Man...Mercenary...Monarch. Joan Elliott Pickart

in the house, she switched her cotton blouse for a red sweater, which she wore over gray corduroy slacks, then she made a fire in the hearth in the living room.

      Settling into one of the big, comfortable chairs by the fireplace, she actually managed to become engrossed in the mystery novel she was reading.

      An hour later, a sharp knock sounded at the front door and Laura jerked at the sudden noise.

      She hadn’t heard a vehicle approach the house, she thought, settling the book on the table next to the chair. Maybe one of the ranch hands was looking for Betty.

      She got to her feet.

      But the men used the mudroom door, she remembered, as she crossed the room. Maybe she’d been concentrating so much on her book that she hadn’t heard a knock on the rear door. And the thunder was still rumbling noisily so…well, whatever.

      Laura opened the door with a pleasant expression on her face.

      Then she stopped breathing as a gasp caught in her throat.

      Standing before her, with a blanket-covered bundle on his shoulder, was John.

      John, her mind hammered in disbelief. Her man of the magical night. Magnificent, tall, powerful, sensitive, compelling John was staring right at her with a shocked expression on his face.

      Dear heaven, how had he found her? What was he doing here?

      Chapter Three

      John felt as though he’d been punched in the gut as he stared at Laura, who was staring at him.

      His first thought when Laura had appeared in the doorway was that he was imagining she was there.

      He’d written her a short, heartfelt note that morning, then stood next to the bed in the motel, losing track of time as he’d watched her sleep. He hadn’t wanted to leave that room, leave Laura and the magic they’d created together.

      Their lovemaking had been fantastic, far beyond the usual physical release. He had made love with a woman, not to a woman, the union being intertwined with emotions, some of which he couldn’t identify. Incredible.

      It had taken every bit of willpower he possessed to finally turn and walk out of that room. He’d emerged into the crisp morning air and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

      Then reality had slammed against him. He was about to see his son—his son—for the first time. He would take responsibility for that baby, then begin a life-style that was so foreign and so damn frightening.

      Laura’s words of the previous night echoed in his head as he’d driven the miles to where Jeremiah was waiting for him. He’d clung to what Laura had said like a lifeline, hearing her state so sincerely that he would do fine in his role of father by just being himself and following his paternal instincts.

      Laura. She was so pretty, real and honest, so caring. He had bared his soul to her, and it had felt so right to share his innermost feelings and fears.

      Laura was special. What they’d shared in those stolen hours had been like nothing he’d experienced before. But he’d had to let her go to concentrate entirely on his son and their future together.

      And now?

      Laura was honest-to-God standing two feet in front of him.

      What in the hell was she doing here?

      “What are you…” Laura and John said in unison.

      They stopped speaking and both frowned.

      “This is crazy,” John said gruffly. “What are you doing on The Rocking C?”

      “I live here,” Laura said, amazed that she could still speak. “Sort of.”

      “You live here?” he said. “I live here. Sort of.” He paused and shook his head. “Damn it, Laura, this is my family’s ranch, the Colton spread. I’m John Colton.”

      “Oh…my…God,” Laura whispered, her eyes widening. “You’re John Colton? Oh, dear heaven. John Colton? Oh, good grief.”

      “You’re very articulate, Laura. Would you mind telling me who you are?” John narrowed his eyes. “Are you my brother’s wife, or whatever?”

      “No, of course not. That’s insulting, considering that you and I…Never mind. I’m Laura Bishop and I—you’re John Colton?”

      “Would you cut that out?” he said, none too quietly. The blanket-covered bundle he was holding stirred. “Oh, man, I’m waking him up.”

      “That’s Jeremiah,” Laura said breathlessly. “That’s your son.”

      “Bingo. Would it meet with your approval, Ms. Bishop, if I came into my house?”

      “Oh. Oh. Yes, of course.” Laura stepped back quickly to allow John to enter the house. “I’m sorry, very sorry. Come in.”

      John strode into the living room, shooting Laura a dark glare as he passed her. He went to the sofa facing the fireplace and eased the baby slowly from his shoulder, placing him on the soft cushions. Jeremiah wiggled, then stilled, as he slept on.

      On trembling legs, Laura moved to stand next to John. She looked at the sleeping baby and her breath caught.

      Jeremiah was a miniature John, she thought incredulously, feeling a funny little tug on her heart. The baby had the same silky dark brown hair, straight nose, square little jaw as his father. This was Jeremiah, John’s son.

      And this magnificent man of the magical night, she thought frantically, sliding a glance at John, was John Colton, or rather, heaven help her, Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough.

      John took off his jacket and Stetson, tossed them onto a chair, then crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Laura, who was staring at the baby again.

      “Oh, John,” she said softly, “Jeremiah is so beautiful. What a wonderful son you have.”

      “He’s not the subject at the moment. You have some explaining to do,” John said, “and this better be good. My first question is, where is my brother, Mitch? Is he out on the range working? And where’s Betty?”

      “That’s three questions,” Laura said, smiling weakly as she shifted her attention to him. “Sorry,” she added quickly, as John’s frown deepened. “I was just attempting to lighten things up a tad.”

      She hurried over to the chair where she’d been reading so peacefully an eternity ago, and sank onto it gratefully.

      “You have to realize, John,” she said, “that your suddenly appearing here, your being who you are, is a tremendous shock to me.”

      “No more than my finding you in my family’s home.” He dragged a restless hand through his hair. “Let’s start at the top. Why are you here?”

      “Maybe you should sit down.”

      “No.”

      “Please?” Laura said.

      “Hell,” John said, then slouched onto the chair opposite her.

      Laura clutched her hands tightly in her lap, then drew a steadying breath.

      “John,” she said, “do you remember my telling you that I work for a prominent family and was in Hope to complete an assignment?”

      John propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, then made a steeple of his fingers which he rested lightly against his lips.

      “I remember,” he said. “So?”

      “So, the assignment was to wait here on The Rocking C until you, until John Colton, returned home for a visit.”

      “Well, I’m here in living, breathing color. What do you want me for?”

      “I’m…I’m