on the mattress to support the weight of the baby. Feeling an odd constriction in his chest, he stood.
Carefully he lifted the straps of her gown back into place, then covered her. After a last long look filled with needs he couldn’t deny, he rose and slipped out of the room.
In his own bed, he tried to think of a plan of action. That was why his missions were usually a success. He thought of every contingency and had a solution for each and every one. He’d do the same with Maya. As soon as he figured out what her problem was, other than anger at him.
Maya got the boys up and off to school as usual. Life did go on, or else Ms. Meredith would have a fit.
Hearing the vacuum going in the living room, she knew her mother was in there. The sprawling hacienda-style home was vacuumed and dusted twice a week. In the spring and fall, it underwent a cleaning that literally left no bed unturned. The same thing happened in the Ramirez household.
Maya crept into the kitchen. Sure enough, it was empty for the moment, although she could smell a roast in the oven and traces of the bacon from breakfast. Not hungry, but thinking of the baby, she prepared two pieces of toast and poured a glass of milk. She set them, along with a mug of coffee, on the table.
Halfway through the meal, Drake ambled in from outside. He looked devilishly handsome in old jeans and boots, a blue shirt and denim jacket. He brought the scent of the outdoors and horses into the room with him. After getting a mug of coffee, he joined her at the table. There, she got a whiff of his cologne.
It transported her back in time to days of riding and playing with the two younger boys at their heels while they searched for arrowheads and wild berries. To long walks along the beach while they talked their hearts out. To nights—
With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled herself back from that abyss. Remembering brought nothing but pain and the cold light of day to the dreams she’d harbored.
“What is it?” he immediately wanted to know.
She glanced at him. A mistake. His golden gaze held hers for a long, serious minute and asked questions she couldn’t answer. She looked away. “Nothing.”
But the longing was already in her. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms and make everything okay. She wanted him to wipe out the last eight months of worry and embarrassment, of startled and disapproving glances as her family and friends realized she was expecting. She wanted things that weren’t going to happen.
With a stoic smile, she wondered who she thought she—the housekeeper’s daughter—was, to set her sights upon a son of the mighty Colton clan.
“Share,” he requested.
She shook her head. “Just musing on the ironies of life.” She took a sip of coffee, then washed down her vitamins with the last gulp of milk.
Her maternity top fluttered as the baby moved. Maya waited. Sometimes the movements were too vigorous for comfort. Then she would have to sit for a few minutes and wait for the baby to settle down before she could go on.
“Is the baby moving?” Drake asked, leaning closer and peering at her abdomen.
“Yes.”
He wasn’t put off by her abrupt answer. “May I?” he asked and, without waiting, laid his hand on her tummy.
Maya was immediately aware of heat rushing to the spot, as if a sun had suddenly blazed to life in her.
“It kicked my hand last night,” Drake said.
“Wh-what?”
“After you went to sleep, I touched you like this. The baby kicked against my hand several times.”
He grinned, his even teeth a white slash in his tanned face, making him startlingly handsome, the way Tom Cruise was when he flashed his million-watt smile. It was enough to make women fall at their feet, both the actor and this man.
Chalk it up to being human, she advised her smarting heart. She’d had a crush on Drake Colton most of her life. Once, at seventeen, she’d thought he was interested in her when he came home from college, but he’d abruptly withdrawn, avoiding her the rest of his stay.
It had hurt, but she’d gotten past the dreams she’d spun of them at that time. She would again. It was merely a wee bit more complicated this time around.
Removing his hand, she said politely, “Please don’t.”
He leaned back in his chair, steam rising from the coffee as he drank deeply, his eyes never leaving her. When he set the cup down, he asked, “Do you know whether it’s a boy or a girl?”
The silence grew too long to be comfortable.
She had to clear her throat before speaking. “A girl,” she said in a near whisper. She cleared her throat again. “I had a sonogram. It’s a girl.”
He nodded solemnly, and she couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or not.
Really, she had to stop thinking this way, as if he might be delighted at the prospect of their having a child. Those hopes belonged to her younger, more idealistic self. Drake’s note had made it clear his intentions had not extended to a future, not with her at any rate.
“Did you get a picture of her?”
She nodded.
“Maybe you’ll let me see it sometime,” he suggested softly, almost wistfully. “Have you picked a name yet?”
Her chest tightened. “Marissa. Marissa Ramirez.”
His face hardened for a fraction of a second, then the expression was gone. He smiled as he considered the name. “Marissa. I like that. If she’s lucky, she’ll be as beautiful as her mother.”
His eyes glided over her in a visual caress, warm and exciting and promising more than he ever meant to give. Maya set her mug down abruptly as her hand trembled wildly, threatening to spill hot liquid down her front.
“I have studying to do.” She rose, refilled her cup and retreated to the relative safety of her room. She stayed there until lunch.
Hearing the others congregating in the dining room and kitchen, she knew she had to make an appearance. If she didn’t, her mother would come to check on her, worry on her brow as she fretted about lack of appetite and its effects on the baby. There would be no retreat from harsh reality at the present.
Maya squared her shoulders and walked down the hall, ready for the firing squad, so to speak. Drake wasn’t in the kitchen. Relieved, she turned to her mother. “Can I help?”
Inez nodded distractedly. She dumped a stack of homemade tortillas into a cloth-lined basket. “Take these to the dining room,” she said. “Check if there’s enough salsa on the table.”
Maya’s heart dropped straight to her toes, but pride wouldn’t allow her to refuse. After all, she had opened her mouth and volunteered. Another lesson in life from the school of hard knocks, she reminded herself, trying for humor to bolster her flagging courage.
“Oh, and butter,” her mother added, stirring a pot and tasting the contents
