The Drifter by Vicki Lewis Thompson Page A

cowboy. But I don’t know what we might—”
    â€œI do,” Belinda said. “Back when you and Freddy were babies, your daddy made a cradleboard, just like the ones the Indians used to carry their little ones. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”
    â€œI haven’t a clue what a cradleboard is,” Chase said. He’d begun jiggling Bartholomew, and the squalls eased up. Maybe he had to find the right touch, like working with a sensitive clutch.
    â€œIt’ll work fine,” Belinda said. “Just set up your ride.”
    â€œTake her up to the pond,” Leigh suggested.
    â€œNow, don’t you two start getting ideas.” Chase swayed gently, soothing the baby even more. “I just thought she should see some of the country as long as she’s out here.”
    Leigh’s eyes widened innocently. “Why, I certainly agree, Chase. And I promise not to take any of the dudes on trail rides in that direction tomorrow, so you won’t be disturbed while you’re showing her the country.”
    Chase shook his head and started out the kitchen door. Then he turned back again. “You said you have a date tonight? Who with?”
    â€œEdgar.”
    â€œThe barber? That guy has the personality of a socket wrench, Leigh.”
    â€œI know, but I haven’t seen a movie in months and it’s obvious you won’t take me any time soon.”
    â€œSomebody needs to improve the quality of your social life.”
    Leigh waved a hand dismissively. “Feel free to take on my problems after you straighten out your own.”
    Chase rolled his eyes and turned to leave.
    â€œNice job with the baby,” Leigh called. Her throaty chuckle and Belinda’s musical laugh followed him as he used his shoulder to edge out the swinging door into the dining room.
    The wedding guests had left, along with Ry and Freddy. Amanda, sitting with her back to the kitchen door, was the only guest still in the room. The clatter of dishes being cleared muffled Chase’s approach, allowing him to pause and observe her for a moment. She took a sip of coffee, put the mug down and ran a manicured finger around the edge. He remembered the gesture from the night in the truck.
    Despite her jeans and boots, she’d never be mistaken for a cowgirl, he decided. Her hands were the color of milk instead of tanned as a cowgirl’s would be, and her jeans were cut too baggy—probably a fashion statement in New York but not in Arizona. He’d become accustomed to the tight jeans Freddy and Leigh wore, which were far more revealing and sexy, yet Amanda’s loose-fitting clothing made her all the more mysterious and desirable.
    He thought again of how she’d raced from the cottage earlier, barefoot and half-clothed, desperate to save her baby. In that moment, he’d known she would protect Bartholomew with her life. That kind of devotion had a powerful effect on Chase, maybe because he’d never experienced it. But although he admired her protective instincts, they made her vulnerable and in need of protection herself. And that’s where, in a perfect world, he would come in. But this wasn’t a perfect world.
    With a muted sigh, he approached her table.
    She turned in her chair, her eyes widening as she noticed he held Bartholomew.
    â€œLeigh...told me to bring him to you.”
    Her gaze softened and he held his breath, wishing he could find a way to keep that tender expression on her face. When she looked like that, hope replaced confusion in his heart. She stood and held out her arms. He’d give a lot to have her do that when he wasn’t holding a baby.
    â€œI’d better take him back to the cottage.”
    He settled Bartholomew in her arms, which couldn’t be accomplished without a lot of touching, because he was petrified that he’d let go before Amanda had a firm grip.
    Amanda’s warm breath caressed his cheek.