Rancher's Baby. Anne Marie Winston
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was sure of was that he’d like to detach his head and set it on a shelf for a few days.
* * *
She’d have sworn this mattress hadn’t been so lumpy yesterday. Dulcie turned over restlessly once more, resolutely ignoring the glowing numbers of her bedside clock. She already knew it was late.
For the past several hours, she hadn’t been in this bed, on this ranch.
No, she’d been several hours and many miles north of here. Once again, with the startling clarity reserved for memories of profound shock, she’d walked into the tiny living room of the Albuquerque apartment she shared with her husband, Lyle. Or at least, it was the home where she’d lived while Lyle was jetting around the country wheeling and dealing the way he insisted a successful businessman had to if he wanted to make it in a competitive market.
The apartment had begun to feel like a prison as her marriage unraveled. Finally, after a last huge blowup, when she’d faced the fact that her marriage was over, she’d gone home. Back to the Red Arrow, where she was needed, where she was loved.
But just as she had begun to see that life didn’t end with divorce, Lyle had called. Granted, he said he’d phoned to tell her that the divorce papers should be ready for her signature within the week, but it was what he didn’t say that brought her back to Albuquerque. Lyle had sounded…what? Lonely? Perhaps. Depressed? That, too. There had been some indefinable poignancy in his voice, in the way he’d simply hung on the line as if he had just needed to hear her….
And in that drawn-out, hesitant moment, all her rage, all the animosities that had built between them as a result of his frequent and protracted absences vanished as she remembered the way it had been when they first met. Was he sorry things had come to this? Was there still a chance that they could salvage their love and their life together?
She didn’t know.
And that was what took her back to the apartment that last time. She could never forgive herself if she walked out of her marriage without doing everything she could to preserve it. Marriage was a process of give and take. Maybe she hadn’t given enough. Maybe Lyle was having some of the very same thoughts.
The apartment door was locked when she arrived in the early evening. Good thing her husband got home so late—she’d have time to clean the place and fix dinner. When the lock clicked and the door smoothly opened, she walked into the living room, tossing her purse on the hall table. Absently she noted that Lyle must be home, after all—his briefcase lay in the middle of the living room floor. It struck her as odd, considering what a freak about neatness and order he’d always been, but she was too intent on her mission to really notice. Maybe it was better this way—more spontaneous. If she had too much more time to think about what she wanted to say, she’d have it so mixed up she’d never get it out.
Rounding the corner into the hallway, she headed past the kitchen and dining areas, eager to find Lyle. A cursory glance showed no one in the kitchen, and she started to move on, but then she looked farther, at the small pine table tucked into the nook.
And she stopped, riveted in a shocked horror that froze her into immobility.
Lyle stood in front of the table, between the legs of a woman who was reclining on her elbows, her long hair streaming down as her head drooped backward. She was naked from the waist down and the tailored blouse beneath her suit jacket was unbuttoned and shoved to her sides, baring her breasts. Lyle’s pants sagged around his ankles as the thighs of the woman on the table gripped his hips. His hands were on her breasts, kneading in rhythm with his thrusting hips. Amazingly, the pair were almost totally silent. Dulcie could nearly hear her own breathing.
She could definitely hear the hitching sob she sucked in as the scene before her seared into her brain.
The woman’s head jerked upright. Dulcie would never forget the look of shock and panic on her flushed face. Nor would she ever forget what had happened next.
She had run from the apartment, disregarding Lyle’s shouts for her to wait. The tears had blinded her even before she’d grabbed her purse and opened the door.
She probably would have jumped into her car and driven straight back to the ranch if Tye hadn’t come down the hallway just then. He’d been a neighbor and a friend during her life in Albuquerque, and seeing his tall figure striding toward her had been a sweet relief. She knew Tye would help her.
Alone in the dark New Mexico night, she cried aloud. Oh, Tye had helped her, all right. And a few weeks later, the ink barely dry on her divorce decree, she’d realized she was pregnant with Tye’s child.
Dulcie sighed and twisted to her other side again. Seeing him again had awakened all the illicit thoughts and memories she’d suppressed since she’d fled from his bed. Oh, she was wicked. Tye couldn’t be blamed for anything. Everything that had happened with Tye that night was nobody’s fault but her own. She’d practically begged him to take her, and she’d reveled in every minute of the rough, wild loving they’d shared. Just thinking about the way they had frantically shed each other’s clothing, hands and mouths racing, sliding, tasting, gliding. And the way he had taken control as he’d urged her atop him and mastered her with his big, hard body, telling her in hoarse whispers how beautiful she was and how much he’d wanted her, the way her body had accepted the heavy, surging demand of his….
Oh, yes, indeed, she was wicked. And she was driving herself crazy thinking about him. She should be sleeping while the baby was, for heaven’s sake, not lying here getting herself all hot and bothered about a man who had only tracked her down because he thought he’d needed to apologize.
What a shock Ryan must have been to him! She could almost smile when she recalled the stunned look on his face earlier, seeing her nursing her son. Another more recent memory slipped into her mind, and she let it surface, examining her new knowledge from every angle, trying to make it fit with the man she knew.
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