Princes of the Outback. Bronwyn Jameson

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      Seven

      For two weeks Angie hummed through life in a cheerful glow of hopefulness. When she closed the door on that hotel suite—after an indulgently long shower and an extravagantly big breakfast—she closed the door on all doubts and despondency. She left them there in the dark, shut away from the shining light of her optimism.

      Only sex? Bull! She’d felt the connection, the specialness, the rightness of their lovemaking.

      As for Tomas…well, she could make allowances. He’d been even more nervous than Angie, and he didn’t have the crutch of a lifetime of fantasies for support. She’d seriously unsettled him with that revelation, and she’d unnerved him more with the emotion she couldn’t completely contain when they’d finally come together.

      Plus, in his own words, it had been a while.

      Her mind had drifted back to that comment with vex-

      ing regularity. A while, as in, not since Brooke? Could he have been celibate that long?

      Knowing Tomas…yes. Because that’s how he would honor his vows, yet that thought caused a churning storm of conflict in Angie. The very qualities that drew her to this man—his steadfastness, his loyalty, his constancy and conviction—could also be the downfall of any hope of a future with him.

      He loved Brooke. He probably believed he would never love again. Yet Angie knew deep in her heart that she was his woman, and she used that confidence to staunch the rebellious doubts as she worked through two weeks without any calls from or contact with Kameruka Downs. He was busy, she reminded herself. This was his busiest time of year with the cattle business. Besides, she was to call him, she reassured herself, whenever her hungry gaze drifted to the phone late at night.

      Then her hand would cradle her belly and her heart would skitter with a mix of nerves and excitement as she contemplated the prospect of Tomas’s baby growing there. And she would fall asleep with a smile on her lips and optimism warm in her heart.

      This morning, when she visited the bathroom, fate and the female cycle rudely snuffed out that light.

      Naturally it was Monday and she couldn’t slink back to bed. Predictably it was a stinking grey Monday, the kind that decides to dump its wet load of misery on a woman’s shoulders when she’s running to catch the bus. And because she was in no mood for company, Rafe came to wander aimlessly around her workspace as soon as he arrived at the office.

      That happened to be about five minutes after she’d tossed her rose-colored glasses in the bin beside her desk, along with the pregnancy-test kit she’d bought ahead of time and stored in the back of her filing cabinet. She knew the second Rafe’s miss-nothing eyes settled on the discarded box.

      Why had she given in to that silly fit of hormonal pique? Why hadn’t she just left the kit where it was? She hadn’t needed to trash the damn thing!

      A small frown lined her boss’s forehead. “Is that what I think it is?”

      “That’s none of your business.”

      His gaze lifted at her sharp tone. “It appears to be unopened.”

      “How observant.” It was hard not to sound snarky when Rafe—dammit—was pushing aside papers to perch on the edge of her desk.

      “Do I take it this is bad news?”

      She clicked her mouse and stared hard at the computer screen.

      “Because I always thought it was bad news when the lines turned pink.”

      Eyes narrowed in irritation, she swung back to face him. “In your situation, that would be good news…or have you forgotten the baby you’re supposed—”

      “So, you did do it.”

      “What?”

      “You and Tomas. That night in the suite. I wondered.”

      Yet he hadn’t said a word. She wondered—

      “I didn’t say anything in case nothing came of it,” he said, finishing her thought. He glanced back at her bin. “Is that what the unopened test means?”

      “I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.”

      And because she couldn’t stand the sharp perceptiveness of his gaze—or the flicker of sympathy in his eyes—

      she turned back to her computer. Tapped at a couple of keys before she realized she hadn’t opened a document. The computer beeped back at her, something that sounded like you dolt. And she was the stupid, idiotic queen of dolts for imagining she could do this, for thinking that one night would instantly provide a baby, and for wanting it so much. Dammit, and now she had to put up with her boss sitting there looking at her with pity and—

      “What are you going to do about it?” he asked, and she whirled on him in a flash of fury.

      “What are you doing about it? You, also being part of this pact. Why should it be up to me? And how about Alex—has he set a date yet?”

      “Last I heard, he and Susannah are still in negotiation.”

      Which meant no date, no marriage, no baby, since Alex had decided that marriage had to come first. “And you?”

      “I’m still considering my options.”

      “Too much choice?”

      Instead of grinning or winking or chipping in with the usual Rafe-line, he looked at her steadily. “Or maybe I can’t find the right woman to make a baby with.”

      The right woman, the right mother, the perfect candidate. Angie’s heartbeat sounded thick and loud in the sudden quiet. “Do you think Tomas found the right woman?”

      “Do you?”

      Yeesh, but she hated questions tossed back in her face. Twelve hours ago she knew the answer, unequivocally, but now? Had so much changed? Or was this only a wet-day hormone funk? She stared at the blankness of her computer screen a moment, and the only answer she found was the truth. “I want to make more than a baby with him. I want to make him live and laugh and love again.”

      Rafe grinned. And winked. “Attagirl.”

      Angie scowled back at him, but somewhere inside she felt the tiny flicker of hope. “Fat lot of good it will do me.”

      “My brother needs someone like you. Someone with the balls—”

      “Thank you very much!”

      “—to keep pushing and prodding so he doesn’t hole up in his shell like a hermit crab. He needs someone who loves him enough to not give up.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ