Daddy in the Making. Crystal Green

      â€œI wish you’d reconsider,” Emmet said.

      â€œThere’s too much to walk away from here.” During lunch, Conn hadn’t said anything about the tiny pooch of Rita’s belly. For all he knew, it could’ve been due to a weight gain, but he planned to get to the bottom of the story today.

      His pulse gathered speed every time he thought of her coming out from behind the hotel desk … the little bump on her … the way she’d left him frozen in his tracks.

      What if she was pregnant?

      Something—a memory?—stirred in the back of his mind, but it didn’t come through. Not yet. All he could hold on to now was his confusion at not knowing what the hell he felt.

      A baby, he thought.

      Was he even the type of guy who would make a good father?

      A tiny sense of panic ran through him, icing any emotion, as he and Emmet passed one of the burros that roamed St. Valentine. The critters were ancestors of the first burros that’d been used in the mines, and they were a tourist draw now, a town characteristic just as quirky as the Indian jewelry shop, the Old West trimmings or the mercantile that still made taffy and sold clothing, kitchen goods and souvenirs.

      Emmet hung his thumbs in his belt loops while they walked. “Conn, I’m really not comfortable taking the truck and stranding you here.”

      â€œWhy? There’s a rental car office in the new part of town up the hill. There’re clothes stores, a pharmacy and even a real live doctor, just in case you think I’ll need one.” He’d brought his meds, too, but he doubted he was going to stay long enough for them to run out.

      â€œMaybe we should both check into rooms.”

      â€œMaybe you should just get back to the ranch. They can’t afford to have both of us gone.”

      Just as he finished, the words died in the air, because straight up ahead, on the boardwalk, there she was.

      Rita, in her old-fashioned hotel uniform—the blouse and knee-length skirt. Her legs were long, especially in the light black stockings that clung to the curves of her calves. She was shapely all over, not slender, but …

       His hands skimming her hips … waist … the sides of her breasts …

      Desire flushed through him like a flood of lava.

      Every time he saw her he remembered yet another sensual moment. What else would come to him, though? Enough solid details to get him on his way to the rest of his life?

      Emmet sighed, then said, “Call me when you’re done and we’ll get that rental car.”

      â€œWill do.”

      Rita was heading the other way, her back to him now. As he walked at a steady pace to catch up, his gaze couldn’t help but caress her rear end, which was cupped by that modest, yet somehow sexy, black skirt.

      It was as if she sensed him before he said a word. Or maybe she just heard his boot steps on the boardwalk.

      As she stopped and looked at him, those gray eyes were wide again. Something exploded in his chest as their gazes locked, and his pulse jumped, skipping over the next beat and landing hard on the other side.

      Was he wrong, or did it seem as if she was just as rocked?

      She started walking again, as if she was either resigned that he would continue to hound her or she was intent on just getting away.

      â€œAren’t you gone yet?” she asked, training her eyes straight ahead.

      He laughed at her gumption. Somehow, laughter felt natural with her, as if they’d done a lot of it that night, even if there wasn’t much in store now. “I think there’s more in St. Valentine for me besides sightseeing.”

      They were passing her hotel. Outside, where rusted iron benches waited like timeless sentries, a flock of geriatric men and one silver-haired woman wearing an Indian blanket around her shoulders were smoking cigars and watching the world go by. That included Rita and Conn, too, and their gazes followed them, even after Rita nodded a greeting.

      Conn thought that she looked a little proud, her chin lifted slightly, as if she was daring someone to say something about her weight gain or …

      The baby.

      Again, his heart raced. He had to ask. It was just a matter of when.

      She spoke when they were far enough away from the crowd. “I remember you were just as persistent then as you are now.”

      â€œMy brothers and mom call it ‘willfulness.’ They say I decide on something and I stick to it.”

      â€œYet you don’t remember that about yourself.”

      â€œNo, but it seems to be something I didn’t lose in that accident.”

      She didn’t respond, so he decided he would do more talking. “One of the first things they said to me when I was recovering is that I’m a true cowboy, a man who’s at home on the range more than anyplace else. They say I’d rather be there than off the ranch in pursuit of a real life.”

      â€œI know what you mean.”

      He got the feeling that Rita had heard this about herself, too, except in her life, it was all about the hotel, not a ranch.

      Strange that he would think this, though. Had she told him something similar that night?

      Was it starting to come back to him now?

      He reached inside his head but couldn’t recall it. All he could grasp were faraway things like sitting alone on his cabin porch, listening to the night sounds on his swing, enjoying what he had as a bachelor, content with nothing more.

      Rita gave him a sidelong glance as they kept walking.

      It was now or never.

      He took off his hat, holding it in his hands. “I couldn’t help but notice …”

      He motioned toward her stomach, trying to avoid the indelicacy of the words.

      Immediately, she placed her palm there, as if protecting herself. Was she going to tell him to go to hell for saying she’d put on some pounds? Or …

      Then she began walking again. “Don’t worry about it. The baby isn’t yours.”

      Was that relief sliding through him, from chest to toe?

      â€œI only wanted to make sure,” he said. “I might not know much about myself, but I do know that if it came down to it, I wouldn’t have left you in a lurch.”

      â€œA baby’s not a lurch.”

      Damn, she was making him work hard. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry, Rita.”

      She stopped walking again, her hands on her hips as she shook her head. “You’ve been sorry a hundred times already.”

      â€œListen, all I want to know is—”

      â€œI know what you want to know and I get the feeling that you won’t be going anywhere until you drag it out of me.”

      Did she actually believe him now when he said that he had amnesia?

      â€œSo you just want me to paint you a picture of a memory, is that all?” she said, seemingly giving in. “You want me to fill in what happened before your accident?”

      â€œI’d be grateful for it.” He held his hat with both hands. “I’ve had snippets of memory, where nothing