His attention drifted to her mouth. “Rachel is my stepmom. And Frank didn’t come into my life until I was sixteen.”
She bit her lip, her gaze glued to him. “That explains the Rachel. But Frank...?”
He shrugged, wishing he could table the urge to take down her hair and run his fingers through the thick, silky waves. “I never got the hang of calling him Dad.”
She moved closer. “Did he want you to call him Dad?”
“We never discussed it,” he said curtly. And he sure wasn’t going to dissect his tumultuous early years with the nosy nurse in front of him. “So,” he said, bringing the conversation back around to the current trouble at hand. “Are you going to take me up on my offer or not?”
She looked down at the baby, who was beginning to stir, and sighed. “I’m not sure if I’ll stay the night or not, but I’ll follow you out there, assess the situation and then figure out what I’m going to do.”
Not exactly a yes. But likely the closest he would get.
He gave her the address to put into her navigation system in case they got separated, and then they took off. Twenty minutes later, they were turning beneath the archway to the Western Cross ranch. Both sets of vehicle headlamps swept over the live oaks lining the drive, the fenced pastures filled with cattle and the cluster of brand-new state-of-the-art barns and stables. Finally, he drew up in front of the ranch house and parked behind the Laramie Animal Clinic van.
His good friend, and recent widow, Sara Anderson stepped out. It was hard to tell whether the pale, drawn hue of her face was due to grief over the sudden loss of her soldier husband or the nausea associated with the first trimester of pregnancy. But he appreciated her willingness to help them out today.
He picked up Riot and met her in the middle of the circular drive. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
The willowy blonde smiled, kind-hearted as always. “No problem.” Sara studied Riot with a clinician’s unerring eye, stroked him beneath the chin. “This the little runaway?”
“It is.” And though it had been years since he had held one, Cullen experienced the lure of a puppy all over again.
Bridgett parked and got out, too, a fussy baby Robby in her arms. Cullen made introductions. “Sara Anderson, Bridgett Monroe. Sara’s a neighboring rancher and the veterinarian who sees to all of my cattle and horses.”
Bridgett nodded. “Sara and I talked at the county’s High School Career Fair last fall. And we also both volunteer at the West Texas Warriors Assistance nonprofit.”
“Ah, then no introduction necessary.” Indeed, the two women looked surprisingly chummy. He hadn’t thought about them being friends. But then, he didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with anyone outside the cattle business.
Sara moved an electronic wand over the pup, between his shoulders and neck and from side to side. Then over the rest of his body.
“Anything?” Cullen asked.
“No.” Sara frowned. “I thought he might be a little too young for a microchip, but I wanted to be certain. There were no tags on his collar?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad. I’d like to know more about him.” She opened up the back of her van and pulled out a medium-sized plastic crate with a metal-grill door. “The food, dishes and leash you requested are all in there. You’re also going to need to make sure he gets started on all his vaccinations, ASAP.”
“I’ll make an appointment.”
“Good.” Sara grinned, tossing Cullen a bottle of puppy shampoo. “And you might want to give him a bath while you’re at it.”
Grinning, Cullen caught the bottle with one hand. “Thanks, Sara.”
Sara paused to greet little Robby, who was wide-eyed and squirmy. “Bridgett? Good luck with the baby. I heard about the situation.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I hope you get to keep him.”
Abruptly looking like she might burst into tears at any moment, Bridgett nodded. “I want what’s best for them both,” she said thickly, the strain of the day showing on her pretty face. “And I appreciate your help with Riot.”
“It was my pleasure,” Sara said with a warm smile. “And if you need anything else, just ask.” Then she climbed back into her van, gave a parting wave and took off.
Silence hung heavy between them as they stood there together, cradling puppy and baby.
Bridgett looked up, wordlessly scanning the compact century old farmhouse, whatever she was thinking at that moment as much a mystery to him as the emotion resonating in her dulcet tones.
“So, this is where you live,” she said.
Chapter Three
“For the last ten and a half months, it has been,” Cullen admitted as they moved inside.
He hit a button on the keypad by the door, and the place lit up. “And before that?” Bridgett prodded, trying to recall what she’d heard.
He led her through the foyer and shut the door behind them. “Oklahoma, for two years.”
They were standing close. Almost too close. Bridgett swung around to face him, stepping back a pace in the process. She was acutely aware she really didn’t know much about Frank McCabe’s eldest son at all—and she wanted to know more, because of the situation they were in. Noting he looked as inherently masculine as he smelled—like sun and soap and leather—she searched the rugged planes of his face. “And prior to that, where were you?”
The grooves on either side of his sensual lips deepened. “Colorado for eighteen months, Nebraska for four years.”
“Nebraska. Wow, you must have really liked it there.”
He studied her, as if trying to decide how much farther he wanted this discussion to go. “It’s the second-largest cattle-producing state in the country, and I had two different ranches. A small one in the north for about twenty-six months, a larger one in the south, for about the same amount of time.”
“Which you purchased after starting out here, correct?” Her feminine instincts on full alert, she pushed on, curious to hear about the time he’d spent outside of Laramie County. “Somewhere in the Panhandle?”
His gaze roved her upturned face. He looked at her for a long beat. “How do you know that?”
She flushed under his intense scrutiny. “My sister Erin and her husband, Mac, mentioned it when they moved up there for his work.”
He continued holding her gaze for a brief but electrifying moment that swiftly had her tingling all over. “Hmm.”
“Mac said you were a rancher to watch.”
Cullen shifted the exhausted puppy in his arms, cradling it to his broad chest. “I don’t think Wheeler was too fond of me back then,” he pointed out. “I outbid him on a property he wanted for his wind energy turbines.”
Bridgett grinned. “I’m sure Mac forgave you.” If there was one thing her brother-in-law respected, it was business acumen and skill.
A wave of unexpected contentment flowing through her, she snuggled the sleepy Robby, breathing in his sweet baby scent. “Speaking of family, though, yours must be happy to have you back in Texas again.”
His expression darkened and the corners of his lips slanted downward. “They are.”
“Are you?” Curiosity won out over caution yet again.
“For the moment.”
Which meant what? He had one foot out the door? Was getting ready to bolt again?
Not that it was any of her business what his future plans were. Once the current mystery was solved, anyway. She knew what her future was—it was right here in Laramie County with Robby and Riot.
“So.” Bridgett forced herself to concentrate on their surroundings. She inclined her head toward the front two rooms of the thousand-square-foot first floor. The one on the right sported a wall of what appeared to be security monitors showing various areas of the ranch, while the other room was outfitted with a large, masculine mahogany desk, a comfortab
le chair, built in bookshelves and sleek computer equipment. Framed diplomas and awards adorned the whitewashed wood-paneled walls. “I gather this is where you do all the Western Cross ranch office work.”
“Yep. And there’s never any shortage of it.” He moved forward, leading the way past an iron-railed staircase to the living room in the rear, which also had an open layout. She paused to admire the rustic fireplace, a big comfy sofa and the state-of-the-art entertainment center.
After getting a cursory glimpse at the pristine eat-in kitchen, she followed him to a screened-in porch, complete with cushioned furniture and a chain-hung swing. It overlooked a stone patio and built-in barbecue grill as well as an impressive view of the ranch.
“This, I am guessing, is where you hang out when you’re not working.” She tried not to think about how intimate it would be, sharing such a cozy space, and failed. “And maybe entertain.” She pushed the words through the abrupt tightness of her throat.
He swung back to face her, looking as intrigued by her as she was by him. “Yes to the first. No to the latter.”
Good heavens, her pulse was pounding. She moved slightly away. Pretended to stare out the windows at the fields beyond.
She spun back to face him, pretending a tranquility she couldn’t begin to feel. “You don’t entertain?”
Gesturing for her to follow, he moved back inside toward the centrally located staircase. “I give tours of the ranch to business associates by request. That’s it.” He paused on the first stair. “Why? Is that a high priority for you?”
“Not really. I’ve been spending all my time these days working extra shifts so I could save up enough for the down payment on a house. Which I have finally done.”
Upstairs were three modestly decorated bedrooms, decked out in the same masculine gray-and-white color scheme as the rest of the home, and a full bath off the hall featuring a single pedestal sink, a private water closet and a tiled bathtub/shower combo big enough for a man of his size. “So, what do you think?” He shifted a restless Riot a little higher in his arms. “Will you-all be comfortable here tonight?”
In terms of creature comforts? Yes. In terms of having him sleeping just down the hall from her? Not so much. Yet what choice did she have? She had to make do until she had a better solution worked out.
“Absolutely. If you’re sure it’s going to be okay with you, too?”
He looked at her a long moment. A myriad of emotions came and went on his ruggedly handsome face. “We’ll make it work,” he said cryptically. And in that moment, as they headed back downstairs, she knew they would.
* * *
WHILE BRIDGETT CARRIED the baby and the diaper bag into the family room, Cullen headed outside with the puppy.
Thirty minutes later, she and Robby found them on the screened-in porch. The freshly bathed Riot was getting a rubdown with a towel and she smiled. “He has a lot more white fur than I realized.”
“Yeah, I thought he was mostly brown, too.” Laugh lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Guess a lot of it was mud. Robby okay?”
Trying not to think how easily she and Cullen meshed in the mom and dad roles, she nodded. “He took his bottle like a champ. Now all he has to do is burp a time or two, and I’ll be able to put him down again.”
Cullen brought two stainless steel bowls of food and water over and set them in front of where Riot was leashed to the railing.
The puppy stared at both.
“I know you have to be hungry,” Cullen said, kneeling down to pet the mutt’s head.
Riot still didn’t touch the food.
Cullen took some kibble into his hand and offered it that way.
Riot hesitated, then inched closer, nudging Cullen’s palm and finally eating a few small pieces. Cullen offered the bowl again, but when the pup once again refused, he was forced to go back to the hand-feeding method.
“Are all puppies that fussy?” she asked, walking back and forth, gently patting Robby on the back.
“I wouldn’t know. I only had the one when I was a kid.”
Bridgett caught the low note of emotion in his voice. “What happened to him?”
“He died at age nine. Cancer.”
Clearly, Cullen still missed him. “You never got another?”
Another shake of his head. “Initially, I wasn’t in a position where I could get another dog. After that—” he shrugged “—I was too busy ranching.”
Robby gazed over at Cullen, mesmerized by the low timbre of his voice. As was she. “Too busy?” she asked lightly, inclining her head at Riot. “Or too leery of giving your heart away to another little cutie like this?”
Cullen’s head came up. As he exhaled, his broad shoulders tensed, then relaxed. “Too busy fixing up ranches, adding to my herd and moving from place to place.”
“How big a spread do you want?” she asked, edging closer.
Cullen set the empty bowl aside, then led the still-leashed Riot over to the grass. “Minimum, ten thousand acres and a couple thousand head of cattle.”
“Maximum?”
He shrugged. “Frank has fifty thousand acres on the Bar M.”
“You’d like to equal your family’s ranch?”
He nodded, solemn now. “Yeah, I would.”
There was something oddly sentimental about following in his father’s footsteps that way. Especially coming from such an unsentimental man. She looked out at the fenced acres, all of them spring-green and lush after plentiful March rains. “How many acres do you have here?”
Noting Riot had finished his business, Cullen praised him and patted him on the head. “Four thousand.”
“So you have a way to go.” She watched the puppy and man amble back onto the patio.
“I’ll get there,” he said confidently.
She’d bet he would.
In fact, she’d bet he would get just about anything he wanted. Good thing it wasn’t her.
* * *
BRIDGETT AND CULLEN had dinner together and got the baby and puppy settled, then Cullen excused himself to go check on one of his prize bulls. Bridgett used the momentary quiet to hit the shower and change into a pair of light gray yoga pants and a long-sleeved light blue T-shirt.
That done, she settled on her bed and began making a to-do list for the following day, including all the notifications she had to take care of that very evening. Two and a half hours later, she was still working on the last and most important one. Aware Robby would be waking again soon, and would need to be fed when he did, she headed back down to the kitchen.
Cullen was seated at the kitchen table, laptop in front of him and what appeared to be business materials all around him. To her surprise, he appeared to have had a shower, too. But he had put on jeans and a black body-hugging T-shirt that let her know just how taut and muscular his body was. Clearly, he didn’t sleep in jeans. Those were for her benefit, just like her yoga pants, instead of pj bottoms, were for his. She wondered if he slept in that shirt or went bare chested. Not that she should be conjuring up a mental image of him in boxers or briefs in the first place.
Her pulse kicking up a notch, Bridgett remained in the portal. Her face bare of all makeup, her freshly shampooed hair spilling about her shoulders in damp waves, she felt oddly defenseless. The situation suddenly way too intimate.
“Okay if I come in long enough to warm up a bottle?” she asked lightly.
He glanced up from the laptop in front of him, his gaze raking lightly over her from head to toe. Sensual lips curved into a ghost of a smile, he encouraged her to come in with a tilt of his handsome head. “Mi casa is you-all’s casa...”
Temporarily, Bridgett reminded herself. Very temporarily.
She could not share close quarters with a man she found this attractive. Not for long, anyway. Not without something ridiculously sexy and impulsive happening
.
“Not for much longer if the solution I have been working on all evening comes to fruition.”
Was that disappointment she saw etched on his handsome face?
He got up, suddenly. Went to the fridge, got a bottle of water, then held the door open for her so she could help herself, too. “How are things going up there?” His voice was low, polite.
She moved past to retrieve a premade bottle of formula, being careful not to touch him. She inhaled the clean, soapy scent of him. The minty smell of toothpaste. He hadn’t shaved and the evening beard shadowing his face gave him an even more ruggedly masculine air.
Aware she hadn’t answered his question yet, she smiled. “Both little fellas are still sleeping, but Robby should be waking up soon for another feeding, so I figured I would get ahead of the game and warm the bottle.”
He tilted his head, his gaze drifting over her lazily, creating little sparks of awareness. “Before all hell breaks loose,” he guessed.
Because she had no bottle warmer—yet—she filled a bowl with hot water and set the bottle in it. “I haven’t noticed anything being out of control this evening.” She adapted a militant stance. “If you discount the tiff with my landlord.”
He flashed a teasing grin. “That’s because, for the most part, there’s been two of us and two of them.”
It was so true she didn’t want to think—or was it worry?—about that. Adopting the confident, cheerful air she usually used to tackle the problems in life, she asked, “What time do you usually get up and out of here in the morning?”
“Before dawn, usually, but tomorrow I’m planning to hang around here and do office work, at least initially.” Seeing her unease, he murmured, “I also usually grab breakfast with the guys at the bunkhouse, but I could cook you breakfast.” He shrugged. “If that will help you out.”
There was a limit to how far she wanted his gallant involvement to extend. The vibe between them was far too personal already. “Or we could each cook our own,” she said pleasantly. Another spark of tension flickered between them, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
“Independent, hmm?”
The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue Page 3
