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Letter to Reader “Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked. Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Epilogue Copyright
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
Please address questions and book requests to
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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
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.”
He was still grinning like a rogue when the waitress brought their meals. He cut into his meat. She studied the silverware pattern and pushed away her guilt. She wanted to be someone new in his eyes.
She glanced up and met his amused gaze. “Your reputation precedes you, Colt. I know all about you.”
His smile disappeared. “Everything?”
She wasn’t sure what everything was. “Just gossip, I suppose. People like to talk.”
He reached for his water. “The gossip started with my mom. Her folks, my grandparents, built Bluff Creek, the recreational ranch I inherited. Grandma ran the bed and breakfast and Grandpa took tourists on pack rides. Fishing and camping, nature trails, that sort of thing.” A short laugh barked from his chest. “But when Grandpa hired this big Indian fellow to help out, he got a little more than he bargained for. Toby Raintree took a shine to my mom. Problem was, she was only sixteen and Toby was twenty or so. Grandpa sent the Cheyenne packing, but the damage had already been done. I arrived nine months later.”
Colt raked his hands through his hair, deep-set eyes reflecting old wounds. Melanie thought about her own unbecoming beginnings. She was illegitimate, too. “You don’t have to tell me everything, Colt. If it makes you uncomfortable...”
“We’re talking about making a baby. I think we should be candid with each other.” A shrug jerked his brawny shoulders. “Besides, my family loved me, even if I had a bit of Toby in me. I wasn’t wild on purpose. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. It’s just who I was.”
She teased him with a feminine toss of her head. He was staring. Seriously considering her for the baby-making job, she thought. “I heard you were a spoiled rich boy.”
His grin was wry. “Overindulged, maybe.”
The waitress came by and cleared their plates. He had finished his meal, she’d done a lot of rearranging on her plate. If he noticed her lack of appetite, he didn’t comment on it. They both ordered a cup of coffee, passed on dessert.
“I have to know, Melanie. Is it the money?”
She couldn’t help herself from bristling. “I didn’t bring up your family’s money because I need it.”
“It’s my money now. My family’s gone. And I’m offering a fair amount to the woman who has my baby. I have a right to know what your true motivation is.”
She wanted to leap across the table, pummel his chest and shout that she loved him, that she hoped to keep his baby and share a life with him. “I plan to give the money to charity. A children’s organization of some kind. I have a successful career. I’m not in the business of selling babies.”
“And I’m not in the business of buying them,” he retorted, then softened his tone. “I had a daughter...a sweet little girl...” His eyes turned watery. “God, it seems like a lifetime ago. I just miss being a father. I didn’t mean to offend you. What you do with the money is your prerogative.”
He reached across the table for her hand, squeezed it apologetically. “Are you still interested, or did I just prove what an idiot I can be?”
Longing made her voice breathless. “I’m still interested.”
His fingertips brushed hers. “Will you come by the ranch tomorrow? I’d like to show you around. It’s a great place for a kid to grow up.”
“Certainly. I’d love to.”
Two hours later Melanie rocked on Glona’s weather-beaten porch, wearing a red cotton blouse, faded blue jeans, Harley-Davidson boots and an anxious expression that mirrored her fluttering heart.
Gloria’s youngest hummed a contented tune. The towheaded four-year-old reached for his favorite toy, a yellow dump trunk packed with tiny stones from the freshly graveled driveway. When he grinned, the cherry Popsicle stain around his mouth widened.
Seated beside him on the front step, his mother touched the back of his head and shuddered. “Colt’s daughter was about Joey’s age when she died. I can’t imagine losing a child.”
Melanie stilled the bentwood rocker. She remembered that summer. She’d come home for one of Gloria’s baby showers and learned Colt had just buried his estranged wife and daughter As usual, he’d been the talk of the town. She’d heard he was inconsolable, shutting out the world around him.
“What do you really think about him looking for a surrogate?”
“Truthfully?” Gloria ruffled her cropped hair, the spiky strawberry-blond strands still damp from Joey’s swimming lessons. She had always been fresh-scrubbed looking with a generous supply of freckles, cosmetics low on her list of priorities. “I think he’s lonely and misguided. He should marry again and have children the traditional way.”
“I had lunch with him today.” Melanie set the rocker in motion. It felt good to breathe the clean Montana air. Almost as life-sustaining as the sound of Colt’s husky drawl.
“A date? Oh, Mel, that’s wonderful.”
She gnawed her bottom lip. “It wasn’t exactly a date. I didn’t tell him my name used to be Gertrude. You see, we weren’t really meeting for old time’s sake.”
Joey’s mother shooed him into the house, bribing him with another Popsicle. “Just one,” she cautioned as the boy forgot about the truck and dashed off. She turned to Melanie, one eyebrow arching. “What’s going on?”
Melanie gazed out at the front yard. Along the fence, rows of late-blooming flowers and tall, scattered weeds fought for control. The garden hose attached to a sprinkler head slithered across the overgrown lawn like a giant snake. In the center of the damp grass a proud tree yielded a makeshift swing, a big, black tire swaying in the breeze.
Her beachfront property paled by comparison. A happy home surpassed a lonely, upscale, condo any day. “I told him I was interested in being his surrogate.”
“Oh, my Lord! You didn’t!”
Melanie set her jaw. “I did. And I am.”
Gloria shook her cropped head. “You, my dear, are not a good candidate. You’ve never even had a child. You’d never be able to turn your baby over to him.”
Plastering a smile on her face, Melanie ignored the other woman’s disapproving scowl. “Yes, I could. I’m too wrapped up in my career to think about raising a child. I’m—”
“Lying,” Gloria provided.
The phony smile faded. “You said it yourself. Colt needs a wife.”
“But he doesn’t want a wife. He wants a child, no strings attached.”
“I’ll make him change his mind.” That car accident had given her a new outlook on life. It had taught her to go after what she wanted. And more than anything, she wanted Colt.
When Glona’s expression reflected Melanie’s biggest fear, her confidence wavered. Reminding herself to breathe, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Please God, make Colt want me, too. Don’t let me fail.
She opened her eyes and addressed her friend. “You’re the one who gave me this idea.”
“What are you talking about?”
Melanie took another deep breath. How typical of Gloria to act innocent. “You couldn’t wait to tell me that he was looking for a surrogate. And you even said that I should be the one to have his baby.”
Gloria wrung her hands together. “I was kidding.”
“Baloney, that was a subliminal message and you dam well know it.”
“Sublimi—” The other woman stood up and began to pace. “Oh, my Lord, what have I done?”
Melanie forced a grin. If she couldn’t convince Gloria, then how could she convince Colt? “Oh, quit fretting. A little subconscious matchmaking never hurt anyone. Just wish me luck. Support my decision.”
The other woman paused. “Are you sure you’re in love with Colt? True love happens over time, and the two of you have never really spent any time together. I want you to be certain before you—”
“I am,” Melanie professed adamantly, meeting her friend’s concerned gaze. “From the first moment I saw him, I knew he was meant to be part of my life. And we did spend time together—every weekend for almost two years—I rode at his family’s ranch. He was good to me, Gloria. The kindest person I’d ever known.”
“He may not be so kind once he finds out what you’re up to.” When Gloria paced again, the wood planks squeaked below her feet. “I hate to say this, but there is the possibility he might not fall in love with you. Think about how serious this is, Mel.”
“I have.” Long and hard, every waking moment. “I’m not trying to trick Colt. And I know what the consequences are. If he doesn’t fall in love with me, then I’ll honor our original agreement.” Deep down, she kept telling herself that wouldn’t happen, but the realist in her knew it could.
Gloria’s jaw dropped. “You’d give him the baby?”
“Yes.” The next breath she took hurt. Deeply. “I vowed a long time ago that if I could ever repay Colt for his kindness, I would. I’ve always wanted to change his life the way he changed mine.” She set the rocker in motion again—a movement as gentle as the breeze, as tender as Colt’s heart. “He made me realize my worth, helped me to believe in myself. I’m successful and strong because he convinced me I could be
“So you see, Gloria. If I have to, I’ll give him our baby.” She would give Colt a part of her that would live forever. “But as I said before, I’ll do whatever I can to make him want me.”
The other woman’s expression softened. “Oh, Mel, you really do love him.”
“Yes. I always have.” Melanie recalled how sensitive and protective he had been. When the other teenagers who frequented the rental stables made leering cracks about what a “nerdy brain” she was, Colt had countered their attacks, professing “I think intelligent women are sexy.” Time and time again, Colt Raintree had been her champion, her knight in shining armor. He would touch her cheek and tell her she was perfect—sweet and pure—one of earth’s angels.
Although their lives had taken separate paths, Colt’s image had never been far from her heart. She wanted him to be her first love. Her only love.
As an image of her teenage self surfaced, Melanie’s stomach fluttered. What an image: a shy, skinny little girl with mousy brown hair and a mouthful of silver braces. “Colt didn’t recognize me.”
“How could he? Let’s face it, you’ve changed.” Gloria tilted her blond head. “You do plan on telling him who you are, right?”
“Yes, but not right away.” Colt wanted a professional relationship with his surrogate. A woman who adored him during their teenage years certainly didn’t fall into that category. Until his baby lay cradled in her womb, she would keep her identity a secret.
“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean—” Gloria paused as Joey scampered out the front door and down the rickety porch steps. The boy had a Popsicle, probably his fourth, the rainbow around his mouth a conspicuous giveaway.