A Cold Creek Baby

For the past month, she had been dating the Pine Gulch police chief. On paper, Trace Bowman was everything she wanted. He was great-looking, he was funny, he adored his own family who had a ranch on the other side of town.

She was trying as hard as she could to let her fondness for him grow into something more. She wanted a husband, a family. Seeing Quinn and Tess together with their darling little boy and now Brant and Mimi and Abigail only intensified that ache to watch a child of her own grow and learn, to have someone else in this big rambling house to fill all the empty spaces.

She loved the ranch and found great joy in the hard work needed to make it a success. But she was ready for something more, something she knew she would never be able to find while she was hung up on Cisco del Norte.

She knew darn well she needed to move on. It was long past time. But every time she thought she was on her way, he showed up with that tired, cocky grin and those secrets in his dark eyes and she tumbled head over heels again.

Not this time. She pulled the thick Star of David quilt she, her mother and Jo had worked on the summer after Cisco came. She looked at the kaleidoscope of colors, the vivid blues and bright purples and greens. She could still see where her stitches had been crooked, amateurish compared to her mother’s and Jo’s.

She smoothed a hand over the stitches, remembering the time with two strong, wonderful women. After a moment, she tucked the edges in at the bottom.

She wanted to be tough like her mother and her Aunt Jo, to just forget him and move on. She almost thought she would have an easier time of it if he would only settle down somewhere instead of wandering from country to country in Latin America, doing heaven knows what.

If he ever stopped running, maybe she could relax a little, but she was never free from worrying about him. In all these years, he obviously hadn’t managed to find whatever he’d been looking for or he would have given up that life long ago.

And when he was tired of wandering, he would come back to the ranch for a few days or a week, dredging up all these feelings again.

She wished she could just tell him to stay away until she got her head on straight. But how could she? Winder Ranch was his home, the first and only really secure haven he had ever known.

As much as her heart cried out for him to give her a little peace and leave her alone, she couldn’t deprive him of that connection.

She couldn’t turn him away, but she could control how deeply she allowed her heart to become entangled with him. This time things would be different.

She couldn’t lose all the progress she had made to fall out of love with him. This time she wasn’t going to let those feelings suck her back down again. She needed to move on with her life, to accept that, like that mountain lion she had seen prowling the edge of her property a few days earlier, Cisco del Norte would always be a wild, roving creature she couldn’t contain.

Chapter Two

He shouldn’t have come here.

Cisco sat at the kitchen table in the Winder Ranch kitchen, fighting his way through the strange and twisted mix of guilt and regret and pain tempered by the sweet peace that always seemed to engulf him whenever he drove through the gates.

He was so damned tired and the raw, gaping hole just under his left rib cage tugged and burned like a son of a bitch.

Like he’d told Easton, he wanted to just lie down right here in the middle of the kitchen floor and sleep for a week or two.

Belle banged her sippy cup on the tray of the high chair Easton had pulled from the utility room off the kitchen. “For Joey and Abs,” she had informed him before she took off upstairs to do whatever she was doing with the bedrooms.

He shouldn’t have come here, but he had spoken the truth to her earlier. He hadn’t known what else to do, where else to go.

Like an idiot, he had been so sure he had everything figured out. He had originally planned to catch a direct flight to Boise, hand Belle over to her relatives, then head back without anybody knowing he was even in the country.

But when he finally was able to reach John Moore’s sister just before his flight left Bogotá to let her know about Soqui’s death and that he was on his way with her niece, she had been both shocked and distraught.

Seems that even as he called her cell number—information retrieved with no small degree of caution from the careful documentation Soqui had hidden away as insurance—Sharon Weaver was on her way to her father’s funeral in Montana and wouldn’t be back in Idaho for several days.

The news had thrown his plans into considerable disarray. He wasn’t too proud to admit he’d been terrified. Yeah, he had somehow managed the wherewithal to take care of Belle in Bogotá for a couple of days after her mother’s death without accidentally sending her to the hospital or himself to the nuthouse. But the idea of an indefinite stay with a nine-month-old baby in some hotel in Boise while he waited for Sharon to return sent him into a stone-cold panic.

Coming home to the ranch to spend those few days while he regained his strength seemed the logical choice.

Easton would know what to do. That had been the mantra he clung to. She was always so in control of every complication. Even when she was a little kid, she had been great at handling any difficulty that came along, whether in school, with his foster brothers or on the ranch.

He refused to admit that he returned to Winder Ranch like the swallows at Capistrano because this was home.

She was his home.

He touched the compass rose tattoo on his left forearm, the little squiggly E right over his radial artery that connected directly to his heart, while Belle banged her sippy cup on the edge of the table and giggled.

“You think this is funny, young lady?”

His voice was raspier than normal from exhaustion and that stupid pain he couldn’t control, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Ba ba ba ba,” she blabbered and he again thanked heaven she was such an easygoing baby. He didn’t know the first thing about kids and wouldn’t have been able to endure even a few days on his own if not for Isabella’s sweet disposition.

Even though she quite obviously missed her mother, she still was a sunny, good-natured little girl.

“You’re glad not to be moving for a minute, aren’t you?”

She beamed at him, her tiny silver stud earrings glinting in the early morning light.

Bringing her to the States was the right thing to do, no matter how hard the journey to get her here had been. With her last breath, Soqui had begged him, as she lay dying from a gunshot wound to the stomach, to take care of Belle, to bring her here to John’s family in Idaho.

He owed her this. She had faced danger with astonishing bravery, had risked her life to finish her husband’s work and to avenge his death against the drug lord who had killed him the year before.

Cisco had failed to protect her—big surprise there, since he had failed just about every woman unlucky enough to find herself in his life. But he would not fail in this. Soqui wanted Belle to be raised by her relatives in the United States and by damn, that is exactly what she would get.

Even if it meant he had to spend a few days at Winder Ranch fighting his demons.

Or fighting Easton, anyway.

Same thing.

As if on cue, she returned to the kitchen, bringing that elusive scent of mountain wildflowers that always clung to her skin. She had changed out of her night-clothes and into jeans and a T-shirt and pulled her hair back into a braid that hung down her back like a shiny wheat-colored rope.

She looked as sweet and innocent as the first pale pink columbines in a mountain meadow in springtime.

Ah, Easton. For a moment, the regret swamped everything else, even his worry about Belle’s future. He missed her so damn much sometimes he couldn’t breathe around it. Even on the rare occasions when he came home, he missed her—the real Easton, not this carefully polite woman he had turned her into with his stupidity and his out-of-control desire.

“I put fresh sheets on your bed. You’re good to go.”

“Thanks. I’m okay, though.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “Go ahead and sleep for a couple of hours. I can keep an eye on the baby while I work on ranch accounts, at least for a little while until Burt and the boys get here.”

Burt McMasters was the longtime foreman of the ranch who had taken over the job after Easton’s father and mother were killed in a car accident when she was sixteen.

Cisco had already enlisted in the Marines at the time of their accident and was stationed across the country. He had flown home for their double funeral and Easton’s devastated grief had destroyed him. Completely wiped him out. The moment he walked into the ranch house, she had flown into his arms and sobbed as if she had only been keeping herself together until he showed up.

“I don’t need two hours,” he said now, pushing the grim memory aside. “Just one should charge me up for the rest of the day. If you don’t mind keeping an eye on Belle, I would really appreciate it.”

She gave him a critical look and he knew he looked like crap on a stick. He felt like it, too. His head throbbed and the quick sandwich he’d grabbed at an all-night drive-up somewhere in northern Utah sat like greasy tar in his stomach.

Easton opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it again abruptly. “Sure. Take an hour,” she finally said. “Burt and I have some things to do later in the morning, but I’m free until then.”

“I didn’t bring Belle here to find a free babysitter.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

He could hear the unspoken question in her voice about why he did bring the baby there. He couldn’t answer it.

His vision seemed to be growing hazy around the edges and he knew if he didn’t find a horizontal surface soon he was going to embarrass himself by falling over.

“Thanks, Easton. I owe you.”

She didn’t answer him, turning instead to the baby. He thought he caught something strange in her deep blue eyes, a shadow of an old pain, but she blinked it away.

“You’re making a mess, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Belle giggled and clapped her hands. Easton smiled at the little girl, her features bright and lovely, and something hard twisted inside him, something he preferred to pretend didn’t exist.

He turned away. “I only need an hour,” he said again. “Thanks. And, uh, I’m sorry about this.”

“Go to sleep, Cisco. I can handle things for now.”

He nodded. She could handle anything. His Easton.

He wasn’t sure how but he managed to make it up the stairs to his bedroom, although he was covered in sweat by the time he reached the top step.

It smelled like her in here, sweet and flowery. Perfect.

He ought to take a shower to wash off the travel stink before he climbed into those nice clean sheets, but he didn’t have the energy. He would just lie here on top of the quilt, he decided.

Just an hour. That’s all he needed.

An hour in a room that smelled like heaven and Easton—although, really, wasn’t that the same thing?

“I’ll be there when I can. I’m sorry, Burt. I didn’t exactly expect this little complication today.”

Easton swallowed her sigh at her ranch foreman’s pithy response. Burt McMasters was a great ranch foreman—hardworking and dedicated, always willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. She adored him, colorful language and all, and without his firm guidance, she would have had to sell the ranch when Jo was first diagnosed with cancer.

But he did tend to be sulky and impatient when his plans went awry.

“Yeah, I know. It’s a pain. I can’t help it. Just start the immunizations and I’ll be there when I can. Can you and Luis handle it without me for a while?”

“I s’pose.” She could swear she almost heard the glower in his voice.

“You be careful up there,” he went on in his gravelly voice that always sounded like he was choking on trail dust. “I don’t like the idea of that boy being back in the house. I know Jo and Guff loved him just like the others, but in my book, that one has always been nothing but trouble.”

She fought the impulse to jump to Cisco’s defense. Yes, he had been fast-talking and imaginative and as a result he had managed to land himself—and the others—in plenty of mischief when he was a teenager.

Burt had never quite forgiven Cisco for a prank he’d pulled at their grazing allotment up in the high country when he had somehow convinced the prickly, proud ranchhand that he thought a black bear might be stalking their camp.

Burt had been deep in the woods early one morning answering the call of nature when Cisco had sneaked around behind him making appropriate bear grunting noises and Burt had come running back to camp in a panic, his pants half-down and biodegradable toilet paper flying out behind him.

For the most part, Easton would have to agree that Cisco was trouble. Except Burt was wrong about one thing: He was far from a boy.

“He would never hurt me,” she blatantly lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. “You know that. He’s family.”

He harrumphed over the cell phone he abhorred almost as much as he did Cisco del Norte. “I still don’t like it. Doesn’t he know we have work to do around here? Maybe he’s been gone from these parts so long he doesn’t remember how busy this time of year can be on a cattle ranch.”

She contained her sigh. “I’m sure he remembers, Burt. He lived here for a long time. But he needed a place to stay for a few days and this was his best option. He owns a good share of the ranch, don’t forget.”

“As if I could,” he muttered. Easton would have smiled if not for the fretful baby in her arms.

“Look, I have to go. I appreciate you and the boys stepping up without me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, okay. Be careful,” he warned again before ending the call.

Too late, she thought as she turned once more to the baby, who looked at her with huge blue eyes that swam with tears.

“I know, sweetheart. Let’s get you a bottle and then we’ll go see what’s going on with that rascal Burt was just talking about.”

She headed into the kitchen and found the can of powdered formula Cisco had left on the countertop. Easton was grateful she’d had a little practice the last few months as honorary aunt to Joe and Abby or she would have been all thumbs with things like changing diapers and mixing formula.

She tested the temperature of the formula on her forearm, feeling a great sense of accomplishment at her own competence, then handed the bottle to the baby, who clutched it in her chubby hands and began sucking greedily, her darling cupid’s bow of a mouth pursed around the nipple.

Something soft and tender tugged hard at Easton’s insides. She settled the baby a little closer to her, trying not to look at the clock.

Three hours.

Cisco had promised he would be back downstairs in one. He lied, something he seemed to do with consummate skill.

Three hours and counting, actually, and Easton had work to do.

Not that there weren’t compensations to this. Belle sucked her bottle a little more vigorously and snuggled her head closer to Easton’s chest. Her eyes drifted shut, her eyelashes so long and curly that they looked almost fake.

She smelled of warm milk and baby shampoo, an intoxicating combination, and Easton inhaled like a wino fighting off the DTs.

Belle was by far the most sweet-natured baby Easton had any experience with. Until the last fifteen minutes when she started getting sleepy, she had been happy and smiling, content to play with a few of the other babies’ toys Easton dragged into her office.

With those black curls, tawny skin and the shocking blue of her eyes, she was also remarkably lovely.

For three hours, Easton had struggled valiantly to tamp down the tangled emotions this little girl stirred. She had forced herself to focus on her care—changing her, playing with her, finding age-appropriate things in the house for Belle to explore.

She hadn’t allowed herself a moment to think about the what-ifs that haunted her.

Now that the baby was asleep—or close enough to it—all those memories and regrets hovered just on the edge of her heart and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep them at bay.

She tightened her hold on the baby and headed in the direction of the makeshift nursery. Belle’s long lashes fluttered when Easton began ascending the stairs, but then her eyes drifted closed again. They stayed that way when Easton carefully laid her on her back in the nursery crib. Easton pulled the bottle out carefully and watched Isabella’s mouth continue to suck air for a moment before it went still.

She really was a beautiful baby, she thought as she pulled the baby quilt up and over her. What had happened to her mother? she wondered. Cisco said she was dead. How was he involved? He claimed the baby wasn’t his, but with those long, inky eyelashes and the black hair with the tendency to curl, she could be.

After a moment spent gazing in adoration at the perfection of a nine-month-old baby, Easton forced herself to turn away. She checked the intercom Quinn had installed so he and Tess could hear their precious little boy in any room of the rambling house.

When she was sure it was on and transmitting any sound coming from the room, she closed the door behind her and walked across the hall. She stood outside Cisco’s door, her stupid stomach jumping at the prospect of seeing him again.

She hated this awkwardness, but didn’t know how to change it. The events of the past were too deeply entrenched between both of them. After a moment of standing there like an idiot, she forced herself to knock sharply—only to be met by silence.

When he didn’t answer, she knocked with a little more force. Still no answer.

She frowned. Cisco had never been a particularly sound sleeper. He always seemed to be on the edge of something fun and exciting. Jo used to shake her head and say he didn’t sleep well because he was too afraid of missing something.

Even on roundup, when the rest of them would sink with exhaustion into their sleeping bags at the end of a long day, Cisco would be edgy and alert and would wake at the slightest distraction, even the wind rattling the tent.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal of the doorknob feeling foolish. Maybe he wasn’t even in there. Maybe he had seized the chance to escape his obligations and climbed out the window. Wouldn’t be the first time he had made use of the exit route along the porch roof and down the old maple that grew next to the house on the other side.

No. She couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t just dump the baby on her and run. Cisco might be many things, but deliberately irresponsible wasn’t one of them.

After a moment, she knocked harder. “Cisco? Everything okay in there?”

She thought she heard something inside and she strained her hearing. Weird. She could swear she heard a moan coming from inside.

Was he in the depths of some kind of nightmare? Even as disjointed as he tended to sleep, he hadn’t ever been much to toss and turn. But what did she know? He wasn’t the same person anymore, not with the hardness around his mouth, the secrets in his eyes.

The low moan sounded again from inside the room, unmistakable this time and Easton screwed her eyes shut, knowing in her heart she had no choice except to check on him. Either he was having a bad dream or he was in pain. Either way, she had to check out the situation, whether she wanted to or not.

She pushed the door open with caution and found the room dim, the curtains closed against the morning sunshine.

Her gaze flew to the bed and when her eyes adjusted she discovered he hadn’t climbed out the window at least. He lay on the bed, a sheet covering his lower body, but he was bare from the waist up—bare except for a wide bandage wrapped around his stomach, a pristine white except for a kiwi-sized spot that was soaked through with blood.

His skin seemed even more pale and she could almost feel the heat radiating off him from here. On closer inspection, she could see his hair was damp with sweat and more drops of perspiration dotted the shadow above his upper lip.

She hurried to the bed and pushed back the hair flopping across his forehead. Even before she touched his skin, she could feel the fever pouring off him.

“Oh, Cisco. What kind of trouble are you in?” she whispered. She didn’t know whether to be scared or angry or worried sick.

“Can’t. Oh, cara. Don’t ask me,” he muttered, his head tossing on the pillow. He said something quickly in Spanish she didn’t catch.

She touched his shoulder and was seared by the heat of his skin. Had he driven here all the way from Salt Lake International, a good four hours away, in this condition?

“Cisco? Wake up. You’re sick. We need to get you to a doctor.”

He opened his eyes halfway, his lashes as ridiculously long and lush as Isabella’s, then he uttered a long string of melodious words before he closed his eyes again. He had taught her enough gutter Spanish when they were kids that she caught the gist.

“Yeah, right back at you,” she muttered. “Come on, wake up.”

She looked at the bandage around his waist. Was it her imagination or had the red spot spread in just the few moments she had been in here trying to wake him?

She felt frozen with indecision. Should she continue to try rousing him or should she call the volunteer ambulance?

What if he had a gunshot wound? Weren’t the medical authorities required to report those? What if he was tangled up in something illegal?

Drat him for coming here and complicating her world like this, forcing her to make decisions without any information to back them up. She had a deep, fervent wish that Quinn or Brant were here. They would know what to do.

“Cisco, come on,” she pleaded.

Jake Dalton seemed her best bet instead of calling the volunteer paramedics. He ran the medical clinic in Pine Gulch and she knew he would be carefully discreet without breaking any laws. Only trouble was, she had no way to get Cisco into the clinic without a little cooperation on his part.

If she couldn’t rouse him, she was going to have to call for an ambulance and if she had to guess, she figured they would probably opt to take him to the nearest hospital in Idaho Falls, about thirty miles away.

“Come on,” she begged again, her hand on the hot skin of his biceps. “Please wake up, Cisco.”

Those hot cocoa eyes drifted half open again. “Sweet, Easton,” he murmured. “Smell so good. Like spring.”

Some silly part of her wanted to stand here beside the bed and bask in his words like a wildflower opening to the morning sun.

Unfortunately, the rest of her still had to deal with their current predicament.

“Wake up, you idiot, unless you want me to call the paramedics.”

Lines furrowed between his dark brows as if he couldn’t quite make sense of her words. She opened her mouth to urge him a little further to this side of Sleepy Town, but before she could speak, one hard muscled hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, just before he tugged her across his chest, wrapped both arms around her and kissed her.

For perhaps a full ten seconds, she couldn’t think beyond absolute shock. Dear heavens. How long had it been? He hadn’t touched her in years, not once since that night after Guff’s funeral. Not so much as a hug or a casual brush of his fingers on her arm or even a lousy handshake.

Finding herself in his arms again, his hard arms surrounding her, his hot, hungry mouth devouring hers, felt a little like jumping into a scorching hot springs after nearly dying of frostbite.

A woman couldn’t be blamed for sighing against him, for kissing him back for just a moment. Right? Especially when it had been so very long.