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Warrior's Baby
Sheri WhiteFeather
HAVE MY BABY. Be the mother of Colt Raintree's child? For Melanie Richards, this request was a dream come true. To be near the tempting Native American once more, to have him touch her, caress her, call out for her… But Colt didn't know her real name, and his offer didn't include the word forever .Melanie knew the price she'd pay to bear her warrior's baby. For how would Colt ever forgive her quiet deception? How could he understand that she had thrown even more than passion into their strictly business arrangement?If only she could bare her soul and tell her lover the truth: "I'll have your child but I'll have your heart first."
Letter to Reader (#u59237658-816b-5eb0-892e-58225bb7a71b)“Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked. (#u0917c336-6c97-5b03-ba0f-fd87664e636a)Title Page (#u0f323e0d-1371-580c-bd6b-fb2b72426c33)About the Author (#u55a80b70-4f0e-513a-808b-a895b8864f43)Dedication (#u78053582-f892-5d2e-9504-4f3ad9d805df)Chapter One (#u4366fc55-cd45-5246-9c2c-8a261dae6d7d)Chapter Two (#ua3138062-d170-5f13-83b2-1a5eb57d0441)Chapter Three (#uf9378a14-a29f-5695-9766-18eeaff4667f)Chapter Four (#u993cca87-1ad3-5c37-b877-cbb528bc50d8)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stones that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who experience the full emotional intensity of falling in love!
This October you’ll love our new MAN OF THE MONTH title by Barbara Boswell, Forever Flint. Opposites attract when a city girl becomes the pregnant bride of a millionaire outdoorsman.
Be sure to “rope in” the next installment of the exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB with Billionaire Bridegroom by Peggy Moreland When cattle baron Forrest Cunningham wants to wed childhood friend Becky Sullivan, she puts his love to an unexpected test.
The always-wonderful Jennifer Greene returns to Desire with her magical series HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Kiss Your Prince Charming is a modern fairy tale starring an unforgettable “frog prince.” In a sexy battle-of-the-sexes tale, Lass Small offers you The Catch of Texas. Anne Eames continues her popular miniseries MONTANA MALONES with The Unknown Malone. And Shen WhiteFeather makes her explosive Desire debut with Warrior’s Baby, a story of surrogate motherhood with a twist.
Next month, you’ll really feel the power of the passion when you see our new provocative cover design. Underneath our new covers, you will still find six exhilarating journeys into the seductive world of romance, with a guaranteed happy ending!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
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“Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked.
He reached for her hair again. The fire-lit strands slipped through his fingers like ribbons of silk.
“Yes.” Melanie’s breathless voice sent a surge of sensual heat coursing through his veins.
Colt shuddered. He wouldn’t permit this to happen. He wouldn’t confuse his need for a child with desire for the woman willing to carry it. That’s what was happening, he told himself. He was vulnerable and so was she. Their physical compulsion to produce a baby was creating false intimacy. His urge to taste her citrus-scented skin and run his hands through her thick, autumn hair would go away once his seed was planted.
Wouldn’t it?
Warrior’s Baby
Sheri WhiteFeather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SHERI WHITEFEATHER lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Native American husband, Dru. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.
To Dru and Nikki WhiteFeather for the beauty in my life,
to my mom and two dads for always believing in me, my
sister Elaine for heartfelt prayers and my in-laws for
sharing their heritage. A very special thanks to
Judy Duarte and Chris Green for being the most
dedicated critique partners in the world, and to
Maureen Child for her honesty and advice. Another
sincere thanks to Irene Goodman, Melissa Jeglinski
and Joan Marlow Golan, the hardworking professionals
who made this book happen. All of you have contributed
to the dream.
One
Melanie Richards had to do it.
Now.
As she strode onto the balcony, the sea breeze lifted her fire-tinted locks and billowed her loose cotton skirt. She slid onto a rattan chair, tucked her legs beneath her and stared at the cordless telephone.
How many times today had she chickened out? Five? Six? She’d lost count.
She gazed at the glass tabletop where the torn scrap of paper beside her coffee cup rippled in the wind, seven digits and an area code in danger of being whisked away.
She swiped the phone and began punching buttons. She didn’t need the number. She had memorized it.
The long-distance rings sounded in her ear. One...two... three...
A man answered. “Hello?”
Oh, God. The husky drawl was rich and smooth.
“Is this Colt Raintree?” She knew it was. Tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired Colt, a man as fast and dangerous as the single-action revolver he had been named after.
“Yes.”
“Hi, this is—” Gertrude. Geeky Gertie. The other teenagers used to call me that. Remember? You never did, though. You were sympathetic and kind. “Melanie Richards.”
“Do I know you?”
Yes, but it’s been thirteen years. I use my middle name now and look different. You wouldn’t recognize me. “No. Gloria Carnegie told me you were hiring a surrogate, and I—”
He interrupted, his tone edged with suspicion. “Fred’s wife?”
“Yes. Gloria’s a patient of Dr. Miller and just happened to hear about your situation. She contacted me because she thought I might be interested in helping you out.” Melanie paused and gulped a breath of salty air, her heart threatening to beat its way out of her chest. “And I am, but I’ve never done anything like this before.”
His voice softened, just a little. “I’d prefer to discuss this in person. Are you free tomorrow?”
She gazed out at the ocean. As dusk settled over a summer sky, streaks of mauve painted a foaming wave as it crashed onto the shore. A pair of seagulls frolicked in the swell, dipping and gliding. Did you know that I was in love with you?
“I can’t meet with you that soon. You see, I live in California,” she said, then added quickly, “but I’m coming to Montana next week.”
He heaved a sigh and she imagined him raking his hands through his hair. Such beautiful hair. Thick and shiny.
“I suppose next week would be all right. We could meet at the Steer House. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes.” She had eaten at the Steer House many times. Mountain Bluff didn’t have many restaurants. “Any day you choose is fine.” Her only other commitment was visiting with Gloria.
“How about Wednesday? We can discuss the details over lunch,” he offered, sounding more reserved than she remembered.
But then why shouldn’t he? To him Melanie Richards was a stranger, a woman who lived over nine hundred miles away.
“All right. I’ll call you to confirm.”
“Fine.” Colt ended the conversation politely. “It was nice talking to you but I have to go.”
They exchanged proper goodbyes. The receiver went dead.
On the following Wednesday, Melanie arrived at the Steer House wearing a simple black dress, a linen blazer and understated jewelry. Her freshly-washed hair fell freely about her shoulders.
Within minutes she was seated at a candle-lit table where she was left to wait for Colt.
Melanie was accustomed to business meetings. Luncheons, dinners. She always wore black, arrived early, ordered a light meal and smiled charmingly. She had it down pat. Today, of course, was different. She wasn’t in L.A., selling a chic artistic design. This was her hometown and the cowboy due to arrive wouldn’t be interested in seeing her portfolio. In fact, she had no idea what Colt Raintree would be interested in seeing. She’d never been considered for motherhood before.
When she looked up, her heart leaped into her throat. Tall and strong and more handsome than she remembered, Colt strode behind the hostess. When the girl stopped and Colt moved forward, Melanie feasted her eyes.
His slim-fitting jeans looked new. A fancy black-and-white shirt, combining embroidery and a western yoke, stretched the boundaries of his broad shoulders. Long black hair, secured at his nape, boasted his heritage. Colt had always reminded her of a jungle cat, sleek and muscular with exotic-shaped eyes and a raw sensuality of which he seemed unaware.
He slid into a chair across from Melanie and smiled politely. Neither spoke until the hostess departed.
He reached across the table to extend his hand. The flickering candle shadowed the sharp angle of his cheekbones. He had aged well. The lithe, rakish boy had grown into a warrior. Dark eyes revealed masculine depth.
“Melanie, right?”
She nodded and accepted his hand. It was big, callused and warm. His touch spread through her like an ache. She still loved him. Not just the memory, but the man. She believed in second chances. This was hers.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Colt.”
Hands separating, their gazes locked. “Am I late?” he asked.
“No.” She smiled. “I was early.”
Apparently he didn’t recognize her, but then she hadn’t really expected him to. She bore little resemblance to the timid girl he had known so long ago. During her third year in California, she’d been struck by a car. The near-fatal car accident had resulted in a necessary surgical procedure. One that had altered her features.
The busboy reappeared with another glass of water. Colt opened the menu. “Do you want to decide on lunch first?”
“Sure.” Although too nervous to be hungry, when the waitress arrived, she ordered broiled chicken.
Colt decided on the steak and scampi special. Both chose salad over soup. They muddled through small talk; the weather, the Western artifacts in the restaurant. She waited for him to get down to business. He did, right after their salads were delivered.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said. “I pictured someone, I don’t know, more momish.”
She had no idea what his concept of momish was. “Like a fifties television mom?”
“Yeah, something like that.” He grinned. The same, slow dangerous grin that had melted her heart thirteen years ago. When it faded, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Some of the women I’ve met with haven’t liked the idea that I’m single. How do you feel about that?”
Her stomach constricted. The interview had begun. “I can’t very well hold that against you. I’m not married, either.”
He reached for the bread basket. “No boyfriend to consult?”
She moved the lettuce around on her plate. “No. There’s no one.”
Colt tore a roll in half and buttered the center. “We need to be straight with each other. You tell me why you’re willing to be a surrogate and I’ll tell you why I’m looking for one”
The table was fairly secluded, for which she was grateful. She certainly didn’t want the other patrons to get an earful. She’d been rehearsing her speech all day. Being straight was out of the question. She’d have to combine bits of the truth with some creative story telling. California BS, she called it. Embellish your assets. Tell the client what they want to hear.
She started with the truth. “I’m a foster child. Consequently, I’ve learned to make my own way. When we were kids, Gloria and I lived next door to each other. We were best friends. As you know, she’s the one who mentioned your situation to me. The idea of a single man wanting a child so much fascinated me. That’s why I contacted you.” She sipped her water, then continued. She had Colt’s undivided attention, something she’d always longed for. “I don’t believe I could carry a child for a couple. I wouldn’t be comfortable being impregnated by another woman’s husband.”
He seemed mildly satisfied. “Do you have any children?”
Melanie shook her head. “I’ve been too busy with my career. I’m an illustrator. I’ve designed just about everything. Greeting cards, posters, calendars, book covers. There hasn’t been much time for anything else.”
He pushed his half-eaten salad away and leaned forward, dark eyes probing. “You don’t look familiar.”
Her pulse raced. “Should I?”
“You said you were Gloria’s neighbor. That’s means you grew up around here.”
He studied her carefully. She thought he liked what he saw. Melanie recognized masculine admiration. She’d worked hard to achieve it: a strenuous daily workout, hair tinting, a carefully chosen wardrobe and just the right amount of makeup.
“Do you remember Gloria?” she asked. Colt wouldn’t have known that Gertrude had been friends with Gloria. The two had never been in his company together.
“Sure,” he answered. “I used to see her around. I went to high school with Fred. They were sweethearts.”
She smirked and raised a brow. “I went to Saint Theresa’s. I was a good girl.”
“Oh, yeah?” He laughed. “Well, I was probably the baddest boy in town. Lucky for you we never met.”
