Wrangling His Pregnant Cowgirl: Beckett Brothers Book Three

by North, Leslie

  He nodded, his lips twisting in anger. She’d never seen charming, patient Scout anywhere close to angry. She had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to like this.

  “Let me see if I have this straight? I’m the father, and I’m here with you for the pregnancy. I have legal obligations—child support—and moral ones—love, protection—yet you’re going to take my child out of the country anywhere between nine and eleven months a year, to third-world countries with unstable governments, rampant poverty, and often inadequate health care. And you apparently didn’t think it was necessary to consult with me on this? You thought—what? I’d just sign checks and send birthday cards to Zimbabwe?”

  Stella felt her face flush with humiliation and anger. No, she hadn’t thought that. The truth was, she hadn’t thought about Scout at all. She knew she needed to tell him, knew it would be better if he gave a damn, but beyond that? She hadn’t thought about his part in the whole thing at all.

  Scout ran a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to hit something. Instead, he turned his back to her and leaned stiff-armed against the kitchen counter.

  “It’s our child,” she said, her voice low and hard as glass.

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “What?”

  “You said I was going to take your child out of the country. It’s our child.”

  He scoffed, pushing off the counter and looking at her briefly before he began to walk toward the back door. “If your plans are any indication, it’s your child,” he snapped, before walking out the door and slamming it behind him.

  6

  Two days later, Stella hadn’t seen Scout in the house again. Jean Anne came for an hour or two every morning to help clean, cook, and provide some company, and Stella had begun slowly going through her grandfather’s things, sorting them into garbage, thrift store, and keep piles. But Scout had stayed away, and while her pride was struggling to come to terms with it, her conscience knew she needed to apologize.

  Stella’s independence was the thing that had always kept her life on track. She didn’t need much in the way of help or support; she was a unit unto herself. Mirabelle had been the same way. Men came and went, Mirabelle let them, but she never relied on them for anything. And when Stella came along, Mirabelle had simply incorporated her into the autonomous bubble she’d formed.

  But Stella’s dad hadn’t wanted to be involved. And it seemed as though Scout did. She had no idea how that would look going forward, but she knew it wasn’t fair for her to simply ignore it.

  She didn’t know how to approach him with that apology, though, so Stella did what she was best at—she worked. When sorting through her grandpa’s things wore thin, she moved on to the irrigation system Scout had talked about.

  “Hi, Lonny,” she said as she entered the equipment barn on a sunny afternoon.

  “Hey there, Miss Stella. How are you today?” Lonny looked up from the boxes of auto parts he was digging through.

  “Everything’s good. How’s the paperwork coming for your brother to buy that acreage? I’m really sorry it took me so long to approve it for him.”

  “Scout said the lawyers will have it ready in a couple of days, so no worries. It’s all going to end up fine.”

  “Oh, good.”

  He stood, a carburetor in his hand. “Do you need to find something out here, or just getting some fresh air?”

  “Oh, yes. Thanks. My memory lately is a little scattered.”

  Lonny just smiled patiently.

  “I think we’re going to try this low-tech irrigation system on the far acreage that’s drying out this year. I thought I’d look around and see if we had any of the parts we’ll need to build the dhoras.”

  “Well, we have a lot of spare parts out here—pieces of milking machines, plumbing lines, tractors, trucks—” He held up the carburetor. “Heck, we even have parts from household appliances.” He turned in a circle as if reminding himself of all of it. “Most of the stuff is in these boxes, and the boxes are labeled, but it’s general, like…washing machine, or PVC lines. So it takes some digging.”

  “That’s fine,” she answered, smiling. “I need to get out of the house, but I want to do something useful. This is perfect. And who knows, maybe I’ll find some hidden treasure.”

  Lonny laughed. “If you can find treasure in this mess, you definitely get to keep it. Everyone else avoids this place like the plague.”

  Stella laughed as Lonny left, and then she began to hunt through the boxes, reading labels and digging through greasy chunks of metal. It was going to be a long afternoon, but at least she’d be distracted from worrying about how to handle Scout.

  * * *

  Scout hadn’t let himself react when Lonny quietly took him aside to tell him Stella was in the equipment barn going through things. After all, Stella had made it perfectly clear neither she nor the baby needed him. They were going to travel the world—year-round—and if he were lucky, maybe they’d send him a few postcards. So he told himself he didn’t care what Stella was doing over there in the barn with all that equipment—dirty dangerous equipment, equipment that could fall on a person, cut a person and give them tetanus, equipment that could expose someone to toxic chemicals like pesticides. Nope. Scout wasn’t going to think about all that.

  Three hours later, Stella still hadn’t emerged from the barn, and Scout couldn’t take it anymore. He made one last check on his crew, closing things up for the day, and stomped off to find out what the stubborn woman carrying his child was up to.

  He walked into the cavernous space just in time to see Stella reaching for a large box on a high shelf. He saw the box begin to tip off the edge of the shelf, he saw her fingers reaching for it, and he was running across the vast expanse of concrete floor before he could see anything else. As the box slid off the shelf and onto Stella’s hands, he knew his instincts had been right. It was too heavy, she was unbalanced, and both she and the box began to fly backwards. He watched it in slow motion, and his legs pumped harder, his lungs tightening in panic.

  Then, just as the box bounced off Stella’s fingertips, flying into the air, and Stella herself began to tilt backwards, arms windmilling as she struggled to regain her feet, Scout reached her. He threw his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against his chest, and bent forward to shield her as the heavy box of machine parts bounced off his upper back and landed on the floor behind them.

  Stella screamed, then froze in Scout’s arms.

  “It’s okay,” he said, slightly breathless from the burst of adrenaline that had surged through him. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

  They stayed there a moment, frozen, pressed together, her entire frame wrapped in his as if he were a protective blanket thrown around her back.

  “Okay,” she finally said, her voice slightly shaky. “I think I’m all right.” She straightened, and he let her, even though a part of him wanted to keep her wrapped in his embrace. He slowly let his arms drop, and she turned to face him.

  “You’re okay?” he asked, searching her face and then the rest of her. He didn’t see blood, or bruises, but he did see dirt smudged across her smooth cheek, circles of fatigue beneath her eyes, and tense lines around her pretty lips.

  “Yes.” She gazed at him, then her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. He stepped back, giving her space. It seemed to be mostly what she wanted from him, he thought ruefully. “Your timing is, um, really good.” Her lips parted in a smile, and something tight released inside him.

  He grinned back. “Luck. Sheer luck.”

  “And fast reflexes.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Can I ask what you’re doing out here?”

  She looked around the big space as if reminding herself how she’d ended up there. He thought again that she looked too tired.

  “I thought I’d see what parts we could dig up for the new irrigation system.”

  He decided to play along. “Did you find anything?”

  “Some,” sh
e answered.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “I haven’t looked through all these boxes yet.” She pointed to the east wall of the barn.

  He took a beat, reminding himself that Stella didn’t necessarily want his help—not with the baby, and probably not with her health.

  “If you want to come back tomorrow, I could help.” He waited, holding his breath.

  He could see her debating it.

  “I’d make you a steak for dinner in the meantime…”

  Ah, that had done the trick. Her eyes flashed with want. He felt a little envious of the steak.

  “Really? A thick one? Medium rare?”

  He put his hand on her lower back, gently and subtly moving her away from the shelves of dangerous equipment and toward the door. “Any way you’d like it.”

  “I have been craving red meat lately,” she said, walking alongside him without resistance.

  “Oh, woman.” He gave her his most charming smile, and he saw her gaze go glassy. “You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten my sirloin.”

  And as he led her out of the barn and into the fresh late afternoon sunshine, Scout finally felt hope.

  7

  Stella was stuffed. And exhausted. The steak Scout had grilled had been absolute perfection. And, she had to admit, his company hadn’t been so terrible, either.

  “Okay,” he said as he entered the living room where he’d insisted she relax while he did the dishes. “Everything’s all cleaned up. Jean Anne won’t even know I’ve been in there.” He grinned.

  “You know, if you start off like this when I’m barely twelve weeks along, you’re going to set a really high bar. By the time I’m as big as a house, I’ll be expecting you to do my toenails and serve me breakfast in bed.”

  He sat down next to her and picked up one of her feet.

  Was he insane? “Please don’t tell me you have a foot fetish.”

  He laughed, big and confident. “Not in the slightest. But a little foot rub never hurt anyone, did it?”

  She shrugged. “I guess not. I’ve never actually had one.”

  “Oh, darlin’, you don’t know what you’ve been missin’.” He dug his thumb into her arch, and she moaned.

  “Oh lord. That might be—” Her eyes closed involuntarily, and she sighed. Ecstasy. That’s what it was. Pure ecstasy.

  “Told you,” he murmured, continuing to knead and caress.

  She let her head fall back on the sofa, kept her eyes closed, and simply reveled in the sensations he stirred. Warmth, safety, affection—and lurking behind it all, an arousal that she couldn’t seem to escape whenever he was nearby.

  After a few moments of silence, he switched to her other foot. “So can we talk about the other night?” he asked softly.

  She lifted her head and opened her eyes, seeing his concern. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, surprising even herself. She ran a hand through her hair, looking down at her lap because she couldn’t face his gaze. “I was a jerk, and I’m sorry.” She paused, and he kept his counsel, kneading her foot, evidently waiting for her to pull her thoughts together.

  “My mother was a solitary parent. Not just a single one, but a solitary one. She made sure I had the basics, but more than that was up to me. I probably would have been a mess, honestly, if it wasn’t for Grandpa. Every summer and every Christmas, I’d come here, and he would show me what it meant to be a normal person. He had friends and staff, and he took me places, showed me off around town.”

  Then she did meet Scout’s gaze, and it was soft, and sympathetic, but not pitying. Thank God it wasn’t pitying.

  “I knew I had to tell you about the baby. And I hoped you would care, but I didn’t realize I hadn’t thought beyond that. I took the whole thing on by myself just like my mother did. I didn’t think about how you’d fit in…or where.” She swallowed hard. “I know that was inconsiderate.”

  Scout gently set her foot back on the floor. He stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa and leaned toward her.

  “Okay. So we have six months to come up with a plan, and given we’re two reasonably intelligent adults, how hard can that be?”

  Stella smiled at him. He really was so charming and so handsome. If only either of them were in the market for something more. He’d make some woman a great husband someday.

  Then it hit her. Someday, he might get married, have more children. He might not want her baby around anymore. Or his new wife might not. He might not want to help with money because his new family needed it. He might not have time for her child because his new family was the priority.

  Her stomach churned with nausea. No wonder Mirabelle had lived the way she had.

  She proceeded cautiously. “I think we can have some discussions about ways to include you more, but I also think it’s best for the baby if one of us is the primary parent. The baby needs to live with me, and I need to set things up so that I’m not dependent on you for money or childcare. It’s the only way to insure I can handle everything I’ll need to.”

  She saw Scout stiffen in response. “But you don’t need to, that’s the point. I’m here. I’m the father. I’ll love my kid, and I want to do everything for him that a good dad does. School events, sports practices. I earn a good living, I’m a hard worker—why would you want to set things up so you didn’t need me?”

  She huffed out a bitter laugh. “Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me to marry you.” The words came out with a bite she didn’t intend, and he jerked away from her.

  “No one said anything about marriage,” he answered coldly.

  “Of course not. Neither of us is interested, but what about when you are, someday? What will happen to our kid if you find some nice local girl and marry her and start your real family?”

  His eyes widened. “Well, I would sure as hell hope my first kid would know I can love more than one person at a time.”

  She looked at him sympathetically. “And in your world, I’m sure that’s how things have always been. Moms and dads love all their kids the same, good people get the good things they’ve earned. But in the real world?” She chuckled. “Dads get distracted all the time. By new wives and new kids and new jobs. By drugs and alcohol and convenience stores waiting to be robbed.”

  He threw a look of incredulity. “So now I’m going to what—join a gang and hold up the 7-Eleven? Jesus, Stella, what have I done to make you so distrustful? All I want is to be a good father to this baby.”

  The tears came without warning and definitely without her permission. She gave one horribly painful sob, then leaped from the sofa, speed walking toward the stairs that led to her room.

  Before she could reach them, a hand closed around her upper arm, and she was swung around to face Scout. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough.

  She shook her head, tears pouring down her cheeks as she fixed her gaze on his big warm chest. God, how she wanted to collapse into it and never let go.

  He put one finger under her chin and tipped it so she was forced to look at him. “It’s going to be okay,” he told her, swallowing visibly. “I’m not trying to force you into anything. And you might not believe it now, but I’m not going to abandon you and our baby.”

  She sniffed, blinking through the haze that clouded her vision. Everything felt…off. Wrong, uncomfortable. “I think I have pregnancy hormones,” she said in a tremulous voice.

  He smiled, and it was so beautiful and genuine, it nearly broke her in two. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s start all this by just getting to know one another a bit. Maybe we can build some common ground and a little trust that way?”

  She nodded, sniffing like a snotty four-year-old.

  He pulled her into an embrace. “You know what we do when the cows are having trouble adjusting to something new?” he asked as he rubbed her back.

  She shook her head, inhaling deeply the scent of him—hay and heat and leather, the same scents that had always reminded her of home and her grandfather.

  �
�We play them music,” he continued quietly. “Seems they love classical, and even a little jazz. Every time they get fussy about something, we pull out the wireless speaker and have a concert in the barn.”

  She laughed awkwardly then. “Next time you do it, I want to come watch.”

  His chest shook with his own laughter, and she pulled back so she could look into his eyes.

  He cupped her cheek tenderly. “We’re going to be fine, Stella. You don’t know me, but I’m a Beckett man, and we always take care of what’s ours. You and this baby are mine now. We’ll figure it out, and you’ll both be fine.”

  She watched him, entranced by his words, the cadence of his voice.

  “Now, you’re exhausted. Why don’t you go on up to bed? I’ll lock up before I go over to the cabin.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips before sending her up the stairs to her darkened room.

  8

  Scout waved to his sisters-in-law, Ava and Kit, as they drove up to the main house. He set down the hose he’d been using to spray out a water container and sauntered over.

  “Well, looky here,” he said with a broad smile. “If it isn’t my two favorite ladies in town.” He kissed each one on the cheek.

  “You act like you’re surprised to see us,” Ava said. “You did command us to be here at three on the dot, didn’t you?”

  Scout saw Kit smother a smile. Ava loved to dress down the Beckett men, and as the only single one left, Scout was the most frequent recipient of her lectures.

  “I did ask you to come over about now,” Scout said, winging an elbow at each lady to escort them to the house. “And I do appreciate you showing up.”

  “So does she know we’re coming?” Kit asked quietly.

  Scout kept his smile firmly in place, and looking straight ahead, he answered. “Why no, ma’am, she does not.”

  “Scout Carson Beckett!” Ava whisper shouted. “You didn’t tell her we were gonna’ be here? What is the matter with you?”