He pulled himself out of his thoughts and moved toward the back of the car where Stella was already pulling out bags and boxes.
“Here,” he said, reaching for the bag she had in her hand, “let me help you with that.”
She jerked it away from him. “I’ve got it, thanks.”
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond, reaching for a different bag instead.
She tried to balance a box in one hand while maneuvering a garment bag over the arm that held the suitcase. He caught the box as it began to slide toward the ground, also rescuing the garment bag at the same time.
“I said I—”
“Stella?” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm, just like he talked to his cows when they were raising a fuss. Her gaze shot to his, and he saw so much uncertainty and upset there, it took him by surprise. “Will you please let me help you?” he asked. “There’s a lot of stuff here, and we have an entire farm full of workers who can carry it all inside. It’s a long drive from New York. Why don’t you come in, have a drink, sit down for a few minutes. We’ll get your stuff moved. I promise.”
That seemed to take the starch out of her. She visibly melted, dropping the suitcase she held to the ground and nodding. Then she walked to the passenger side of the car, pulled her purse out, and marched to the house.
After getting his staff organized to move Stella’s belongings, Scout found her in the kitchen, sipping a mug of tea, looking out the window by the breakfast table, that same vulnerable look on her face. Her skin was fairer than he remembered, but her hair was vibrant. Long, silky, and a shade of red just shy of fire engine.
She also had an expression nothing like the Stella he’d seen over the years. Maybe she’d taken George’s death harder than he’d thought? Had it pushed her into depression? Or maybe she really didn’t want to have to interrupt her life for nine months to live here. It had been an uncharacteristic decision on the old man’s part, and not a very considerate one. Scout had no idea what if any message from George had been included for her. Who knew what was going through the old man’s head those last months of his life but Scout sure wished he’d have said something instead of making his decision such a surprise. Maybe that’s what was on her mind.
“You need anything to eat?” he asked, because experience was teaching him the woman didn’t eat often enough.
“No. Thanks,” she answered sadly.
He sat down opposite her. “We have a lot to talk about,” he began.
“Yes, we do,” she answered.
“As much as I’d like to give you a day or two to get settled, there are decisions that have to be made about the business, things I don’t feel comfortable deciding myself while you’re the legal owner.”
She looked at him placidly and took a sip of her tea. “Okay.”
He gritted his teeth at her apparent lack of interest. He’d hoped, once she got here, things would smooth out, she’d dig in and do what was needed for the sake of the farm, but if these first thirty minutes were any indication, that hope wasn’t going to be fulfilled.
“While it may not seem important to you,” he began, an edge to his voice, “we have some serious water issues on our far grazing acreage. It’s the land we use for the cows that are out of circulation. They need a rest every six months or so, or their production drops off.”
She kept watching him, showing no real response.
“We lost some water rights to the river two years ago when they changed some state laws. The first year, it was fine, but this second year, we’re in a dry spell. We need to find a way to irrigate, or we’re going to lose all that grassland.”
“Why don’t you use check basin irrigation? You could put in dhoras in a couple of days, and source the water from a well if you needed.”
Scout stared at her, speechless.
“I help villages put in working farms so they can feed themselves,” she said, though he hadn’t actually asked the question. “It’s how I make my living.”
He stared for a moment more, feeling like someone had just slapped him a good one across the face. And in the back of his head, a voice whispered, you’re toast, brother.
“I, uh…I had no idea.” He began to smile.
She looked at him sympathetically. “I said I don’t want to own a farm, not that I couldn’t run one.”
Scout chuckled then. “Well, shit. I guess you’d better explain how we’re going to install this new irrigation system then, Madam Farmer.”
Stella looked revitalized then, as if her problems were forgotten for a moment. She was stunning, and it was everything Scout could do to follow her explanations about irrigation systems, as well as remind himself of all the reasons he couldn’t have her again.
* * *
“So there are downsides,” Stella finished, “but the upsides are far greater, and it’s super cost-efficient.”
Scout nodded, his eyebrows still somewhere north of his hairline. She tried not to laugh. He really hadn’t known she was an agronomist. She was a little surprised her grandfather had never mentioned it to his foreman. George had been so proud when she’d told him what major she’d picked in college. Of course, he hadn’t realized the modern ways she would use that degree.
“Okay, then,” Scout finally said. “We’ll do it. I’ll read up and start making some calculations. I’m thinking we could start in a couple of weeks.” He stood and grabbed her mug and the empty bottle from the beer he’d drunk at some point during her quick and dirty lesson on low-tech irrigation techniques. He set both items on the kitchen counter, then faced her from across the kitchen. “I had the crew put all your things in your old room. I thought you might want to redo some stuff in George’s room before you moved in there—I mean if you want to move in there.”
Reality came crashing in on Stella. She didn’t want to move into her grandpa’s room, but she would need to at some point, because it was bigger. Big enough to have a crib and a changing table added. Her hand settled over her stomach, and her heart fluttered nervously. What if he got mad when she told him? What if he quit, leaving her with a farm that had no foreman. Pregnant, out of work…
“Stella?” His voice pulled her out of the panic. “Are you okay? All of a sudden, you went all pale on me.”
She looked up to find him staring down at her, not from across the kitchen, but right there, where she could reach out and touch him.
“Um, we have something else to talk about,” she said quietly, gesturing at the chair he’d vacated minutes ago.
“Yeah, plenty of stuff, but we don’t have to do it all tonight.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s after eight, and you’ve been driving all day. My work starts at four a.m. Maybe we could wait until tomorrow to talk some more?”
She shook her head. “This really can’t wait. Can you please sit? You’re kind of…” she waved a hand between them, “looming.”
He scoffed but sat down.
She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted.
He stared at her for a moment. “Oh, um, congratulations?”
She looked at him and realized he didn’t understand.
“It’s yours.”
“What?!” He nearly came out of his chair. “That’s…that’s…” he sputtered, his hands gripping the edge of the old wooden table as if he might tear a chunk off.
“Entirely true,” she finished. “I’m twelve weeks along, finishing the first trimester, and since I haven’t slept with anyone else in the last eight months, it’s definitely yours.”
She watched him let go a big whoosh of breath. His eyes were bright and sharp, his face flushed, and his body as tense as an overtightened guitar string. “Fuck,” he finally muttered.
“Something along the lines of my thoughts when I first found out,” she answered.
“How?” He swallowed. “I mean, I guess we didn’t really…”
“No, we didn’t talk about it, but I didn’t think we needed to. I was o
n the pill. Unfortunately, I was also exposed to virulent bacteria in Benin and had to take antibiotics that interfere with the pill.”
“Shit.” Another brilliant observation. Stella was beginning to worry he’d be rendered speechless for the duration of the pregnancy. Then he pulled through, and she could breathe again. “Will it hurt the baby?” he asked. “The bacterial thing, I mean.”
“No.” She gave him a tiny smile. “No, it’s fine. Everything’s fine, apparently. Going along just like it should.”
His brow furrowed. “Good. That’s really good. So you’ve been to a doctor?”
“Yes, twice, and they gave me a name of someone here in town to use. I’m due for another check next week, and…” She stopped. It was a lot all at once. Maybe he wouldn’t be interested, and maybe she’d feel terrible if he wasn’t.
“Yeah?” he asked, regaining some of his natural color.
“It’s time for an ultrasound, if you wanted to come along.”
“Really?” he perked up more. “Like see it swimming around in there or whatever?”
She laughed. “I’m not sure there’s enough to see all that yet. But you can hear the heartbeat, they said. And maybe see a little shape.”
He nodded, his expression just this side of bemused. “Wow. Well, okay then. I’d like to go.”
Though she tried to ignore it, her heart gave a little flutter of joy. He hadn’t rejected her outright—the baby, she meant. Maybe this would work out.
“There’s a lot to decide,” she told him. “I’ve been thinking about it all for a couple weeks now, but I realize you haven’t had a chance.”
He scratched his head. “Yeah, there’s a whole lot to think about.”
“So maybe we can just take it day by day? Kind of chip away at it?”
He smiled then, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like everything was going to be all right.
“That sounds good,” he replied before standing and moving to her side of the table. He put out his hand, and when she put hers in it, he pulled her to her feet. He kissed her softly on the forehead, the same way he’d done after their one-night stand. “Sleep well, Stella,” he said before moving away and going out the back door.
5
“Holy shit,” Scout’s brothers said in unison as they stared at him across a table at Nadine’s Diner. He’d called a special meeting of their weekly breakfast club because, well, pregnant one-night stands were worthy of some brotherly support.
“How the hell did that happen?” Bran asked.
“Well, when the daddy puts his—” Hunter began.
“Stop.” Scout put a hand up as Bran and Hunter both grinned. “It was stupid, just a chain of bad decisions and accidents.”
“You sure it was an accident?” Bran asked.
“Yes,” Scout replied, glaring.
“Dad is rolling over in his grave,” Hunter muttered.
“But Mom is planning a baby shower,” Bran added. Hunter and Scout couldn’t help but nod in agreement.
“Ooh, if it ain’t my three favorite men!” Nadine, the owner of the diner cooed as she arrived with a coffee pot in one hand and a tray in the other. “What brings you boys here on a Monday?” she asked, batting her mile-long fake eyelashes at each brother in turn.
“Oh, we just wanted to see you, Nadine,” Scout told her, taking a grateful sip of the coffee she’d just poured.
“Well, Scout, I always said you were the sweetest of all the Beckett boys.” She picked up a plate off her tray and set it in front of him.
Scout shot a triumphant look at his older brothers across the table. They rolled their eyes in return.
“You get lonely out there on the farm, you can always stop by,” Nadine flirted.
“Will do, Miss Nadine,” Scout answered, putting extra twang in his Texas.
After she left, Bran muttered, “Don’t encourage her.”
“She gave me a free cinnamon roll, though.” Scout bit into delicious sugary goodness.
“Back to business,” Hunter said. “Mainly, what the hell are you going to do?”
Bran looked at Hunter as if he’d lost his mind. “Well, he’s going to marry her, of course.”
Hunter looked at Scout.
“Who said anything about getting married?” Scout balked.
“She’s pregnant.” Bran’s voice was filled with shock. “What the hell else would you do?”
“This isn’t 1950,” Hunter reminded him gently.
“But he is a Beckett man. We take care of our responsibilities.”
All three brothers looked at one another in silence for a moment, then Scout sighed. “Yes, we do.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to marry her,” Hunter was quick to point out around a mouthful of bacon.
“I want to be there for her and the baby. But I hardly know her.”
“Well.” Bran picked up his coffee cup and tipped it at Scout. “Then you’d better get to know her, and fast. Six months and counting, baby brother.”
* * *
Stella woke to a lesser version of the nausea that had plagued her for the last twelve weeks. “Hey,” she said, placing a hand over her still-flat stomach. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop this?” She breathed through another wave, closing her eyes and practicing the visualization she’d read about in an online article about morning sickness. Hell. It never worked.
She sat up in the big wrought iron bed her grandfather had gotten her at an antique shop when she was six, grabbing the packet of saltines off her matching nightstand. Nope, the only thing that worked were starches. Lots of starches.
Thirty minutes later, she leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping peppermint tea, a piece of toast in her other hand.
The back door opened, and in strode Scout, wide awake, grinning, and way too alpha male for this early in the morning.
“Are you allowed to have caffeine?” he asked as he set his phone and a huge key ring down on the counter.
She bristled, but then she reminded herself that the alternative—the father of her child not giving a damn—was no better. “I can have a little, but this happens to be peppermint tea,” she answered.
He nodded. “Have you been sick? I mean, isn’t that what happens? Morning sickness?”
“Yes. It is, and I have been. It’s gotten better the last week or so, but it still takes me a while to get going in the morning.”
He came around the counter and leaned opposite her, crossing his arms. “So, did you have to quit your job to come fulfill the stipulations of your grandfather’s will?”
She slowly chewed a bite of toast. The messages she’d finally gotten from Scout when she’d returned from her assignment had all said the same thing—Where are you and when will you be here? She’d wondered if he had any idea how difficult it was to simply drop your entire life to move somewhere for nine months. She had no idea what was going through her grandfather’s head when he’d made the damn will. It was disheartening to think he might have had so little respect for the life she’d built that he hadn’t even considered what he was doing to it when he made her move to the farm. Granted, she hadn’t seen him in ages with her travel schedule. She swallowed down the guilt reminding herself that it was too late now.
“I’m actually a consultant. I work on contract,” she told him, setting the toast down on a plate and focusing on holding the tea. Scout had a piece of hair falling over one eye, and she needed to keep her hands busy or she’d reach out and brush it aside. “That’s why I needed to go back to Benin after the funeral. I had a contract to finish up. When the stipulations of the will became clear, I cancelled my next gig and told all the other agencies I typically work with that I was taking a sabbatical.”
His brow furrowed. “So what are you thinking to do after the sabbatical?” he asked. The tone was casual, but she could tell her answer mattered to him. It created a tangle of feelings. She was grateful he cared enough about the baby to want to know, but she was irritate
d at the implication she needed to run her plans by someone else.
Stella had been an independent entity since she was old enough to drive a car and earn a paycheck. Even with this situation, Mirabelle had just smiled and handed Stella organic fruit as she walked out the door. Hell, Mirabelle hadn’t asked one question about how Stella intended to raise or support this baby. She’d just given some recommendations for Ayurvedic teas and kept talking about the importance of using cloth diapers.
And somehow, Stella knew before she answered that he wouldn’t take it well. “I plan to go back to work, of course.”
Scout’s gaze shot to hers, and he stiffened, standing straighter and uncrossing his arms. “Back to work where?”
“Wherever the work takes me. That’s sort of the nature of the job.”
“And what exactly are you planning to do with the baby—our baby?” he asked, volume rising.
Stella felt that bristling sensation return. Yes, it was good to have a father who cared—unlike the one she’d been handed—but that didn’t mean he had the right to question her career decisions. She’d made a life for herself, and she wasn’t about to give that up when she didn’t have to.
“The baby will come with me, of course. Most of the places I work are villages, and the people I work with are regular families who live in those villages. Babies are strapped to their mamas’ backs out in the fields all the time. And if I don’t want her with me all day, there are plenty of village women who will watch her along with their own.”
Scout simply stared at her, recrossing his arms, his posture now taking on a decidedly hostile look.
“I see,” he said softly. “So how many months a year do you typically work out of the country?”
Her chin went up, gaze narrowing on his. “As many as I can. Nine. Ten. Sometimes eleven.”
Wrangling His Pregnant Cowgirl: Beckett Brothers Book Three Page 3
