A Game of Chance Read online

  The thought of her sister sent alarm racing through her. What day was it? When was Margreta due to call? For that matter, where was her cell phone?

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, the door opened and Chance walked in.

  She turned her head to look out the window. In truth, she was surprised he had given her this long to recover. She had held him off as long as she could, but she supposed there had to be a closing act before the curtain could fall.

  She had held her inner pain at bay by focusing on her physical pain, but now it rushed to the forefront. She fought it down, reaching for control. There was nothing to be gained by causing a scene, only her self-respect to lose.

  “I’ve kept your cell phone with me,” he said, walking around to place himself between her and the windows, so she had to either look at him or turn her head away again. His conversational opening had guaranteed she wouldn’t turn away. “Margreta called yesterday.”

  Sunny clenched her fists, then quickly relaxed her right hand as the motion flexed the IV needle taped to the back of it. Margreta would have panicked when she heard a man’s voice answer instead of Sunny’s.

  “I talked fast,” Chance said. “I told her you’d been shot but would be okay, and that Hauer was dead. I told her I’d bring the phone to you today, and she could call again tonight to verify everything I said. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t hang up on me, either.”

  “Thank you,” Sunny said. He had handled the situation in the best possible way.

  He was subtly different, she realized. It wasn’t just his clothing, though he was now dressed in black slacks and a white silk shirt, while he had worn only jeans, boots, and casual shirts and T-shirts before. His whole demeanor was different. Of course, he wasn’t playing a raffish, charming charter pilot any longer. He was himself now, and the reality was what she had always sensed beneath the surface of his charm. He was the man who led some sort of commando team, who exerted enormous influence in getting things done his way. The dangerous edge she had only glimpsed before was in full view now, in his eyes and the authority with which he spoke.

  He moved closer to the side of the bed, so close he was leaning against the rail. Very gently, the touch as light as gossamer, he placed his fingertips on her belly. “Our baby is all right,” he said.

  He knew. Shocked, she stared at him, though she realized she should have known the doctor would tell him.

  “Were you going to tell me?” he asked, his golden-brown eyes intent on her face, as if he wanted to catch every nuance of expression.

  “I hadn’t thought about it one way or the other,” she said honestly. She had just been coming to terms with the knowledge herself; she hadn’t gotten around to forming any plans.

  “This changes things.”

  “Does it really,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. “Was anything you told me the truth?”

  He hesitated. “No.”

  “There was nothing wrong with the fuel pump.”

  “No.”

  “You could have flown us out of the canyon at any time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your name isn’t Chance McCall.”

  “Mackenzie,” he said. “Chance Mackenzie.”

  “Well, that’s one thing,” she said bitterly. “At least your first name was really your own.”

  “Sunny…don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Don’t try to find out how big a fool I am? Were you really an army ranger?”

  He sighed, his expression grim. “Navy. Naval Intelligence.”

  “You arranged for all of my flights to be fouled up that day.”

  He shrugged an admittance.

  “The cretin was really one of your men.”

  “A good one. The airport security people were mine, too.”

  She creased the sheet with her left hand. “You knew my father would be there. You had it set up.”

  “We knew two of his men were trailing us, had been since the television newscast about you aired.”

  “You arranged that, too.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Why did we fly all over the country? Why didn’t we just stay in Seattle? That would have been less wear and tear on the plane.”

  “I had to make it look good.”

  She swallowed. “That day…the picnic. Would you have made love—I mean, had sex—with me with your men watching? Just to make it look good?”

  “No. Having an affair with you was necessary, but…private.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for that, at least. Thank you. Now get out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He sat down in the bedside chair. “If you’ve finished with the dissection, we need to make some decisions.”

  “I’ve already made one. I don’t want to see you again.”

  “Sorry about that, but you aren’t getting your wish. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart, because that baby inside you is mine.”

  Chapter 15

  Sunny was released from the hospital eight days after the shooting. She could walk, gingerly, but her strength was almost negligible, and she had to wear the nightgown and robe Chance had bought her, because she couldn’t stand any clothing around her middle. She had no idea what she was going to do. She wasn’t in any condition to catch a flight to Atlanta, not to mention that she would have to travel in her nightgown, but she had to find somewhere to stay. Once she knew she was being released, she got the phone book and called a hotel, made certain the hotel had room service, and booked herself a room there. The hotel had room service; until she was able to take care of herself again, a hotel was the best she could do.

  In the hospital she had, at first, entertained a fragile hope that Margreta would come to stay with her and help her until she was recovered. With their father dead, they didn’t have to hide any longer. But though Margreta had sounded happy and relieved, she had resisted Sunny’s suggestion that she come to Des Moines. They had exchanged telephone numbers, but that was all—and Margreta hadn’t called back.

  Sunny understood. Margreta would always have problems relating to people, forming relationships with them. She was probably very comfortable with the long-distance contact she had with Sunny, and wanted nothing more. Sunny tried to fight her sadness as she realized she would never have the sister she had wanted, but melancholy too easily overwhelmed her these days.

  Part of it was the hormonal chaos of early pregnancy, she knew. She found herself tearing up at the most ridiculous things, such as a gardening show she watched on television one day. She lay in her hospital bed and began thinking how she had always wanted a flower garden but had never been able to have one, and presto, all of a sudden she was feeling sorry for herself and sitting there like an idiot with tears rolling down her face.

  Depression went hand in glove with physical recovery, too, one of the nurses told her. It would pass as she got stronger and could do more.

  But the biggest part of her depression was Chance. He visited every day, and once even brought along the tall, lethal-looking man she had noticed him talking to the night she was injured. To her surprise, Chance introduced the man as his brother, Zane. Zane had shaken her hand with exquisite gentleness, shown her photos of his pretty wife and three adorable children, and spent half an hour telling her yarns about the exploits of his daughter, Nick. If even half of what he said about the child was true, the world had better brace itself for when she was older.

  After Zane left, Sunny was even more depressed. Zane had what she had always wanted: a family he loved, and who loved him in return.

  When he visited, Chance always avoided the subject that lay between them like a coiled snake. He had done what he had done, and no amount of talking would change reality. She had to respect, reluctantly, his lack of any attempt to make excuses. Instead, he talked about his family in Wyoming, and the mountain they all still called home, even though only his parents lived there now. He had four brothers and one sister, a dozen nephews—and one niece, the no