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She made an indifferent shrug, even though a tangle of emotions was suddenly choking her. “I’m waiting for the right man to come along,” she mumbled.
She wasn’t about to add any more to her explanation. She hardly wanted him, or anyone else for that matter, to know that she’d never gotten over losing the only man she’d ever cared about to another woman. And considering the woman had been her sister, Mariah wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the betrayal.
Slowly, she sensed his presence moving alongside her, and then the faint scent of him drifted to her nostrils. He smelled like a man who’d been bathed in desert wind and kissed by hot sunshine, and for one brief moment she wondered what it would be like to press her nose against his throat, to breathe in that evocative scent. To let herself forget that he’d once been Aimee’s lover.
He said, “You must be waiting for Mr. Perfect.”
The huskiness of his voice was such a sensual sound it caused goose bumps to form on the backs of her arms.
“That’s none of your business,” she said.
“Probably not. But I’m a curious kind of guy. I’ve been trying to figure out how a woman who looks like you is living out here alone—without a man to care for her. Protect her.”
And make love to her. Mariah could hear the unspoken words in his voice as clearly as she could hear Harry’s soft breathing behind them.
The fragile grip she had on her senses was coming close to snapping. “Aimee was always the one who wanted a man in her life. Not me.”
“That could change—if you met a man you couldn’t live without.”
Everything inside Mariah had quickly gone hot and shaky. And she wondered wildly how he would react if she suddenly turned and placed her palms against his chest. If she were to tilt her face up to his, would he want to kiss her? Oh my. Oh my. Why were these crazy, wicked thoughts going through her head? Why was he making her forget that she was a practical woman?
“I’m just trying to survive, Finn. I’m not foolish enough to believe a knight will come riding through here on a big white horse and make all my troubles go away.”
A wry grin tugged at his lips. “He might come riding through here on a big brown mustang. Ever think that might happen?”
Her laugh was short and caustic. “If that ever happened I’d run him off with a loaded shotgun. Once these last ten are gone, I never want to see another mustang. If it hadn’t been for the wild horses I might have persuaded Aimee to get out of the business before we went broke. But she was obsessed with the damned things. And now—”
As her words trailed away, his hand wrapped gently around her upper arm, and the touch splintered her resolve to remain indifferent to him. Heat from his fingers was rushing to her cheeks, then plunging downward, showering her whole body with sparks.
“You’re blaming the wrong thing for your troubles, Mariah. At one point, those horses were running free, caring for themselves. They didn’t ask to be captured and confined.”
Mariah’s chin dropped against her chest. She sounded like a pouting child, blaming her problems on everything and everyone but herself. But grief, worry, anger and resentment had been playing with her emotions for so long now. And for just as long, she’d been trying to hide her emotions, to pretend that she was strong and unaffected. And now something about Finn was pulling her feelings right out in the open.
“Sorry. I’ll admit my thinking is twisted. But Aimee refused to consider any other job. With her it was the horses or nothing. And that’s where the ranch was headed—with nothing.”
The subtle tightening of his fingers on her arm had her lifting her face up to his, and as her gaze probed the depths of his blue eyes, her heart thumped so hard she could feel it banging against her ribs.
“Look, Mariah, horses can get into a person’s blood. Caring for them, working with them, loving them. It becomes sort of an addiction. One that’s impossible to shake. Even when you know they’re costing too much money or taking you down a wrong path.”
“So you’re saying your job has to involve horses or you wouldn’t be happy?”
“I’d be miserable without horses around me.”
Disappointment washed through her. Which was ridiculous. Finn’s dreams and desires had nothing to do with her. Except where Harry was concerned. She didn’t want the child to have a father like hers, who’d spent every weekend at horse shows and every waking minute of the day at the training barn.
“You and Aimee would have made a perfect pair,” she said stiffly.
His gaze rambled over her face. “It takes more than a shared love of something to make a perfect partnership. The fact that Aimee wasn’t interested in building a relationship with me proves that much.”
She grimaced. “As far as men go, Aimee didn’t know what she wanted.”
“Thanks,” he said with sarcasm.
Her gaze connected with his and Mariah’s heart gave a hard thump. “Tell me, Finn, if you’d known about Aimee’s pregnancy would you have married her?”
His expression didn’t flinch, or his gaze break away from hers. “That’s hard to say. Aimee might not have wanted marriage. And as it is, I’m not sure I would’ve wanted it, either. When I do marry I want it to be for love, not out of obligation.”
“So you weren’t in love with my sister?”
“There wasn’t enough time for that. But who knows, if Aimee had given us a chance, we might’ve fallen in love and gotten married.”
Hearing this sexy cowboy talk about loving and marrying Aimee bothered her in more ways than she cared to admit. Maybe because she’d never had a rugged man like him give her a second glance. Not as long as Aimee had been around to monopolize all the male attention.
“Then you’d be my brother-in-law right now. And a widower.”
“Yeah.”
Mariah was so busy trying to read the emotions in his eyes that long moments passed before she realized the room had gone quiet and Finn’s hand was still wrapped around her arm.
Move, Mariah. Step away from him before his touch begins to feel too good to resist. Before your dreams start down a very foolish path.
“I—please—excuse me, Finn. I have to go.”
Before she could let herself weaken, before he could guess the longing on her face, Mariah pulled away from him and raced out of the nursery. She didn’t stop until she was inside her bedroom with the door shut firmly behind her. And by then she was trembling from head to toe.
With her shoulders slumped against the door, she covered her hot face with both hands and sucked in several deep breaths. She’d been through too much to let herself break down now. She needed to show Finn that she was a strong, capable woman. More than that, she needed to convince herself that he was a man she couldn’t fall in love with.
Chapter Three (#ud2b2b476-95c9-55cf-98fd-e110df79ef4d)
Finn sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a mug of half-burned coffee, as he tried to decide what to do next. He’d been sitting there for more than half an hour, waiting for Mariah to show her face again. Since she’d run from the nursery, he hadn’t heard her stirring, and he was starting to wonder whether he should search her out and apologize, or tell her he was leaving for town.
Neither option appealed to him. He wasn’t ready to leave the ranch just yet. Not until the two of them had made definite plans concerning Harry. And he hadn’t done anything he needed to apologize for—except maybe make her face the reality of Harry’s being a Calhoun.
Rising from the table, he walked over to a set of double windows and studied the view behind the house. From this spot, he could just make out a corner of one large barn, a smaller shed and a maze of connecting corrals. Except for a few birds and the wind twisting the leaves, nothing was moving. It was a sad and lonely sight, he thought grimly.
“I see you’ve helped yourself to the coffee. I’m glad. I haven’t been a very good hostess.”
He hadn’t heard her enter the room, and the sound of her voice had him quickly turning to see her walking toward him. While she’d been in her room, she’d put on a pair of faded red cowboy boots and released her hair from its ponytail. Now the long black waves framed her face and rested on her shoulders. Her nose looked as though she’d patted it with a powder puff, while a sheen of pink glossed her lips. She looked sweet and sexy and totally unassuming. And as Finn stared at her, he felt a strange sensation slowing coursing through him. Was this how it felt to be mesmerized by a woman?
“I dug into your brownies, too,” he told her. “They’re good. Did you make them?”
A faint smile touched her lips. It was the first one that Finn had seen on her face and the sight encouraged him. Maybe the short break from him and the baby had put her in a better mood.
“Thanks. I like to bake and cook. Now that Cora is gone I get to do plenty of it.”
“I’ve been listening for Harry. Does he usually cry when he wakes up?”
“Depends if he’s wet or hungry. Most of the time he’s a happy baby. I’ll find him wide-awake just cooing and looking around.” She walked over to the cabinet and dumped the last of the syrupy black coffee into the sink. “We had an intercom system put in after Harry was born. It was rather expensive. But I can go anywhere in the house or out on the porches and still be able to hear every little sound he makes.”
“Dad had one installed in the ranch house years ago. It was rarely used until Rafe and Lilly had their babies. That’s my brother and sister-in-law. They have two kids. A girl, Colleen. And a boy, Austin. He’s just a few months older than Harry.”
She looked at him with interest. “So Harry would have cousins to play with. That is, if he truly is a Calhoun.”
Obviously she was going to point out the question of Harry’s parentage at every turn of their conversation, he thought drearily. Well, if it made her feel better, then so be it. She’d have her bubble busted soon enough.
“Six little cousins. The Calhoun family is big. And I don’t figure it’s quit growing yet.”
“Hmm. Must be nice. To be in a big family. I wouldn’t know.” She rinsed out the coffee carafe, then placed it back on the warmer. “So tell me about yourself and your family. What do you do back in Nevada?”
Rising to his feet, he carried his cup over to where she stood, then rested his hip against the cabinet counter. “I manage the horse division of the Silver Horn Ranch. Along with the cattle, we raise quarter horses for show, cutting and ranch use.”
* * *
Mariah stared at him while trying not to appear shocked. Aimee had simply told her that Finn was a horseman and Mariah had presumed he’d worked as a wrangler for some ranch, or was simply a guy who liked horses. Aimee had never mentioned anything as impressive as the manager of a horse division.
Her head swung back and forth. “We? Uh—you have other men helping you?”
“Why, yes. I thought—” Tilting his head to one side, he studied her. “Apparently Aimee didn’t tell you that my home is the Silver Horn.”
Confused now, she said, “No. She didn’t. And I’m not familiar with that name. Should I be?”
Her question put a look of amused disbelief on his face.
“Most folks on both sides of the state line have heard of the Silver Horn. But with Aimee gone and Stallion Canyon up for sale I guess you don’t keep up with ranching news.”
As long as her father had been alive, Mariah had been proud of Stallion Canyon. Ray Montgomery had poured his heart and soul into the land and the horses, and along the way had provided his daughters with a good home and security. But once he’d died, everything had taken a downhill slide. As the burden of debt had grown heavier on Mariah’s shoulders, she’d started to resent the place that had been her home for twenty years. Yet now, hearing Finn speak as though the ranch was done and finished left a hollowness inside her.
Resting her hand on the cabinet counter, she turned so that she was facing him. “So this Silver Horn where you work—it’s a big outfit?”
He nodded. “I don’t just work there. I live there, too. It belongs to the Calhoun family. My great-grandfather started it many years ago. These days my grandfather Bart—I call him Gramps—is the director of the whole shebang. We run a few thousand head of cattle and usually have two to three hundred horses on hand.”
Mariah was stunned. Why had Aimee kept something like that from her? Had her sister gone after Finn because she’d known he was wealthy, then later changed her mind about pursuing a relationship with him? Dear Lord, it was all so strange, so mind-boggling.
She tried not to sound as dazed as she felt. “Your ranch must cover a lot of acreage.”
“We own several thousand acres and lease that much more from the BLM—the Bureau of Land Management,” he told her.
Mariah felt like a fool. Not only because Aimee had kept her in the dark, but because she hadn’t looked into Finn’s background before she’d called to tell him about Harry. At least she would’ve known what sort of man she’d be facing. But then, a man’s material worth didn’t necessarily speak for his character, she reasoned. And she was quickly learning that Finn wasn’t a man who could be summed up in one short visit.
“I apologize if my questions sound stupid. But Aimee didn’t tell me anything about you. Except that you lived in Nevada and liked horses.”
He shrugged. “Guess that was all that mattered to her. When I told her I lived on the Silver Horn, she seemed to be familiar with the ranch. But we didn’t talk about it that much. She asked about our remuda and the broodmares and a little about the ranch house. It didn’t seem important to her.”
Her thoughts whirled as she gathered the few dirty dishes scattered over the countertop and piled them into the sink. “So Aimee understood you were wealthy?”
“I figure she made that assumption. But I never told her any such thing. Only a braggart starts spouting off information like that to a woman he’s just met,” he said. “I don’t expect you share the balance of your bank account with the men you meet.”
Pulling back her shoulders, she said, “I don’t meet that many men. But if I did, they wouldn’t hear about my finances. I just wondered...”
“If Aimee pursued me because of my wealth?” he asked wryly. “I think the fact that she didn’t attempt to continue our relationship tells you how much she appreciated my money.”
Mariah thoughtfully swiped a soapy sponge slowly over a saucer. “I don’t mean to pry, Finn. I’m just trying to understand why my sister put off contacting you about Harry. Could be she was worried about you getting custody—since you could provide more financial security for him. Far more than she ever could. But that doesn’t make much sense, either. Because she wasn’t afraid to put your name on the birth certificate.”
He moved a step closer and Mariah’s nerves twisted even tighter.
“I don’t think you ought to be worrying over Aimee’s motives anymore,” he said. “Harry’s future is the main issue now. And that brings us to the DNA test. Do you think we can get that taken care of tomorrow?”
Her throat went tight as she glanced over at him. “You’re not wanting to waste any time, are you?”
“Dallying around won’t tell us anything. And my job on the Horn is—well, pretty demanding. I need to get back there as soon as possible.”
“I suppose I can call the school and let them know I need to take a couple hours off in the morning. Long enough for us to go to the health department and get the samples taken,” she said guardedly. “That way you can go on back to Nevada. And receive the results in the mail.”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
His instant retort had her dropping the sponge and squaring around to face him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not about to leave here without Harry.”
The determination in his voice sent a chill slithering down her spine. “And what if you’re not his father? All that waiting will be wasted.”
His clear blue gaze traveled over her face in a way that made Mariah forget about breathing.
“Let me be the judge of that,” he said quietly.
Shoving a hand in her hair, she pushed it off her forehead, while silently yelling at her heart to slow down. Otherwise, she was going to faint right at his feet.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she said, “You must be feeling confident that Harry is your child.”
“I am. And deep down you believe I’m his father, too. Don’t you?”
Clamping her jaw tight, she was determined not to let him see her cry, to let him know that the thought of losing Harry was shattering her whole being.
Turning back to the sink full of dishes, she picked up the sponge and twisted it until soapy foam covered both hands. “I’ll believe what the DNA test says,” she said hoarsely. “Nothing less.”
She was fighting back tears when she felt him move behind her and place his hand on her shoulder. Mariah squeezed her eyes shut as heat raced up the side of her neck and down her arm.
“Mariah,” he said gently, “I’m not an ogre. I can see how much you love Harry. But a man who could leave his son—well, he wouldn’t be much of a man. Would he?”
Swallowing hard, she turned to face him, but the moment her gaze met his, her self-control crumbled and she began pounding her fist against his chest. “No, damn you! I wished I’d never called you! I’d have my baby and you’d never know the difference!”
By the time he grabbed her flying fists and anchored them tightly against his chest, she was sobbing, her cheeks drenched with tears. But what this man thought about her no longer mattered. All she cared about was Harry.
“Hush, Mariah. Please, don’t cry.”
He gently drew her forward, until her wet cheek was pressed against the middle of his chest and his hand was stroking the back of her head.
Even if Mariah had wanted to resist, the solid comfort of his arms, the tender touch of his fingers upon her hair, was a balm to her raw nerves. A man hadn’t touched her this way in ages. She hadn’t wanted one to touch her. Until now.
