The Cowboy's Baby Surprise. Linda Conrad

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      “Thank God…” Her knees buckled and the next thing she knew Witt had her in his arms, holding her against his body for support.

      She’d given up on ever feeling Witt’s arms around her again. Months ago Carley had truly lost all hope. And now that she could feel his muscles rippling under her grip, could smell his own beloved musky scent as he held her near, the hope flared.

      Witt stared down at her in his arms as if he was holding a complete stranger. The flame of hope quickly died again.

      “Feeling all right, ma’am? You delirious or dehydrated, maybe? Being out here in the sun without a hat isn’t too smart.” He set her unsteadily on her feet and backed away—leaving one hand on her elbow for support. “How about if I take you back to the main house? Maybe a glass of water will help?”

      Her parched body desperately needed to drink in the sight of him. She’d been thirsty for his embrace for far too long.

      Reality splashed her like a cold shower. Nothing would help. Witt’s first sight of her had not stirred any memories—in him.

      Unfortunately, the sight of him brought stunning images crashing in on Carley. She fought the tantalizing memory of his kiss, so full of irresistible passion and erotic hunger. Her head swam with remembering his touch on her skin—the touch that could heat the blood in her veins and send shivers dancing down her spine. A fierce craving to draw them both into the inner fire nearly brought her to her knees for the second time since getting an initial glimpse of him after all these months.

      “You need my help, Houston?” The ranch hand’s question broke into her daydream.

      Witt turned to the other man but moved his steadying hand to Carley’s shoulder. “Naw. You go on back to work, pal. I think I can handle things here.”

      Witt eyed her with a sideways glance. “I can handle you, can’t I, little lady?” He bent to whisper in her ear and the feel of his warm breath on her cheek suddenly seemed comforting.

      For one fleeting moment Carley wondered if Witt could be faking a memory loss. But within an instant she knew, deep inside her bones, that the man she’d loved could not disguise his real identity—at least, not while he stood so close. When she didn’t respond, his eyes narrowed to slits. He firmly gripped her elbow, leading her to the main house.

      “Oh, Wi—” no sense confusing him by calling him a name he would likely not recognize “—cowboy,” she choked. “I imagine you can handle me just fine.”

      If I can manage to control myself around you.

      By the time Witt ushered her into the kitchen of the main house, Carley had regained, at least, partial control of her emotions. First things first. She needed to address him by a name that wouldn’t be disorienting.

      When he handed her a glass of water, she noticed her hands were shaking, but decided to ignore them.

      “The name’s Carley,” she said, with more emphasis than necessary. “Carley Mills. What’s yours?”

      “Carley?” He took her free hand in both of his. “Nice name for such a dainty lady.”

      He grinned at her and she smiled back, not feeling the least bit happy.

      “I’m known as Houston…Houston Smith, ma’am. I kinda run the ranch operation around here. You know…the horses and cattle?”

      He’d suddenly spoken with cool politeness. She sensed it was as if he’d just remembered that strangers could mean trouble…even “dainty” strangers. His wary distance shattered her heart.

      Would she be able to keep herself from pouring pent up desires and dreams all over him?

      “And just what brings such a delicate flower to our little corner of Texas, Carley?” He released her hand and motioned for her to take one of the twelve chairs at the wooden kitchen table.

      “I’m hardly what one might call delicate… Houston.” She continued to stand but swallowed a big gulp of water to soothe her raspy throat. It didn’t help. She was feeling dizzy, shaky and…delicate. Darn it.

      At well over five-eight and a former world-class swimmer, delicate and dainty had never before been words used to describe her. But just now she felt weak-kneed and small.

      “I’ve come to Casa de Valle to take over the psychologist’s job while he’s on temporary leave,” she managed past the huge lump in her throat.

      “You’re a head doctor?”

      “I have a doctorate in child psychology, yes.”

      “Should I call you Dr. Carley?”

      “Some people address me as Doctor, but I’d prefer you call me Carley.”

      “I see. But what were you doing out in the—”

      Houston was interrupted by a young girl’s voice coming from the hallway. “Miz Mills?” The teenager appeared in the kitchen doorway carrying the one-year-old, currently whiny, Cami. “Oh, there you are, ma’am.”

      When Cami recognized her mother, she started to shriek. “Ma…Ma…Yeee!”

      Carley pulled her daughter from the teenager’s arms. “Hush, baby. Mama’s right here.”

      “I’m sorry, Miz Mills. I tried to put her down for a nap, but she wouldn’t have any part of it. Then she started to cry and I couldn’t find anything to make her happy.” In Carley’s professional opinion, the round-faced girl appeared to be feeling guilty.

      “Don’t worry about it, Rosie. It’s just the new place and strange people. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Carley wiped a few crocodile tears from Cami’s cheeks, but nothing she did consoled her daughter. “I’m sure she’ll adjust just fine after a few days. Until then, don’t hesitate to bring her to me if she seems distraught.”

      “Yes’um. I gotta get back now. You want me to take her again?” The earnest young girl looked panicked at the thought but was brave enough to ask.

      “No, thanks.” Carley found herself nearly shouting over Cami’s cries. “Tomorrow is soon enough for a repeat performance. I’ll keep her with me for now.”

      Rosie beamed with relief and beat a hasty retreat.

      Carley inspected Cami until the toddler became uncomfortable with the perusal and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, still sobbing and heaving heavy sighs. Carley patted her daughter’s back and stroked Cami’s hair as she turned to the man who’d been so silent through the whole scene. He looked rather shell-shocked.

      “Anything wrong, Houston?” Carley tensed in anticipation. Witt had never seen his daughter before—hadn’t even known of her existence before his disappearance, but Cami’s resemblance to him was unmistakable. Had he suddenly noticed? Had the sight of his daughter triggered some inner memory?

      Two

      The man who used to be Witt Davidson drawled a question in his languid, Texas accent. “That your daughter?”

      “Yes. СКАЧАТЬ