While she knocked on the door, her heart pounded just as hard. Margaret Trueno, Thunder’s mother, answered the door.

The older woman squealed, invited her inside, then latched onto her for a hug. Margaret had gained about twenty pounds, and her shoulder-length hair was salted with gray, marking the years they’d been apart. She smelled sweet and earthy, like the herbs she’d always grown on her windowsill.

They stepped back to gaze at each other. “You’re as stunning as ever,” Margaret said.

Carrie smiled. “So are you.” Thunder’s mom had enhanced her beauty with a colorful cotton dress and the handcrafted jewelry she used to sell at powwows.

“I’m in my sixties.”

“We’re all getting older.”

Margaret nodded, and Carrie remembered how much she’d wanted to be a grandmother.

“Is that our girl?” a man asked.

Thunder’s father. Carrie saw Nolan Trueno coming around the corner. He was as solid as an oak and handsome in the way that made outdoorsy men look ruggedly distinguished.

He stepped forward and kissed her cheek. He and his wife had been raised on tribal lands, but they’d left the reservation so Nolan could attend a state university, where he’d earned a degree in biology. Later, he and Margaret had bought the homestead, keeping recreational horses and raising two sons.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get here,” he said. “I didn’t want to light the barbecue until you arrived. Your dad and the boys are out back.”

“And my mom?”

“In the kitchen,” Margaret supplied. “She’s been helping me with the salads and side dishes.”

In no time, Carrie was escorted onto the patio. Thunder snared her like a rabbit. He stood up to greet her, and she felt the impact of his presence. Behind him, in a rock-garden setting, was the rustic gazebo where they’d exchanged vows. Carrie shifted her gaze away from it.

Thunder reintroduced her to Dylan, and she searched for evidence of the boy he used to be. But all she saw was a dark-eyed man with a square jaw and killer cheekbones. He wore his hair long, and his clothes were a tad dusty, as though he’d spent the earlier part of the day in the barn. Dylan was as tall as his older brother but not quite as broad. His muscles were leaner, rangier, cut a bit more sharply. She suspected that he was still boxing, still blowing off steam in the ring.

“You’re looking good,” he told her, taking both of her hands in his and openly flirting.

Damn, she thought. Not only was Dylan gorgeous, he had a wicked sense of humor. She could tell he was trying to get Thunder’s goat. “Thank you. So are you.”

Thunder nudged his brother out of the way, and Dylan winked at Carrie. Suddenly she realized how dangerous all of this was. Thunder had no qualms about restaking his claim.

But that didn’t mean he’d be getting what he was after.

Thunder listened to the conversations going on around him. The moms blabbed throughout the meal, catching up on each other’s lives. The dads were enjoying themselves, too. As for the divorced offspring…

Carrie added more margarine to her corn, seemingly busy with her food, and Thunder worked out a plan to be with her.

In her bed, he thought.

Why fight the attraction? Why drive himself crazy with it?

He looked up and caught Dylan watching him. The younger man lifted his beer, then tipped it in a subtle toast, wishing Thunder luck with his ex.

Wise guy, Thunder thought.

A few minutes later Dylan’s expression turned serious, and Thunder knew his brother’s thoughts had wandered, that the case they were working on had entered his mind, casting its dark shadow. He’d been traveling extensively, looking for clues, for answers, for someone who might know where Julia and Miriam were, but he hadn’t uncovered any leads.