Rogue's Reform

Grace knew the answer Ethan wanted. It was in his scowl, his clenched hands, the sinking feeling in her stomach. It was foolish to be disappointed. She was twenty-five, a woman on her own, about to become a single mother.

There was no room in her life for daydreams or fantasies, no chance that a charming rogue might turn into her very own Prince Charming, no chance at all that something special could develop out of a one-night stand. Yes, he’d come back upon learning that she was pregnant, but only because he wanted her to deny that he was the father.

“No,” she said softly, feeling the ache of the lie deep inside.

He looked startled, then relieved, then suspicious. “No, what?”

“You’re not the father.”

His gaze narrowed, sending heat flushing through her face.

“You’re lying. It’s my baby, isn’t it?”

Dear Reader,

Once again Intimate Moments is offering you six exciting and romantic reading choices, starting with Rogue’s Reform by perennial reader favorite Marilyn Pappano. This latest title in her popular HEARTBREAK CANYON miniseries features a hero who’d spent his life courting trouble—until he found himself courting the lovely woman carrying his child after one night of unforgettable passion.

Award-winner Kathleen Creighton goes back INTO THE HEARTLAND with The Cowboy’s Hidden Agenda, a compelling tale of secret identity and kidnapping—and an irresistible hero by the name of Johnny Bronco. Carla Cassidy’s In a Heartbeat will have you smiling through tears. In other words, it provides a perfect emotional experience. In Anything for Her Marriage, Karen Templeton proves why readers look forward to her books, telling a tale of a pregnant bride, a marriage of convenience and love that knows no limits. With Every Little Thing Linda Winstead Jones makes a return to the line, offering a romantic and suspenseful pairing of opposites. Finally, welcome Linda Castillo, who debuts with Remember the Night. You’ll certainly remember her and be looking forward to her return.

Enjoy—and come back next month for still more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around, available every month only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Rogue’s Reform

Marilyn Pappano

MARILYN PAPPANO

After following her career navy husband around the country for sixteen years, Marilyn Pappano now makes her home high on a hill overlooking her hometown. With acreage, an orchard and the best view in the state, she’s not planning on pulling out the moving boxes ever again. When not writing, she makes apple butter from their own apples (when the thieves don’t get to them first), putts around the pond in the boat and tends a yard that she thinks would look better as a wildflower field, if the darn things would just grow there. You can write to Marilyn via snail mail at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK 74067-0643.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Prologue

It was a slow night at the Pirate’s Cay. Some joker in the corner had spent the last two hours playing every Jimmy Buffett tune on the jukebox, and two of the worst pool players on Key West were playing a game of eight ball that was never going to end the way they were going at it. The few regulars who had wandered in had wandered back out before long, leaving Ethan James with no one interesting to watch but the redhead alone at a table for two.

He had a weakness for redheads—had ever since he was sixteen and had hitched a ride across Texas with a redhead five years his senior. She’d shown him the sights at damn near every stop, and he’d developed a fine appreciation for flaming hair and fiery passion along the way.

The redhead at Pirate’s Cay was looking at him as if she could show him a few things, too. On a slow night, with nothing else, he was sure he would enjoy the ride.

As he finished wiping down the bar, the owner of the Cay came out of her office, took a look around, then joined him. “Life in wild, wonderful Key West. I don’t know how we survive it.” She tossed two envelopes onto the bar between them. “Here. Happy payday.”

“What’s the other?”

“Letter came for you today. I put it with your check so I wouldn’t forget, and then I forgot.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall, then swiveled her stool around. “Last call, folks. We close in ten minutes.”

No one showed any interest in more drinks. The redhead waited until he was watching her, then stood up, smiled and sauntered to the door. If he were a betting man, he’d give himself better than even odds that she’d be waiting in the parking lot when he walked outside.

Actually, he was a betting man, though it was one of many vices he’d been working at giving up. He’d achieved a higher degree of success with some than others. He’d stopped stealing and drinking, and was honest more often than not. Staying away from the gambling was harder, but he told himself when he slid that at least it was better than earning his money by conning innocent dupes out of theirs. He’d cut back on indiscriminate sex, but he couldn’t give it up completely. Hell, he had to have something to make life worth living. He damn sure didn’t have anything else…except a drop or two of self-respect. He doubted anyone else would be proud of the changes he’d made, but he was, and that was almost enough.

Setting the envelopes aside, he began closing up. By the time he finished, it was only two minutes past closing time and everyone but him and the boss was gone. She didn’t have far to go—through the storeroom door and up a flight of stairs to her apartment on the second floor. His own apartment was a few miles farther in a neighborhood significantly shabbier. He had five hundred square feet over a two-car garage that took too much of his paycheck, but he had nothing else to spend the money on. No family who wanted anything to do with him. No girlfriend. No future besides trying to stay out of trouble.

He waited for the boss to walk him to the door so she could lock up behind him. “See you tomorrow, darlin’,” she murmured as he left.

He responded with a nod and a wave, then glanced at the letter as he started for the parking lot. The postmark was illegible, the handwriting familiar, the return address even more so. His sister-in-law Olivia was the only member of the family who kept tabs on him—whether out of affection or self-protection, he didn’t know. He suspected the latter.

She’d gotten the Cay’s address from the birthday card he’d sent his brother Guthrie last December, and in return, she’d signed Guthrie’s name to a Christmas card, along with an invitation to spend the holidays with them. He’d ignored the invitation, knowing he was about as welcome in Heartbreak as a prairie fire in a drought, but he’d kept the card, and the two she’d sent him since.

As he turned the corner into the parking lot, he saw the redhead draped over the hood of a sharp little ragtop before turning his attention back to Olivia’s letter. He tore a jagged strip from one end and slid two fingers inside to pull out a photograph with a yellow sticky note covering its subject. In Olivia’s elegant hand was a short message: I thought you should know. Know what? he wondered as he peeled the note off.

The answer stopped him in his tracks.

The snapshot had been taken in a parking lot on the main street of Heartbreak. The day had been sunny, the sky barely blue, but he would know it was cold even if the woman hadn’t been wearing a coat, scarf and gloves, even if her breath hadn’t crystallized in the air the instant the photo was taken.

Just as he’d known her instantly, without the long, wild curls, the sexy, tight clothes or the husky, seductive voice.

Just as he’d known that night seven months ago that rowdy bars weren’t her usual hangouts, that no-good con artists weren’t her usual companions.

He steadied his hand to stare at the photo. She wore no makeup, and her thick brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was turned slightly away from the camera to avoid a direct shot. Instead of drawing attention to her face, the stance drew the viewer’s eye lower. To what Olivia wanted him to know. To a not-so-small detail the too-big and unstylish clothes she wore couldn’t disguise.

She was pregnant. About seven months so.

After a long, stunned moment, he returned the photograph to the envelope, then carefully folded it to fit in his pocket. As he walked past the convertible and the beautiful, sexy redhead, he knew there was only one thing for him to do.

He had to go home.

Chapter 1

As towns went, Heartbreak, Oklahoma, wasn’t much, Grace Prescott thought as she walked briskly along the sidewalk. The buildings in what they laughingly called the business district were old and shabby. The sidewalks were cracked, the streets needed repaving, and too many of the parking spaces downtown had been empty for far too long. The ranchers and farmers for whom the town existed had always been in a tough business, and it had become even more so in recent years. Economic prosperity wasn’t even a pipe dream for the stores in town. The reality for most of them, her own included, was mere survival.

But she couldn’t think of anyplace else she’d rather be, of any other neighbors she’d rather have. In the last few months, she’d found a satisfaction in Heartbreak that she’d thought she would never know. For the first time in her life, she fit in. She had friends. She belonged.

And all it had taken was getting pregnant by a stranger and, when her father found out, a punch to the jaw. One moment of pure pleasure leading to a moment of pain, and the end result was this—freedom. Happiness. A bright future, no matter how bleak it might sometimes look.

“Hi, Grace.” Trudie Hampton greeted her as she unlocked the insurance agency door. “It’s a bit chilly this morning for your usual walk, isn’t it?”

“I’m not cold,” Grace said, though it wasn’t true. This morning’s forecast had called for a wind chill of eighteen degrees, and she was pretty sure they’d reached it. In spite of all her cold-weather gear, her reflection in the plate-glass window showed that her cheeks were ruddy. Her nose was sniffly, and her breath puffed into the air like smoke from a signal fire.

“They’re saying we’ll have snow before evening.”

“Really? I didn’t hear that.”

“Not on the radio. The old hens at the café. Bill Taylor says the creaking in his bones means there’s a snowstorm headed our way.”

“I thought it meant rain.”

“Aw, it means whatever suits the old goat’s fancy. I imagine he took one look at that cold gray sky and decided the rest on his own.” Trudie peered inside to make out the clock high on the wall. “I’d best get this place opened up, and you need to get inside before you freeze that young’un’s little toes off—to say nothing of your own toes. Have a good one.”

“I will. You, too.” As Grace walked on, she considered the truth of her statement. Lately she’d had nothing but good days. Sure, she was living on a tight budget and working longer hours at the hardware store than the doctor wanted her to. And, yes, there were still people trying none too subtly to discover the identity of her baby’s father. She had no insurance to cover the prenatal care and delivery of the baby, and no family to turn to for help. Some days she was convinced that she couldn’t possibly be a good mother, others she mourned the fact that there was no father, and too much of the time she was just plain scared by it all.

But they were still good days. Living on a budget was a piece of cake when you’d never before had a dime to call your own. Long hours at work for her own benefit was a lot different from long hours for someone else’s benefit. She had no family—her mother had fled Jed Prescott thirteen years ago, leaving Grace and Heartbreak behind—but for the first time in her life she had friends.

Also for the first time she’d found peace. She was no longer suffocating under her father’s rigid control, no longer living in fear that her most innocent action might send him into a rage. She no longer felt like an inmate in the grimmest of prisons.

She was a person with opinions to express, with value beyond the long hours she could work for free, and she felt like it.

Prescott’s Hardware, her destination, was located in the middle of the next block. All the other buildings on the block were boarded up and empty, giving her store a rather lonesome air, she thought fancifully as she unlocked the glass double doors. Inside the place smelled of metal and chemicals, with the pleasant aroma of sawn lumber drifting in faintly from the back. A serious builder would have to go to the big lumberyards and home centers in Tulsa or Oklahoma City, but Prescott’s provided everything necessary for the small jobs.

She turned on the lights, flipped the Closed sign on the door to Open, then headed for the counter back in one corner. Conscious of her tight budget, she turned the heat on only high enough to take the edge off the chill, then turned on the radio that sat on the file cabinets. Music, in the store or anywhere else in her life, had been against her father’s policy, so now that he was gone, she defiantly kept the radio playing all day and into the night. She even sang along, though her voice was rusty and always a half note off-key.

By the time she’d shed her winter garments and gotten a pot of coffee perking, the first customer had arrived. Actually, though he made regular purchases, he was more visitor than customer. Reese Barnett was the sheriff and, in some private little place deep inside, her hero. He’d been in the store the day her father had realized that she was pregnant. It was Reese who’d pulled Jed away after he’d hit her, who’d taken her to see Doc Hanson, then helped her settle in at the little house Shay Stephens had left when she’d married Easy Rafferty. It was Reese, with help from Heartbreak’s only lawyer, who had more or less intimidated her father into giving everything to her—the house and the store, though precious-little money—when he’d left town a few weeks later. He’d taken to looking in on her regularly ever since.

“I didn’t see your car in the parking lot,” he commented as he leaned one hip against the counter.

“I walked.” She watched as the last of the coffee dripped into the carafe, then poured a cup and handed it to him, her fingers brushing his, sending a tiny shiver down her spine. She could never admit it to anyone but herself, but she had a bit of a crush on Reese. It wasn’t just that he was incredibly handsome, capable and strong, though he was all three and then some. No, those weren’t necessarily qualities to admire. When her father had been Reese’s age, he’d been handsome, capable and strong, too, but none of that had stopped him from constantly abusing and tormenting his family.

She liked Reese because he was kind. Sympathetic. He genuinely cared about others. He was noble and honorable and decent. He had character, and she admired men with character.

Even though this man viewed her as a very young sister who needed looking after. Right now he was frowning in disapproval at the answer she’d given him. “You shouldn’t be walking that far.”

“It’s only one and a quarter miles each way, and Doc Hanson says walking is good exercise for pregnant women.”

“It’s too cold.”

“I dress warmly.”

“It’s supposed to snow late this afternoon. Then what will you do?”

“I’ll walk faster,” she retorted, then pointed out, “It’s not as if I’m the only one who travels that road. Someone always comes along.” That someone was often him—when it was raining or on the few other occasions this winter when it had snowed. If the snow materialized before closing time, he probably would, too.

He looked annoyed but dropped the subject. Leaning against the counter, he let his gaze slide across the room. “How’s business?”

“Steady. Up a bit over this time last year.”

“Because Jed’s not here,” he replied derisively, then belatedly glanced at her. “Sorry.”

“No need to be.” She’d been afraid of her father for as long as she could remember. Sometimes she’d felt sorry for him. Always she’d wanted to please him. But she couldn’t remember ever feeling what a daughter should feel for her father. She wasn’t sorry he’d left, or for the names he’d called her or the curses he’d heaped on her before going. She wasn’t the least bit sorry that she would probably never see him again, and she was downright grateful that her baby would never know him.

Reese drained the last of his coffee, then threw the foam cup in the trash. “I guess I’d better head to the office. Don’t walk home if it snows.”

“I won’t,” she replied, and they both knew she wouldn’t get the chance. If it was snowing, come six o’clock, he’d be parked out in the side lot. The knowledge brought her a sweet, warm feeling, along with a pang that his concern wasn’t likely to ever be anything but brotherly. She wondered idly as the door closed behind him if any man would ever feel anything but brotherly toward her.

There’d been nothing brotherly about Ethan James’s feelings.

Usually she kept the memories of that night locked away where they belonged. For weeks after her own personal Independence Day last July, she’d fantasized about her hours with him during the day and fallen asleep at night to the memory of his arms around her, his mouth on hers, his body inside hers. They’d been the sweetest dreams and had kept her going at times when she’d thought living with her father might drive her mad.

Then she’d discovered she was pregnant, a development definitely not in her plans. She hadn’t been able to take precautions herself, but she’d ensured that Ethan had each time. She’d thought she was safe, in every way, until the home pregnancy test her friend Ginger had sneaked to her had confirmed what her body had already told her.

Then Ginger had thought to mention the fact that no birth control was a hundred percent foolproof. Then, when the information couldn’t help Grace one bit.

To Ginger the pregnancy had been no big deal. Get an abortion or give the baby up for adoption—or, hey, novel idea, have it, keep it and raise it. End of crisis. Of course, Ginger hadn’t lived twenty-five years under Jed’s iron rule. She hadn’t been treated to a lifetime of warnings on the dangers and consequences of becoming a tramp like her mother. She hadn’t watched her very life drain away under his oppression until there was nothing left but a sad little mouse, afraid of everyone and everything. A pathetic creature pitied by some, unnoticed by most.

Unnoticed by Ethan James for the sixteen years they’d lived in the same town, the ten years they’d gone to the same school. With the school’s mixed grade policy, she’d sat a few seats behind him in biology, across from him in Spanish and had waited on him a time or two in the store. Once, when she’d dropped her books between classes, he’d helped her pick them up, had handed them to her with a careless “There you go,” but he had never even looked at her. He’d had eyes for practically every girl in the school, but he’d never known she existed.

One stifling hot Saturday night last summer, he’d learned…sort of. For the first and only time in her life, her father had gone out of town, leaving her on her own for a full twenty-four hours. It had taken about two heart-stopping seconds to decide what to do with her unexpected gift of freedom.

Go out. Have a drink. Meet a man. Maybe get a kiss, maybe a whole lot more.

Pretend for one night that she was a perfectly normal twenty-five-year-old woman. Experience enough of life in those few hours to sustain her in her prison for the next fifty years.

For help, she’d turned to the friend she’d made behind her father’s back at the grocery store. Thanks to Ginger’s cosmetic expertise, when she’d left the house that night, she’d looked nothing like the real Grace. She’d had rinse-out red highlights in her mousy brown hair, and long heavy curls that had corkscrewed in every direction. Tucking her glasses into her bag, she’d sacrificed seeing for looking good, but Ginger had assured her that the makeup job was flawless, making the most of her lamentably plain features. As for the clothes…she’d never worn a skirt so short or a top so tight in her life, and probably never would again.

But once had been enough. It had gotten Ethan James’s attention, and he’d finally known she existed.

As a rather mysterious redhead from someplace else named Melissa.

She’d crept out of his bed the next morning while he slept, hurried home and showered to scrub away the makeup, the curls, the fake color. The scents of sex, of a man. She’d half feared her father would look at her and know, would sniff the air when she walked by and recognize the cologne she was forbidden to wear, the aftershave she would never wear. He hadn’t.

And she hadn’t seen Ethan since. She hadn’t tried to locate him—hadn’t asked his half brother, Guthrie Harris, where he was, hadn’t told his pregnant sister-in-law Olivia that their babies would be cousins. Frankly, she wasn’t sure they would believe her. For a time the father’s identity had been a popular topic of conversation. Everyone had had theories, ranging from the truth—someone she met in a bar—to the obscene observation that her father was the only man with whom she’d spent time. No one had ever guessed Ethan. No one ever would.

It was her own little secret. And since Ethan wasn’t likely to return to Heartbreak for another several years, and would neither recognize nor remember her when he did, no one else would ever know the truth.

Which was exactly the way she wanted it.

The sky was a dull, relentless gray when Ethan passed the sign marking Heartbreak’s town limits. It was hard to believe that, night before last, he’d been in sunny, warm Florida and now he was right back where he’d started from. Back where all his troubles had begun. Where they certainly weren’t going to end.

He hadn’t needed a map to find his way back to Oklahoma. In all the endless miles he’d traveled, all the big cities and dusty towns where he’d stayed until he wore out his welcome or an impending arrest sent him on his way, he’d always known how to get back home.

At the same time, he’d never known.

He’d started running away from Heartbreak when he was barely fifteen. He was just like his father, his mother had always said with exasperated affection. Gordon James had done more than his share of rambling. In fact, he had rambled so often and so far that one time, when Ethan was ten, he’d never come back.

He was just like his father, Guthrie had always agreed, and with no affection at all. It was common knowledge that Guthrie thought his stepfather was no good, lazy and worthless. It was one of Ethan’s greatest regrets that his brother thought the same of him, and one of his greatest shames that he’d done his best to live down to Guthrie’s opinion. In fact, he’d done his father one better. He’d added crook to his litany of sins. Liar, thief, gambler, con man.

And, coming soon, father-to-be.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel spasmodically as anxiety tightened his chest. He’d always sworn he’d never bring a child into the world. He was indisputable proof that some men had no right passing on their genes to innocent babies. His father had been a loser, and he was a loser, so the odds were good that any child of his would also be a loser. Even if that wasn’t the case, any kid deserved better than him for a dad. He knew nothing about fatherhood, about responsibility or maturity or setting a good example.