Man...Mercenary...Monarch. Joan Elliott Pickart
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hell!”
“John, watch your mouth!”
Jeremiah took exception to the loud exchange and burst into tears.
Laura came to where John stood holding the wailing baby. She placed her hand on Jeremiah’s back at the exact moment John moved his hand to do the same. John’s hand covered Laura’s and she snapped her head up to meet his gaze.
Jeremiah drew a shuddering breath, then stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Laura and John didn’t move. They stood there, hands layered on the baby’s back, memories of the previous night rushing over them in a sensuous cascade of vivid images.
Their hearts began to beat in a rapid tempo as heat swirled and tightened low in their bodies. Desire seemed to hum through the air with an ever-increasing intensity, weaving around and through them.
“No,” John said, jerking his hand away.
“What?” Laura blinked, bringing herself back from the hazy, passion-laden place she’d floated to.
John took a step backward and shook his head. “No, Laura. I told you last night that I couldn’t see you again, that I had to concentrate entirely on Jeremiah. The fact that you’re here, on The Rocking C, doesn’t change that. We have to pretend, behave—whatever—as though last night never happened.”
“I understand,” she said quietly, wrapping her hands around her elbows. “Yes, of course. You’re right.”
“Good. Fine.” John paused and sighed. “Look, I don’t mean to sound like an unfeeling son of a—” he glanced quickly at Jeremiah “—gun, but this is the way it has to be. My son deserves my full attention.”
Laura nodded, inwardly fuming at herself for the devastating sense of rejection she was registering, along with a chill of loneliness.
She knew, darn it, she knew that what John was saying was the way it had to be, was the sensible, agreed-upon plan. They’d had their magical night together and hadn’t expected ever to cross paths again. She knew that.
But, oh, it hurt so much to see John step away from her, to erect a nearly tangible wall between them.
Laura, please, she mentally begged, get a grip She had to regain control of her raging emotions before she burst into tears and made a complete fool of herself.
“No problem, John,” she said, hoping her voice was steadier than it sounded to her own ears. “It’s just a crazy coincidence that we even saw each other again. Last night happened, it’s over, so be it. There’s no reason to think about it again.”
The hell there isn’t, John thought. Their night…all of it, every moment…the talking, sharing, the lovemaking, had been incredible, beyond belief. Laura was dismissing it all as no big deal? How could she do that? How could she just—
Damn it, Colton, he rebuked himself. Laura was doing exactly what he said he was. He’d just told her that their time together had to be forgotten even though they were both there at the ranch.
But, oh, man, he wanted to pull Laura into his arms, kiss her, taste her, feel her slender body pressed to his. He wanted to make love with her until they were both too exhausted to move. He wanted to experience the magic again…with Laura.
Jeremiah wiggled and began to whine, and John looked at his son.
He wanted to hold Laura in his arms? he thought. There was no room for her there, because he was holding this defenseless child who had no one to take care of him, to love him, except a father who didn’t even know how to change a diaper.
No, there was no place for Laura in his life. No space, emotionally or physically, for anyone but Jeremiah.
“All right,” John said, then cleared his throat. “We understand each other then. I focus on my son. You do…whatever it is that you do.”
“I’ll be contacting the royal family in Wynborough,” Laura said coolly, “and informing them that you’ve returned and now know the facts of your true identity, your heritage.”
“Ah, Laura, don’t do that,” he said, frowning. “I don’t have the time, or mental energy, to think about what you told me. I don’t want those people descending on me like a pack of vultures.”
“Those people,” Laura said, her volume on high again, “are your family. They are not a pack of vultures, as you so crudely put it.”
“No, Laura, my family includes my son, my brother, Mitch, and my parents, Robert and Cissy Colton. That’s it. End of story. I don’t want anything to do with your fancy king and queen, and princesses, or with being a prince, for Pete’s sake. I’m John Colton. Got that?”
“John, would you think about the Wyndhams’ feelings for one moment? They thought you were dead. Oh, can’t you understand what it will mean to them to know you as you now are, welcome you into their—”
“No,” he interrupted. “It’s too late. I’ve gotten along just fine without them. My son is what matters most. I’m concentrating on Jeremiah. That’s it. No one else is important. No one.”
Laura cringed, feeling as though she’d been struck by a physical blow. It was there again, the pain of rejection, the chill of loneliness.
No one else is important. No one
“Yes, well, I’ll explain to the Wyndhams that you have a tremendous responsibility right now,” she said quietly, “and it would be best if they waited until…I can’t guarantee how they’ll react, but I’ll do the best I can. I have to tell them that you’re here, though, John. I’d be remiss in fulfilling the obligations of my position if I didn’t.”
“Heaven forbid,” he said, sarcasm ringing in his voice.
“I don’t want to argue with you, John,” Laura said wearily. “I suggest you change your son’s diaper before he becomes unhappy. I’ll be in my room.”
“Hey, wait a minute. Aren’t you going to help me with this diaper business?”
“No,” she said, walking past him. “There’s no room for anyone in your life except Jeremiah, remember? Welcome to the world of fatherhood. You’re on your own.”
“Well, hell,” John said as Laura disappeared from view. He looked at Jeremiah. “You didn’t hear that, sport. Okay. Diaper time. How tough can this be?”
Twenty minutes later, John lay spread-eagle on his back on the plush area rug in front of the fire-place. Jeremiah sat next to him, beating merrily on John’s chest with a wooden spoon.
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