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  Praise for 43 Light Street

  NEVER TOO LATE

  “Twisting and turning with dazzling originality, the latest venture into 43 LIGHT STREET territory offers the perfect escape for lucky readers!’’†

  MIDNIGHT CALLER

  “Take a walk on the wild side with Rebecca York in a mind-bending tale of sizzling suspense and irresistible romance…’’†

  SHATTERED LULLABY

  “Glick’s [York’s] prose is smooth, literate and fast-moving; her love scenes are tender yet erotic…what’s not to like?’’◊

  “Chilling excitement…exquisitely tender romance…the very best in romantic suspense.’’†

  NOWHERE MAN

  “…a to-die-for hero, chilling suspense and an unforgettable love story.’’†

  “…one of the most heart-wrenching, moving works of romantic suspense in years.’’*

  FATHER AND CHILD

  “…great, one-sitting romantic suspense that will keep readers on the edge of their seats from start to finish.’’*

  FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

  “Few write suspense like Rebecca York.’’‡

  FACE TO FACE

  “Harlequin’s first lady of suspense…a marvelous storyteller, Ms. York cleverly develops an intricate plotted romance to challenge our imaginations and warm our hearts.’’†

  Dear Reader,

  This book may be called Amanda’s Child, but there would be no story without the very tough and sexy Matt Forester. Matt created quite a stir when he arrived in Crowfoot, Wyoming. Even before the women in town pegged his occupation as “security expert,’’ they’d cataloged his physical attributes. They’d remarked on his hard, lean body and estimated his height at just over six feet. They’d admired his broad, well-muscled shoulders and they’d enumerated his chiseled features—from his firm jaw to his dark eyes.

  Nobody was more taken with Matt than Amanda Barnwell. Secretly, she wished he was the father of the baby she was carrying, the baby she had vowed to raise on her own, despite the town gossip she knew she would endure. Then when fate stepped in to throw Amanda into Matt’s protective custody, she didn’t know how to handle the sudden intimacy with him—or her conflicting feelings about the speed with which their relationship was heating up. Yet she did know Matt was the only person who could keep her and her child safe.

  But how long would he stay with her? And how could he accept the responsibility of caring for another man’s child?

  I’ve had a wonderful time telling Amanda and Matt’s story. And I’m looking forward to writing more 43 LIGHT STREET books in the months ahead.

  All my best,

  Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

  AMANDA’S CHILD

  REBECCA YORK

  Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

  * * *

  Directory

  43 LIGHT STREET

  Room

  ADVENTURES IN TRAVEL

  204

  ABIGAIL FRANKLIN, Ph.D.

  509

  KATHRYN KELLEY, Ph.D.

  Clinical Psychology

  BIRTH DATA, INC.

  322

  INNER HARBOR PRODUCTIONS

  404

  THE LIGHT STREET FOUNDATION

  322

  KATHRYN MARTIN-McQUADE, M.D.

  515

  Branch Office, Medizone Labs

  THE LIGHT STREET DETECTIVE AGENCY

  220

  LAURA ROSWELL, LL.B.

  311

  Attorney at Law

  SABRINA’S FANCY

  Lobby

  RANDOLPH SECURITY,

  407

  Branch Office

  NOEL ZACHARIAS

  311

  Paralegal Service

  L. ROSSINI

  Lower Level

  Superintendent

  * * *

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Amanda Barnwell—Pregnant and in more trouble than she realized.

  Matthew Forester—Compelled by a terrible secret from his past to help Amanda.

  Roy Logan—He was determined to take away Amanda’s baby, using any methods he could.

  Colin Logan—Roy’s son was dead, but Roy was convinced that Amanda carried Colin’s child.

  Bud Logan—Roy’s brother had his own plans for Amanda and her baby.

  Al Hewitt—He’d do any dirty job Roy Logan assigned him.

  Ed Stanton—Amanda’s foreman wanted to keep her from making a bad decision.

  Tim Francetti—He supplied Roy Logan with crucial information—for a price.

  Will Marbella—One of a group of Las Vegas businessmen, but did they have all their cards on the table?

  Dexter Perkins—He’d been Colin’s partner in some dirty dealings; what was he up to now?

  Hunter Kelley—He was supposed to be Matt’s friend, but whose side was he on?

  Jerry Tucker—He offered to help Matt, but could he be trusted?

  Previous titles by REBECCA YORK

  43 Light Street books:

  Life Line

  Shattered Vows

  Whispers in the Night

  Only Skin Deep

  Trial by Fire

  Hopscotch

  Cradle and All

  What Child Is This?

  Midnight Kiss

  Tangled Vows

  Till Death Us Do Part

  Prince of Time

  Face to Face

  For Your Eyes Only

  Father and Child

  Nowhere Man

  Shattered Lullaby

  AFTER DARK—Counterfeit Wife

  Midnight Caller

  Never Too Late

  Amanda’s Child

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  Matthew Forester had done some things he wasn’t proud of. Eavesdropping on a client wasn’t one of them—until he’d tuned in the bellowing voice coming from Roy Logan’s private office.

  Matt had arrived at Logan’s Wyoming ranch to install a state-of-the-art security system. A month ago, he’d wondered why a Western cattleman needed such stringent protection. After twenty-four hours on the ranch, it was obvious why Logan lived in an armed camp.

  If Matt had been asked to pick a few choice words to describe Logan, it would have been “millionaire son of a bitch.’’ But not out loud, since he was always respectful of Randolph Security’s clients.

  He’d been looking forward to finishing the job and flying home, until Logan had demanded that he stay on to do a detailed analysis of future security needs over the next twenty-five years. Off the top of his head, Matt had named a fee for the additional services that he thought was outrageous, but Logan hadn’t blinked. And after conferring with headquarters, Matt had accepted the job, telling himself he could take another two weeks on the ranch.

  But he didn’t like the arrogant, barrel-chested Logan—didn’t trust him further than he could throw a yearling steer. And when he heard the name Amanda Barnwell mentioned in the same breath as Roy’s recently deceased son, Colin, he froze in place.

  Am image of Amanda rose in his mind, complete with poetic words and phrases startlingly foreign to his usual form of expression. Eyes the fathomless blue of mountain lakes. Hair sparkling with sunshine. A body with generous curves tha
t she invariably hid under loose-fitting shirts. And a voice that felt like warm honey sliding over his skin.

  She wasn’t his usual type. Yet he’d found her the most appealing woman he’d met in Crowfoot, Wyoming.

  Crowfoot was hardly more than a wide place in the road, but he’d needed to escape from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Logan Ranch by driving into town when he could. And he’d had the good luck to run into Amanda several times. The first had been at the post office, when she’d captured his attention as she’d accepted a couple of boxes of books from the plump little postmistress.

  A shadow crossed Mrs. Hastings’s face. “That girl deserves better,’’ she said as she watched Amanda climb into her Jeep Cherokee. “She stayed at home to take care of her dad when he got too sick to do for himself. Now he’s gone, and she’s past thirty—and too prickly with men to catch herself a husband.’’

  “Past thirty? You’re putting me on.’’

  “No indeed.’’ The denial had been the prelude to a fifteen-minute earful of fascinating tidbits about Amanda Barnwell—from her upset win in the Fourth of July horse race to her quilting skills, showcased at the school fund-raiser last year. Matt emerged into the afternoon light wishing he could get to know the intriguing Miss Amanda a whole lot better—and wondering which details Mrs. Hastings was leaving out.

  The desire to connect with Amanda had strengthened after he’d wolfed down a couple of her chocolate brownies at the church bake sale. He’d toyed with the idea of asking her out to dinner. Then he’d told himself there was no way a ranch-raised girl was going to get involved with a hard-bitten ex-spy who was going back to Baltimore in a couple of weeks, anyway.

  Matt’s attention was snapped back into focus by Roy’s raspy voice. Easing sideways against the wall, he saw the tip of a snakeskin boot and knew Roy was talking to his foreman, Al Hewitt, the weasel-face guy who did the boss’s dirty work.

  “She’s carrying my boy Colin’s child,’’ Roy growled. “And I want that baby.’

  Carrying Colin’s child? Matt’s dark eyes narrowed. A woman like Amanda had been mixed up with Roy’s low-life son?

  The notion was ludicrous, and Matt’s muscles tensed as he pictured himself bursting into the office, taking Roy by the shirtfront and shaking some sense into him. But there was just enough rational thought left in his brain to keep him planted where he was.

  “You can’t just go snatching a baby away from its mother,’’ Hewitt objected.

  “Anyone can be bought. If I offer her enough money, she’ll be glad to let me take the responsibility off her hands. What’s she going to do with a kid anyway—a woman alone?’’

  The imperious question made Matt’s large hands ball into fists at his sides.

  “She don’t need the money,’’ Hewitt clipped out. “Old man Barnwell left her with plenty of assets when he kicked the bucket.’’

  “That kid is the only thing I have left of Colin. The way I see it, I’m entitled to my progeny.’’

  “Roy, this isn’t the Old West. You can’t just steal that gal’s baby.’’

  “Who’s gonna stop me?’’ the lord of Logan Ranch shot back. “Since her papa died, there’s nobody around here I can’t buy. I damn well own Crowfoot—the real estate and the sheriff’s department. They’ll look the other way if she disappears. And maybe it won’t come to that. Go out to her ranch and make her an offer she can’t refuse.’’

  “Are you sure Colin is the father?’’ Hewitt asked.

  “Do you doubt my source of information?’’ Roy growled.

  “No.’’

  Matt heard papers shuffling. “This is the preliminary report from the detective I hired. Tim Francetti. He’s the best. I only hire the best, remember. That’s why I have a security guy out here from Baltimore. And that’s why I went to Francetti. When he digs up a little more dirt, I can nail the bastards who killed Colin.’’

  “We can avenge Colin. That’s no problem,’’ Hewitt agreed. “But the girl is another matter. I don’t think she’s gonna play ball with you. She’s got more guts than you give her credit for.’’

  “Listen, with her parents gone, she’s just another unprotected female. If we can’t buy her, we wait for the kid to be born, then arrange for her to have an accident. Anything it takes.’’

  Acid churned in Matt’s stomach as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was hearing—even from a man like Logan.

  “If you lean on her too hard, she might just skip town.’’

  “Oh, yeah?’’ Roy’s chair creaked, and Matt imagined him easing forward. “I think you’d better arrange to scoop her up and bring her out here where we can keep an eye on her.’’

  There was a moment of silence behind the office door, then Hewitt cleared his throat. “Not a good idea. Not with that Forester fellow around. The way I read him, he might not like to see you putting pressure on the girl.’’

  “Write him an official letter telling him the deal is off. And keep the little mother in one of the line cabins until you can send him packing.’’

  Matt heard a chair scrape back, then the sound of someone dialing the phone.

  “Give me some privacy,’’ Logan growled.

  Without making a sound, Matt eased away from the office door, knowing that he had to get to Amanda Barnwell before Al Hewitt beat him to the punch.

  AMANDA STOOD at the kitchen window. She’d started off washing dishes, but the wet sponge in her hand had been forgotten as she’d gazed across the high plateau toward the Bighorn Mountains, rising like a natural fortress against the navy blue of the evening summer sky. She’d lived all her life in the shadow of those mighty peaks, and they had always been a symbol of strength for her.

  She was going to need that strength, she thought as her hand drifted to her middle, covering the child growing within her.

  Her child. Hers alone. Wouldn’t that be grist for the town gossip mill!

  Her hand clenched as she tried to wipe away painful memories—of whispers and giggles behind her back. And worse. Now she mostly ignored them, because that was the way she’d learned to survive—by turning away and tightening her heart a little more each year.

  Still, in the end, the need for someone to love had won over pride or dignity. She longed for a child of her own, someone to share her life, and so she’d gone about making that dream a reality.

  Quickly finishing the dishes and drying her hands, she wandered into the cozy den with its tan corduroy couch and the easy chair where her father had read his subscription copy of the New York Times every evening.

  The room was full of her handiwork—the woven hangings on the walls, the flowered pillows on the couch, even the rag rug. Settling in here for the evening usually made her feel peaceful, but she was still feeling unsettled as she pulled out her box of books and thumbed through the pregnancy manuals she’d ordered from an Internet company. She’d bought everything she could find, because control and knowledge always increased her comfort level.

  That was the practical Amanda. There was another Amanda, as well. One who allowed herself to daydream. Of course, some of her dreams had fallen by the wayside under the onslaught of reality. But not the baby, because she’d decided you didn’t need to be married to bear a child. And once she’d made that decision, she hadn’t let convention or morality stand in her way.

  She rarely thought about the actual circumstance that had resulted in conception. Yet lately she’d found herself indulging in one secret fantasy. There was an intriguing man whom she’d seen in town over the past month. Mrs. Hastings at the post office had told her his name was Matthew Forester, and he was working for Roy Logan.

  She’d been put off by that at first, since she knew enough about Logan to despise the rancher who thought he was king of this part of Wyoming. Yet Forester hadn’t seemed like Logan’s usual sort of employee, which was the consensus among the women of Crowfoot.

  The ladies had done considerable gossiping about the man—at the post office
, the grocery store, the Methodist Church, the feed store and the Blossom Café. She hadn’t participated, of course. But she’d told herself there was no harm in listening.

  The new men who came to town were likely to be cowboys hired on at the nearby ranches. Forester had been immediately pegged as something else. It had been a minor triumph to establish that he was a security expert hired from back east.

  Even before they’d pegged his occupation, they’d catalogued his physical attributes. They’d remarked on his hard, lean body and estimated his height at just over six feet. They’d admired his broad, well-muscled shoulders and his hard butt. They’d enumerated his chiseled features—from his firm jaw to the dark eyes set under thick brows that might not have been attractive if his bone structure hadn’t been up to carrying the effect.

  The bolder women had even talked about the generous masculine bulge behind the fly of his well-washed jeans.

  Some of the talk had made the heat rise in Amanda’s cheeks. But it hadn’t stopped her from taking it all in, even though she’d given up thinking she could hold her own in a relationship with a man like that—or any man, for that matter. But in her secret fantasies, she had allowed herself to imagine what making love with Matt might be like. And from there it had only been a short step to imagining him as the father of her child. She knew deep down that the game was ridiculous—and dangerous. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t want a man in her life. She wanted to be totally independent. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about Matt Forester in such an intimate way? Probably because her hormones were so out of kilter, she told herself.

  She was yanked from her secret reveries by a knock on the back door, and she felt a stab of guilt, like a kid caught snitching a piece of mom’s apple pie.