LITMIR.BIZ

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she looked up to find that Morgan had propped his rifle against the armchair and stood with his hands on his narrow hips. He was watching her as if he didn’t quite know what to think. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

      “Yes. I’ll be fine just as soon as I have my baby,” she said, reminding herself to stay calm, even though the baby was coming earlier than expected. “Do you happen to know where the nearest hospital is?”

      If the widening of his vivid blue eyes was any indication, it had been the last thing he’d expected her to ask. “Oh hell, lady. You’re not—”

      “Yes, I am.” She almost laughed at the horrified expression that crossed his handsome face. “Now, if you’ll answer my question concerning the location of the nearest hospital, I’ll get in my car and go have my baby.”

      He removed his hat and ran an agitated hand through his shiny sable-black hair. “You can’t drive yourself to the hospital.”

      “And why not, Mr. Wakefield?” she asked, staring up at him.

      Not only was he one of the biggest men she’d ever met, he was one of the best-looking. He had a small white scar above his right eyebrow and his lean cheeks sported a day’s growth of beard, but it only added to his rugged appeal.

      “The name’s Morgan,” he said, jamming his hat back on his head. “And it’s not safe for you to be driving in your condition. What if the pain caused you to run off the road?”

      Samantha awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll have to get acquainted some other time. Right now, I have to go deliver my baby.”

      He stubbornly shook his head. “Where’s your car parked?”

      “In the garage, or shed, or whatever you want to call that dilapidated thing behind the house.” She collected her shoulder bag from the mantel. “Why?”

      “The nearest hospital is over sixty miles from here, in Laramie.” He held out his hand. “Give me your keys and I’ll drive you down there.”

      “That’s not necessary,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m perfectly capable of—”

      Arguing with Morgan, she was unprepared for the contraction that wrapped around her belly and seemed to squeeze the breath out of her. When she dropped her purse and bent double, he caught her by the shoulders and supported her until the feeling eased.

      “You can’t even stand up when the pain hits.” He picked up her purse and held it out to her. “Now, give me your keys and I’ll go get your car.”

      As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Digging in her purse, she handed him the keys to her twenty-year-old Ford. “You might have trouble starting it. It’s kind of tricky sometimes. I think it might need a tune-up.”

      “Don’t worry. I think I can handle starting a car,” Morgan said dryly. Taking the keys from her, he turned toward the door, but stopped abruptly when she started to follow. “There’s no sense in both of us getting drenched. Stay inside until I get the car pulled up closer to the porch, then I’ll help you down the steps.”

      “I think I can navigate a set of steps by myself,” she argued.

      “They aren’t in the best repair and I don’t think you want to deal with a broken leg, in addition to having a baby.”

      He left the house before she could argue the point further and sprinted across the yard. He’d waited for this day for almost eighteen months. Tug’s heir had finally been found. Unfortunately, she had the idea that she was going to take up residence in the place. And at the moment, she for damned sure wasn’t in any shape to listen to his arguments about why she should sell it to him, instead of carrying out her plan of moving in.

      He almost laughed as he folded his tall frame into the driver’s seat of the compact car. Women. Where did they get these empty-headed ideas anyway? She’d have to be blind not to see that it would take more money than it was worth to fix up this dump.

      Inserting the key into the ignition, he turned it and the dull clicking sound that followed sent a chill racing up his spine. He glanced at the dashboard. There wasn’t one of the indicator lights lit. He closed his eyes in frustration and barely resisted the urge to pound on the dash with his fist. The battery was as dead as poor old Tug.

      When he climbed out of the bucket seat and raised the hood, he rattled off a string of cuss words that would have done a sailor proud. The battery terminals were so covered with corrosion he wouldn’t be surprised to see that it had eaten through the cables. He looked around for something to knock some of the oxidation loose, but abandoned that idea immediately. Even if he got rid of most of the crud without breaking the contacts, there was no way to charge the damned thing. He slammed the hood back down with force.

      Desperation clawed at his insides as the gravity of the situation settled over him. The only way to get help would involve him riding his horse back to the Lonetree through a pouring rain to get his truck. That would take at least thirty minutes going across country. Then it would take another forty-five minutes to drive the road between the two ranches.

      Morgan shook his head as he stared at the sheet of rain just outside the shed’s double doors. Riding through a downpour didn’t bother him. Hell, he’d done that more times than he cared to count. But the creek between his ranch and this one always flooded when it rained this hard, and it would be impossible to cross now. He could use the road, but that would take a couple of hours to get back to her, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving a pregnant woman—a woman in labor, no less—by herself. And he’d bet his right arm that she wouldn’t be any crazier about his leaving her alone than he was.

      For the first time since meeting Samantha Peterson, he allowed himself to think about his first impression of her. Her golden-brown hair framed a face that could easily grace the cover of a glamour magazine. But her eyes were what had damned near knocked him to his knees when he’d first seen her standing by the fireplace. Whiskey-brown with flecks of gold, they’d made him think of hot sultry nights and long hours of passionate sex.

      Morgan sucked in a sharp breath. Now where the hell had that come from?

      He cussed a blue streak. It had been quite a while since he’d enjoyed the warmth of a woman’s body and the long dry spell was beginning to take its toll. What he needed was a trip to Buffalo Gals Saloon down in Bear Creek for a night of good old-fashioned hell-raising. He was sure to find a willing little filly down there to help him scratch his itch and forget how lonely the long Wyoming winter had been.

      Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the matters at hand. Now was not the time to lament how sorry his sex life was. What he and Samantha Peterson were facing right now was a lot more important.

      A sinking feeling settled over him as he reviewed the options to their present dilemma. He might as well accept the inevitable and start preparing for what had to be done. Within the next few hours, he was going to have to add the delivery of a baby to his arsenal of emergency medical skills. Unless, of course, by some miracle someone else showed up. And the chances of that happening were slim to none.

      Sighing heavily, he turned back to her car, opened the trunk and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. Gathering pillows, sheets, blankets and towels, he ran back to the house.

      By the time he walked through the door, Samantha sat on the hearth with her gaze transfixed on the faded picture hanging on the opposite wall. She looked as if she was in some kind of daze and he wondered if she might be going into shock.

      But as he mentally reviewed what he knew about treating shock victims, she took a deep breath, slowly blew it out, then looked at him expectantly. “Are we ready to go?” she asked, rising to her feet as if nothing had happened.

      Relieved that she seemed to be all right, he shook his head and tried to think of a way to break the news as gently as he could. He sighed heavily. Some things just couldn’t be sugar-coated.

      “The

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