Nobody's Baby but Mine(123)

She hardened herself against the frailty inside her that made her want to agree. She refused to be another weak-willed woman victimized by her emotions. “My home is in Chicago.”

“Don’t say that.” Once again, the edge of anger was back in his voice. “You’ve got a perfectly good home on the other side of this mountain.”

“That place is yours, not mine.”

“That’s not so.”

A rap sounded on the door, startling them both. Cal shot up from the edge of the bed.

“Jane?” Lynn called out. “Jane, I heard something. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“I heard voices. Do you have a man in there?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you have to go and tell her that?” Cal hissed.

“Do you want him there?” Lynn asked.

Jane fought the tide of misery rising in her chest. “No.”

There was a long pause. “All right, then. Come in my room. You can sleep with me.”

Jane pushed back the covers.

Cal caught her arm. “Don’t do this, Jane. We need to talk.”

“The time’s past for talking. I’m going back to Chicago tomorrow.”

“You can’t do that! I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I have things to tell you.”

“Go tell them to somebody who cares.” She jerked free and rushed from the room.



Jane was going to bolt, and Cal couldn’t let it happen. Not in a million years. He loved her!

He’d learned from his father that the women got up early, so he arrived at Heartache Mountain right at dawn. He hadn’t slept at all since he’d climbed back out into the rain from Jane’s bedroom window last night. Now that it was too late, he saw the mistake in his strategy.

He should have told her he loved her the minute he came into her room, while he still had his hand over her mouth. Instead, he’d gone on about kidnaping and reporters, jabbering away instead of getting to the heart of the matter, the only part of what he had to say that meant anything. Maybe he’d been ashamed that it had taken him so long to figure out what should have been obvious to him for a long time.

The reality of his feelings had hit him like a lightning bolt. Yesterday afternoon he’d been struck by the truth as he’d driven hell-for-leather off the mountain right after he’d made a fool of himself by yelling out that he’d stay married. The expression on her face—the look of absolute contempt—had devastated him. Her good opinion meant more to him than any sportswriter’s. She was everything to him.

Now he understood that loving her wasn’t a new feeling, only his acceptance was new. Looking back, he figured he’d probably fallen in love with her when he’d tackled her in Annie’s backyard that day he’d found out how old she was.

More than anything in his life, he knew he couldn’t let this marriage break up. As much as the idea of ending his career scared him, it didn’t scare him half as much as losing her. That meant he had to get her to listen to him, but first, he had to make certain she stayed put.

The front door of Annie’s house was locked with the new dead bolt he’d installed not two weeks earlier. He figured there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d open it for him, so he kicked it in and made his way to the kitchen.

Jane stood at the sink in her Goofy nightshirt with her hair all rumpled and her mouth open in an oval of surprise. As she took in his appearance, her eyes widened with alarm.

He’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he’d come through the living room, and he wasn’t surprised by her reaction. With his outlaw’s stubble, red eyes, and trigger-happy temper, he looked like the meanest hombre this side of the Pecos. Which was just fine with him. Let all of them know right from the beginning that he meant business.

Annie sat at the table with an old flannel shirt pulled on over pink satin pj’s. She hadn’t put on her makeup yet, and she looked every one of her eighty years. As he stalked across her kitchen floor, she started to sputter and struggle to her feet. He walked right past her and snatched the shotgun from its resting place in the corner.

“Consider yourselves disarmed, ladies. And nobody leaves here without my permission.”

Taking the shotgun with him, he stalked back out through the front of the house to the porch, where he leaned the antique weapon against the house and slouched down into the old wooden rocker that sat near the front door. He propped his heels on the red-and-white Igloo cooler he’d brought with him. It held a six-pack of beer, a package of bologna, some frozen Milky Ways, and a loaf of Wonder bread, so they could just forget about starving him out. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. Nobody threatened his family. Not even his own family.