CHAPTER FOUR

      LILY SLOWED the car as she drove up Cole Bishop’s drive. The two-story ranch house reminded her of her cousin Ted’s in Waco. The wide front porch had room for a swing or a rocking chair, but it was bare. Painted white, the house itself seemed relatively new, a plain canvas with nothing to distinguish itself.

       The lawn was the same. Rye grass, green even in this heat. No flower beds, no hedges. A big oak saved the view from being nondescript.

       She wondered if she shouldn’t just write him a letter. It wasn’t easy to admit, but the conversation from the diner had her a little spooked.

       Of course, her dilemma might be solved with a knock on the door. He probably wasn’t home. She hoped he wasn’t home.

       As soon as she opened her car door, she could hear cattle lowing in the distance. It was a familiar sound, one she’d lived around her whole life. Some people would comment on the odor, but she didn’t mind it. Folks from cattle country were exposed early to the downside of ranching. It was only the city folk who balked.

       She got out, shut the door behind her and opened her purse. After a fresh coat of lipstick, she ran a brush through her hair and popped a mint in her mouth.

       As she turned toward the front door, something else familiar, a feeling, not a scent, hit her in the solar plexus. Ever since she’d joined the FBI she’d learned about the combination of fear and excitement that came with a new case. She felt in no personal danger. It wasn’t like some of her assignments in the Bureau. But there were high stakes, and she’d have to be alert and aware of everything. Cole Bishop was an unknown, and from the descriptions she’d heard in the diner, he could be anything from Wild Bill Hickok to Hannibal Lecter.

       Well, she could be as macho as the next ex-FBI agent. After one last look at her car and safety, she headed toward the porch. No boards squeaked, another sign that they hadn’t been here long.

       She rang the doorbell and waited, taking calming breaths as she did so. A moment later, the door swung open and Cole Bishop stood before her. It had to be him.

       He was on a cell phone, and after giving her a quick once-over, he waved her inside. As she walked past him she was instantly aware of the man’s size. And something more. He wasn’t just tall, he was powerful. Her gaze went to his biceps, and even beneath his white shirt she could see his arms were thick and corded. Not like a bodybuilder’s, though. Like a man at the peak of physical perfection.

       He didn’t smell half bad, either.

       She walked into a sparse living room. Bare white walls, hardwood floor, a leather couch and matching club chairs. The coffee table didn’t even have a magazine on it. It was odd, as if Bishop rented the place.

       “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

       His voice startled her and she whirled around, wondering what she’d done wrong. But he wasn’t talking to her. Still on the phone, he paced across the floor in his cowboy boots, worn button-fly jeans, his white shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. Power. In the way he strode, in his posture, in the way his voice flowed deep and smooth as fine whiskey. She felt a little shiver as he eyed her before turning back to his conversation.

       Ginny had said he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and Lily concurred. Over six feet tall, he had to weigh almost two hundred pounds, all muscle. His tousled brown hair hung over his collar, and when he stepped in front of the window she could see streaks of sun-dyed blond. He had the face of a Marlboro Man, a real cowboy, tough and masculine from the inside out. Even his ocean-blue eyes had a hint of steel in them.

       Her gaze moved to his chest and she wondered how he’d look without his shirt on. It took her a moment to realize he’d finished his conversation and put the phone down.

       He narrowed his focus to her and only her. Unabashed and brazen as hell, he looked her over from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking a little extra time when he got to the chest area. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, he walked behind her.

       She tried to swing around, but his hand on her arm stopped her still. Her natural instinct was to jerk away, to defend herself, but she held back. She didn’t want to blow this in the first five minutes. But if he didn’t let her go in about two seconds, she was going to make sure he understood what gelding was all about.

       “How old are you?”

       “Pardon me?”

       “I said, how old are you?”

       That’s when it dawned on her that he must have assumed she was here about the position. The job, whatever it might be. In that split second she decided to play along, at least for now. At least until she figured out if he was truly dangerous. “I’m thirty.”

       “Bit old to start having children, isn’t it?”

      Having children? “No, I don’t think so.” Her voice sounded normal, she felt sure. Well, almost normal.

       “What about illnesses. You have any?”

       “None.”

       “You sure?”

       “Of course I’m sure.”

       “What about your hand?”

       She touched her bandage. “A bite. Nothing serious. Just a frightened dog, that’s all.”

       He came around in front of her again, and this time he studied her face. But not in the usual sense. His eyes narrowed as he examined her inch by inch, like a plastic surgeon looking for flaws. Heat warmed her cheeks, but she kept her expression neutral. The thing that frightened her most was that she wanted him to like what he saw.

       “How about your teeth?”

       This was getting ridiculous. “How about yours?”

       “That’s not relevant.”

       “Why not?”

       “Because I’m the one with the checkbook.”

       “But—”

       “But nothing. If I decide you’re the right one to have my child, then you can ask me questions. I’ll decide then if I want to answer you.”

       “Your child?” she whispered.

       “Make no mistake about it. Even though you’ll be the child’s mother, that role will be temporary. He’s going to be my son, and I alone will make all the decisions affecting his future. The marriage will be for his sake, so he won’t be born a bastard, but trust me, you will not be my wife.”

      Dear Lord…

       “So…?” he queried.

       “Huh?”