CHEROKEE DAD Read online

  "Even if you didn't want to?"

  "Yes." He frowned, feeling like a hypocrite. "You know how I feel about illegitimacy. Uncle Bobby knows how much it bothers me, too."

  "Did he say something to you about it?"

  "Yes, but I told him things are strained between you and I right now. I doubt he's expecting us to announce our engagement any time soon."

  "But he'll expect it eventually. Won't he?"

  "Probably, but there's nothing we can do about that."

  She folded her unsteady hands on her lap. She sat in a weather-beaten chair, wearing baggy clothes, yet she still managed to look beautiful.

  Suddenly he wished the child Heather had brought home really were his. That he was obligated to marry her, to keep her and the baby whether he wanted to or not.

  But it was too late for that, he thought. Much too late.

  * * *

  Heather and Michael spent Thursday evening shopping for Justin's nursery.

  "This place is huge," he said as they wandered the aisles. "It's like a warehouse."

  "Yes." But it came highly recommended, Heather noted. Bobby and Julianne had purchased their son's furniture at Baby Bonus. "There's a lot to see."

  Michael pushed Justin in his stroller, then stopped to study the child, to watch him wiggle in his seat. "How's he supposed help us pick something out? He probably can't even see from this contraption."

  Heather shook her head. "I doubt he knows what he wants." How many styles of cribs could a ten-month-old decide upon?

  "Sure, he does." Michael reached down and lifted the boy from his stroller. "There. That's better." He bounced Justin and made him laugh. "See? Happy already."

  Justin did look cozy in Michael's arms. No one would suspect that they weren't father and son. Not with their golden skin and slightly crooked smiles. Of course, Justin owned chubby cheeks and dimples, and Michael possessed hard-edged bones and a small scar near his mouth, but they still seemed right together.

  "What do you think of this?" He carried the baby toward a blue and yellow display, leaving Heather to tend to the empty stroller.

  Justin didn't react. He was too busy playing with the western embroidery on Michael's shirt. Then he noticed the earring glinting through his new daddy's hair. Heather had given Michael the tiny, twisted silver hoop on his twenty-first birthday. Along with a watch he still wore and a night of lovemaking that had driven him to near madness.

  "What about this instead?" He shifted to a pricey oak ensemble, decorated with cowboy carvings. "It would look good in my house."

  Heather's mind drifted to sugared roses and champagne, to the four-poster bed in Michael's room. Her twenty-first birthday had been just as erotic as his. The things he'd done to her, the way he'd used his mouth, his tongue, his—

  "Wow." He spun the baby around. "This is exactly what you need. Check this out, buddy. It's a pony."

  Justin's head whipped up. "Pa…pa…pa."

  "That's right. A rocking horse."

  Michael grinned at Heather, and she banged her knee on the stroller.

  Gorgeous, beautiful, wicked Michael.

  He balanced Justin on the rocking horse, and the baby waved his arms. He wasn't big enough to rock by himself, but Michael helped him.

  Justin squealed and laughed, and Heather caught his dimple like a kiss. She could still recall the day he was born, the day he'd slid into her waiting arms, with his dark head and skinny little limbs.

  Michael grinned again. "We've got to buy this. And the oak crib and dresser, too." He lifted Justin from the spring-loaded horse. "Told ya he'd help us pick out what he wanted." He patted the child's diapered bottom. "We should try to find some carousel pictures for his room. Some rainbow ponies or something." He paused and made a curious face. "Or is that too girlish?"

  She wiggled Justin's foot, shaking the little tennis shoe, wondering if she should buy him a pair of cowboy boots. "Boys like merry-go-rounds, too."

  "Yeah, I guess they do." Pleased, he bounced the boy in question. "We've got to get him a new cage, too."

  "Cage?"

  "Playpen," he clarified. "The biggest one they make. They've got to be around here somewhere. Don't they, buddy?"

  Justin looked back at the rocking horse. "Pa…pa…pa."

  "Yep. That's gonna be your pony." Michael turned to Heather. "The staff at the ranch has been asking about him … about our son."

  "They have?"

  "They've been asking about you, too." He cleared his throat, the roughness that graveled his voice. "I told them you'd be coming back to work soon."

  She intended to resume her job on Monday, to bring Justin into her old office, to explain away her absence to those bold enough to pry. "Are you concerned about it? About the staff seeing us together? Gossiping behind our backs?"

  "They're already gossiping."

  He placed Justin back in the stroller, and as the child whined and squirmed, protesting the confinement, Michael handed him a duck-shaped rattle from the diaper bag.

  The duck flew to the floor. Patient, he picked it up and tried a set of plastic keys. When that didn't work, he resorted to a bottle.

  Finally he rose to face Heather. "I'm trying to acclimate myself. To get used to all of this. But it isn't easy."

  She heard Justin sucking on his bottle, humming and kicking his feet. "You're doing a good job."

  "Really?" He still had the plastic keys in his hand. "Do you think Justin will like me as much as he likes my uncle?"

  "I think he already does."

  "He didn't the other night."

  "You seem more comfortable with him now."

  He shrugged, smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess so. But I'm still not changing stinky diapers."

  She laughed. "Most dads say that."

  "Yeah, well, this dad means it."

  Heather smiled, pleased that he was slipping into his role as Justin's father, doing the best he could to appear dad-like, to win the baby's affection.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "For what? Buying the kid some furniture? It's no big deal."

  But it was, she thought. Every effort to help Justin mattered.

  As they searched for the playpen aisle, he stopped in midstride. "Did you ever get ahold of that communications guy?"

  She knew he meant Reed's friend. "Yes." She'd contacted him from a pay phone in town, almost feeling as if she were still on the run, dodging strangers, looking over her shoulder. "He'll check the lines next week."

  "What's taking him so long?"

  "He's not from this area. He can't get out here until then."

  Michael waited until another customer passed before he spoke again. "Do you really think the phones are bugged?"

  "Probably. I can't imagine the mob letting it go." Thoughtful, he studied the oversize keys. "Maybe we should fake a telephone conversation. Give those nosy bastards something worth listening to. Some hot and heavy material. Something that' ll burn their em."

  Her jaw nearly dropped. "You expect me to squirm and moan on the phone for you? Knowing the mob is on the other line?"

  He chuckled. "Imagine the looks on their faces when they play the tape. All those breathy little sounds you make."

  The last thing she wanted was to picture a bunch of sushi-sucking mobsters gathered around Denny Halloway's pool, listening to her pant.

  "You just want your ego stroked."

  He moved a little closer, bumping her arm, grinning devilishly. "It wouldn't be my ego you'd be pumping, darlin'."

  Oh, good grief.

  "Admit it. You like the idea of turning me on. Of making me crazy."

  Did she? Maybe just a little.

  Okay, a lot, but that was beside the point.

  "Other people do it," he said. "Julianne got lonely one night and called Bobby. Of course, this was a while ago. Before they were married."

  Stunned, she widened her eyes. "How would you know?"

  "Bobby told me."

  "And why would he tell yo
u something like that?"

  "Because I happened to mention how curious I was about calling one of those phone-sex lines. And he sort of laughed and said that—"

  "You actually considered paying someone to talk dirty to you?" She could only stare, could only wonder what he'd been up to since she'd been gone.

  "Imagine if the mob would've heard that. They'd think I was a pervert, huh?"

  Hurt and jealous, she moved away from him. "You are."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, guess what? I'm calling you tomorrow. Bright and early from my office." His gaze was sharp, dark and lethal. "When you're half naked. And still in bed."

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Michael came home and found Heather on her hands and knees, digging in the dirt. Working off sexual frustration, he hoped. Stewing about the phone call he'd never made.

  He walked up behind her. "I brought you some lunch."

  She spun around and glared at him. Her jeans were smudged, and her hair was banded into a messy ponytail. Already, her skin glowed from the sun. "I'm not hungry."

  He held up the bag. "It's shrimp kebabs. Fresh from Chef Gerard's grill." He knew she thrived on the gourmet meals served at the ranch. "And banana cream pie."

  Her nose twitched. "I'm planting my garden."

  Another influence from the chef. The Le Cordon Bleu cook had taught her about organic gardening.

  Michael turned to the baby. Justin sat in the shade in his new playpen, amusing himself with balls, blocks and squeaky toys. "Hey, buddy."

  The kid looked up and grinned.

  "What do ya say? Do you want to taste your mama's lunch? I'll bet you'll like the pie." Ignoring Heather, he opened the bag and removed the dessert.

  Curious, the baby crawled to the edge of the playpen, stood and held onto the rail. Michael dipped a plastic spoon into the creamy banana filling.

  The kid accepted it greedily, swallowed and chanted "Um … um … um," before he opened his mouth for another bite.

  Michael gave him a second helping, then a third. "So," he said to Heather. "What made you decide to plant a garden?"

  "You know I do this every spring."

  "You're only going to be here for two months. Seems like a waste of time to me."

  Undaunted, she shooed off a bee, waving a gloved hand. Bees always swarmed around her hair, attracted to the color. Just like Michael was.

  "It's lettuce and squash. I'll be able to harvest the plants before I leave."

  "You're just trying to keep busy. Trying to get your mind off talking dirty to me."

  "You wish."

  "Yeah, right. You're pissed because I didn't call."

  "I am not." She sat back on her heels, watched him feed Justin her pie.

  He shot her a smug look, took a bite of the dessert himself, just to tick her off even more. "You are, too."

  "Okay. Fine. Maybe I am. And why not?" She waved away the same persistent bee, unfazed by its stinger. "You left me hanging. Fretting all morning. Afraid you'd keep calling until I answered."

  But he hadn't called at all. And somehow that was worse. A rejection, he supposed. "I wasn't serious about the mob listening in."

  "Yes, you were."

  "Okay. Fine." He used her line, her haughty admission. "Can you blame me? I'm tired of looking like the jilted boyfriend. The jerk who waited around for you."

  "You didn't wait."

  "You think I had sex with other women?"

  "If you didn't, you sure thought about it."

  "Of course I thought about it. You were gone for eighteen months. A year and a half," he punctuated, digging into the pie again.

  She tore off her gloves. "I didn't think about sleeping with other men."

  Great. Now she was going to lay a guilt trip on him. "How was I supposed to know that? You took off. You left. No card. No phone call. No see ya later, chump."

  Justin whined, and Michael realized the kid waited for another bite, the spoonfuls he'd been shoveling into his own mouth. "Sorry, buddy."

  Heather snorted. "If he gets hyper from all that sugar, I'm making you stay up with him tonight."

  "Like I've got anything else to do." But head to the nearest bar, he thought. Drown his loneliness in beer. "I should have gotten laid. I should've found a new lover. Gotten my rocks off good and tight."

  Ice edged her voice, cold and crisp. "So why didn't you?"

  "Because I missed you. You," he all but snarled. His obsession. The blonde he couldn't seem to get out of his system. "And I didn't want to deal with a bunch of emotional crap from someone else." When you take a woman to bed, she thinks she owns you, he thought. Or you start thinking you own her, pining for her day and night, the way he'd done with Heather. "Women are a pain in the ass."

  She smoothed her misbehaving ponytail, locked those stunning blue eyes onto his. A small breeze rustled her blouse, molding the light cotton material against her body.

  "You missed me that much?"

  "I just said I did, didn't I?" A damn fool admission he wished he could retract.

  Her gaze didn't waver. She didn't blink, didn't look away from him. "So what did you do?"

  "About what?"

  "Sex."

  He glanced at her breasts, at her peaking nipples, then cursed himself for noticing, for caring.

  What in the hell did she think he did? Took up pinochle? "I got drunk and watched porn," he shot back.

  She gasped. "You didn't."

  "Oh, yes I did." Her puritan reaction had him grinning, especially after all the erotic things they used to do to each other. "I've got an adult film collection that would curl your toes."

  "Oh, my." Miss Innocent simply sat and stared.

  He chuckled and tossed her the bag of kebabs. "Eat your shrimp, little girl. And later, I'll treat you to a movie."

  She caught the bag, and they both laughed.

  "You're evil, Michael."

  "And you're still wishing I would have called."

  "Maybe." She slid a shrimp from the stick and sucked on it, letting him know that somewhere deep down, she was blessedly evil, too.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  "Heather?"

  She heard Michael's voice, almost as though it drifted through a fog. Then she shifted on the sofa and realized she'd dozed off.

  "I'm done."

  She sat up and squinted, forcing her mind to catch up with her body. "Done?"

  "With Justin's room."

  Her brain kicked into gear. Michael had worked all weekend on the nursery. He'd continued to shop, to have more furniture delivered, to haul in smaller items on his own, to put the finishing touches on what she'd yet to see.

  He wanted to surprise Justin, and that meant surprising her, too.

  She glanced at the clock. It was after ten on Sunday night. "I put Justin to bed over an hour ago. Chester went with him."

  "Oh." Disappointed, he sat on the sofa beside her. "I didn't realize it was so late. I guess I lost track of time."

  "I can wake him."

  "No. That's okay." He turned to look at her, expectation shining in his dark eyes. "Do you want to see it?"

  "Are you kidding? It's all I could do not to peek in on you. I'm dying to see it." She'd been lurking outside the door for days, listening to the noises within, the shuffle of his feet, the clank of his hammer.

  He smiled and rose from the couch, encouraging her to do the same. "It's actually pretty cool."

  She followed him into the room, then stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh, Michael."

  Cool didn't begin to describe what he'd done.

  He'd decorated every corner, every crevice, every open space. The lamp on the dresser beamed with cowboy silhouettes, figures that matched the carvings on the crib. A kid-size couch sported cozy pillows and the toy box overflowed with cars, trucks and funny little farm animals.

  And the pictures on the walls. "You found them." The carousel horses they'd talked about. Painted ponies, with flowing manes a
nd dancing hoofs.

  "I almost gave up. Then I got on-line and made a mad search."

  And probably paid a fortune to have them shipped overnight. "This is beautiful. All of it." The ornate oak shelves he'd added, the leather recliner, the calf-printed curtains, the vintage cowboy boots nailed around the doorframe, the dream catcher, with its careful webbing and beaded feathers dangling over the crib.

  The rocking horse, she noticed, had acquired a mate. A smaller, simpler wooden pony Justin could reach by himself.

  "You can take everything with you," he said. "Except the curtains, I guess. Unless they fit your next window."

  She didn't want to think about leaving. She wanted to focus on being here, in Michael's house. "Justin is going to be thrilled."

  "I hope so." He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, a stance far more casual than his emotions allowed. "I don't want him to feel like a secondhand kid. Not now. And certainly not later."

  Once again, she fought the future, the reality of raising Justin by herself. "Later is a long ways off."

  "Not that long."

  "He's still a baby."

  "He'll be walking soon. Then talking. Then wondering about his dad." Michael tapped the smaller pony with his foot and sent it rocking. "About me."

  She watched the wooden horse make a graceful bow, then lift its head. "Yes, you." The father of the baby that had died. The infant with no heartbeat. No pulse.

  "What about when he's old enough to comprehend the truth? Are you going to tell him about his real parents?"

  "Reed and Beverly don't want him to know. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. If there's a medical emergency or if you decide you can't handle—"

  "We'll deal with that when the time comes. But I plan on sending money when you need it. When you get settled."

  She held his gaze, knowing his wouldn't falter. She could see kindness in his eyes, the tough-guy tenderness that made him who he was.

  God forgive me, she thought. For not telling him about his son. "This isn't about money, Michael."

  "I know."

  But it mattered to him, she realized. Justin's well-being mattered. "He's going to respect you."

  The pony stopped rocking. "How can he if I'm not around?"

  "Then I'll tell him the truth. I won't let him think ill of you."