Dear Reader,

The candles are on the cake and it’s time for all of us to celebrate the 20th Anniversary of Silhouette Books. What an incredible number that is…twenty years!

You, the loyal readers, are the ones who should blow out the candles and be served the first pieces of cake. Without you, the authors who write these books and the editors who are partners with those authors would be only daydreaming about such a momentous event, instead of it being a reality.

I am very proud to be a part of the Silhouette family. Over the years there have been books that, hopefully, made you laugh, made you cry and caused you to sigh in contentment as you read the final page with its promise to you of a happy ending.

I want to personally thank each and every one of you for your continued support and for the lovely letters you’ve written to me to let me know that you enjoy my books. Those letters mean more to me than I can begin to tell you. Each one is answered by me, then tucked away in my treasure album.

As we look toward the next twenty years of Silhouette Books, I wish all of you good health, happiness and the fulfillment of your dreams.

With warmest regards,

Dear Reader,

Happy 20th Anniversary, Silhouette! And Happy Valentine’s Day to all! There are so many ways to celebrate…starting with six spectacular novels this month from Special Edition.

Reader favorite Joan Elliott Pickart concludes Silhouette’s exciting cross-line continuity ROYALLY WED with Man…Mercenary…Monarch, in which a beautiful woman challenges a long-lost prince to give up his loner ways.

In Dr. Mom and the Millionaire, Christine Flynn’s latest contribution to the popular series PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE, a marriage-shy tycoon suddenly experiences a sizzling attraction—to his gorgeous doctor! And don’t miss the next SO MANY BABIES—in Who’s That Baby? by Diana Whitney, an infant gir1 is left on a Native American attorney’s doorstep, and he turns to a lovely pediatrician for help.…

Next is Lois Faye Dyer’s riveting Cattleman’s Courtship, in which a brooding, hard-hearted rancher is undeniably drawn to a chaste, sophisticated lady. And in Sharon De Vita’s provocative family saga, THE BLACKWELL BROTHERS, tempers—and passions—flare when a handsome Apache man offers The Marriage Basket to a captivating city gal.

Finally, you’ll be swept up in the drama of Trisha Alexander’s Falling for an Older Man, another tale in the CALLAHANS & KIN series, when an unexpected night of passion leaves Sheila Callahan with a nine-month secret.

So, curl up with a Special Edition novel and celebrate this Valentine’s Day with thoughts of love and happy dreams of forever!

Happy reading,

Karen Taylor Richman,

Senior Editor

Man…Mercenary…Monarch
Joan Elliott Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Olive Elliott,

because it’s time to pause and say,

“Thanks, Mom!”

Books by Joan Elliott Pickart

Silhouette Special Edition

*Friends, Lovers…and Babies! #1011

*The Father of Her Child #1025

†Texas Dawn #1100

†Texas Baby #1141

‡Wife Most Wanted #1160

The Rancher and the Amnesiac Bride #1204

ΔThe Irresistible Mr. Sinclair #1256

ΔThe Most Eligible M.D #1262

Man…Mercenary…Monarch #1303

Silhouette Desire

*Angels and Elves #961

Apache Dream Bride #999

†Texas Moon #1051

†Texas Glory #1088

Just My Joe #1202

ΔTaming Tall, Dark Brandon #1223

Previously published under the pseudonym Robin Elliott

Silhouette Special Edition

Rancher’s Heaven #909

Mother at Heart #968

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Gauntlet Run #206

Silhouette Desire

Call It Love #213

To Have It All #237

Picture of Love #261

Pennies in the Fountain #275

Dawn’s Gift #303

Brooke’s Chance #323

Betting Man #344

Silver Sands #362

Lost and Found #384

Out of the Cold #440

Sophie’s Attic #725

Not Just Another Perfect Wife #818

Haven’s Call #859

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over seventy novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and a fantastic little grandson. In September of 1995, Joan traveled to China to adopt her fourth daughter, Autumn. Joan and Autumn have settled into their cozy cottage in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

Contents

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

Chapter One

Jake’s Saloon looked like a set from a low-budget Western movie.

John Colton stood just inside the door of the noisy, smoke-filled building and swept his gaze over the milling crowd.

Strange, he thought. Nothing had changed during the years since he’d been in this place. It was Friday night in Hope, Arizona, and the randy cowboys from the ranches in the area were out in force. They had payday money in their pockets, and women on their minds.

It even smelled the same, a mixture of smoke, beer, cheap aftershave and the pungent aroma of male sweat, cattle and horses.

He’d catch a whiff now and then of too much perfume worn by the multitude of women in tight jeans, or short skirts, or whatever they hoped might entice the cowboys on the prowl.

It was all very tacky, but it was real earthy and honest, exactly what it appeared to be, and it suited his needs at the moment just fine.

John unbuttoned his suede, fleece-lined jacket, revealing a dark blue Western shirt with pearly snaps, then tugged his black Stetson low on his forehead.

He made his way forward, inching past the tangle of bodies at the bar to reach the area with cracked-leather booths and scarred wooden tables that edged a worn dance floor.

Garth Brooks was wailing from a brightly colored jukebox about having friends in low places, and a raised platform against a far wall stood ready for the band that would play loud, country-western music later that night.

John slid into a booth that was closer to the congested bar area than he would have preferred, but it was the last available free space he could find.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the table to land on the other seat, a clear indication, he hoped, that he wasn’t open to having company. Like the majority of men in the nightclub, he left his Stetson firmly settled on his head.

He leaned back against the stiff leather and sighed deeply.

This was a crazy place to be, he supposed, considering he had some very serious thinking to do. But the walls of his room in the shabby-but-clean motel had been closing in on him, resulting in him pacing like a caged animal.

His jet lag, combined with the shocking, nearly unbelievable news he’d received, had sent his brain into overload, his thoughts chasing in an endless circle in his mind.

Man, oh, man, what was he going to do?

That question was hammering at him unmercifully. He had to have a plan, an answer, by tomorrow, for Pete’s sake.

“Ah, hell,” he said aloud, dragging both hands down his face.

“Rough goin’, cowboy?” a female voice said.

John snapped his head around to see a waitress standing next to the booth, a pad of paper in one hand, a pencil in the other. She was wearing a very short red skirt with white fringe, a matching bolero top that exposed her midriff, and white cowboy boots. A white Stetson was cocked at a jaunty angle on her head.

“Yeah,” John said, “you could say that.”

“Well, you came to the right place,” she said. “Some drinkin’ and dancin’ will take your mind off your troubles. What can I get ya?”

“Beer,” John said.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t care. Bring me whatever is handy.”

“Whew. You are bummed, big time. Hey, a good-lookin’ guy like you can have your pick of any gal in the place. Get yourself a pretty woman and go for it. Be right back with your beer. You runnin’ a tab?”

“Yeah.”

The waitress hurried away, managing to wiggle her hips despite her fast pace.

Get myself a pretty woman? John thought dryly. Not a chance. That mind-set had gotten him nothing but trouble, was the cause of the mess he was now in.

What in the hell was he going to do?

The waitress returned with a brown bottle and a tall glass. She set them on the table, gave John a coy smile and a wink, then disappeared again into the crowd. John pushed the glass to one side, then took a deep swallow from the bottle.

Nasty, he thought, shuddering slightly. He really didn’t like beer, but he wasn’t about to start drinking hard liquor. He’d never be able to sort through the tangled maze in his mind if his brain was fuzzy from alcohol.

Maybe what he should do was quit thinking for a while, just zone out and observe the foolishness taking place around him. Yeah, that was the ticket. He would take a mental break, then square off against his dilemma again later. It was worth a try, might enable him to come up with a workable solution.

He shifted into a more comfortable position in the booth, then tapped his fingers against the cold bottle in an edgy, restless rhythm. He blanked his mind and watched the age-old mating games being played in an endless series of scenarios.

Half an hour later, the five-piece band appeared on the platform, tuned up, then exploded into loud music with a peppy number that caused a crush of humanity to flow onto the dance floor.

Several women approached John, but he refused each invitation to dance with a barely discernible shake of his head and a nondescript expression on his face.

He ordered another beer that he had no intention of drinking, figuring he’d better spend more money to justify occupying the booth.

Each time the reality of the situation that was plaguing him began to creep into the edges of his mind, he pushed it away, refusing to dwell on it during the mental hiatus he was allowing himself to take.

He simply sat there, as still as a statue, listening to the music, and people-watching.

Laura Bishop stood outside of Jake’s Saloon, telling herself for the third time to open the door and enter the nightclub. She could hear the music and the muted sounds of voices and laughter that were beckoning to her.

A chill wind whipped across the parking lot, causing her to shiver and hunch into her jacket.

This was ridiculous, she told herself. She was standing there like an idiot, freezing to death, because she couldn’t gather the courage to enter the dumb building.

She was acting like a silly child instead of a twenty-nine-year-old woman. Granted, it was totally out of character for her to be out on the town by herself, let alone contemplating going into a bar, for heaven’s sake.

Maybe she should just forget the whole thing, return to the ranch and curl up in front of the fire with the novel she’d been attempting to concentrate on.

Laura frowned as an image of the large, empty living room at the ranch flashed before her mental vision.

No, not tonight. She couldn’t face the long, lonely hours in that house tonight. As the minutes on the clock had ticked slowly by, she’d become more and more depressed.

Her inner voice had been taunting her with a list of what she didn’t have, would probably never have, causing an ache of loneliness to consume her, to grip her with icy tentacles.

Once she’d been accustomed to a busy schedule as social secretary to the four Royal Princesses of Wynborough. Now she had too many idle hours to fill each day.

Laura sighed.

The princesses. Each had found true love, her soul mate, and were all so blissfully happy. She was sincerely pleased that the four women, who were her friends as well as her employers, were floating on cloud nine as they began their new lives as the wives of the men they had chosen to be their life’s partner.

But, oh, dear, how it all accentuated the stark reality that she was so very alone. Her few relationships over the years had resulted in the frogs she’d kissed remaining frogs, not one of them turning into her Prince Charming.

Laura shivered as another gust of wind whipped around her.

The air certainly held no promise of spring warmth, that was for sure. She either had to hightail it back to the ranch, or open the dumb door to the nightclub and have an evening away from her solitude as she’d intended to do.

“Enough of this,” she muttered. “My toes are probably going to fall off if I stand here any longer. Move, Laura. Right now.”

She took a steadying breath, let it out slowly, then yanked open the door and entered the building.

Despite the noise, smoky haze and the crush of people, John’s razor-sharp senses alerted him every time the door to the club was opened and someone new needed to be checked out. His appraisal was done by rote, born of years of always being prepared for potential danger.

He glanced at the door yet again, then did a double take as an attractive woman came into view. He watched her hesitate, as though she was about to bolt right back out of the crummy place. She swept her gaze over the huge expanse in a jerky motion, her eyes widening slightly at what she saw.

She was a fish out of water, John thought rather absently. It didn’t take a genius to realize that she wasn’t a regular on the barhopping scene. She looked as if she was about to climb into a dentist’s chair.

His ability to size people up quickly had saved his life on more than one occasion in the past, and there was no doubt in his mind that this woman was way out of her element in coming here on her own.

Well, she wouldn’t be alone for long. She was pretty, in a fresh, wholesome sort of way. She had short blond hair that curled around her face, delicate features and very kissable lips. From this distance he couldn’t discern the color of her eyes, though. Brown? Blue? Ah, hell, who cared? Forget it.

He shifted his attention back to the band, then seconds later found himself looking at the woman again.

She hadn’t moved.

John chuckled and took a swig of beer.

Well, Pretty Lady, he thought, how long are you going to stand there? Ah, there she goes. She was unzipping her puffy blue jacket, apparently having decided to stay awhile.

Pink sweater. Nice. No, it wasn’t exactly pink, it was that fancy color with the weird name. Mauve. Yeah, that was it. Okay, she had on a mauve sweater and jeans that were so new, they probably crackled when she walked.

So, Pretty Lady wasn’t a true-blue Westerner. It was evident she hadn’t washed those stiff, spanking new jeans a dozen times or more to soften them up and fade them a bit before she wore them.

She was, oh, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but not single-scene savvy. She was definitely in foreign territory, and it showed like a brightly lit neon sign.

Pretty Lady had spunk, though. He’d give her that. She’d lifted her chin and started forward, making her way through the crowd at the bar. She’d probably faint dead out on her lovely face when she got over here and discovered there was nowhere to sit.

Man, John thought, shaking his head in self-disgust, he was really scrambling to keep his troubled thoughts at bay. He was actually wasting mental energy by concentrating on a city gal who had no business being in a Western bar where she didn’t know the rules of the game.

“Hey, sweet thing,” John heard a cowboy say as the man stepped in front of the woman. “I’m Pete. How about I buy you a drink?”

“Oh,” she said. “No. No, thank you very much. If you’ll excuse me, please, I’d like to go sit down and listen to the music.”

“Fine with me,” Pete said, placing one hand on her shoulder. “We’ll sit together, dance some, have a couple of drinks.”

“No,” she said, removing his hand from her shoulder. “Thank you, but no.”

Pete, John thought, what part of “no” don’t you understand? That worn-out cliché had been custom-made for jerks like Pete.

“Now, darlin’,” Pete said, shifting to slide his arm across the woman’s shoulders, “you don’t have to play hard to get with me. You’re alone. I’m alone. We’re a match made in heaven. Come on. Let’s find us a table.”

“No,” she said, attempting and failing to wiggle out of Pete’s hold.

Pete leaned closer. “Mmm. You smell real nice. Oh, yeah, you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Let me go,” she said, an echo of panic evident in her voice.

Don’t you move, John told himself. He had his own troubles to contend with. Pretty Lady was getting her just deserts by walking into Jake’s, and she’d have to handle it herself. It was none of his damn business.

“Lighten up, sugar,” Pete said, kissing the woman on the temple.

“Stop it,” she said, nearly shrieking.

Ah, hell, John thought. He should have stayed at the motel. He didn’t need this hassle. But…ah, hell.

John slid out of the booth and pushed his way through the crowd in his path. He stopped in front of Pete and the woman.

“Pete,” he said, his voice very low and very menacing, “you have three seconds to take your arm off my woman. Are you hearing me, cowboy?”

“She’s not your…” Pete started, then met John’s gaze. The color drained from Pete’s face as he saw the ice in John’s blue eyes and the tight set to his jaw. “You bet.” The cowboy dropped his arm from the woman’s shoulders and took a step backward. “Hey, man, my mistake.”

“You’ve got that straight,” John said, then looked at the woman. “You’re late. Car acting up again?”

“Car,” she said, nodding. “Acting up. Again.”

“Right,” John said. “Come on, let’s go, before someone takes the booth I have for us.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“No joke,” John said gruffly. “That’s very obvious.”

He placed one large hand in the middle of her back and propelled her forward until they reached the booth. He shoved his jacket into the corner and glowered at her.

“Sit,” he said.

Laura sank onto the leather bench and scooted into the middle, acutely aware that her legs were trembling so badly, they had been about to give way beneath her. She drew a shuddering breath, then looked directly at the man who was now sitting opposite her.

He pushed his Stetson up with one thumb and met her gaze.

Blue ice, Laura thought. His eyes were cold, like chips of blue ice. He wasn’t handsome in a smooth, conventional manner; his features were far too rugged, with high cheekbones, a strong, square jaw and a straight blade of a nose.

His hair was dark brown, thick and shaggy, falling to his collar and badly in need of a trim. Broad shoulders strained against the material of his shirt, and his hands now wrapped around the bottle of beer were large and powerful appearing.

He was, without a doubt, the most earthy, rough-hewn—the most masculine—man she’d ever encountered. There was an aura of danger emanating from him, a sense of tension, of leashed strength that might explode at any moment.

Dear heaven, she thought, she could hardly breathe, and the wild tempo of her racing heart was echoing in her ears. Those eyes. Those incredible eyes of his were pinning her in place, making it impossible to move, to tear her gaze from his.

“I’m not going to gobble you up for dinner,” he said, frowning. “You still look scared to death. I’m not the bad guy here, you know. I rescued you from Pete the Pest, remember?”

Laura folded her hands on the top of the table and managed to shift her eyes to her entwined fingers.

“Yes, I know,” she said quietly, “and I want to thank you for what you did. I wasn’t handling the situation with that man well at all.” She sighed. “I never should have come here alone.”

“Why did you?”

“I…I just couldn’t face another long evening alone.” She shook her head. “Listen to me. I don’t go around baring my soul to perfect strangers.” She met his gaze again. “I’m acting completely out of character tonight.”

“Well, if it will make you feel any better, I’m not perfect, nor am I a stranger. I’m the knight who rode in on my white horse and saved you, the damsel in distress.

“And as far as baring your soul? I’m in this crummy place because I couldn’t handle the four walls that were closing in on me. I needed to escape from my own thoughts. And I can’t quite believe I’m telling you all this.”

Laura smiled. “I guess we’re both behaving out of character. I suppose the least we should do is introduce ourselves.”

“No, wait,” he said, raising one hand. “Since we’re behaving so far from the norm, let’s stick with first names only. That will make this whole thing not quite…well, real. I’m John.”

“Hello, John. I’m Laura.”

“Pretty name,” he said, smiling slightly, “for a pretty lady.”

Laura cocked her head to one side and studied John intently.

“You don’t smile often, do you?” she said. “Your smiles just don’t materialize naturally.”

John lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve never thought about it,” He paused. “No, I guess I don’t have a hell of a lot to smile about.”

The waitress appeared suddenly at the booth, startling both Laura and John.

“I see you took my advice, cowboy,” she said, then looked at Laura. “Drink?”

“Just a cola, please,” Laura said.

“You bet. Well, good-lookin’,” she said to John, “you’ve got yourself a pretty woman, you’re doin’ some drinkin’, so get out on the floor and do the dancin’ part. You’ll forget your troubles in no time at all. Be right back with the cola.”

John shook his head as the waitress hurried away.

“She probably actually believes that problems are that easily solved,” he said.

“Do you have problems?” Laura said.

“Doesn’t everyone?” John said, raising one eyebrow.

The waitress returned and slid a glass in front of Laura, then she disappeared again. Laura took a sip from the straw poking through the ice.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose problems are subjective. One person could be upset because they couldn’t find exactly the right shoes to match a new party dress. While another person could be in turmoil due to a serious illness they’re suffering from. But each would say they had a problem.”

“Ah,” John said, “the lady is a heavy thinker, but what you’re saying makes sense.” He paused. “Since we’ve agreed that tonight is a step away from reality, why don’t you pretend you’ve known me for a long time and tell me your problems?”

As Laura looked at John, a strange warmth suffused her, a sense of peacefulness that was interwoven with a tingling excitement at being in close proximity to such a blatantly masculine man.

Yes, she thought, she could talk to John and he would listen, really hear, what she had to say. But she had a feeling that her woes fell into the category of the new shoes to match the party dress.

John appeared deeply troubled. There was fatigue etched on his ruggedly handsome face, and shifting emotions she couldn’t define were reflected in the icy blue depths of his eyes. It was as though a massive weight was pressing on his broad, strong shoulders.

Oh, such fanciful ramblings. She was actually beginning to believe that she did know John well enough to sense that he was experiencing a great deal of inner turmoil, and that he needed her to share his crushing burden.

“Are we on equal terms, John?” she said. “I believe you keep your innermost feelings to yourself. I also think that you’re a loner, a man who moves through life marching to the beat of his own drummer.”

Laura smiled. “Don’t ask me where all that came from, because I really don’t know. I just feel very tuned in to you somehow.” Her smile faded. “Are you going to be honest and open with me, if I am with you?”

Hell, no, John thought, taking a swig of the beer that was now distastefully warm. He didn’t dump his problems on anyone…never had, never would.

He was a loner, just as Laura had pegged him. To have someone to share with required a man to belong, to fit in, and that just wasn’t the way his deck was stacked.

But yet…

This woman, this Laura with the unknown last name, was reaching out to him, and for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand he was starting to allow her to touch him deep within, could feel the warmth and gentleness of her caring.

Crazy. This whole conversation with Laura was nuts. He was succumbing to his bone-deep exhaustion and the tangled maze in his beleaguered brain. Hell, this was more than a step away from reality, it was a world apart from how he normally operated.

He should leave, just get up and walk out of there.

But he didn’t want to, wasn’t going to, and he was definitely losing his mind.

Ah, what the hell. Maybe if he talked about what he was facing, he could get a better handle on it, decide on a course of action.

That would sure as hell be a new way of doing things for him, but this night was different from any other…and so was pretty Laura. Oh, yes, so was Laura.

He nodded. “Okay. You’ve got a deal. We’ll be honest and up front.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “After all, we’ve known each other for years. Right?”

Their eyes met and the music and noise of the crowd faded into oblivion. They were encased in a sudden hazy mist that swirled around them, dipping, stroking, heightening awareness of the other and causing embers of desire to begin to glow deep within them.

“Right,” Laura whispered, unable to tear her gaze from John’s. “I’ve known you for years and years, John.”

He nodded slowly, attempting and failing to ignore the coiling heat low in his body, and the increased tempo of his heart.

Lust? he thought, in self-disgust. He was no better than Pete the Pest. Worse yet was the fact that Laura wasn’t even his type.

She hadn’t come into Jake’s looking for a man, hadn’t been on the prowl like the other women who knew the rules and how to play the game. Lust. He could feel his body reacting to Laura. What a sleaze-ball he was.

But maybe…yeah, maybe, this wasn’t lust in its usual form. He and Laura were connecting in a place they had invented just for themselves, for these few hours stolen out of time.

They were caring, sharing, being there for each other in their loneliness, fulfilling needs. This heat thrumming low in his body might be…desire, an honest, more gentle wanting, something he’d never experienced before.

That made sense. Sure. There was a special quality to this interlude with Laura. It stood to reason that new and different emotions would rise to the fore. He was being transported somewhere he’d never been. So be it.

“Who are you, Laura?” he said, his voice slightly husky.

“I…” Laura started, then drew a much-needed breath. “I’m a very ordinary person. I grew up in Michigan in a loving family. I have an older sister, Linda, who is married. We’re very close, friends as well as sisters.

“I went to Michigan State and got degrees in business and public relations. For the past five years I’ve had a marvelous position as social secretary for the daughters of a prominent family.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Why are you in Hope, Arizona, of all places?”

“I’m completing an assignment connected to my job. Tonight…well, I’m just not accustomed to having so many idle hours and I was restless, just couldn’t sit still for another second.”

“And you were lonely,” John said quietly.

Laura took a sip of her drink, then looked at John again.

“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “Since we agreed to be honest with each other, I’ll admit I was very lonely tonight. My life suddenly seemed empty, with no…no rainbow in my future.”

“Rainbow?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What do you want to find at the end of that rainbow? The ever-famous pot of gold?”

“No.” Laura shook her head. “Happiness. A special man, my soul mate, to share my life, to have babies with. See? I told you I was a very ordinary person. Nothing fancy.”

“You’re not ordinary, Laura. You’re special. You’re honest, real, like a breath of fresh air.”

Man, John thought, where was this stuff coming from? He didn’t say junk like this to women, like some corny would-be poet or whatever. But he meant it. Laura was special, rare, and he was very glad she’d walked into Jake’s Saloon tonight.

“Thank you,” Laura said, smiling. “That’s a lovely thing to say.” Her smile faded. “Now it’s your turn, John. I’m here. I’m listening. Talk to me.”

Chapter Two

Laura watched John as he jerked his head around to stare at the band, then the bottle of beer in front of him, then at a point somewhere above her head.

He was getting cold feet, she thought, shrugging out of her jacket. John was warring with himself, deciding if he was actually going to keep his half of their agreement.

She could understand his hesitation. It would be very difficult for a man like John to reveal his innermost thoughts.

But he would do it, she just somehow knew that he would, because he was a man of his word.

She felt so connected to John, as though they really had known each other for many years. How strange all of this was. Yet it was wonderful, too.

Yes, John would talk to her, share with her, when he was ready. She would simply wait patiently…wait for John.

A silent minute ticked by. Then two. Three.

John cleared his throat and shifted his gaze slowly to meet Laura’s.

“I grew up in Hope,” he said quietly, “but I never felt as though I belonged here. I left as soon as I was old enough. That’s my fault, the sense of not fitting in, not my family’s. They’re good people.”

Laura nodded, her eyes riveted on John’s.

“My family doesn’t know that I’m back. I checked into a motel because I needed some time alone, to figure out what I’m going to do about…” John stopped speaking and shook his head. “Hell.”

Laura reached across the table and covered one of John’s hands with one of hers as she leaned toward him.

“Going to do about what?” she said. “What’s wrong, John?”

John turned his hand over and grasped Laura’s. Heat shimmered up her arm, across her breasts, then began to swirl throughout her. She could feel a warm flush stain her cheeks, but made no attempt to free her hand from John’s hold.

So strong, she thought, yet so gentle.

“The last time I was home,” John said, looking directly at her again, “I came here, to Jake’s, met up with a woman I knew and we spent the night together. We both understood there were no strings attached. It was just…well, a night.”

“I understand,” Laura said.

“A couple of days ago I received a letter from a friend of that woman,” John continued. “It had taken quite a while for the letter to reach me because I was out of the country. The letter said that the woman I knew had died several months before.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Laura said.

“Yeah, well, there’s more,” John said, his grip on Laura’s hand tightening slightly. “The woman had…she never told me, but…” He shook his head.

“John?” Laura said.

“She had my baby, Laura,” he said, his voice gritty with emotion. “My son. She hadn’t planned on telling me, nor making any demands on me, but then she died.

“Her friend took the baby and started the process of finding me to tell me I had a son, that I needed to be his father because he no longer had a mother. He doesn’t have anyone.”

“Dear heaven,” Laura whispered. “A baby. You have a son who needs you to make a home for him, to raise him and—how old is he now?”

“Eleven months. He’s going to celebrate his first birthday pretty soon. His name is Jeremiah.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No.” John frowned. “I spoke with the woman on the phone and told her I’d pick Jeremiah up tomorrow. I needed some sleep and a plan for—ah hell, Laura, what am I going to do? How can a man like me raise a son?”

Sudden tears stung Laura’s eyes as she saw the raw pain on John’s face, heard it in his voice. She wanted to close the distance between them, hug him, hold him, tell him he wasn’t alone.

“A man like you?” she said, blinking away the unwelcome tears. “You’re saying that in such a derogatory manner, and you shouldn’t. You’re warm and caring. You were the one, the only one, who stepped in and rescued me from that aggressive man.

“You’re holding my hand, John, and you could crush it with very little effort, but I know my hand is safe. I know that I’m safe with you, because your strength is tempered with infinite gentleness.

“How can a man like you raise a son? By just being you, by loving Jeremiah with all your heart. You’re his father, and I think he’s a lucky little boy to have you.”

“Thank you, Laura,” John said. “More than I can even express in words.” He drew a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I guess all I can do is the best I can do. Man, I’ve never even held a baby before, let alone…I suppose there are books I can read about child care or something.”

Laura nodded. “You can use books as a guideline, but don’t expect Jeremiah to do exactly what is described. Babies are people in small bodies. They have personalities, likes, dislikes, just as adults do. You’ll need to follow your own instincts.”

John chuckled, the rumbly, male sound causing a shiver to course through Laura.

“You’re assuming that I have some paternal instincts,” he said, smiling. “If I do, they’re news to me.”

Laura matched his smile. “They’re there. Trust me. No, correct that. Trust and believe in yourself, Daddy.”

John’s smile faded. “Daddy. Father. Whew. I guess it’s really sinking in that I have a son.” He paused. “I wonder if he looks like me? Do year-old babies talk? Walk?” He laughed. “Play poker?”

“Oh, it’s so good to hear you laugh,” Laura said, “see you smile.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you, Laura. I’m very glad that you got cabin fever and came to Jake’s tonight.”

“So am I,” she said softly.

They smiled, warm smiles, meaningful smiles, smiles that wrapped around them like a comforting blanket.

Then the smiles disappeared as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. The desire within them burned brighter, hotter, consumed them.

And they welcomed it, because it was real and rich, and so very, very right. It belonged to them in their private and special world.

They communicated without words, messages of want and need sent and received with intertwined emotions of peacefulness and excitement.

John slid out of the booth and extended his hand to Laura. She placed her hand in his with no hesitation and moved to stand by his side. He retrieved their jackets, assisted Laura in putting hers on, shrugged into his own, then dropped several bills onto the table.

With his hand resting on Laura’s back, they made their way through the crowd at the bar to emerge into the clear, cold night.

“I walked over from my motel,” John said quietly. “It’s a couple of miles from here.”

“I borrowed a vehicle from where I’m staying,” Laura said. “We can go in that.”

John stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Laura.” He looked directly into her eyes, able to see her in the light from the neon sign on the building. “I want you to know that this isn’t just…just a night like I spoke of before.”

“I know that, John,” she said softly. “I don’t quite understand why this is so right, but it is, and I’ll have no regrets about what we’re going to share. I promise you that.”

He nodded, brushed his lips over hers, then tugged his Stetson low on his forehead.

A short time later, John parked the truck Laura had borrowed in front of his room at the motel. He’d left a small lamp on and the room welcomed them with a dim, golden glow.

John closed the door and slipped the chain into place. Laura leaned against the door and he braced his hands on either side of her head.

“I can’t see you after tonight,” he said. “I have to focus on my son, on learning how to become the best father I can be.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding. “It’s better this way, because I’m only here temporarily. This is our night, John. It was fate, our meeting at Jake’s, talking, sharing, feeling as though we’d known each other for a very long time. It’s all very special, rare, and very, very beautiful.”

John nodded, then lowered his head to claim Laura’s mouth in a gentle, fleeting kiss.

Laura kept her arms at her sides as he kissed her again, deeper this time, parting her lips to seek, find, then duel with her tongue in the sweet darkness of her mouth.

Laura’s legs began to tremble and she gripped John’s jacket, holding fast.

The kiss went on and on.

It was magic.

It was a night stolen out of time and reality.

It was clothes seeming to float away by a wish, instead of a touch, as desire exploded within them with hot, licking flames. It was passion soaring to previously unknown, glorious heights.

Cool sheets on the bed greeted their heated bodies and they kissed, caressed, explored, marveling at the wonders discovered.

John supported his weight on one forearm as he skimmed his other hand over Laura’s breasts, then on to splay over her flat stomach.

“You’re beautiful, Laura,” he murmured, close to her lips.

“So are you,” she whispered, her fingertips tracing the taut muscles in his back.

He shifted lower to lave the nipple of one of her breasts with his tongue. Laura sank her hands into his thick hair, pressing his mouth harder onto the soft flesh. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the exquisite sensations rushing through her.

She opened her eyes again, wanting to see John in the glow of the lamp, wanting to memorize every detail of him, cherishing the sight, the sound, the taste and feel of this magnificent man.

Her man, Laura thought dreamily. Hers for one night. They were creating memories together that she would keep forever, tuck away so securely in her heart. In the years yet to come she could reach into the secret cupboard and relive the magic of this night.

“Magic,” she said, not realizing she’d spoken aloud.

“Yes,” John said, raising his head to meet her gaze. “That’s what it is—was from the moment I saw you. I’ve never talked, shared, with anyone the way I have with you, probably never will again. Thank you, Laura, for…for just being you.”

“And I thank you, John, for being you, for chasing away my loneliness, for trusting me with your worries and fears, the very essence of who you are. I’ll never forget you. Never.”

“Yes, you will, and you should.”

“No, I…”

“Shh,” he said, then his mouth melted over hers.

They were no longer in a small, shabby room; they were in a field of wildflowers under a brilliant blue sky and a warming sun. They were in a place meant only for the two of them, where no one else was allowed to go.

Their place. Their world. Their magic.

Their breathing became labored and hearts thundered. Hands were never still and where hands had traveled, lips followed in a heated path.

It was wild, and reckless, and wonderful.

“John,” Laura gasped finally, “please.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Wait. I want to protect you.”

John returned to her as quickly as possible and Laura reached out for him eagerly, his absence having been an eternity.

John moved over her, catching his weight on his arms, then he entered her slowly, filling her, watching her face for any hint of pain.

Laura sighed in pure feminine pleasure, a soft smile forming on her lips. She raised her hips to meet him and the dance began, building in power and force to a pounding rhythm, taking them higher and higher.

Reaching. Glorying in the ecstasy. Anticipating the moment of exquisite release. Giving and receiving in total abandon.

On and on…

“John!”

“Yes!”

Laura clung to his shoulders and he flung his head back, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. They were there, together, and neither wished the moment to end. They hovered, savoring, awed by the splendor.

John collapsed against Laura, his energy spent. He rolled off of her quickly so as not to crush her, then he nestled her close to his side.

Hearts quieted. Bodies cooled. The flames of desire dimmed to simmering embers.

They didn’t speak as the magic demanded silence. Reverently, carefully, memories were hidden away in private chambers of their hearts.

They slept, heads on the same pillow, Laura’s hand encircling a small ring that hung on a chain around John’s neck.

Fingers of sunlight inched beneath the curtains on the window to tiptoe across Laura’s face, waking her. She opened her eyes slowly, then in the next instant sat bolt upright on the bed, her heart racing as she realized she had absolutely no idea where she was.

The cobwebs of sleep disappeared with a blink, to be replaced by vivid images of the previous night…and John.

Laura glanced around the small room, then saw a scrap of paper on one of the bed pillows. She snatched it up and read the message written in a bold, sprawling handwriting.

Laura—

I hope you find your rainbow. You deserve it.

John

Laura sank back against the pillows and reread the note three more times.

John, her mind whispered. He’d remembered what she’d said about wishing to find the rainbow that would bring her the true happiness she was seeking. She had spoken and he had listened, really heard what she had said.

John, her man of the magical night. He was so magnificent, strong yet gentle, so sensitive and caring.

John, who was facing the tremendous challenge of raising a son he hadn’t even known he had. He’d trusted her enough to share his fears with her, his feelings of inadequacy regarding his new, daunting and awe-evoking role.

John. Their lovemaking had been so exquisitely beautiful, it was beyond description. Magic. In the world they’d created together, every touch and kiss had been ecstasy. They had moved as one, a single entity, their dance of love so synchronized and perfect, it was as though they’d been lovers for years, knew every nuance of the other.

“John,” Laura whispered, then sighed.

She had no regrets about her rash actions of last night. None. The only shadow hovering over her was the realization that she would never see John again. She’d known that at the outset, but still…

No, no, she had to be sophisticated and mature about this. Facts were facts. And memories were memories, hers to keep.

“Goodbye, John,” Laura said softly, as she clutched the note. “Thank you.”

She showered and dressed, then after one last look at the shabby little room, she closed the door behind her with a quiet click. She turned away from this magical place, blinked away sudden and unwelcome tears, lifted her chin and prepared to drive back to the ranch.

Alone.

During the fifteen miles she had to cover to reach The Rocking C Ranch, Laura gave herself a continuous, stern lecture.

Before she even entered the house, she decreed, she would have pushed the memories of John to a safe corner of her mind, would not allow him to step through the front door with her, to haunt her with his sensuous presence.

The long hours she spent in that house waiting to fulfill her assignment were difficult enough without aching for the sight, the sound, the taste and touch of a man she would never see again.

“Go away, John,” she said, flapping one hand in the air as the house came into view. “Oh, please, just go away right now.”

The house was a large, one-story traditional ranch style, with five bedrooms and a huge, modern kitchen. The living room that Laura entered boasted an enormous flagstone fireplace on one wall, gleaming hardwood floors with a scattering of Native American area rugs, and oversize dark wood furniture done in varying shades of tweed.

Laura hurried to the bedroom she was using during her stay, not wishing to see Betty, the housekeeper. Betty was a no-nonsense woman in her mid-fifties, who would not hesitate to ask where she had spent the night.

Answering that question, Laura decided as she changed into fresh clothes, could hopefully be avoided if Betty didn’t have a clue that Laura hadn’t been tucked in her own bed.

Laura left her bedroom and peered into the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it was empty, then headed for the pot of prepared coffee. She settled at the big oak table with a mug of the steaming brew.

And thought about John.

“Would you stop that?” she said, smacking the top of the table with the palm of one hand. “Just cut it out. Get a grip. Right now.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Laura jerked in her chair as Betty entered the kitchen from the mudroom beyond. She was carrying a basket of eggs and wearing her usual jeans, boots and Western shirt. She was tall, slender and her short gray hair curled around her attractive face.

“Me,” Laura said with a sigh.

Betty laughed. “You’re certainly giving yourself what-for this morning.” She went to the sink and began to rinse off the eggs. “Sleep well?”

“Oh, I…you bet,” Laura said, feeling a warm flush creep onto her cheeks.

“Then why the grumpy mood?” Betty said, glancing over at her, then resuming her chore.

“I’m just dreading facing another long day, I guess,” Laura said. “I’ve only been here alone a short time, but it seems like a year. The thing is, I have no idea how many more days I’ll need to remain. Heaven only knows when John Colton will decide to make a trip home for a visit. I have to sit here and wait until he shows up.”

“Well, there’s worse places to be than on the Colton ranch.” Betty paused and shook her head. “I still find it hard to believe that our John might actually be Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough.

“When the Coltons adopted him as a baby, there wasn’t a clue about his identity. He was just left on the doorstep of The Sunshine Home for Children. John is in for a mighty big shock when he does come home.”

“I should have asked you this before, Betty, but how do you think John will feel about this news?”

“No telling,” Betty said, shutting off the water in the sink. “John is impossible to predict. He’s a Colton, but he never has thought and acted like one.”

“Well, he really isn’t a Colton. He’s a Wyndham.”

“As far as his parents and his brother, Mitch, are concerned, he’s a Colton,” Betty said decisively. “They love him as their own. That will never change, no matter what new fancy name and title John has. A prince. Good gracious, wonders never cease.”

“A prince who was kidnapped as an infant and believed to be dead all these years,” Laura said. “And I’m the one who has been assigned the nifty task of explaining his true identity to him. I hope he doesn’t get into a kill-the-messenger mode.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Betty said with a burst of laughter.

“Thanks a bunch,” Laura said, smiling.

“Well, I’m off to The Triple Bar,” Betty said, placing the eggs in the refrigerator. She removed a covered dish and bumped the refrigerator door closed with her hip. “Jolene is laid up with a broken ankle, and I’m taking a casserole over for their supper. I’ll be gone the better part of the day, I imagine, because Jolene loves to chatter.”

“It’s nice of you to keep her company, and I’m sure her family will appreciate having one of your delicious casseroles for their supper.”

“Well, I’ll see you later. Oh, and, Laura? The next time you stay out all night, turn off your bedroom light before you leave, would you? No sense in running up the electric bill for no reason.”

“Oh, good grief.” Laura plunked one elbow on the table and rested her forehead in her hand. “How embarrassing. How mortifying. How…”

“Normal,” Betty finished for her. “There’s no shame in being a healthy young woman with wants and needs. I just couldn’t resist taking a poke at you, but I’m certainly not passing judgment. In fact, I’m more inclined to say good for you. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“’Bye,” Laura mumbled.

A heavy silence fell over the room and Laura drained her coffee mug quickly, wishing to escape from the sudden chill of loneliness that dropped over her like a dark cloud.

She spent the next hour writing breezy letters to her parents, her sister, Linda, and her best friend since childhood, Olivia, who was now a busy mother of four back in Michigan.

In none of the letters was there one word about Laura’s magical night with John.

No, she thought, placing the stamp on the third envelope. Those memories were hers alone. She’d keep them tucked safely in her heart for all time.

Maybe when she was old and gray, she’d sit in a rocking chair and tell Olivia and Linda about the magnificent man who had touched her life so briefly, but so deeply.

But not now. No, not now.

Laura wandered up to the main road fronting the ranch and put the letters in the mailbox to be picked up by the rural delivery man. Thunder rumbled in the distance and dark clouds edged the horizon.

Back in the house, she switched her cotton blouse for a red sweater, which she wore over gray corduroy slacks, then she made a fire in the hearth in the living room.

Settling into one of the big, comfortable chairs by the fireplace, she actually managed to become engrossed in the mystery novel she was reading.

An hour later, a sharp knock sounded at the front door and Laura jerked at the sudden noise.

She hadn’t heard a vehicle approach the house, she thought, settling the book on the table next to the chair. Maybe one of the ranch hands was looking for Betty.

She got to her feet.

But the men used the mudroom door, she remembered, as she crossed the room. Maybe she’d been concentrating so much on her book that she hadn’t heard a knock on the rear door. And the thunder was still rumbling noisily so…well, whatever.

Laura opened the door with a pleasant expression on her face.

Then she stopped breathing as a gasp caught in her throat.

Standing before her, with a blanket-covered bundle on his shoulder, was John.

John, her mind hammered in disbelief. Her man of the magical night. Magnificent, tall, powerful, sensitive, compelling John was staring right at her with a shocked expression on his face.

Dear heaven, how had he found her? What was he doing here?

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