The Cowboy is a Daddy

by Mindy Neff

  “This doesn’t change anything. Our three-month agreement still stands.”

  It almost sounded like a question. But his true emotions were firmly hidden.

  Her heart stung. She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the hurt, and nodded.

  For just an instant his hands tightened on her shoulders, then gentled. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You’ve been through so much, the last thing I want is to make you feel trapped, obligated in any way.”

  There was compassion in his voice, and a hint of sadness that both surprised and touched her. “I don’t feel trapped with you, Brice. I feel so much, so full—”

  He stopped her words with his lips, as though he were a man about to lose his tenuous control. Yet his hands were incredibly gentle as he undressed her, then himself, lowered her to the bed and followed.

  “Tell me what you like.”

  “I don’t know.” She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it had been a long time for her.

  “Then we’ll play it by feel, make it up as we go along.”

  And oh, he was an expert at it. For what seemed like hours, he simply kissed her, caressed her, worshiped her. He stroked her body, arousing her with the mere tips of his fingers, so slowly, so reverently, so thoroughly.

  The experience was nothing short of exquisite. There was no rush for final completion. In fact, his fingers skipped over the very places she ached most for his touch, teasing her, setting her on fire.

  He gave the impression of having all the patience in the world, setting a pace that nearly drove her mad.

  Unaccountably she felt tears back up as need built, hot and explosive.

  “Touch me, please.” Her breath hitched when his palm mapped the length of her inner thigh, skimmed, teased. The anticipation was pure, sensual torture.

  “I am,” he said, sketching her jaw with his lips.

  “I mean...more.” Couldn’t he see that she was on fire?

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” She reached for his hand, pressed it to her. And with that barest touch, she came apart, could have sworn she actually screamed. In the maelstrom of powerful sensations, there was a moment of clarity, a flash of embarrassment.

  This was the second time she’d screamed in his bed. At least she hadn’t ripped the sheets this time.

  “You are so responsive, sunshine. I want you.”

  “You have me.”

  Brice couldn’t believe how those three words pierced his heart. He didn’t really have her. She was only temporary.

  But reality was impossible to dwell on now. The want was too strong, the need too consuming.

  With gazes locked, he entered her, slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort, sweat trickling down his temples as he held on to his control by a single thread.

  The experience was so new to him. He hadn’t known the patience was there, hadn’t known his senses could be so acute. With the utter slowness of their joining, the total focus of his concentration on her pleasure, awareness sharpened. A sense of déjà vu stole over him, as though he’d known her all his life, touched her just like this, looked at her just like this, felt her warmth close around him just like this.

  Moonlight shone in the window, bathed her skin in its glow. He saw the faint trace of blue veins on her swollen breasts, felt the pebble of her nipples brush his chest.

  Her eyes, open and locked on to his, were filled with wonder...and utter trust.

  She reached out and touched his cheek, shattering something inside him.

  Good intentions and vows of gentleness vanished. He was helpless to stop the building tide, the momentum.

  Maddie gripped his shoulders, unable to hold on to any single sensation for more than a second. The very air around them shimmered as desire coiled in her belly, dark and desperate.

  She wanted to beg, but didn’t know what to beg for. She wanted to slow down, to savor, yet she couldn’t get enough, couldn’t seem to go fast enough.

  She felt a sob building, felt poised on the very brink of discovery, on the incendiary edges of the brightest, most exquisite star in the heavens.

  The sensations snatched her breath, rolled over her. Her skin was slick with perspiration, her breasts sensitive to the point of pain.

  “Stay with me,” he coached.

  And just that quickly the dam of emotions burst, flooding her with mind-numbing pleasure that frightened even as it thrilled, sensations that rushed her headlong into another stunning climax.

  She cried out his name, knowing he would answer, that he would hold her, catch her, break her fall.

  Knowing that the love she felt would burn in her heart for the rest of her life.

  When Maddie woke, she was alone. Snowflakes drifted past the window. Brice would have a cold day out on the range. She tried not to feel hurt that he wasn’t there to hold her, to kiss her awake.

  But he had work to do. And so did she.

  She had a husband and home to take care of. She didn’t dare think about what would happen if the Covingtons should find her, promised herself she wouldn’t think past each day, would take life as it came.

  Brice’s words echoed, stinging anew. This doesn’t change anything. She’d already used up a month of her stay. And for a woman who liked to have her future planned right down to the day, her life was far too uncertain.

  She set aside those thoughts and went to check on the baby. It was still early, yet she wondered if Abbe had cried during the night and maybe she hadn’t heard her. She also wondered if Brice had ever placed that order for baby monitors.

  Tying the belt of her robe, she went into the nursery and stopped in her tracks.

  Brice was dressed and standing by the side of the crib, staring down at the baby—who was still sleeping.

  As though he sensed her presence, he turned his head, met her gaze. For an instant there was naked need in his dark blue eyes, a starkness to his handsome features.

  She wasn’t sure how to act. Her hands tugged at the tie of her robe, nearly cutting off her air.

  “Morning,” he said softly, then moved away from the crib, coming toward her. “I was just checking on the baby.”

  “Me, too.” What an inane conversation. She wanted to put her arms around him, tell him she loved him, beg him to tell her how he felt, to let her know if last night had affected him as profoundly as it had her.

  To assure her that nobody could ever take her baby from her.

  To promise her longer than three months.

  He lifted his hand as though to touch her, closed his fingers into his palm. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He nodded. “I better get to work.”

  “I should fix you breakfast.”

  “I’ll grab something later.”

  They were acting like strangers, but for the life of her, she didn’t know how to change the mood. She wasn’t one to deliberately set herself up for rejection. And to push an issue was a surefire way of showing her vulnerabilities, of having those vulnerabilities exploited.

  In the end, she took the coward’s way out and simply watched him walk away.

  Strapping Abbe into her infant seat, Maddie set the baby in the middle of the kitchen table and heated a cup of water for tea in her new microwave.

  Well, it wasn’t actually hers. When she left, the appliance would stay—it wouldn’t fit in her car. But she didn’t want to think about leaving. She looked around the room, feeling different, more territorial about the house after last night.

  As though this were really her home.

  And home was what she yearned for.

  The jar of bread paste that she’d diligently stirred, added to and watched like a hawk was hidden behind an open cookbook. According to the instructions, there was one more stirring day and it would be time to bake.

  She moved the cookbook and nearly screamed in frustration. The darn mixture had tripled in size, oozing over the sides of the jar. She snatched up a rag, wip
ed the mess and reread the instructions, certain she’d done everything Letty had told her. Had she missed a day giving it a stir?

  Good Lord, couldn’t she get anything right? Admonishing herself to calm down, she poured the batter into a larger jar, sorely tempted to try baking a loaf, but resisted. The rules said it wasn’t time, and she was a stickler for rules.

  But come tomorrow she would bake a loaf of sweet bread if it killed her.

  Hopefully it wouldn’t kill the men!

  She worked on Brice’s accounting, waxed the furniture, kept the fire stoked and stared at the clothes dryer, determined to catch the cycle the minute it finished. The ironing board was already set up and waiting. She’d been keeping an eye on the barn throughout the morning and knew the guys were still around. They’d be wanting lunch before long, and she intended to surprise them with a plate of sandwiches.

  The dryer buzzed and she took out the clothes, transferred them to the table by the ironing board.

  She hesitated over Brice’s jeans, then shrugged, lining the seams up and pressing a smart crease down the center. If that was wrong, at least she could fix the error and iron it out. Not like cutting off the hem and making them flood pants.

  Abbe napped on and off throughout the morning. She fed the baby, dressed her warmly, then packed up the sandwiches.

  She was trying to figure out how to manage food and the baby when Brice came through the back door.

  She whirled around, stared at him.

  Once again, the silence seemed strained. Get over it, she told herself. The morning after had passed. It was noon.

  She took a breath, steadied her nerves. “I made lunch. I was just about to bring it out to you guys.” He was wearing woollies over his jeans today, chaps made out of thick fleece. Buckled low on his waist, and tied around his inner thighs, they were sexy as all get-out and made her fantasies stand up and take notice.

  He toyed with the brim of his hat, then removed his gloves. “You don’t have to bring lunch out. It’s too cold out there, anyway.”

  “I don’t mind. And you all must be hungry.”

  Yes, Brice thought. He was hungry. But not for lunch. She wore a pair of formfitting jeans and a soft white sweater that made him want to reach out and touch, to stroke the gentle curve of her breasts. Now that she wasn’t nursing the baby, her breasts weren’t as large, but she still had the sexiest curves—and in all the right places.

  He forced himself to look away from temptation. “I’ll call down to the barn, have the men come to the house.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Call the barn.”

  “Yes. I should have given you the number. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He picked up the phone, and his mind went blank. He’d been dialing that number half his life, and he couldn’t even remember the first few digits.

  “Brice?”

  Her tone had him hesitating, turning back to her. “Yeah?”

  “I won’t bite.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re avoiding me. Because of last night.”

  He hung up the phone without dialing, raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to sleeping with my housekeeper.” She winced and he felt like a jerk. That hadn’t come out right.

  “I’d like to think I’m more than that,” she said softly. “I’d like to think that we’re at least friends.”

  “Sunshine, what we did last night was a hell of a lot more than friendship.”

  “True. But we’re both adults. Consenting adults.”

  “Are you saying you’re willing to have an affair?”

  She shrugged, didn’t quite meet his eyes. “According to the State of Wyoming, we are married.”

  “But you and I know the reason for that marriage.”

  She turned, fussed with a dishrag, then took a deep breath. “Nevermind.”

  He went to her, touched her shoulder, felt her stiffen. “No, get it off your chest.”

  “We’re acting like two teenagers who’ve done something wrong. We’re living under the same roof. I just thought we should deal with the discomfort, get past it.”

  He turned her to face him. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “I’m a big girl. And it’s not taking advantage if I give you permission.”

  His fingertips traced her soft cheek, and his chest swelled with emotion. If he wasn’t concerned about one of the men walking in, he’d take her right here in the kitchen. Because phony marriage or not, he wanted her with a burning fire that consumed him.

  “Just don’t treat me like a stranger,” she pleaded.

  He cupped the back of her head, pulled her to him and kissed her. Her mouth opened and her hands gripped his shoulders. He pressed her against him, reveling in the beat of her heart, in the pounding of his own.

  Lifting his head, he said, “Does that feel like a stranger to you?”

  “Your lips feel familiar. I can’t say the same for those strange animal skins on your legs.” Her voice trembled, and he wasn’t sure if it was from laughter or desire.

  When he saw the amusement dancing in her expressive blue eyes, he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. “Makes me look a little like a beast, hum?”

  She laughed. “Quit. You’re going to give me inappropriate ideas.”

  Desire, swift and incendiary, swept through him. “If you give me five minutes to make sure the guys are occupied, I’d like to hear about that fantasy you’re conjuring up.”

  Her face flamed and she ducked her head, thumped him on the chest. “It’s the middle of the day.”

  “So? Haven’t you ever made love at lunchtime before?”

  “As a matter of fact, no.”

  That stunned him. She was a passionate woman. “Never?”

  She shook her head, and he believed her. The baby fussed, reminding him that now was not the time to get carried away. But soon, he promised himself, he was going to show this woman the merits of making love in the bright light of day.

  He tightened his arm around her, allowed the thick, fleecy chaps to press against her, to tease.

  “Oh!” she breathed, her chest rising and falling, sorely testing his good intentions as her breasts brushed against him.

  He loved that little catch in her voice, the way her eyes went round in wonder. This was a woman who wasn’t coy, who wasn’t afraid of trying new experiences.

  That was evident by her answering a job advertisement when she hadn’t known the first thing about ranching or cooking.

  But she had a keen interest in his life-style and a determination to learn, to experiment. She was a good sport. He wanted to test her limits, reap the benefits of her enthusiasm.

  Tired of being ignored, Abbe let out a shriek.

  Brice stepped back, went over to the table. “Hey there, little girl. What’s the fuss?”

  The sound of his voice made her little eyes round.

  Maddie cleared her throat. “Could you take her out of the seat and hold her for a minute until I get a bottle fixed?”

  “I’m pretty dirty. Why don’t you get her and I’ll heat the milk.” Each time he held the baby, he fell a little deeper in love.

  Just like every time he held her mother, he fell a little deeper...in what? He didn’t want to finish that thought.

  “Not on your life,” Maddie said. “I intend to play with that microwave every chance I get. Besides, Abbe won’t mind a bit of dirt. Plus it’ll get her used to the scents of the ranch. These are things little girls should know.”

  There was no reason those simple, offhand words should give him such pleasure, but they did. He yearned for a family who’d embrace the ranch and land as he did. But hope was a dangerous thing, and he tried to quell it.

  Obeying her directive, he took the baby out of the seat. “Uh-oh. She’s pretty wet.” Now that he had the infant in his arms, he was reluctant to give her up so soon. “I’ll go see
if I can muddle through a diaper change. Come rescue us if you hear major screaming.”

  “Yours or hers?”

  “Cute.”

  Maddie smiled and watched him carry the baby out of the room. After their wedding night when she’d gone to bed and left him and the men to watch the baby, he’d ordered a whole case of disposable diapers and simply dismissed—ignored actually—every one of her arguments about added expenses.

  He was a fantasy man. Giving gifts, making things easier on her, taking care of the baby.

  A man so easy to love. Yet he still held such a big part of himself back, guarded his emotions like a child guards a coveted toy.

  She placed a bottle in the microwave, set the timer for fifteen seconds.

  Through the kitchen window, she saw a flash of brown against the pristine white of snow.

  Ken, the UPS guy, was out with another delivery.

  What now? She chuckled and went to the front door to meet him, pulling open the door and stepping out onto the porch. The sun was shining, and the snow on the ground nearly blinded her, causing her eyes to water. Without a coat, she shivered a bit, but drew in a deep breath of crisp air that smelled of wood smoke and animals—scents that were becoming so familiar, so comforting.

  Expecting just Ken, her heart thudded for no reason when she noticed the other man in the passenger seat of the step-side van. Her hands trembled, and for a moment she wanted to turn, to charge back in the house and slam the door, to lock it against strangers, against an eerie feeling that was totally ungrounded.

  Don’t be stupid, she chided herself. The man with Ken wore the standard brown uniform, looked perfectly innocent.

  “It’s customers like you who make my day,” Ken said brightly, holding out a clipboard as his partner held a small shipping carton.

  Maddie still stared at the new man.

  Ken noticed. “This is Darrell,” he introduced. “New man on the job. I’m training him, and he’s getting a baptism by ice with all the cold weather and slippery roads. Good thing you’re on the snowplow’s route.”

  “The guys here keep the roads cleared,” she said absently, accepting the clipboard. She heard the front door open and turned when Brice stepped out on the porch, carrying the baby.