loved him, but the minute she’d learned about the baby, her whole outlook on life had changed. She’d grown up, matured with shattering clarity. She wanted for her child what she had never had. Security. Love. A childhood free of worry. She had decided to tell Hunt she was returning home. For good.
“What makes you think they wouldn’t look for me at your house?” she asked softly, forcing herself to focus on the present.
He shrugged. “First off, I’m just going with my instincts tonight, Tessa. I don’t know that they weren’t telling the truth. I just didn’t feel that they were.” He rubbed a palm over his chin in a scrubbing motion. “All I do know is that if some stooges are looking for you, they can find you here and they can find you at my place. But they’ll also find me—and my father’s prized collection of rifles, any one of which has a sight on it that can target a deer’s tiniest hair at hundreds of paces.”
Great. She’d never even held a gun, much less needed anyone to protect her with one. Tessa reluctantly rose to her feet. Hunt had said many times that if anything happened to him, Cord would look after her. She had taken his statement to indicate his strong feelings about their relationship. Despite Hunt’s top-secret job, she had always felt secure with him on many levels.
Faster than a lightning strike, he’d disappeared, leaving her alone in Spain. With worry, with doubt, with fear.
Tonight, his brother wanted to protect her.
For the sake of her child, she had no other choice.
“I AM FREEZING MY ASS OFF,” the short man complained. “Do we have to squat in this tree house all night?”
“Until the cowboy comes back.” The tall, quiet man lowered night-vision goggles. “No one goes out at midnight without a reason.”
“He could be looking at his cows. Stinking cows. I hate stupid cows, and I hate this cold!”
“You hate everything.” Vehicle headlights in the distance caught his attention, and he lifted the goggles back up to his face. “Mira.”
Rossi, his short companion, hunkered down beside him, squinting intently into the darkness at the ranch house. “Señor Vaquero is back?”
“Sí.” The word was rich with satisfaction. “And Sñnor Cowboy has the missing lady with him.” Lowering the glasses, Salvador chuckled, pleased with this new move. “Fácil. What an easy game this is going to be.”
THE BITTER FEBRUARY COLD melted away as soon as they walked inside Cord’s sturdy, five-bedroom house. There were plenty of rooms for the two of them to spread out and feel comfortable in separately, he told himself. Having Tessa under his roof would give him peace of mind on one level; on another more primal level, he would burn in a physical hell. The torment was necessary if he wanted to assure himself of her safety. For Hunt, Cord would face his own demons. And for Tessa and the unborn niece or nephew she carried inside her. Duty called a man in different forms. He would answer this call although the cost would be painful.
She stood in the center of the living room, watching him set down the hastily packed overnight bag he didn’t want her carrying. Her face was strained, her blue eyes so big in her pale face that Cord instantly wanted to hold her. Wanted to comfort her. The words, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on,” sat on his tongue like a rock, never to be spoken.
The burning began.
“Let me show you to your room.” Gruffly, he motioned her to follow him down the hall.
His room, Hunt’s room—not the right place to put her in case Hunt never returned—two smaller rooms and then a final room that could be used for housing help on the ranch since it had a separate bathroom all its own. The walls were sunshine-yellow, painted many years ago by his mother. There was an old four-poster and a nightstand of oak. A brass lamp sat unlit on the nightstand.
“I guess it’s not much,” he said reluctantly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she replied too quickly. “It’s…if you can show me where the sheets are, I’ll make the bed. I’m tired and I know you could use some sleep.”
He doubted he could sleep. Not with Hunt missing or dead, not with Tessa in his house. Silently, he reached into the hall linen closet and pulled out some white sheets that he handed to her. “Towels are in here, grub’s in the kitchen. I hope you’ll make yourself as at home as possible, Tessa. I’m not a very good host and wouldn’t know when you might be hungry.”
“I can find the kitchen,” she assured him. “Right now, I just want to change and go to bed.”
“Good night, then.” He backed away from her. She waited for him to disappear down the hall, so he did, feeling slightly as if he’d escaped a desperately awkward moment. Sighing, he went to stoke up a fire in the fireplace. Outside, the wind howled like a coyote looking for its mate. The eerie sound sent prickles along his arms. He stoked the fire harder, sending flames shooting up the chimney. He heard Tessa close her door. With a deep sigh, he put the poker down and threw himself into the leather recliner in front of the fireplace where he’d been dozing before the strangers came to inform him of the death of his brother, which they so greatly regretted telling him.
Just before they’d asked about Tessa.
Do military personnel stand on the porch to tell you you’ve lost your brother—or do they ask to come inside to deliver the bad news? Do fiancées make it on the regret-to-inform-you list? Maybe Hunt had listed Tessa on some paperwork as a next of kin, but Cord had a feeling that wasn’t likely. His brother hadn’t been one to settle down or to think long term, particularly about women—not even Tessa. It had been a relationship of fun and easy attachment, though Hunt certainly cared deeply for Tessa, more than any other woman he’d ever known. But not enough to make it to the finish line of marriage. It just wasn’t Hunt’s way.
The whole incident seemed surreal, out of place. It rankled in his mind like a cocklebur, raising question after question. Tomorrow he would call the base to find out where he could get some honest answers.
He focused his gaze on the hot, crackling fire. As the wind shrieked outside, he waited.
For morning.
Chapter Two
Tessa awoke without remembering falling asleep. She had lain in the darkness, thinking. Remembering Hunt. Remembering how much fun they’d been having that afternoon in Madrid. She had been about to tell him about the baby. He wouldn’t be happy; she knew that. There was no room in Hunt’s life for a permanent hearth. His job was his life, and she was an extraneous part of it. He loved her in his own way, and she’d been satisfied with that.
Until the baby.
She could just hear the venom her mother would spew when she learned that her daughter was unmarried and pregnant. Folks in Crookseye who had known her since she was a baby would pity her. Classmates who’d gone to school with her and the Greer boys would gossip.
Hunt would have offered to marry her if she’d had a chance to tell him. She’d worn a cheery cotton dress and sandals that last afternoon. A sea-green ribbon tied around her blond ponytail kept the slight breeze from blowing her hair into eyes that must have sparkled with expectation for the wonder inside her body—and her eyes would have
