The Housekeeper's Daughter. Laurie Paige

a private duty nurse, not a lawyer, but I think he could. I mean, a court order would do it.”

      “And the Coltons can afford the best lawyers in the world,” Maya said, then sighed. She felt physically and emotionally exhausted.

      She waited patiently as Lana tried to reassure her on her maternal rights, then said good-night.

      The future seemed dark and even more uncertain all at once. How could she have been so foolish? she’d asked herself a thousand times during the intervening months.

      She knew the answer. Love. The stuff of dreams.

      Well, she was awake now, she mused ruefully, forcing a smile at her once idealistic self. Reality was a backache and an inability to find a sleeping position that her body accepted. Reality was also Drake Colton.

      Unlike her longtime friend Andy Martin, Drake hadn’t mentioned marriage. If she told him the baby was his, what would he do—insist on marriage or simply offer to support the child…or try to take it from her?

      She had no idea what “putting his affairs in order” meant to him. She again fought the despair that darkened her spirits at unguarded moments. She had known Drake all her life, but she truly hadn’t a clue about his intentions.

      Sighing, she got up and paced some more.

      Two

      Drake hunched his shoulders against the chill and thrust his hands into his jeans pockets. The wind off the ocean had calmed, so the night wasn’t as cold as expected.

      He stalked along the rough shore, occasionally stumbling over a large rock mixed with the coarse sand and rounded pebbles of the beach. The moon cast a feeble light on the land, but it was instinct that led him to an alcove hidden among the boulders at the base of the cliff.

      Folding his legs under him, he settled on a rise of sand that formed a bench under the rocky indentation and buried his face in his hands. He and his siblings had played at being pirates and sea captains in this alcove. He’d made love to Maya here.

      Darkness overtook him, that desperation of the soul that had been his companion for most of his life. Since his twin had died under the wheels of a car.

      A shudder ran through him, as hot and painful as the bullet that had sliced through his hip.

      “Drake, we’re not supposed to go out on the highway,” Michael called.

      Drake pedaled his bike up the hill that overlooked the main road. “Come on. Let’s go look for arrowheads on the other side of the road where the creek cuts through.”

      “Dad will kill us if he finds out.”

      “So how’s he to know? I’m not going to tell. Come on, chicken. We won’t be long.”

      His dad hadn’t had to lay a hand on them. Michael, riding behind him, hadn’t seen the car come speeding around the curve. Drake had. He’d yelled and run off the side of the road. Michael had been watching him, puzzled, right up until an instant before he’d been hit.

      Drake groaned and lifted his head. He watched the turbulent roll of the waves onto the shore, each one a reminder of the past. His father had told him Michael’s death wasn’t his fault. The child psychologist his father had called in had said the same.

      Drake’s adult reasoning assured him this was true in the sense that he hadn’t meant harm. But in his heart… In his heart, he would forever be calling for his brother to “Watch out” and knowing, even as he did, it was too late.

      Shaking his head, he wondered why, with all his other worries, this one had come back to haunt him now.

      Abruptly he pushed to his feet, needing movement to dispel the memories of a past too powerful to forget.

      Back at the house, he paused on the patio before going to his room. The light still shone in Maya’s window. A shadow moved across the drawn shade.

      Why was she still up?

      He saw her stop and bend forward. She was in obvious pain. Panic shot through him. He rushed to her door and entered without knocking.

      “Are you all right? Is the baby coming?” he demanded.

      She brought herself up straight and stared at him as if he were out of his mind. “No. Go away.”

      Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she moved away from him, her hands on her back. Insight came to him. “Your back’s hurting.”

      She sighed and didn’t answer.

      “Stay here,” he advised as if she might disappear into the night. “I’ll be right back.”

      Maya turned as quickly as she could, intending to tell him to leave her alone now and forever, but she faced only the door. He was already gone.

      Glancing at the clock, she knew she had to get some rest. She slipped out of the robe, got in bed and turned out the light. Lying on her side with a knee drawn up to support her midsection, she firmly closed her eyes.

      She’d counted three hundred sheep when the door opened and the light was switched on again. “What is it?” she snapped.

      “Liniment,” Drake said in a tone that implied this explained everything. “Stay still. I’ll rub your back.”

      Shock rolled over her. “You’ll do no such thing!”

      She’d die before she let him see her in her nightgown, her stomach round as a roly-poly.

      He snatched the covers down and sat on the edge of the bed. “This will help you sleep,” he assured her, as if that was the only concern about him being in her room at…

      “It’s almost one in the morning,” she said.

      “Yeah. You need your rest.”

      He pushed her gently down on the bed, then opened the bottle. The pungent scent of horse liniment filled the room. With one hand, he pulled the straps of her gown off her shoulders and down her arms.

      “Slip this down to your waist—”

      “No!” Panic was beginning to muddle her thoughts. She was entirely too aware of his warmth next to her hip and of the hour and of the yearning, the remembered hunger, that flooded her from deep within.

      Pushing upward, she realized that was a mistake as her gown slipped off her breasts. She threw her arms over her chest and huddled against the sheet as liquid heat ran in her blood.

      “That’s better,” Drake said.

      She heard the slosh of the liniment, then felt his hand on her bare shoulders, accompanied by the strong smell and cooling effects of horse medicine. Realizing he wouldn’t leave until he’d accomplished his task, she lay stiffly and let him rub her neck and down her spine to the edge of the nightgown.

      When his fingers slipped under the material, every nerve in her body jerked.

      “Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and sexy, soft the way it had been when they made love, endlessly tender as he coaxed her into wild passion.

      Relentlessly, he continued, rubbing and rubbing, pushing the gown down as he went lower until it finally rested at her waist. Using both hands, he massaged deeply on either side of her backbone and into the small of her back. It was painful, yet perversely made her feel better. Her eyes closed of their own accord as the pain receded.

      She groaned with relief as strained muscles slowly relaxed for the first time in weeks. He shifted closer, putting one knee up on the bed to rest by her side.

      “That’s better,” he murmured.

      Minutes went by in silence, broken only when he wet his hands with the liniment before starting his massage again.

      His fingers were magic. The stiffness melted away, replaced by a languid uneasiness that also faded as his touch became gentler. Now he rubbed soothingly.

      Exhaling