Julianna hadn’t even thought twice before agreeing to marry Tate. When she’d said she’d do anything to save Megan, she’d meant it. Even Megan had taken the news in her usual stride, buying the story that her mom and Tate had fallen in love at “second sight.” And to Tate’s credit he’d charmed his daughter into agreeing that he was the best thing since Super Nintendo.
“Julee, this little girl is prettier than Miss America,” he’d said as they stood beside the hospital bed, Megan’s feverish face gazing at them curiously. Julianna knew he must be anxious, meeting his daughter for the first time under such bizarre circumstances, but he was as cool as mountain air.
Megan smiled at his compliment, and the sun came out for Julianna. “Are you really going to marry my mom?”
“That’s the plan. The sooner the better.” Tate slid an arm around Julianna’s waist, surprising her with his display of affection. He was really turning on the charm for Megan’s sake, and for that she was grateful. Never mind that her body reacted wildly to his touch. Given the circumstances and the fact that she had asked him to sleep with her tonight, a certain amount of anticipatory interest was to be expected.
“Mama says the town thinks you’re a superhero.”
Tate laughed. “Yeah, that’s me. Super Sheriff. Want to see me fly?” Releasing his hold on Julianna, he flapped his arms like chicken wings.
Megan giggled. “You’re funny.” She glanced at her mother. “Did you really go to high school with Super Sheriff?”
“Yes. But he was a football player then, not a sheriff.”
“I bet you were a super football player, too.”
An odd look crossed Tate’s face, and Julianna’s heart went out to him. “Not super enough, I guess. Messed up my knee and had to stop playing.”
The essence of sympathy, Megan patted his hand with her own, the IV tube restricting her reach. “It stinks pretty bad when you have to stop doing something because you get sick.”
“Yeah. But I like being sheriff, and we’re going to get you well, so you can do anything you please.”
And so the announcement had gone. Easier than they’d expected.
The hard part had come two hours later as she and Tate stood before the justice of the peace reciting the age-old vows. Stiffening her spine, she’d fought down the nervous churning in her belly, her heart thumping erratically at the notion of marriage to the tall, handsome stranger beside her.
Looking gorgeous in a white golf shirt and chinos, he’d been as stiff and nervous as she, clearing his throat several times before agreeing to take her as his wife.
Afterward, as they signed the wedding certificate, he’d offered to take her out to dinner but she’d refused.
“That’s not necessary, Tate,” she’d said. “Our marriage isn’t for keeps or for love, and those are the reasons to celebrate.”
The idea of a marriage that would last only until a new baby was born didn’t appeal, but that was the deal they’d made. Once the baby came and Megan had her transplant, they would divorce so each could go on with their separate lives as before. So sad to plan a divorce on the same day of the wedding, but neither carried any delusions into the agreement. They were marrying for Megan, not for each other.
So in the end, they’d stopped back at the hospital and stayed until Megan fell asleep, a smile on her sweet face at the news of her Mom’s marriage. Julianna knew an older child would have questioned the speed of the marriage, but to a third-grader, today was the only day that counted.
With her mother tactfully remaining at the hospital with Megan, Tate and Julianna had gone home to the condo. It was late, and both were too keyed up to eat and too tired to sleep. A good thing she supposed, since this was their wedding night and they had married for the express purpose of making love.
Heat pooled in her belly while a shiver of nerves skittered up the back of her neck. Making love with Tate again after all these years both terrified and titillated.
They’d clicked on the TV, but neither watched it. Tate prowled around the condo like a caged panther, staring out the window, saying little. The time came when she could no longer put off the inevitable. Rising from the flowered couch, she said, “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.”
Tate spun away from the window, expression unreadable. “Go ahead. I’ll be in shortly.”
He’d tactfully waited to take his own shower until she lay between the fresh-scented sheets of her queen-size bed.
Throat dry, Julianna listened to the unfamiliar sounds of a man in her bathroom. Not just any man. Her husband. Dear heavens, when this wild idea of having another baby had come to her, she certainly hadn’t planned on marriage, hadn’t even considered such a crazy option. But then all her options lately had been crazy.
Tate came out of the bathroom, a tall shadow with the light at his back. His hesitant stance said he, too, was nervous about this wedding night. When he moved forward, toward the bed, her heart banged wildly against her rib cage. He wore only boxers. The well-honed muscles of his chest and arms and legs rippled as he sat down on his side of the bed. His dark hair glistened damply in the faint glow of the outside security lights.
Repressing the urge to skitter to the far edge of the bed and too embarrassed to stare at his incredible body, Julianna lay as stiff as a dead fish and trained her gaze on the shadows dancing across the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” His gravelly voice made her shiver.
Suddenly short of breath, she nodded. “I’m sorry. This is so awkward.”
“Yeah.”
He lifted the sheets and slid beneath, releasing a warm, damp shower scent that toyed with her senses and struck her anew with the enormity of what they were doing.
“I don’t know if I can go through with this.”
He rolled toward her. One dark, muscled forearm, sprinkled with black hair, molded the sheet to his belly. His powerful chest and shoulders extended above the covers. “A heck of a time to decide that, don’t you think?”
She swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet darkness. “What if this is a sin, Tate? Is it wrong to love my child so desperately? Is it immoral to have another baby this way?” Words tumbled out, half-baked thoughts, fears, worries. “I never meant to do anything wrong. I only want to—”
He listened patiently while she talked herself empty. When he spoke, his quiet sympathy soothed her. “We’ve both made our share of mistakes. Trying to save our daughter isn’t one of them.”
She breathed a deep, shivering sigh. “You’re right. Our feelings aren’t important. Megan is all that matters.”
Some of the stiffness eased. The bed tilted and Tate’s large, athletic body shifted toward her. The anxious knot bloomed in her belly.
“Tate?”
“Yeah?” His voice rumbled close to her ear. They’d never been in a bed together.
“Could we wait until—I mean—Today has been so hectic and it’s really late,” she finished lamely.
She tried to see him, tried to read his face in the dark room, the sculpted angle of his cheekbones, the high thrust of his shoulder above the sheet. She could feel him, smell his clean soapy scent, but she couldn’t read him.
“You’re calling the shots.”
Relieved, yet oddly disappointed, Julianna rolled onto her side, back to her new husband, and closed her eyes. Her insides shook as if an earthquake had struck. How was she ever going to pull this off?
Tate lay in the darkness for a long time listening to the hushed flow of the air-conditioning system and watching shadows play across the ceiling. A deep heaviness weighed him down.
Even now, when she needed him—when Megan needed him—Julee couldn’t stand to let that trashy McIntyre boy touch her. He felt helpless, out of control, the way he’d felt ten years ago.
He wanted to be angry—angry because of the secret she’d kept. Angry because the daughter he’d never known suffered from a horrible disease. Angry because this marriage to Julianna Reynolds gave her the power to destroy him again. But he wasn’t angry. He was hurt, his heart throbbing as if it had been pounded with a tire tool.
Nothing in law enforcement prepared a man for this.
Impatient with his scattered thoughts, he flopped over, then regretted the move. Accustomed to sleeping alone, his large body created a tidal wave that jarred Julee. She stirred, and the soft mewing that emanated from her sleeping form titillated him. His body reacted.
She was right here beside him. With very little effort, he could touch her, feel the soft silk of those long legs against his. Wasn’t that what this impromptu marriage was all about?
Maybe. But Julee was calling the shots. Until she wanted him, he wouldn’t push the matter.
Quietly, letting Julee get the rest her exhausted body needed, he eased from beneath the sheet. His knee caught and he grabbed for it, setting the bed atremble. After a pause, he rose, heard the exaggerated groan of the inner-springs, and glanced down at Julee. When she remained still, he crept away, going to the window.
The sweep of car lights reminded him where he was. The country boy in him yearned for home, for the thump of his dogs on the front porch, and the howl of an occasional coyote. Though Julee lived in an exclusive neighborhood, it was still a crowded city, houses and condos stacked on top of one another.
Like an elephant in a glass factory, that was him. So out of place.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the brick façade of the next condo, thinking, wondering how this would all turn out. He was lost in thought when Julee’s soft voice came to him.
“Tate. Are you okay?”
Turning, he saw she’d raised up on one elbow, her hair slightly mussed and incredibly sexy. This time he didn’t fight the kick of attraction.
“Sure. You?” He was anything but okay, but he had agreed to this insanity. Why worry her with his tumultuous thoughts?
“Twenty-four hours ago you didn’t even know you had a daughter. And now you’re married to someone you hardly know. You must be reeling from the shock.”
Drawn by the soft regret in her tone, Tate moved to the bedside. He looked down at his beautiful wife, warm and flower-scented. Criminy! Julianna Reynolds was his wife! Ten years ago he would have killed for this moment.
“My last twenty-four hours can’t compare to the nightmare you’ve lived with for months.”
Looking up with a bemused expression, Julee surprised him by scooting aside to make room on the edge of the bed. Lifting a hand, she gestured him down. When he’d sat, she laid her elegant fingers along his forearm. Reflexively, his muscles tensed.
Julee smiled gently. “I won’t bite.”
He grinned back. “Maybe you should.”
Cocooned by the intimacy of darkness, they both relaxed, letting down long-erected defenses.
“Tell me about her,” Tate said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. What does she like? What’s she good at? What’s her favorite food?”
“She’s a typical nine-year-old in most ways. She can be incredibly funny and silly. She giggles and writes in her diary. She likes pizza and Roller-Blading and slumber parties. She’s much better at math than I’ll ever be.”
“You always hated math.”
Julee faked a shudder. “I’d never have passed if you hadn’t tutored me.”
He’d barely passed himself, but not because he couldn’t do the work. Back then, he hadn’t seen the point, so he’d cut more classes than he’d made. Fortunately, showing up on test days had saved his tail and kept him eligible to play football.
“And,” Julee’s soft, sexy voice went on, “she can draw anything, just like her father.”
A curl of pleasure rose in Tate’s chest. “She likes to draw?”
“She’s good, too. Just like you. I’ll show you some of her pictures in the morning.”
He hadn’t drawn anything but his weapon in years, though in high school, art had been a way to communicate all the torment inside him. He hadn’t realized that then, but the years in law enforcement had taught him a lot about human psychology.
“Remember that time you entered one of my drawings in an art contest?”
“You were so ticked off.”
“Until they handed me that fifty bucks.” He hadn’t wanted anyone but Julee to see inside him that way.
She laughed softly. “That did ease the pain a little, didn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you spent every penny on me.” The hand on his arm began to stroke tiny circles. Electric sparks shot out from Julee’s fingers, sensitizing the hairs on his arm.
“Not every penny. I gave Mama ten bucks for bingo.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.” The long fingernails lightly scraped downward, raising every nerve ending on the way to his hand. Soft and smooth, like warm velvet, her fingers curled into his.
Tate’s heart began a steady drumming. If she wanted to seduce him, she wasn’t going to have to work very hard. He’d been too busy for too long and nothing sounded quite as wonderful as making sweet love to Julianna Reynolds. With a jolt, he amended the thought. Julianna McIntyre.
“Why don’t you come back to bed?” she whispered.
Denoting a hint of nervousness, Tate twisted around to face her, bringing his bare thighs alongside her body. He knew what she was asking. Wasn’t this why they’d married? To make love? To make a baby?
A baby. A living, breathing combination of Julee and himself. Maybe a boy who liked football. Or another little girl with elm-leaf eyes. Responsibility pounded at him. He struggled with the ethics, but lost the battle when Julee sat up. The sheet fell away as she leaned forward to run her hand over his shoulder.
He’d been wanting to touch her, really touch her, since the day she’d stormed into Blackwood demanding his blood and his assistance.
Stilling the tremble in his fingers, he brushed the mussed hair back from her face. She was painted in shades of dark and light, though he knew the blue of her eyes, the rose tint of her mouth, the pearl of her skin. Hadn’t he seen them a thousand times in his tormented dreams?
She wrapped one slim arm over his and held his hand against her cheek. He could feel the corner of her mouth, soft and moist, against his palm. Slowly, he leaned in, easing her back onto the pillow. He followed her down, watching her eyes, gauging her reaction, waiting for the sign that this was what she wanted. When she slid both hands along his shoulders and into the hair at the back of his neck, lips parted in welcome, he stifled a groan.
Somehow he’d have to make love to his wife while still guarding his heart. How would he manage such a thing when Julee’s soft womanly body gave beneath his so perfectly and the history between them magically throbbed to life again with every movement?
When his lips touched hers, he almost changed his mind. Julee was a sweet, dangerous abyss. If he fell in again, he’d never survive. He removed his lips from hers and found her velvet cheek, fighting down the panic—and the soaring need.
“Tate,” Julee whispered, her breath moist and sweet against his ear. “Kiss me like you used to.”
The lurch of passion hit him with the force of a .357 magnum. He moved his mouth back to hers, gentle at first, exploring, questioning. The flowery scent of her, the minty taste of her sweet lips, the softness of her skin overloaded his heightened senses.
Carefully, protectively, he held himself in check. But when Julee responded, touching her tongue to his in a seductive feather dance, his brain short-circuited.
He couldn’t think of anything except Julee. The silken legs entwined with his, the velvet hands stroking his back, his chest, his hair, his arms. She touched him everywhere and he returned the favor, revisiting places long neglected, but never forgotten. Her soft unintelligible murmurs drove him crazy. He was spinning out of control, losing himself.
Sinking, sinking, sinking. He fought against the undertow, like a man drowning in a whirlpool. Desperately, he tried to hold something back, to keep some part of him detached from the powerful source of pain and pleasure that was Julee.
But in the end, with his heart lying over hers, beating to the same wild rhythm, he shattered into a million pieces. In his mind’s eye he saw the explosion—like a white-hot star, silvery bits of himself cascaded in a free fall through space and time.
While his breathing returned to normal and the sweat—both his and hers—evaporated from his body, he tenderly pulled Julee into the crook of his shoulder, holding her close to his side.
Julee laid a hand on his chest. He rolled his head to look at her and his heart seized up at the dewy, satisfied expression. She’d always looked like that afterward, and he’d felt as he did now—like the sexiest man alive.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For making this so much easier.”
The words were cold water to his warm thoughts, a reminder of why she’d made love with him. Not for his sake. Or even hers. But for the sake of their child.
The knowledge hurt more now than it had before, but he set his mind to accept it. His own emotional torment had no place in this marriage, and he’d best get used to it. She was using him. A means to an end. A worthy, noble end that he agreed with wholeheartedly, but, now that he’d loved her, he had to live with one clear fact. Julianna would always be too much for him. And he would never be enough.
Julianna awakened, relaxed and rested. Stretching languidly, she smiled, remembering. Yesterday, she had married Tate McIntyre. And last night… A curl of desire stirred in her belly as she relived the gentle, tender moments in Tate’s arms. She’d been scared to death, but Tate had made everything seem so natural, so right.
“Morning.” Dark and delectable, he entered the bedroom, carrying a tall glass of orange juice. To her disappointment he was already fully dressed.
A warm flush suffused her. Here she lay fantasizing about a morning spent in bed, but from the looks of his neatly groomed businesslike appearance, making love again was the last thing on his mind.
She sat up and the sheet slid down, revealing what she’d forgotten. Grabbing at the cover she yanked it up again to cover her nakedness.
Tate stopped in midstride and politely averted his eyes, an action that embarrassed her even more. He’d been the one to remove her gown, but here in the light of day he couldn’t look at her. Her mellow mood evaporated.
“All right. I’m decent,” she said, disgruntled. Her hair was a tangled mess, thanks again to Tate. She swiped uselessly at it.
Reserved and quiet, he handed her the juice.
“Thanks.”
She wanted him to sit down on the bed again and talk to her, to return to that sweet, nostalgic mood they’d shared last night. Instead, he stood a foot away, one hand thrust into his pants pocket.
“I hope you don’t mind. I used your telephone.”
Her mood dropped a little lower. He was her husband, no matter how temporary. And they’d slept together, for heaven’s sake. He could use her phone without permission if he wanted to.
“Of course. Anytime.” The words sounded stiff and formal. What was happening?
“I called the hospital. Your mom said Megan had a good night, her fever is down, and the lab has already been in to draw blood. If everything looks okay she can come home this afternoon.”
“You’ve been busy.” This time she sounded resentful. Darn it. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted their morning to go.
“I called my office, too.” He shifted uneasily and if her mood could have tumbled lower, it would have. She knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I really need to get back to Blackwood.”
One day married, and he couldn’t wait to leave her. To her dismay, the notion hurt. Didn’t he remember that she could never be a one-night-stand kind of girl?
“What about our agreement? How can I get pregnant if we aren’t together?”
“In the mad rush of the moment we didn’t think things out too well, did we?”
They had discussed the marriage and the inevitable divorce, but they hadn’t considered where they would live for the next year. Her life was here in California and his was in Oklahoma.
She sipped the tartly sweet orange juice, then set the glass on the bedside table. “Is there any way you’d consider moving here until I get pregnant?”
“No.” His thunderous expression closed that option instantly.
“Okay.” She blew a sigh at the wisps of hair clouding her vision. “Asking that was unfair of me, but our lives are here. And so is my career. I can’t walk away from that.”
“It’s always been about your career, hasn’t it?”
His mild disdain raised her defenses. “Not now. It’s about Megan.”
Surely he understood how frightened she was of losing her only means of supporting Megan. He knew her past. Knew she had no other training. Megan’s needs had to come first.
His shoulders relaxed and he came to the bed, easing down beside her, though careful to keep his body from making contact with hers. His fresh-shaved scent stirred her libido. Itching to touch him, to bring back last night’s Tate, she clasped the sheet to her throat, instead.
“Could you commute?” he asked. “Come to Black-wood a couple of times a month?”
Julianna shook her head. “That might take too long. The more times we…” Biting her lip, she glanced away. The warm flush crept over her again. Last night, they’d made passionate love in this bed and this morning she couldn’t even say the words. “I have to get pregnant as quickly as possible.”
Tate rose and stalked to the window, hands thrust deeply into his pockets. “I know. We’ll have to live together, at least for a while, whether we like it or not.”
His tone hurt. The altruistic sheriff had only agreed to this marriage because of Megan, a fact that had been fine with Julianna yesterday. But last night in his arms something had happened. Something both beautiful and frightening—and totally unacceptable. She had to remember that Tate had never loved her. For Megan’s sake, and for her own, she’d ignore the confused emotions swirling inside her.
She reached for the orange juice and took a second sip. The acid juice burned going down.
Though she hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility, there was another way for them to be together. She’d sworn never to live in that nosy, one-horse town again, but hadn’t she said she’d do anything?
Before she lost her resolve, Julee sucked in a deep breath and said, “All right then. Megan and I will move to Oklahoma.”
Tate stopped dead-still. His jaw dropped. “You’d do that?”
“I’ll do whatever I have to.” Fear niggled at the edge of her mind. If she moved away from California, even temporarily, how would she work? How would she pay the bills?
“What about Megan’s health care? Doesn’t she need to be here with the doctors who know her?”
“Actually, Oklahoma could be the best possible place for her transplant.” At Tate’s arched eyebrow, she explained, “According to Megan’s oncologist, some highly touted physician at the Oklahoma Medical Center recently received a grant to do stem-cell research.”
He frowned. “Stem-cell research? What does that have to do with Megan?”
Tate came toward her then, head tilted in that questioning way she’d seen last night right before he’d kissed her. Annoyed at her train of thought, Julianna took refuge in her juice glass. Reminders of her wedding night did not belong in this stilted conversation. Not when she was about to risk everything.
Fortified, she placed the glass on the nightstand and repeated the parts of Dr. Padinsky’s explanation that she’d understood. “One part of stem-cell research is the use of cord blood instead of bone marrow for transplants. The procedure is still experimental, but the success rate between siblings is extremely high. When I asked the oncologist for his advice on having another child for Megan’s sake he told me about stem cells. They always match. The tricky part is waiting to see if Megan’s weakened system will adequately reproduce those cells.”
“You discussed this with Megan’s doctor? Before you came to me?”
“I’d only heard about this kind of thing, Tate. I had no idea if it would apply to Megan until I discussed the possibility with her doctors.”
“And you knew all along I’d agree to have another baby.” He said the words flatly, his jaw tight, as though she’d cheated him somehow.
“Of course not. But once the idea came to me I had to investigate every possible aspect.”
Like a restless panther he moved from the bed to the window, then from the window to the dresser where he picked up a picture of Megan and stared down for a long time.
Julianna’s heart twisted. She’d put him in a terrible position, and though he could hardly bear to look at her in the light of day, his innate decency wouldn’t let him ignore the needs of his child.
“So, you’d be willing to move with Megan to Black-wood for the next year?”
“If I have to.”
“What about modeling? Are you just going to leave that?”
“Of course not! Not permanently anyway.” In the modeling business, out of sight meant out of mind—an unnerving prospect. But if she had to leave L.A.—and her modeling career—to save her daughter’s life, she’d do it.
“What if Megan doesn’t want to move?”
“Megan is nine years old. To her this will be an adventure, a chance to meet new friends in a new school, a vacation to the country.” And for Julianna it would be walking into a nightmare. Back to the town she’d wanted to escape and the man who’d broken her heart.
“A vacation.” Gently replacing the photograph he moved toward the doorway, pulling his reserve around him like a robe. “I guess you have everything figured out, then, don’t you?”
No, not quite everything. She didn’t know how she’d manage to maintain her career and meet her pressing financial obligations. Nor had she figured out how in the world she could make another baby with this gorgeous, enigmatic man, then return to California as if nothing had ever happened.