Home on the Ranch--The Cowboy's Dilemma

by Pamela Britton

  “Hell, Amy, for all I know he could be the father,” Trent said, pointing with his thumb in his direction.

  “I told you, take a DNA test.”

  Flynn could hear the frustration in her voice.

  “That’s all you have to do to prove it once and for all.”

  “Nope. This isn’t my problem.” Trent glanced back at him. “I only came over here today to tell you to leave me alone, and leave Tiffany alone, too. You had no business trying to contact her.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that, but I was desperate to get your attention.”

  “Well, you got it. Leave us alone, Amy. Move on with your life. If you’re really pregnant, the baby should be your primary focus now.”

  “If I’m really pregnant?”

  “I’ve got to go.” Trent turned.

  Flynn blocked his path. “She really is pregnant.”

  The man was shorter than he was, with eyes that were set too close together and a pointy chin. Flynn had no idea what she’d ever seen in him.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I was at her first doctor’s appointment with her. I saw it up on the screen. She’s pregnant.”

  Trent glanced back at Amy before meeting his gaze again. “You went to the doctor’s office with her?”

  “Because she had no one else,” Flynn said. “Because you’d abandoned her, and she was alone and scared and had nobody to turn to.”

  “I’m out of here.”

  Trent tried to walk around him, but Flynn blocked his path again. He was tempted to grab the man by the shoulders but changed his mind.

  “You are the baby’s father, whether you want to believe it or not, and the sooner you realize that, the easier this will be on everyone. Amy’s done nothing wrong. Her only fault was thinking you were man enough to accept the truth, but clearly that isn’t the case. But you better get used to the idea of being a father, and you better tell your new girlfriend about your impending fatherhood, too, because once the baby comes there’ll be no denying a DNA test.” He leaned in closer. “None.”

  The man stared up at him and Flynn could see his words were finally beginning to sink in. Trent’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed the bitter truth.

  “Go home. Think about what I’m trying to tell you, and when you come to your senses, get in touch with Amy. She’ll need your help with the child.”

  He stepped out of the man’s way. Trent all but ran to his truck, climbing inside and starting the engine and driving away without looking at either of them in the process.

  “Thank you.”

  The words were full of heartfelt sincerity, Flynn glancing down at Amy, who’d come up alongside him.

  “I had no idea he was going to show up here, but I guess calling his girlfriend at work finally got his attention.”

  “You did what?”

  She shot him a look of sheepish regret and turned back to the little house. He followed her inside.

  “I was desperate. And after talking to your sister, I thought I should at least try and see him face-to-face before slapping him with a paternity suit, which is what it sounds like I’m going to have to do, anyway.”

  The realization clearly upset her. She didn’t like confrontation. He didn’t blame her. He hated it, too.

  “And to think, I thought once I told him the baby’s sex, he’d be happy.”

  “You know what you’re having?”

  She turned to her tiny kitchen table, picking up a piece of paper. “While you were gone I had my blood work done, including a genetic test that can determine the sex of the baby.” She handed him the paper. He scanned it, but she said, “I’m having a girl,” before he could finish reading it.

  He handed the paper back to her. “Congratulations.”

  “You think?” she asked, going to the table and dropping the paper at the same time she sank into one of the chairs. “Because I don’t know, Flynn. My mom tells everyone she knows that having a girl is a major pain in the rear.”

  “This is the same mom who moved away without telling you.”

  “One and the same.”

  “Then I don’t know how much stock I’d put into what she says. I happen to have some experience with baby girls and they’re adorable.”

  “Until their teenage years. That’s what my mom always said.”

  And suddenly she looked so despondent and demoralized and just plain exhausted that he found himself moving toward her. He debated with himself for a full five seconds before he gave in to the urge that so frequently came over him whenever she was near. He touched her cheek.

  “It’ll be okay.”

  She looked up at him with big puppy-dog eyes and said, “That’s what you keep saying.”

  “It will.”

  At least he didn’t want to kiss her this time. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and hold her, another urge that happened a lot whenever she was near.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I happen to have some pink paint in the back of my truck.”

  “You do?”

  “Jayden used it in Paisley’s room, but she bought too much so I have two unopened cans.”

  “Oh, perfect.”

  “And if you like, I’ll even help you paint.”

  Those eyes of hers. They were killing him.

  “You don’t have to do that.” She shook her head. “I’ve imposed enough already.”

  She didn’t look all that enthusiastic and he realized she’d sunk into a funk. He hated that the dancing, bouncing mom-to-be seemed so bummed out today. But could he blame her? She’d just been face-to-face with her ex and he’d called her a liar and told her to stay away from him.

  “I didn’t even have time to show him the sonogram.”

  He stood there feeling useless and terrible and anxious all at once. What were these strange feelings she aroused in him?

  “I doubt he’d care about seeing his unborn child.”

  Her lower lip began to tremble. “No,” she said softly. “You’re probably right.”

  To hell with it. He pulled her up against him. She sank into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Her own hands slipped beneath his elbows, around the back of him, holding on to him as if her life depended on it.

  “I guess I just had this fantasy that he’d show up here and look at the paperwork and—I don’t know—tell me he was sorry and ask what he could do to help,” she said, her words muffled from pressing her cheek against his chest.

  “Amy, I think it’s time to realize he’s never going to do that. Maybe with time, and after a court-ordered paternity test, but not before the baby comes. Not without a minor miracle.”

  She nodded, her nose pressing into his chest, and he wondered if she was crying, but he didn’t want to look, because if he did, if he spotted tearstained cheeks, he might do something ridiculous again, or worse, something wholly inappropriate given the circumstances.

  “Miracles are pretty rare in my life.”

  His life, too. But as he thought about it, he realized that was totally wrong. A few years ago, he would have sworn his dad would remain a stubborn, cranky old bastard, and yet he’d changed. And he never would have thought Reese Gillian would forgive his sister for getting knocked up at such a young age, but he had. And then there was Olivia, his brother’s little girl, the one Charlotte had brought into their life. If ever there was a miracle it was that little girl and what she’d survived and how lucky she’d been to be adopted by his brother and to have someone like Charlotte as her future mother. No. The Gillian family had been blessed in many ways. Yes, there’d been tragedy, but they’d overcome it all just like Amy would. He supposed that was why he wanted to help her so badly. He was just paying it forward.

  “Look. We’re going to p
ick a color and paint your room today. I’ll drive back to the ranch and get some more supplies. You hang tight.”

  He did it then; he drew back and met her gaze. Just as he feared, her eyes were rimmed with red. But she wiped at her cheeks, squared her shoulders, and he wanted to say, “Attagirl.”

  “Are you sure? Do you really have time for that?”

  No. He had ten horses to ride, and just as many stalls to muck. He had phone calls to return and paperwork to do.

  “I’m sure.”

  Because to hell with it. Some things were more important than working all the time.

  Chapter 14

  They painted.

  True to his word, he rode off into the sunset and returned with a saddlebag full of paint. Okay, not really. But Jayden hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she had a lot of leftovers.

  “We could paint St. Paul’s Cathedral with all this latex,” she told Flynn as she stared into the bed of his truck.

  “I know. I’m thinking I might snag any leftovers for my own place.”

  “There will probably be lots of leftovers. I don’t plan on using much. But I’ll take that maroon and the green and the white.”

  “Not the pink?”

  She shook her head.

  He shot her a look. “You planning on painting an Italian flag on your wall?”

  His words almost made her laugh. “No. Something better. But it’s going to take some time, and you won’t be able to help me with the final product, but I still need to paint the base color. That light blue will work. Let’s get started on that. I moved all the furniture out of the way while you were gone.”

  So they got to work and the whole time they did, Amy thought about Trent, and the more she thought about him, the harder she rolled the blue paint up and down the wall.

  “Whoa,” Flynn said, smiling. “You’re flicking paint all over the place.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at a splotch on her face and probably making a bigger mess of herself. Thankfully, she’d changed into an old T-shirt and jeans and thrown a scarf over her head. “I’m just tired of letting Trent push me around. It’s time to take action. If he won’t admit to being the baby’s father, he can deal with the Department of Child Support Services from here on out.”

  “Good for you.”

  She went back to painting, thinking she really didn’t deserve a friend like him. Or maybe she did. After all she’d been through, maybe Flynn was God’s way of saying “I’ve been a jerk. Here’s a bone.” Either way, she appreciated Flynn. With any luck, one day soon she’d forget what it was like to be kissed by a man like him because as she worked alongside him in the tiny little room, the smell of paint barely masking his masculine scent, she grew more and more aware of the fact that they were in a bedroom. But at the same time, it seemed wrong of her to have those kinds of thoughts. The last thing she should be thinking about was another man.

  They finished in record time, and Amy and Flynn stood back to admire their handiwork.

  “You have paint all over your face,” Flynn said.

  “I know,” she said. “I’m going to need to take a shower.”

  And suddenly, just like that—boom—a change in the air, one that made their gazes connect, and she knew what he was thinking.

  Naked bodies. Warm water. Soap.

  She was thinking the same thing, except he couldn’t possibly be thinking about doing that with her. He was just probably thinking about doing that with someone else. Someone skinny with blond hair and blue eyes.

  “I’m going to go rinse off my paint roller outside.”

  Fresh air. That was what she needed. Oxygen to restore her sanity because she could have sworn she’d seen something in his eyes, something that made her grow still, but also quaky and afraid and yet brave all at the same time because she didn’t move. She stood there, daring him maybe.

  To do what?

  Kiss her, a little voice answered. She wanted him to kiss her and to help her live out every fantasy she’d ever had about him because there’d been some doozies in recent weeks. But every time her fantasy would get rolling, she’d hear her mom’s voice in her head.

  No man will want a woman with a child.

  The words were practically the first thing her mom had said when she’d called to tell her she was pregnant. They always stopped her fantasies cold, that and...

  He could do so much better than her. The man could have practically anyone. Her own doctor had the hots for him. What in heaven’s name could he ever see in someone like her? Someone who was so uninteresting her own mother had moved across the country just to get away from her. Someone who’d been looking for love her whole life, but who couldn’t seem to find it.

  But he didn’t look turned off by her. His expression was gentle as he stared down at her.

  “Amy,” he said softly.

  Her name coming off his lips did something to her insides, something that left in its wake ripples of good old-fashioned desire.

  “Yes?” she said, because she didn’t know what else to do. There was a look in his eyes, one that made her think maybe her fantasies weren’t so one-sided after all.

  “I’d like to kiss you.”

  Oh, yes. Please.

  She didn’t know how it happened, but one minute she was holding a paint roller, and the next he was moving toward her, slowly bending and then—oh, heavens—kissing her again. His lips were warm, and he smelled faintly of paint, and his big hands were at her hips and she wondered if he could feel how fat she’d gotten. That was her last coherent thought because he pressured her to open her mouth and she did exactly that and when his tongue slipped inside and she tasted Flynn, really tasted him, the sweetness of his mouth was something she didn’t think she could ever get enough of—she was lost.

  His hands moved up, his thumbs finding the bottoms of her breasts, and he could have been touching her bare flesh given the way her body reacted, but then one of his hands slipped beneath her shirt and he was cupping her and deepening the kiss at the same time and she’d never been more aroused in her life.

  He pulled away. She gasped, her lips burning from the pressure of his mouth, her brain starved for oxygen, but he’d only left her so he could bend and—

  Oh, heavens.

  He kissed the tip of her breast. Gently, the end puckering as if to say “Well, hello there,” and her back arched because those same nipples were so dang sensitive that it felt as if his kiss touched every nerve ending in her body.

  He took the hint, his mouth capturing the end, suckling her, and she groaned. Her knees lost the ability to support her. He must have realized she was putty—like, literally, a soft puddle of goo in his hands because he backed her up a step, laid her down on the bed, but he had to break contact with her breast to do so, and it brought her back to reality with a thump.

  What could he possibly see in her? she thought again.

  He stood above her, a fantasy come to life, Flynn Gillian with his dark hair and dark brows and blue, blue eyes, and she wondered, now that he was staring down at her, if he’d change his mind. If he’d see the same thing she saw when she looked in the mirror. A slightly pudgy, not very pretty, soon to be hugely pregnant woman.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  She stopped breathing for a moment, something inside her tightening and tightening as she looked into his eyes, something that made her eyes fill with tears.

  “I’m not, especially not now. I used to be skinny, but I’m not anymore—”

  “Shh.” He tossed his cowboy hat off to the side. “Just shh.”

  He was bending again and it felt like a five-alarm fire, and it was such a crazy way to feel, but the heat only tripled when he didn’t lie down next to her. Instead, he kneeled, lifting her shirt, pulling it and the scarf on her head off her body.

 
“I have paint all over my face,” she said.

  “You look adorable.”

  She didn’t, couldn’t. She probably had paint in places she couldn’t even see, but then he was pulling her bra down and she knew he was going to do that thing to her breast again, and inside her head the word wahoo rang out, but then he was slowly bending toward her. Teasing. He was taking his time on purpose, and her nipple responded instantly, both of them did, puckering.

  She really had nice-sized breasts now.

  His tongue circled the tip. She about came off the bed. Oh, lordy, did he ever do it for her. He knew exactly how to kiss her and how to touch her, his teeth grazing first one nipple and then the next.

  “Flynn.” She sighed, arching toward him again.

  His hand cupped her, his fingers playing with one nipple while his mouth worked the other, and if she’d thought it’d been a five-alarm fire before, it was a damn forest fire now. She began to pant because it was a form of torture, this kissing her, when she wanted so much more. She wanted it all. She wanted him.

  She wiggled out from under him, her hands going to the snap of her jeans, but then she froze because if she went through with this, if she allowed him to see her completely naked, he would see it, the baby bump. Small though it might be, it was still there, still a reminder of who she was and what she’d done and that one day soon her belly would be huge and the baby inside wasn’t his.

  Hands brushed her own. She looked up and met his gaze. He knew what she was thinking, she could tell. He undid her jeans, released the zipper, slid them down over her hips, and there it was. The bulge. The big babypalooza. Her bun in the oven. When she’d first met him, you could barely tell it was there. But in recent weeks her stomach had changed, her belly button beginning to turn inside out, her skin taut. It wasn’t very attractive.

  He kissed her bump.

  She wanted to cry. This man, this amazing man, he didn’t care that she was pregnant, or that she’d made mistakes. For some crazy reason he wanted her and, boy howdy, did she ever want him.

  A hand grazed her center.

  She gasped, closed her eyes. He started working his way up her body, kissing her along the way, and she realized at some point she’d removed her bra, although she didn’t even remember doing it, and when his mouth found her breast again, she groaned, because he was touching her down there and kissing her breast at the same time, and it was as if her body had turned into some kind of sexual instrument—one he played so expertly she found herself on the brink of climax in an instant.