The Midwife and the Lawman Page 15

  “I should be going.”

  “Not before we settle something between us.”

  “What?” A trapped looked came into her eyes.

  “I’m not going to ask you about the kids, Devon,” he said, moving toward her.

  “You’re not?” She faltered for a moment and he saw the muscles of her throat move as she swallowed. She lifted her chin and gave him back look for look. “I mean, why should I mind if you ask me about the children? Their mother was a good friend. They needed someone to watch over them. I volunteered. Lots of people would have done the same thing.” She recited her reasons as though she’d memorized them for just such inquiries.

  “I think we both know that’s not the whole story.” She took a step sideways as though to move past him. The words came out in a low growl, although he hadn’t meant them to. He was losing her, he could tell. She was pulling back from him little by little, retreating into herself the way he’d done when he came back from Somalia. He wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. “Devon, you can trust me. There are hundreds of things going on in this town I know about that I keep to myself.”

  Surprisingly his words brought a smile to her lips. “I know I can trust you,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek, the brush of her fingertips as light as dandelion fluff. She looked deep into his eyes. He sucked in his breath and held it. Her eyes were filled with tears, bottomless pools of gray. “I can trust you to be exactly what you are. Loyal, honorable, a man of your word. Honest to a fault.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “An officer of the law.”

  She was right. His duty was clear—if he followed the letter of the law. But in reality he wasn’t sure exactly what he would do if she came clean about the kids. He would have to notify the protective services and the INS, that was for sure, and he didn’t want to do that. A good percentage of the citizens of Arroyo County were undocumented aliens, holding down jobs, raising families. He didn’t bother them; they stayed out of his way.

  At the moment he wasn’t sure what the best course would be. They could work it out together if she trusted him, but right here, right now, she didn’t, and that hurt. Maybe he should go at it from another direction? Maybe she needed commitment before she could trust him? “We won’t talk about the kids. We’ll go back to that night on the mountain and we’ll talk about us.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about us,” she said. “I know all about you that way, too. You’re part of this town. Your roots are here. Your future’s here. Mine may be, too, but my life isn’t my own—”

  He caught her around the waist and pulled her close. “I’m in love with you, Devon. I wanted to tell you up there above Angel’s Gate where we could almost touch the stars and you kissed me like you couldn’t get enough of me. Enough of us.”

  “We’ve always struck sparks from each other.”

  “I’m not talking about some rekindled teenage crush, the kind of love that’s as much sex as emotion and can’t stand up to the test of time and the kind of raw deals life gives you sometimes. I mean the real thing. The forever kind of love.”

  She lifted her hand to his mouth to silence him. “Don’t say any more, please.”

  “I know what’s coming next. Don’t ask me to just be your friend, Devon.” This time he made no attempt to keep the rawness out of his voice. He bracketed her face with his hands, smoothing the pads of his thumbs across the velvety softness of her cheeks. “We’ve got too much history to be just friends.” His heart was beating hard in his chest, as much from fear that she would still bolt and run, as from desire.

  Her smile was a little lopsided this time, a little sad. “No, I won’t ask you to be my friend. I won’t ask you for anything, Miguel. Only this.” She closed her eyes and lifted her face to his.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HE CLOSED HIS MOUTH over hers, urging her lips apart. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but like their night of lovemaking in the spring, like the kiss on the mountain, it was a melding of body and soul that seared the senses. She slipped her hands inside his shirt and splayed her fingers across his chest. His skin was warm and smooth and she wrapped her arms around his waist so that she could press her breasts against the solid wall of muscle and sinew that lay beneath.

  She had told herself she didn’t need this, didn’t need him, but she’d lied about that, as she had lied about so many things these past weeks. She did need him, desperately, wantonly, and she feared that would be the case until the last breath she drew into her lungs. She traced the outline of his ribs, the indentation of his spine, the flatness of his buttocks. She felt the heat and strength of him along every inch of her body, and deeper to the very depths of her soul.

  His hands moved, too, unhooking the snap of her shorts, lowering the zipper, sliding them down her hips. The contrast of callused fingertips and soft gauze on his bandaged hand was momentarily distracting, erotic and sensual. His hands dipped below the waistband of her cutoffs and cupped her bottom through the thin silk of her panties. She moaned and pressed against him, leaning into the kiss and the intimate caress.

  She ached to be wrapped in his arms, to sleep with the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. She was tired of being alone, of having no one to confide in, to lean on…to love. “Ah, Miguel, don’t stop.” She reached down and urged his hands beneath the thin cotton of her T-shirt, upward to the aching fullness of her breasts. “I want you. I need you just like I did that night Lydia was so ill.” She almost added, Just like I’ve needed you every night of my life, but she caught herself in time. She bracketed his face with her hands, urging him into another soul-searing kiss.

  But he resisted. He covered her hands with both his own and held them at her sides. “No, Devon,” he said, his eyes as dark as the high country night stealing down the mountain toward them.

  “No?” She was utterly confused. Ten seconds ago he’d been ready and willing to make love to her. He was still hard, she knew, but he raised his head and stepped back. Cool air rushed into the space between them, chilling her skin, as his next words chilled her heart.

  “No sex. Not like this. I’m not going to be your escape valve, Devon. That’s not what I want from you.”

  “It’s not like that.” She was so breathless with desire, with need, that no words came. How dare he stop what he’d started, what he’d made her want so badly?

  Miguel looked down at her. His face was a mask, but he couldn’t quite hide the misery in his eyes. “Isn’t it?” he asked, and waited for a reply she couldn’t give. “Unless you can convince me otherwise, that’s what I have to believe.” His voice roughened around the edges. “Do you love me, Devon?”

  She wanted to say yes. Dear God, how she wanted to! But she couldn’t. The guilt that lay so heavily on her heart had formed itself into a lump lodged firmly in her throat. He knew she was lying to him about the children, and if he believed that, he would question everything else she told him. Maybe not here, not now, but soon. And possibly for the rest of their lives. She had a glimpse of a hellish future. Miguel’s love dying by inches because he could never trust her word or her actions. He would question and he would doubt, and sooner or later it would destroy the love between them.

  “I…I don’t know exactly what I feel right now. I told you…” But she hadn’t told him. Not what he wanted to hear. She shut her mouth. She couldn’t tell one more lie, not even to gain what she wanted most in the world. And she couldn’t tell the truth, for the children’s sake. She stepped out of his arms and attempted to straighten her clothes. She could feel the color rise in her throat and cheeks, but she didn’t look down, didn’t look away. Mustering what dignity she could, she moved toward the door. “I’d better be going. It will be dark soon.”

  His fingers curled around her wrist. “It is dark. I’ll take you home.”

  His voice was even but implacable. Any thought she might have harbored of throwing herself into his arms to pour out her hopes and fears died before it could take its
first breath, just like Carla’s baby. She wouldn’t beg him to understand. There were limits even for the love she felt pushing against the edges of her heart. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is.” He buttoned his shirt with impatient fingers and fished his car keys out of his pocket. He was still aroused, his erection pushing against the fabric of his jeans, but he ignored it. He held the screen door open so that she could pass through. It thumped shut behind them. Their footsteps on the wooden porch echoed in the quiet evening.

  She climbed into the SUV and waited while he started the engine. Little more than a mile separated the two cabins on the curving mountain road. They made the trip in silence.

  Miguel pulled to a stop outside her cabin. Light shone from every window. With a sharp jab of longing, Devon realized she wanted to come home every evening to that beckoning warmth. She knew that the children might not always be there, but she also knew that in the deepest recesses of her heart, she had dreamed Miguel would be one day.

  She got out of the truck and inclined her head so that she could see his face in the faint glow of the dashboard lights. She swallowed hard and concentrated on keeping her voice even, devoid of any trace of unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Miguel.”

  He didn’t turn his head to look at her. His profile was straight off a Remington bronze, proud, defiant. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, finally turning to look at her, although the darkness hid his expression as effectively as a mask. “I love you, Devon. Not the girl you used to be, but the woman you are now, with the life you have now. I’ll be here if you need me. But I won’t come begging for your trust.”

  He shifted into reverse and drove away, leaving her standing alone in the chilly mountain air. She stayed where she was for a long few minutes, seeing nothing, her arms wrapped around her to hold the chill out and the misery inside. Then she turned and went into the house.

  Jesse was waiting for her at the bottom of the loft stairs. “Where have you been?” he said bluntly.

  “I went for a walk,” she replied, throwing her sweater across the back of a chair.

  He watched her through narrowed eyes. “The cop brought you home,” he said, and for a panicked moment she wondered if her appearance showed some sign of what had almost happened between her and Miguel. She fought the urge to adjust her hair, taming the curls that her passionate kiss with Miguel had dislodged from the tortoiseshell clip. “Yes, he did offer me a ride home.”

  Jesse looked over his shoulder. Devon could hear the television in the loft. It must be on Nickelodeon—the nasal twang of SpongeBob SquarePants floated down the stairs, along with Maria’s delighted laughter. He lowered his voice. “You got a thing for him, don’t you?”

  Devon fought for control. She wanted nothing more than to go to her bedroom and curl up in the dark and cry. It had been a lousy day. First Carla had lost her baby and then Devon had denied a love she’d only become aware was hers to lose. “That’s none of your business, Jesse.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” He took a step toward her, his voice low and almost as strained as hers. “Manny says he was a Marine. He says he’s one hell of a cop. That means he’s going to go snooping around that old ghost town sooner or later. He’s going to find our truck and come after us.”

  “He’s been up there, but he didn’t even mention the truck to me,” Devon said. It was chilly in the cabin now that the sun was down. She moved to close the small windows on each side of the room.

  “He didn’t ask you about us?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “No, he didn’t.”

  “I don’t believe you. That’s bullshit. He’s probably already trying to trace the truck. Damn it, I wish I’d known the old Indian was his grandfather before I took the junk from out behind his barn.”

  Devon had had enough. “Lower your voice,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “You’ll upset your sisters.”

  She sensed the stark fear behind his bravado. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side, but he did as she asked, attempting as always to spare his sisters more upset.

  He punched the back of the couch, than flopped onto the arm, his elbows on his thighs, his head between his hands. “What am I going to do? I’m all they’ve got. Maria was born here, but I don’t know how to prove it. Sylvia will have her baby and he’ll be a citizen. But maybe they’ll still send them both back. Me, I go for sure. I don’t care for myself. I’ll make it back across the border somehow. I was little, but I remember how we came here. I know how the Coyotes work. But the girls…” His voice broke. “We should leave. I can have the truck running by tomorrow night. It only needs new spark plugs, and I’ve made enough money working for Manny to buy them now. Vamanos. Now before la migra shows up at the door.”

  “Jesse.” Devon pushed her own heartache aside. She was responsible for him, for all of them, of her own free will. Nothing of what had transpired between her and Miguel changed that. “Give me a little more time. I’ll go back to Angel’s Gate as soon as I can to talk to your Tia Lucia. And the baby. It will be coming soon. We have to think of Sylvia’s welfare, and the baby’s.”

  “I know.” He stayed where he was, his dark head bowed. Devon moved away from the window and put her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off.

  “We’ll get through this somehow, Jesse. I promised you that at the beginning. I won’t go back on my word.”

  He nodded. The sounds from upstairs changed, a cereal jingle replaced the cartoon voices of SpongeBob and his starfish sidekick, Patrick. Maria’s face appeared over the half wall of the loft.

  “Devon. You’re home. I’m hungry. Can I have a snack? Please!”

  Jesse twisted around on the couch and dragged his fists across his eyes. He stood up. “Come on, little pig. You’re going to be muy gorda if you keep eating like this.”

  “Muy gorda. Like Sylvia,” Maria giggled, hopping off the bottom step into her brother’s arms.

  “Like Sylvia.” His voice cracked, and once again Devon realized how very young he was, not even legally old enough to drive the old pickup that represented everything they had in the world.

  Sylvia came down the stairs in time to hear their last remarks. “Jesse, she can’t be hungry again.” She laughed. She did it so seldom that Devon was surprised by the sound. She placed her hand at the small of her back as she crossed the room toward them, moving slowly as though not quite sure of her balance.

  “I am,” Maria wailed.

  “Then let’s get her a snack.” Devon stretched her mouth into a smile and began to move toward the kitchen.

  Sylvia looked from Devon to Jesse and back again. “Is everything okay?” she whispered, her left hand moving to her stomach. A tiny frown appeared between her eyebrows. “Devon? I saw from the upstairs window. It was…it was the policeman…Miguel, who brought you home.”

  Jesse answered before Devon could form a reply. “Everything’s fine,” he said, swinging a giggling Maria up off the floor until she squealed with excitement. His tone was as upbeat as his words, but his eyes were as bleak as Devon’s heart. “Everything’s just fine.”

  “DEVON, I’M SO GLAD you’re already at the center,” Hope said over the phone. “I knew Serena Cartwright was ready to pop, but I was hoping she’d wait until this afternoon.” Hope’s voice sounded raspy and faint, not because she was catching cold, but because her cell-phone reception was poor. She was halfway to Taos, taking Dalton to the orthodontist. “But there’s no way I can get back to Enchantment for at least another couple of hours.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Hope. I’m glad to help out.” Devon smiled at Trish in her accustomed chair behind the reception desk, even though it was barely eight o’clock and they weren’t scheduled to start seeing patients for an hour and a half.

  “This connection is awful, isn’t it?” Hope fussed. “Wait a moment. I’ll pull over when I top this rise and see if it clears up. Hang on.”

  Trish popped the last bite of a bagel into her mouth
and pantomimed pouring a cup of tea. Devon nodded. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Two sugars.” She needed the burst of energy. She’d spent a restless, almost sleepless night and was up before the sun.

  “Devon?” Hope again. Her voice was clearer now, the static banished.

  “I can hear you fine, Hope. Serena’s contractions are eight minutes apart and regular. She should be here within the hour. She’s going to drop her kids off at her mother’s place in Red River first.”

  “I’ll fill you in on the details,” Hope said, rushing her words a little in anticipation of the next round of static. Trish set the steaming cup of tea on the counter and placed Serena’s chart beside it. Devon opened it to find the page filled with Hope’s neatly printed notes. “Serena’s thirty. Thirty-eight weeks gestation. She has two great kids. Lydia delivered them both, so she can back you up on this one if I don’t get back in time. I saw her, um…”

  “Wednesday morning,” Devon supplied from the chart.

  “Has her water broken?”

  “Not yet. You’re starting to break up again. Anything else I need to know?” Devon asked quickly.

  “She’s very eager for a water birth.”

  “I’ll make sure she’s in the Jacuzzi suite,” Devon teased. She tried to remember if she’d left an extra set of scrubs in her locker in the break room. One thing was always certain with a water birth. The midwife got just as wet as mother and baby.

  “Serena’s a trooper, Devon. You two will hit it off just fine. I’ll be back by lunchtime to give you a hand.”

  “It’s a deal, Hope,” Devon said, and handed the phone back to Trish.

  The older woman was perusing Serena’s chart. “Water birth, huh? I’d better get some extra towels.”

  The front door of the clinic opened to the bright morning sunlight, and Kim Sherman entered. She walked briskly to the reception desk, her low heels clicking on the tile floor. She was wearing a silky-looking, buttercup-yellow blouse and a dark skirt. Her hair was smooth and sleek, tucked behind her ears. Devon’s eyes were drawn to the rare rose-quartz earrings that had been a gift from the teenage Lydia to Kim’s mother. The stones matched Lydia’s pendant with its Madonna and child likeness.