One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (24 page)

“Getting prettier every day.”

“Oh.” She sighed the word.

He realized what was happening before she did. He was also staring at her freckles again and quickly forced himself to look out the window instead. A movement near the tree line suddenly caught his attention. He froze. There was a shadow slowly moving down the path toward the field. He was still too far away for Douglas to see his face, but Douglas knew who was coming. The lone rider had to be Boyle. Dr. Simpson had warned him that the predator liked to look in on the woman he was terrorizing. Oh, yes, it was Boyle all right.

Douglas's first concern was that Isabel not panic. She'd wake up the baby then, and Boyle would move his men in. Douglas continued to stare at the shadow and made his voice sound as mild as Parker's snore when he spoke to her. “Isabel, will the baby sleep for a while?”

“Oh, yes. He was up most of the night. He has to catch up on his sleep today.”

She took the baby away from him and headed for the bedroom. He followed her, waited until Parker was all tucked in, and then calmly told her company was coming.

Isabel didn't panic. She began to undress instead. “How much time do I have?” she asked. She threw her robe on the bed and started unbuttoning her nightgown.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to get dressed and go outside.”

“The hell you do. You're staying in here.”

“Douglas, be sensible. If he sees me, he'll go away. I always go out on the stoop with my rifle. I want him to see me pregnant. I'll need a belt. Will you get one of Parker's out of the box in the corner? Don't stand there. We have to hurry. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

“You are not . . .”

She ran to him and put her finger over his mouth to stop his protest. “If I don't go out, he'll start shooting his gun in the air. The noise is going to wake Parker. Do you want him to hear the baby? Now, help me get dressed so I can placate the man. Please.”

He pulled her hand away from his mouth and held on to her. “It's out of the question. I'm going out and kill the bastard. You got that?”

“No.”

“It'll be a fair fight,” he promised. “I'll make him draw.”

She frantically shook her head at him. “Stop being so stubborn. Boyle won't be drawn into a fight. The man's a coward, Douglas. There isn't time to argue about this. You can protect me just fine from the front window. If he looks like he's going to hurt me, then you can come outside and make him leave. You aren't going to kill him though. Do you understand me?” The set of his jaw told her he didn't understand. “Please? Restrain yourself for my sake. All right?”

“Honest to God, I sure would like to—”

She stopped him cold by touching his cheek. “But you won't.”

He wouldn't agree or disagree. “Maybe,” was all he would allow.

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “The belt, please. Get the belt.”

He took his own off and handed it to her. “You're not wearing anything that belonged to Parker.”

The issue seemed to matter to him, and since his pants stayed put on the tilt of his hips, she didn't waste time arguing.

As soon as he went back to the window to check Boyle's progress, she got ready. She was still swollen around the middle, but not nearly enough to look as though she were drawing close to the delivery date she and Dr. Simpson had given Boyle.

She joined Douglas as Boyle was just reaching the flat at the base of the hill.

“Do I look as pregnant as I'm supposed to be?”

“I guess so.”

She put her hand on his arm. “You're supposed to look at me before you decide.”

He finally gave her a quick once-over. He didn't like what he saw and frowned to let her know exactly how he felt. Isabel was dressed in a white blouse and a dark blue jersey jumper that ballooned out around her middle, and in his opinion, she was too attractive for the bastard to see. Was she deliberately trying to entice him? No, of course she wasn't. She couldn't help being pretty, and unfortunately, he couldn't come up with any ideas to radically change her appearance . . . unless she was willing to wear a burlap bag over her head. He didn't bother to suggest it though, because he knew she wouldn't do it.

“Button up your blouse.”

“It is buttoned.”

“Not the top two,” he said. He put his gun back in his holster and took over the chore. “He isn't going to see any more of you than he has to,” he told her.

His fingers rubbed against the bottom of her chin. How in heaven's name could any woman have such silky skin?

“He won't hurt me,” she whispered.

His gaze moved to hers. “I'll make certain he doesn't hurt you. If I have to kill him, I don't want to hear any argument. Agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Come on then. He's coming up to the cabin.”

She reached for the doorknob, her attention on Douglas while she waited for him to get into position by the window. She didn't wait for him to give her permission to go outside because she knew she'd stand there the rest of the day if she wanted the stubborn man to give her his approval.

“I'm going out now.”

“Isabel?”

“Yes?”

“Don't you dare smile at him.”

B
oyle was as ugly as sin. His face was covered with pockmarks, his eyes were set too close together, and his lips all but disappeared when he closed his mouth. The man looked like a chicken. Douglas wasn't surprised by his appearance though. The fact that he had to resort to terrorizing a woman in order to get married indicated the bastard had a serious problem attracting the fairer sex, and most women who had learned to look deeper would have been sickened by the evil lurking inside.

Douglas willed the man to move his hand toward his gun. Boyle wouldn't accommodate him. He didn't even bother to glance toward the window, but kept his gaze firmly directed on his prey.

Isabel held her own against him. “I told you to get off of my land. Now, get . . .”

“Is that any way to talk to your future husband, girl? And me planning a real party wedding for you. You're looking worried today. Are you getting scared about birthing that thing all alone?”

“You've got ten seconds to leave or I'll use this rifle.”

“You'd go to prison if you did.”

“No jury would ever convict me. Everyone in Sweet Creek hates you as much as I do. Now, leave me alone.”

He pointed his finger at her. “You watch your tongue around me, girl. I don't like sass. You've still got your fire inside you, and I'm going to have to do something about that after we're hitched. You will beg me to marry you, you know. It's only a matter of time.”

She was cocking the rifle when he dug the spurs into his horse and rode away.

“I'll be back,” he shouted. The threat was followed by his grating laughter.

Douglas kept Boyle in his sights until he was halfway across the field. Isabel came inside, shut the door softly behind her, and sagged against it.

“Damn, he's ugly,” he muttered.

She nodded agreement. “He won't come back for another two weeks.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “We're still going to be prepared for anything. Dr. Simpson told me Boyle will be leaving for some kind of family get-together.”

“He's going away? Oh, Douglas, that's wonderful news.”

“Simpson said he usually stays a month to six weeks with his family in the Dakotas. We aren't going to let our guard down or get lackadaisical.”

“No, of course not. May I ask you something?”

He kept his gaze on the shadow starting up the path. “Sure.”

“Won't you look at me?” she asked.

“Not until Boyle goes over the rise.”

“I don't understand what's come over you. You told me you didn't want to let Boyle see you and that as long as he continues to think I'm all alone, he'll be content to wait. . . .”

“That was before I knew you always went outside to speak to him.”

“But—”

“I don't like it.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Obviously not,” she replied. “I'm still going to continue to go out every time he comes here, like it or not.”

“We'll discuss it later. You shouldn't get upset, Isabel. The doctor said it isn't good for you.”

“For heaven's sake, I'm not sick. Surely you've noticed I'm getting much stronger every hour. So is my son.”

“Eight weeks from the minute Parker arrived,” he announced with authority. “That's how long it will take him to get stronger.”

“Surely not.”

“Eight weeks,” he stubbornly insisted.

“When will you be leaving?”

He smiled. “In eight weeks, unless you or Parker gets into trouble. Maybe longer. And by the way, Isabel, you and your son are going with me. I'm getting you out of here.”

“No, you're not. I won't be run out of my own home. Do you understand me? No one is going to chase me off of my land.”

Too late, he realized he'd upset her. Her voice had taken on a shrill quality, and when he looked at her, he saw the tears brimming in her eyes. He quickly tried to calm her.

“You can do what you want,” he lied. “As long as it's eight weeks from now.”

“You can't possibly stay here that long. I assure you I'll be fully recovered sooner than that and Parker will be much stronger. We'll be just fine. We'll miss you, of course.”
Desperately so,
she silently added.

He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You seem to be having trouble grasping numbers, sugar. I'm not leaving for eight weeks. Want me to tell you how many days that is?”

She knew he was teasing her but didn't have the faintest idea how to respond. Her husband had always been terribly serious about everything. He never flirted, nor did she, yet she knew Douglas was now doing just that. She decided to get away from him for a few minutes. She couldn't seem to think when he was so close.

“It's your decision,” she said. “I won't be plagued by guilt, and if you don't mind staying, I . . . I mean to say, we . . . I
have
a baby, you know, and we'll be happy to have you around.” She knew she was stammering her explanation. She'd also lied to him. She wouldn't be happy if he stayed. She would be ecstatic.

“Why don't you take your nap now?”

He was saying something to her, but she couldn't make herself pay any attention. She was trying to figure out how such a ruggedly handsome man had managed to remain unattached so long. He had to be close to thirty if her guess was right. Perhaps he wasn't unattached after all. There could be a beautiful young lady patiently waiting for his return. Yes, that was it. She was probably very refined and elegant too, and Isabel imagined she had gold-colored hair that wasn't at all unruly with curls.

“Why did you kiss me?” she blurted out.

“I felt like it. Did you mind?”

“No . . . I didn't mind.”

She told herself to snap out of her stupor. It was high time she faced a few important facts. She wasn't a naive young lady with hopes and dreams and yearnings to be loved. She was a widow with a baby who depended on her. She couldn't and wouldn't change her past. She had been blessed to have a dear friend for a companion, and now she had his beautiful son.

Still, there wasn't any harm in daydreaming about a future she could never have, was there? Wasn't it natural to wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Douglas? Thinking about it seemed like a natural curiosity on her part. That was all. He was so strong and hard and sensual, and she'd never known anyone quite like him. Why, even though she was a new mother and didn't physically want him, she couldn't help but notice the erotic, earthy aura about him. Besides, there wasn't anything wrong with appreciating the wonderful differences between them, and, Lord, he was masculine all right.

He'd be a demanding lover, and he wouldn't stop until she had . . .

Good Lord, what was she doing? She forced the outrageous fantasy out of her mind.

“I believe I'll rest for a little while.” He looked as if he was amused by her remark.

“Sounds good to me,” he teased.

She turned, stumbled over something littering the floor, and yet hurried on. He followed her.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You seem a little preoccupied.”

“I need a nap, Douglas. I'm a brand-new mother and I must rest.”

He leaned against the doorframe and refused to budge when she tried to shut the door.

“I would like some privacy so that I can change my clothes. I'll give you your belt back later.”

“It's on the floor in the other room with the towels you used to look pregnant.”

She didn't believe him until she put her hand on her waist. Good Lord, when had they fallen, and why hadn't she noticed?