Between Strangers (3 page)

“Wait a minute.” Marcy held up her hand, palm out. “You intend to ask this woman to marry you, but neither of you are in love? Have you two, uh, well, do you know for a fact that you will be compatible…in all areas?”

“If you're asking about in the bedroom, the answer is no, I don't know for sure about that part of it. But we respect each other. And that's all I'll say on the subject.”

Oh, brother. Marcy could only shake her head. He couldn't be for real. She knew love was a difficult dream to realize, and this guy didn't even have the basic steps down yet.

“I kind of hate to ask this,” she began tentatively. “But does Lorna know you intend to propose? Have you two talked about the possibility?”

He seemed to take a moment thinking that one over. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought it would be more romantic that way. Women like that kind of romance, don't they?”

Marcy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing aloud. “Some things aren't meant to be that big a surprise, you know?”

The darkening shadows of late afternoon made the atmosphere around them suddenly seem melancholy. Marcy wished that she knew Lance a little better. He could be heading for a huge fall, and she wanted to
be his friend so she could try to keep it from being such a hard landing.

He paid no attention to her attempt to warn him. “I found a wonderful engagement ring on my last evening in New Orleans. It's an antique and very special. Wait until I tell you the crazy story of how I got it.”

They rounded a bend in the road and Lance smiled. “The story will have to wait. You can't see it through the snowfall yet, but the truck stop is right up ahead. We'll be able to get in out of this storm in just a few minutes.”

 

After the waitress found a high chair for Angie, and Marcy had unbuttoned and removed the baby's snowsuit, she shrugged off her own coat and slipped into the booth beside her daughter. The place was packed and it had taken thirty minutes to get seated. Truckers, bus drivers, state police and families who'd been on their way to holiday parties, all of them had wound up stuck here waiting out the storm.

“Here's a couple of menus,” the harried waitress told her. “But we're not serving everything as usual. The boss wants to conserve so we can make it over the next few days without running out of food.”

“That's okay,” Marcy said with a shrug. “I have to check with the rest of my party, but I'd imagine we'll be having whatever you've got. And the baby will be fine if you can just bring her some milk.”

“I'll send the busboy over with a glass for her,” the woman said. “But it may take me a long time to
get back here for your order. We're swamped. Do you mind?”

Marcy shook her head and watched the woman hurry away, disappearing into the crowds of people who were stuffed into every available table, booth and aisle. Marcy reached into her big duffel on the floor and pulled a jar of baby food, some crackers and Angie's sippy cup up onto the table.

“We'll be fine, sweetheart,” she murmured to a big-eyed Angie. “It's warm here and we're safe. And I'll think of some way for us to get to Wyoming, don't you worry.”

Marcy handed Angie a cracker and glanced up to find Lance making his way to their table after filling up his gas tank outside. Oh, Lord. He strode through the crowd like a man who had no trouble negotiating any obstacle. Every feminine eye in the place turned to admire his wide shoulders and the tight butt encased in slim work jeans.

With his hat in his hand and his heavy leather coat slung over one shoulder, she got her first good look at their savior. Rugged. Whoo, baby. Everything about him just screamed male.

His black hair was slicked away from his face, and he'd tied it back with some kind of rawhide string. The bronzed skin against the plaid long-sleeved shirt gave him a great outdoors appearance. A man's man for sure.

He caught her looking in his direction and focused those sharp ebony eyes on her. His wide nose bent at the bridge and looked as if it had probably been broken somewhere along the line. But it was his full lips
that now captured her attention. The corners crooked up with an arrogant twist that made her throat go dry and the sweat bead between her breasts.

He eased into the booth across from her. “Nobody's been able to get a call out. The circuits are all tied up with the storm. Have you decided what you want to do from here?”

She straightened her shoulders and gulped back the nervous energy his very presence seemed to bring out in her. “I was hoping Angie and I could catch a bus to Cheyenne. Even if we're stuck here for a couple of days, a bus should get us from here to Wyoming before the first of January.”

Lance shook his head. “I just talked to one of the state troopers. They're considering keeping the roads closed in both directions for the rest of the week. How important is it that you get to Cheyenne on time?”

Blinking her eyes in a short silent prayer, Marcy decided she would be perfectly honest with him. “Staying here for a couple of days and then buying bus tickets will take every dime I have. That job is my last hope, and it won't be available past the first.”

He grimaced. “Unless you're exaggerating your circumstances, you'd better think of something else real quick. Because I'd say your chances of getting out of here in time have just gone from slim to none.”

“B
ut…but…” Marcy was determined not to cry. This just couldn't be happening.

She took a fortifying breath and turned to check on the baby before steadying her voice and trying again. “I haven't exaggerated a thing. Angie and I will have nowhere to go if we miss this job. And I don't know what else we can do.”

Lance raised one eyebrow but lowered his voice sympathetically. “What kind of job was this?”

Why not tell him? “The general manager at a hotel where I baby-sit sometimes…he's a friend really…introduced me to a rich couple from Wyoming who have two school-age kids. We all got along real well and the kids just love Angie.

“Well, the couple called my friend a few weeks ago to say they are looking to hire a nanny for their
children while they all travel on a six-month tour of Europe,” she continued. “But they intend to make a final decision on who to hire by January first so everyone can get passports and visas in time.” The opportunity had been so perfect for her. They wouldn't mind if Angie came along.

“Traveling for six months…with children?” Lance couldn't imagine anything worse.

Marcy looked up at him with those big brown eyes full of unshed tears, and he felt his heart sputtering in his chest. Without the scarf and old coat, she was a real stunner. Soft, blond curls framed her perfect heart-shaped face. And the dimples, button nose and long flirty lashes were terrific—but not enough to take a man's mind off her velvet voice and irresistible body.

“Yes,” she replied. “Doesn't it sound thrilling? Just think of all the places we would see and the terrific experiences we could have. It's my dream job.”

More like a nightmare, in his opinion. Week after week turning into month after month of never settling down. Even her big, sad eyes and baby-fine flaxen hair wouldn't make him consider that a dream. No, indeed. The two of them obviously had nothing in common.

While most little boys dreamed of travel and adventure, it had always been Lance's fondest wish to stay in one place—to finally have a real home where he truly belonged. His early childhood years, spent being dragged from one army base to another throughout the world, had caused him to dream not
of adventures but of a big family and lots of friends in his very own stable corner of the world.

Too bad life had made other plans for him up until now.

Lance was on the verge of getting everything he'd ever dreamed of, but he couldn't stand seeing Marcy's hopeful expression. Not when he knew she was headed for a big disappointment. So he turned away from that beautiful face to look for a waitress.

“You're not likely to have the chance at that dream if the weather won't cooperate,” he told Marcy without glancing over at her. “And from the looks of things, it's only getting worse outside.”

“Oh, no,” she said softly.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her fussing with the baby's things. Her jerky movements made her seem like a woman who was lost and didn't know where to turn first.

Waving at a waitress passing by, Lance caught her attention and turned back around just as Marcy popped the lid off a small jar of what must be the baby's food. The baby saw what her mother was doing and reached out with one hand toward the jar.

“Okay,” Marcy murmured absently to her daughter. “Don't you worry, Angie. It'll all be okay.” She scooped up a spoonful of the mush and shoveled it toward the baby's open mouth.

More of the food ended up on the baby's face than went in her mouth. Marcy took a few more stabs and Lance was fascinated watching the hit-and-miss process.

The little girl had a tuft of hair on the top of her
head that was exactly the same color as her mother's. But within moments the food was all over the baby's face, dripping off her chin and sticking nastily to that little bit of hair.

He found himself smiling as Marcy sighed and tsked at her child, urging her not to put her fingers in her mouth. The whole picture tugged on some soft spot inside him.

Just then a waitress appeared with water and a glass filled with milk. “Sorry it's taken so long. This place is a madhouse. Everyone's having to pitch in and do everyone else's work in the emergency. What can I get you to eat?” She set all the glasses down on the table.

Marcy began to discuss the food possibilities with the waitress just as the answer hit him. This was the emergency that he'd been saving for. He could give Marcy enough money to get back to her family after the storm and to keep them going for a while. She must have family somewhere. That way he wouldn't have to worry about leaving her and the baby and heading off to Montana.

What a great idea, he thought with smug satisfaction. This was one way to put some of the money he'd accumulated over his years on the rodeo circuit to a good use. He would send cash back to an auto salvager in the county where they'd had to leave her broken-down car. Then even that wouldn't be a worry for her ever again. Good thing he'd thought of it.

He wanted to make her life easier. That way she might not be so disappointed when she missed her opportunity to travel the world.

“Oh, for heaven's sake. If it isn't White Eagle Steele.” The waitress had turned away from Marcy and the baby and was standing with pad in hand, ready to take his order. “I'm sorry I didn't recognize you before. It's just so hectic in here. How have you been?”

Lance couldn't quite place her name. But then, he hadn't been to this part of the country for at least a year.

“I've been just fine,” he said while he searched his memory for a name. “You knew I retired from competition a while back? I don't get by here much these days. I wouldn't be here now except for the storm.”

The waitress laughed, and he belatedly spotted her name tag above the breast pocket of her blue-checked uniform. She wasn't one of the women he'd spent a few casual nights with, thank heaven. No, he remembered now that she'd been a fan and friend he'd conversed with on his way through this part of the world.

“Yeah, this one's a killer, all right,” the waitress named Harriet said with a nod. “Looks as if no one is going to be getting home for at least a couple of days. The truck stop employees are all taking shifts…twelve hours on, then six off to grab some rest.”

That gave him another idea. “Speaking of rest… Harriet. Is there a place my friend and her baby can lie down for a few hours?”

Harriet turned to look at Marcy and then at the baby. “All the men are taking turns sleeping on the driver's bunks. But there isn't much privacy for a woman, I'm afraid.”

Frowning when she saw the fine lines of exhaustion and the pale-violet smudges under Marcy's eyes, the waitress shook her head. “Tell you what, sugar, you eat something and then I'll find you a cot in the employee break room. Okay?”

Marcy shot Lance a quick, glaring glance, and he was afraid she would turn down the offer. But then she hesitantly reached over with a napkin to dab at the baby's dirty chin and must've reconsidered their predicament. “Okay, sure. Thanks,” she told the waitress.

That was just fine, he thought. Now Harriet would take Marcy and the baby under her wing for the duration of the storm. Things were working out just perfectly so he could leave them without feeling guilty.

Harriet finally stuffed her pad into a pocket and told them she'd bring whatever was hot and ready to eat. Then she turned and disappeared back through the crowded tables.

“She called you White Eagle,” Marcy mentioned when they and the baby were alone at the table once more. “I thought you said your name was Lance.”

Had that been her focus when she'd shot him that glaring look? “My full given name is Lance White Eagle Steele,” he admitted. “When I first took up competition, the promoters figured it would be a novelty to have a Native American entrant. So they made me drop my first name from the roster. Once I started winning events they played the cowboy-and-Indian thing up to the hilt.”

Marcy nodded and almost smiled. “So, you're Native American.”

Lance wasn't sure whether she was appalled by the idea or just curious. “My mother's people are Navajo,” he told her plainly and without emotion. “On the other hand, my father's family, the Steeles, are as white-bread as is possible in America.”

Her smile never fully formed as Marcy looked ready to ask another question. But suddenly the baby seemed to have other ideas. While her mother was preoccupied with their conversation, Angie grabbed the spoon and unceremoniously dropped it on the floor with a clatter.

“That's it,” Marcy griped at her grinning daughter. “I guess you've had all the dinner you want.”

Standing, Marcy unbelted Angie from the high chair. “We're going to wash up,” she told him over her shoulder as she leaned over. “We'll be back before the waitress returns with the food.” She pulled the baby up into her arms and took off toward the locker rooms.

Lance watched while the two made their way through the crowded tables. Damn, but the woman provided a mighty fine view from the rear. Marcy's full, rounded hips in tight-fitting jeans swayed neatly as she sauntered away.

When she finally disappeared around the corner, he was surprised to find that he'd been holding his breath until he completely lost sight of her.

This hot lusting after a beautiful woman was only normal, he assured himself. But the other warm feelings, the ones that seemed to take over his mind whenever she smiled, were downright unusual.

He wished they'd had a chance to finish their con
versation. What did she think about him being from a half-and-half heritage? He'd faced every kind of prejudice over his lifetime, so it was a little startling when Marcy's response seemed more important to him than any of the others.

And he didn't know why he felt that way.

Well, he would simply have to get over it, whatever it was. By tomorrow morning he would be on his way home to Montana, and Marcy Griffin, her baby and all her attitudes would be only pleasant, and increasingly distant, memories.

 

Marcy dropped her spoon in the soup bowl and fought to keep her eyes open. She couldn't imagine why she felt so tired. Was the frigid weather finally getting to her?

“You look as if you can't hold your head up to eat another bite,” Lance said from across the table. “Are you ready to try the cot Harriet promised?”

He was so kind. Since the moment he'd picked them up on the side of the road, he'd been the most solicitous and gentle man she'd ever been fortunate enough to meet. Now if only he would agree to take her and Angie to Cheyenne so they would be there by the first of the year. Somehow she was sure she would be able to convince him.

“You won't leave here without us, will you?” she asked him. “I mean, while we're napping you'll be sleeping, too, won't you?”

Lance scowled and for the first time she noticed how fierce he could look. Marcy had been glad to know she was right about his Native American heri
tage. She'd never met a real Navajo before and was thrilled to get a chance to personally know one. The idea of someone being part of the founding heritage of the country had always intrigued her.

At least, she'd thought she had been thrilled about the opportunity…until he turned that ferocious glare in her direction.

“I'll try to get a few hours in before I leave in the morning,” he told her at last. “But you and the baby aren't coming with me.”

His expression softened as he reached over and tenderly touched her arm. “It's better that you two go on back home when the storm is over. You'll be safer that way. I'll see to it you have enough money to keep you both going for a while.”

The anger hit her fast and hard. How dare he tell her what to do? Come to think of it, the things he'd done that she'd considered as kind might be described as controlling by a more dispassionate observer.

Then again, if anyone would be familiar with controlling behavior it was her. And she felt positive that Lance had just been trying to help—in his own way.

But to think of offering her money? He really was the most arrogant…the most infuriating…the most…

She took a deep breath. He was also probably her only way out of here.

“Look,” she began as reasonably as she could. “I thought you understood. Angie and I don't have a home to go back to. There is nothing for us anywhere—except in Wyoming.”

“Oh, but surely your parents will take you two in until you get back on your feet.” Lance dragged his
hand away from her arm in order to use it to make his point. “And that scum you—uh, your ex-husband, can certainly be made to pay child support even if he refuses to be a real father to Angie.”

Angie shrieked at the mention of her name, and Marcy dug in her bag for something she could play with. Without much thought she placed the baby's binky into her mouth and handed over the squishy, plastic dog the little girl loved so much. Angie's outburst provided the distraction she needed to rethink what she wanted to say. She had to make Lance see that he should take the two of them with him when he left.

Lordy, but Marcy hated to talk about her problems. They always sounded melodramatic when she said them out loud, and it usually seemed as if she was using them as a ploy for sympathy. But this situation was becoming desperate and it called for desperate measures.

She ground her teeth and racked her brain for a way to make him understand. “My parents are both dead. They died in a car crash a couple of years ago. Angie and I are all alone in the world with no family.

“And as for my ex-husband, Mike…” Marcy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Now that I'm legally free of him, I'd just as soon that he never has the opportunity to find Angie and me again. I can't take money from him without running the risk that he might come back into our lives.”

Lance searched her eyes and seemed to be looking for a truth that she hadn't yet made him see.