A Child on the Way Read online

  “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own suitcase.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t doubt it.” Jack picked up the overnighter before Lisa could get to it.

  She looked affronted. “You think because I bumped my head that renders me incapable?”

  “I didn’t mean that. But you planted your car in that ditch pretty good, and you could have a mild concussion. You’re what, about six or seven months pregnant, we’re stranded in a blizzard, the nearest doctor is more than fifty miles away and between us we’ve got one horse for transportation. If it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it greatly if you didn’t lift anything any heavier than your hand.”

  Slowly her brows lowered from their affronted arch and a smile curved those soft lips. “I believe that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “Then, darlin’,” he said as he carried her luggage toward the bedroom, “you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people.”

  Dear Reader,

  Fall is upon us, and there’s no better way to treat yourself to hours of autumn pleasure than by reading your way through these riveting romances in September’s Special Edition books!

  The lives and loves of the Bravo family continue with The M.D. She Had To Marry, in Christine Rimmer’s popular CONVENIENTLY YOURS miniseries. In the page-turner Father Most Wanted, beloved writer Marie Ferrarella combines a witness protection program, a single dad with three daughters and an unsuspecting heroine to tell a love story you won’t be able to put down. Bestselling author Peggy Webb deals with family matters of a different kind with yet another compelling Native American hero story. In Gray Wolf’s Woman a loner finds the hearth and home he’d never realized he’d yearned for.

  Lucy Gordon’s poignant reunion romance, For His Little Girl, will sweep you away as an unexpected turn of events promises to reunite a family that was always meant to be. Janis Reams Hudson continues her Western family saga miniseries, WILDERS OF WYATT COUNTY, with A Child on the Way, a compelling amnesia story about a pregnant woman who ends up in the arms of another irresistible Wilder man. And Patricia McLinn’s Wyoming miniseries, A PLACE CALLED HOME, continues with At the Heart’s Command, a tale of a military hero who finally marches to the beat of his own heart as he woos his secret love.

  We hope this month brings you many treasured moments of promise, hope and happy endings as Special Edition continues to celebrate Silhouette’s yearlong 20th Anniversary!

  All the best,

  Karen Taylor Richman

  Senior Editor

  JANIS REAMS HUDSON

  A CHILD ON THE WAY

  This book is gratefully dedicated to Sharon Sala, for taking my call every afternoon with such calm good humor. What a friend! You can take your nap now.

  Books by Janis Reams Hudson

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Resist Me If You Can #1037

  The Mother of His Son #1095

  His Daughter’s Laughter #1105

  Until You #1210

  *Their Other Mother #1267

  *The Price of Honor #1332

  *A Child on the Way #1349

  JANIS REAMS HUDSON

  was born in California, grew up in Colorado, lived in Texas for a few years and now calls central Oklahoma home. She is the author of more than twenty-five novels, both contemporary and historical romances. Her books have appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and Bookrack bestseller lists and have earned numerous awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award and Reviewers’ Choice awards from Romantic Times Magazine. She is a three-time finalist for the coveted RITA Award from Romance Writers of America and is a past president of RWA.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter One

  Jack Wilder scrunched his neck down inside the turned-up collar of his sheepskin coat and cursed the weather forecasters for predicting nothing more than a light dusting of snow. He cursed the mountains for not trapping the storm on the western slope and keeping it there. He cursed himself for not heading out of the back country earlier this morning when his left ear started itching—a sure sign something was wrong.

  The last time his left ear had itched like this he’d been doing seventy on the highway and nearing a curve. He’d slowed down and thanked God for it a minute later when he came upon a wreck blocking both lanes. If his itchy ear hadn’t warned him, he’d have plowed right into both cars and killed everyone.

  If he’d paid attention this time, he’d be home. The itch had started about the same time as the snow.

  It wasn’t merely snowing now. Light dusting, be damned. What they had here was their first full-fledged, gen-u-ine blizzard of the season. The wind cut through thin clothing and bare skin like a hot knife through butter. The good news, Jack thought with grim humor, was that even if the wind did slice him to ribbons, it would be impossible for him to bleed to death—it was too damn cold for blood to flow.

  Skeezer tossed his head and snorted. The fool horse actually enjoyed weather like this.

  Visibility decreased by the minute. Jack knew he’d be worse than a fool to try to make it all the way home in this weather when he could stop at the vacant section house. Skeezer would be out of the storm in the barn, and Jack could build a fire in the living-room fireplace, never mind the lack of furniture or electricity.

  Jack urged Skeezer over the crest of the final hill and down the other side, where the wind wasn’t quite as sharp. The land spread out before him covered in a smooth blanket of white. Acre after acre, mile after mile, even if he couldn’t see much of it for the blowing snow. He knew it was there. Flying Ace land. Wilder land. Home.

  A thick stand of cottonwoods and willows bordered the creek at the base of the hill. Skeezer waded into the creek, not minding the freezing water, and out the other side. When they broke through the trees, Jack knew the home that normally housed the foreman for the southwest section of the ranch was less than a mile ahead.

  Away from the shelter of the hill, the wind sliced with renewed vigor. They trudged on, man and horse, heads down. Jack’s fingers, toes and face were going numb by the time the section house appeared before them out of the blowing snow. The house was white, so it was hard to see, but it was there.

  If the car had been white, Jack might not have noticed it where it rested nose-down in the ditch next to the driveway. He hadn’t expected to see a car. There shouldn’t have been one on this road at all, let alone in the ditch. If it hadn’t been red and only partially covered with snow, he might have missed it. Some traveler had really gotten lost. Jack just hoped no one was hurt.

  He drew Skeezer to a halt beside the car and swung down from the saddle. With his forearm he brushed the snow off the driver’s-side window and peered in. His stomach dropped.

  The driver was a woman, with a face as pale as the snow. She sat slumped over, with her head against the steering wheel, her ashen face turned toward him, her eyes closed.

  Jack rapped on the window. “Ma’am? Lady, can you hear me?”

  No response.

  He opened the door and felt warm air against his face. Warm compared to outside, anyway. She hadn’t been here too long or the interior of the car would have been as cold as the air outside.

  How badly was she hurt?

  Who was she, and what the hell was she doing out here? Nobody got to this place by accident. She would ha
ve had to have turned off the highway and driven under the big Flying Ace sign at the ranch entrance, and then right through headquarters and past the main house. After that it was nothing but miles of rangeland.

  Puzzled and concerned, he called to her again while pulling off his gloves. When he got no response, he reached for her shoulder. God, she looked delicate. Felt delicate beneath his hand, even through her heavy coat. “Ma’am? Come on, honey, wake up.”

  Still no response.

  She seemed to be breathing all right, and when he checked her pulse, it felt normal. Not too fast, not too slow; not thready or weak.

  But she was so damned pale. So damned still.

  He needed to get her out of this cold, yet he was reluctant to move her until he knew how badly she was injured. From the tire tracks still just visible in the snow, she couldn’t have been going very fast. She must have hit her brakes and skidded sideways before landing nose-down in the ditch. The snow already piled up in the ditch would have cushioned the impact. The worst she probably had was a bump on her forehead where she’d hit the steering wheel, and a busted radiator.

  He stepped back and eased the car door closed, then jogged through the snow to the front porch. He felt along the sill above the door, found the key and opened the door.

  Inside Jack stopped abruptly. “What the…?” The place had furniture, and he recognized it—sofa, recliner, end table, lamp, coffee table…Hell, there was even a small boom box. It was his brother Ace’s old stuff from when he’d redone his house a few years ago. Jack had helped cart these things and more to the storage shed. What were they doing here?

  Jack himself had gone through this house after the last section foreman had moved out. There hadn’t been a stick of furniture here then. Shouldn’t be now. Unless Ace had hired a new section foreman without telling him and supplied the man with furniture.

  That didn’t make any sense. His brother wouldn’t do that. As foreman, second in command over all the Flying Ace ranch, hiring a new section foreman was Jack’s job. Ace wouldn’t have interfered.

  Why was the lamp turned on? The electricity was supposed to be off. And the place was warm. Why was the furnace running?

  Jack called out, but got no answer.

  Well, the answer to his questions was obvious. The woman must have been expected, and she must be important to someone on the Flying Ace. It would have been no small task to haul all this furniture out here from the storage shed up at headquarters.

  Stepping back outside, Jack ducked his head into the wind and trudged back to the car, worried that he’d left the woman alone too long. When he got back to her, she was still out. Reaching into the car, he checked her arms and legs for broken bones, then felt her neck carefully.

  She moaned once, shifted her head.

  The movement of her head reassured him that her neck wasn’t broken. That had been his main concern, and even that hadn’t seemed likely.

  She moaned again, and her face scrunched up in a frown.

  Snow White, he thought, taking in her unnaturally pale face. And again the word delicate came to mind. And beautiful. Her skin looked as soft and smooth as satin. For a minute he was tempted to stroke one creamy cheek to find out. Or kiss those pale lips…

  Bad idea. The woman was unconscious. She wasn’t Snow White, and he damn sure wasn’t anybody’s Prince Charming. Maybe when she came to…

  That idea wasn’t much better. For now he just hoped he could rouse her and that she wasn’t seriously injured. That he wouldn’t do her more harm than good by picking her up and carrying her.

  “Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

  She heard the deep voice as if through a long watery tunnel. Felt the touch of a warm hand on her shoulder. Confused, she tried to swim back toward the quiet darkness in her mind, but the voice kept calling, insisting she listen, demanding she wake up.

  She came to with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel of her car. It hurt. Bad. With a moan, she straightened, leaned back and pressed a hand to the ache, relieved to feel unbroken skin. Boy, it really hurt. A knot was already forming.

  How odd that the steering wheel kept coming at her, reaching for her.

  No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t the steering wheel that was moving, it was her. She kept falling forward. She had to brace herself with a hand on the steering wheel to sit upright.

  Frowning, she looked out the windshield to see nothing but white. An icy shiver raced down her spine at the realization that her car—was this her car?—was nose-down in a snow-filled ditch.

  Then she turned her head and saw him. The man who had called her from the darkness with his voice and touch.

  At first glance he looked like a man she might want a good, close look at. His rugged face was all tanned planes and angles, as if chiseled from seasoned oak by a master craftsman. He wore a tan cowboy hat and a sheepskin coat with the collar turned up. His hair was as black as sin, his eyes as blue as heaven.

  A hard-edged man who was easy on the eye.

  She blinked and frowned at the thought. She wasn’t looking for a man, easy on the eye or otherwise. Didn’t want one, wouldn’t have one.

  The simple movement of frowning shot so much pain through her head that she groaned.

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

  “My head hurts.” She blinked up at him. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jack Wilder. You’ve got a good-size goose egg.” He held up his hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

  She swallowed. “Three.”

  “Good. Are you hurt anywhere else besides your head?”

  Was she? She frowned again. Her mind was fuzzy and she couldn’t quite get it cleared. She felt…strange. Not ill, not hurt—except for the pain in her head. But…fuzzy. Out of focus. As if something wasn’t quite right, and she couldn’t tell just what that something was. “I think I’m all right.”

  “It’s warm in the house.” He reached across her and released her seat belt. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Oh, okay.” She picked up her purse from the passenger seat, pulled the keys from the ignition and dropped them inside. The next thing she knew, the man had swept her up in his arms like a knight rescuing the proverbial damsel in distress. She cried out in surprise.

  “It’s all right,” he said easily. “I’ve got you.”

  “I can walk.” If her protest sounded a little weak, even to her own ears, well, she was entitled to a moment of weakness, wasn’t she? She had just apparently knocked herself unconscious on the steering wheel of her car. Didn’t that deserve a little rescuing?

  “Not in those shoes, in this snow,” he answered. He shifted her easily, as if her weight was nothing to him. Judging by the steely muscles she felt through his heavy coat and hers, it must be.

  The sensation of being carried in a strong man’s arms was an unfamiliar one. She couldn’t recall a single instance when a man had carried her.

  Imagine that. Her very own knight in shining…Stetson. She took in his square jaw, his sharp profile, and nearly sighed. Never mind the icy wind, the stinging snow, the treacherous footing. She had the feeling she’d never been safer in her life. “Thank you,” she murmured. It was just a crying shame she’d sworn off men.

  In no time he carried her through the snow, up onto a small covered porch and into the house. He set her down on the couch, and the first thing she noticed was that the room was blessedly warm. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d been.

  She started unbuttoning her coat.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Without any conscious direction, her hands went to her stomach and started drawing soothing circles there with her fingertips.

  The man’s eyes lowered, followed the motion of her hands, then nearly bugged out of his head. “You’re…”

  Shock froze her hands in place. With a hard swallow, she followed his gaze and looked down.

  “Oh…my…God.” She could do no more than stare at the mound th
at was her abdomen. Images flashed through her mind. A home pregnancy test. A plus sign on the little tab. A smiling man in a white coat—a doctor?—congratulating her.

  Okay. Okay. No need to panic. This was right. She was pregnant. She didn’t particularly remember it, but it felt right. Why didn’t she remember it?

  The harder she tried to remember, the worse the pain in her head. Her hands trembled against her stomach.

  Stress. It couldn’t be good for the baby. She had to calm down, take it easy. Any minute everything would fall back into place.

  She closed her eyes and took two slow deep breaths. When nothing came, no thoughts, no memories to explain why finding herself pregnant should come as such a shock, her hands began to shake again.

  “…pregnant,” he finished.

  She let out a puff of breath. “Yes.”

  His voice sharpened. “You sure you’re all right? You didn’t hurt anything besides your head, did you?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “Nothing besides my head.” And most of what used to be inside it, she thought, dismayed.

  “For a minute there,” he said, his voice still sharp, “you seemed a little surprised.”

  She gave him a nervous smile. “Silly, isn’t it? I must have really rattled my brain to have forgotten something like this.”

  “Will you be all right while I go stable my horse?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have any luggage I should bring in?”

  “Bring in?” She frowned and glanced toward the door.

  “In case you haven’t realized it yet, until this storm blows over, we’re pretty much stuck here.”

  She swallowed. “Oh.”

  Jack bit back a curse. Good God, this was all he needed. A pregnant injured woman on his hands, with a blizzard settling in for the duration, and one horse for transportation. “You’re sure you didn’t hurt anything when you took that nosedive into the ditch?”

  “No.” She blinked and curved her hands over her abdomen in that protective possessive way he’d seen other pregnant women do. “No. We’re fine.”