The Black Sheep’s Baby

and felt the wind battering against the boards and it seemed to her like some fearsome beast trying to gain entry. Hurriedly she shoved the latch back in place and sagged against the door, leaning her head against it as a shudder shook her through and through. She felt defeated, trapped, cornered-caught between the storms within and without.

Chapter 5

U nbelievable. That was all Eric could think of as he watched her walk away from him. The woman was simply unbelievable. Made of solid ice. Not a compassionate bone in her body. He’d wasted his breath on her. Furious with himself for trying, he twirled the shovel around and jammed it viciously into the layer of matted straw at his feet.

Something-maybe the silence-finally got to him. He realized that she hadn’t opened the door, letting in the expected blast of cold and noise. He stopped his shoveling. Hating himself, contemptuous of himself for wondering about her, he couldn’t stop himself from turning to look.

What’s she waiting for? he silently raged when he saw that Devon was still standing by the door. Why doesn’t she go on and get the hell out of here? He desperately wanted her out of his space, his place of sanctuary, his peace. Because if there’d ever been a moment in his life when he’d needed those things, it was now.

He wondered again how she could turn her back on her sister like she’d done. Even if those people were her parents, how could she protect them, let alone even think about giving them custody of a baby girl? She must have known what was going on in that house. She must have. At the very least, suspected. Maybe she even… Maybe…

That was when his body grew still, giving his mind a chance to listen to the tentative rustlings of a new idea.

Devon had been standing with her back to him and her head bowed, her forehead against the door. And maybe it was because she was some distance from him and the light was dim, and that he couldn’t see that beautiful, arrogant face, but it struck him all at once that what she looked most of all was…vulnerable.

No way! He wanted to argue with himself, totally reject the thought. But he couldn’t. That was when it came to him-the notion, the possibility that would change everything. Change his perspective. Make it a whole new picture.

What if… Oh, he’d read it somewhere-about people suppressing memories that were too painful to bear. He began, now, to wonder if this cold-hearted attitude of Devon’s might be nothing more than armor she wore to protect herself from truths she couldn’t bring herself to face. If…

What if-it seemed not only possible, but made all kinds of sense-Devon had been a victim of abuse as well? Everybody had different ways of coping with the bad stuff in life-he’d learned that lesson well enough. What if the only way she’d been able to deal with that, grow up and live a normal life in spite of it, had been to block it out of her mind?

What did he know, after all, about her life, Susan’s-any of it-growing up the way he had in a home as normal and wholesome as apple pie? He’d been judging the woman. And he’d been taught better. How many times had his mom and dad both told him he had no right to judge someone until he’d walked a mile in their shoes?

He wanted in the worst way to hate Devon O’Rourke. It would make things a lot simpler for him if he could. Hating what she stood for and what she meant to try and do to him and the little one, and at the same time having his feelings for the woman herself turn soft and sympathetic on him-that was something else entirely. He could see how that kind of conflict was going to make for some serious emotional turmoil.

Slowly, slowly, Devon’s mind grew quiet again. It’s not his fault, she reminded herself. He only knows what Susan told him. And, she told herself, it wasn’t really Susan’s fault, either. She was disturbed, sick. More so than I realized.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She had to try and talk to Eric. Make him understand that.

If only he weren’t so damned difficult.

It struck her suddenly how quiet it was in the middle of such a storm. Storms-both inside and out.

Too quiet…

An awareness, a presentiment-not of danger, just of something-gripped at her spine, making her turn abruptly with her heart inexplicably pounding. She saw that Eric was leaning on the handle of his shovel, intently watching her, as if she were some unfamiliar new animal whose behavior and responses he couldn’t be sure about. Her breath caught, and that same awareness, a tiny frisson, shivered down her spine.

Defying her own uneasiness, she forced herself to walk toward him, managing a casual stroll, hands jammed deep in the pockets of her borrowed parka. He watched her for a few moments, saying nothing, then hefted his shovel and went deliberately back to pitching straw.

This time Devon was prepared, and sidestepped the shovelful of smelly hay he carelessly heaved her way. Safely past the danger zone, she leaned her folded arms once more on the stall gate and quietly watched him work while she waited for her pulse rate to return to normal.

For some reason, it didn’t. It wouldn’t.

There was something fascinating, almost hypnotic about the way his body moved. The bunch and ripple of muscles in his torso as he bent and straightened, the way the light played over his back and shoulders, shiny wet with sweat, the lock of hair that dangled across one eye every time he leaned forward…

She tore her gaze away.

Impossible.

This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t supposed to be attracted to a man who’d just hurled the most vile and unspeakable accusations at her and her family. The man, moreover, whom she was about to annihilate in a court of law. The enemy.

Know thine enemy…

Girding herself with reminders of her reasons for being where she was, Devon took a deep breath. She looked up, down, all around, everywhere but at that perfectly ordinary body-she insisted it was ordinary-before she cleared her throat and dove in. “Um. It’s quiet in here.”

As a conversation starter, it proved a miserable failure. Eric grunted and went on shoveling. “Peaceful,” Devon added hopefully.

That won her a snort. “Yeah. That’s why I like it.”

“Ah.” An actual sentence. Encouraged by a tone that was at least not unfriendly, she drew another breath and shifted gears. “Eric-” she began, and was interrupted by a flurry of flapping noises from somewhere in the gloom overhead. She gave a shriek, to her own disgust, then asked in a hushed and shaken whisper, “What was that?” She was thinking of bats.

“Bird, probably.” Eric paused long enough to point the handle of his shovel toward the hayloft.

“Really?” And it was only relief that made her sound so breathless and eager. “What kind?”

He shrugged and reluctantly set aside his shovel, then looked at her the same way-reluctantly, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with her. “Doves, sparrows, maybe an owl. Probably lots of birds up there in the rafters. Looking for shelter.” He gave her a crooked, reluctant smile. “Didn’t you ever wonder where birds go when it storms?”

She shook her head as she watched him stroll toward her. Fascinated by the sudden change in him, she felt uneasy too, like a bird herself, watching the cat prowl closer.

He held her eyes while his voice lowered and grew growly. “‘The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow…’”

She knew it was a quote of some kind. And that he expected her to recognize it. Unable to think of a word to say, Devon just looked at him; her heart had quickened again.

Separated from her by the width of the stall gate and not much more, Eric halted. His eyes flicked upward to