“I don’t know how Lulu’d know of any physical resemblance between the two,” Cullen muttered.
Bridgett tilted her head, perplexed.
He frowned. “I never showed the photos of my late dog to anyone here.”
“But your entire family knew about the pet,” Bridgett ascertained.
He nodded.
“What did Riot Senior look like?” Bridgett asked.
“He was a black, brown and white German shepherd, chocolate Lab, collie mix.”
“So, in reality there isn’t much physical similarity between the two Riots, aside from the color of their coats,” Bridgett surmised, wondering what the connection was.
“Correct, since Riot Junior appears to be all beagle and golden retriever,” Sara remarked as she examined his eyes, ears and nose.
Cullen raised his brows. “How can you tell?”
Sara looked at the mutt’s mouth and teeth. “The shape of his face and eyes, the long snout. The floppy ears. Silky coat and tail...”
Bridgett sighed dreamily. “He is cute.”
“Definitely,” Sara agreed, palpating the puppy’s abdomen and lymph nodes.
“And very sweet,” Bridgett continued. Hearing Robby fuss, she went to get him.
“Maybe the two of you should start a fan club,” Cullen teased.
“Or a new breed,” Sara Anderson suggested, grinning as Bridgett rejoined them. “One that will win Grand Champion at the dog shows every time.”
United by the puppy, they all smiled.
“Why haven’t you ever mentioned you like dogs?” Sara asked Cullen.
He watched her give the vaccinations. “It wasn’t a big deal. I like all animals.”
Except it was a big deal, given how quickly he had bonded with the mutt, Bridgett thought. As quickly as she had bonded with Robby.
“Well, all I can say is that this one seemed attached to your hip when you strode up here. How many days has it been now?” Sara prodded.
Shrugging, Cullen replied, “Three and a half days.”
Three and a half days that were changing their lives, Bridgett thought.
Three and a half days to tell her how much she knew about the Cullen behind the mask of gruff chivalry and how much she didn’t.
“How old is the puppy?” Bridgett asked.
Sara made a few notes on the chart. “He still has all his baby teeth, so I’m guessing around twelve weeks. Do you want to microchip in case he gets lost again?”
“Yes,” Bridgett and Cullen said, unexpectedly in unison.
Sara smiled at them. “Okay, that can be done in the office if you schedule an appointment. In the meantime, you’re going to want to get some tags on him. Or a collar with his contact information.”
“I’ve already ordered both,” Cullen said, stunning Bridgett yet again. “They should be delivered in the next day or so. What?” He mugged at their astonished looks. “I’m efficient.”
Sara smiled tenderly at the little mutt and scratched him behind the ears. “Well, I hope you get to keep him—if he doesn’t already have a family, and I’m guessing not, or we would have seen posters up for him as well as calls to the shelters in the last week. The Fire Department faxed his photo around, too. In any case, I think you should get a dog for yourself, McCabe. Better yet—” Sara winked “—you can train one of my therapy dogs.”
Culled squinted. “I thought those were only for military vets.”
“Not all of our wounded warriors can train their own companion dogs. Some need their service animals trained for them. Which is where you would come in.”
Cullen promised readily. “I’ll see what I can do to help out with that, after the auction.”
“Good. Bridgett, nice to see you again. We need to spend more time together. Catch up. Get to know each other all over again. High school was a loooong time ago.”
Bridgett laughed. “No kidding.”
Vet bag in hand, Sara headed for the door.
When they were alone again, Bridgett turned to Cullen. “Why didn’t you tell me both dogs were named Riot?”
* * *
CULLEN HAD FIGURED she wouldn’t be happy about the oversight. “I was hoping to figure out what the link was, first.”
“And have you?”
He worked to contain his frustration. “No. But when I eventually do, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
To his surprise, Bridgett looked appeased.
Infant in her arms, she walked with him out into the yard, standing nearby while the leashed Riot did what he had to do. She turned to him, her eyes full of questions. “I’d really like to see some photos of the original Riot.”
The last time he’d reminisced over his deceased family pet, it had stirred up a grief that nagged at him for days. “I’m not really sure where they are,” Cullen fibbed.
“If you come across any, then...”
He nodded, promising nothing. Together, they walked inside the ranch house. Turning her attention back to the baby in her arms, she said, “Hey, little fella, you have one damp diaper.” She put him down on the changing pad atop the sofa, unsnapped his sleeper and opened up the soiled diaper.
Cullen winced at the ugly yellow stump emerging from the center of Robby’s little tummy. “Is he okay?” he asked in alarm.
Bridgett cleaned the area gently. “This is the umbilical cord.”
“Is it supposed to look like that?”
Her nursing background coming into play, Bridgett sent him a reassuring glance. “Yes. It takes ten days to three weeks for it to heal completely and fall off. And just so you’re prepared—during that time it will go from yellow to brown to black.”
He exhaled, still watching intently, still keeping his distance. “You know, this could be a problem. How little you know about babies and how little I know about dogs.”
He settled Riot on his dog cushion and watched her put a fresh diaper on Robby. “What are you suggesting?”
“That we switch for a while.”
Cullen would have thought she was joking, save for the serious look on her face as she finished dressing Robby and then put him in his Moses basket. “How about you give him a bottle and rock him for a while, and I’ll take Riot for a walk.”
“Why would we want to do that when this is all working so well?”
Her chin jerked up. “Because we’re living on a ranch miles from town, and you’re my backup with Robby and I’m yours with Riot.”
“Exactly. Backup.” His gaze moved over her silky-soft lips before returning to focus on the tumult in her pretty green eyes. “The likelihood of either of us needing to do the other’s job is almost nil.”
“Almost being the operative word.” She looked at him for a long, quelling moment then propped her hands on her hips. “Look, I didn’t mention it, because I thought I would be long gone by now, but, because the three of us—” she made a sweeping motion with one hand “—are staying here at your very kind invitation, I’m forced to make a case to social services that this situation really is best for the baby. Plus, you said you wanted to be responsible.”
He caught the hint of accusation in her low tone. Wishing he could kiss her again, without fear of driving her away, he retorted equably, “And I do.”
“So?” she challenged with a tilt of her pretty head. “What’s the big deal, then?”
He was competent on the ranch, in the kitchen and the bedroom, but this...spending time with her and the baby...threw him for a loop. She was still staring at him like he was the most perplexing person on Earth.
He exhaled and said matter-of-factly, “The big deal is I don’t know anything about babies, never mind an infant that was just born a few days ago.”
Bridgett adapted a defiant stance. “Actually, Robby is at least a week old now. So far as we can tell, any
way.”
For a moment, they both fell silent again. Cullen tried not to be bummed about the fact that they might never know specifically where or when Robby had been born. He thought it had been tough growing up without a named dad. Not having knowledge of either parent would really leave a kid rudderless.
His protective instincts escalated. “He’s still way too young to be left alone with a novice.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You might have a point.”
“I always have a point.”
She laughed softly. “Okay.” She tried again. “How about I heat the bottle and then we sit together on the porch swing. You can feed Robby while I talk you through it, and then we’ll take everyone on a walk. You can push the convertible stroller, and I’ll handle the leash, and you can instruct me on the proper way to do that.” She flashed him a wry smile. “So I’m not being dragged along the way I have every time I’ve tried to take Riot somewhere by myself.”
It was a reasonable request. One, in the end, he couldn’t refuse.
* * *
ALTHOUGH BRIDGETT HAD TAUGHT a lot of new moms and dads how to handle a newborn baby, she hadn’t ever instructed someone she was attracted to. However, she sort of liked the idea of Cullen turning to her, even if it was just for information.
Sitting close enough to him to be able to reach out and help, if needed, she inhaled the brisk masculine scent of his hair and skin as she watched Cullen gingerly hold Robby in both his big hands.
“Support his head and neck.” She put her hands beneath Cullen’s, to help guide him, trying not to notice how strong and masculine he felt. “Snuggle Robby in one arm and cradle him against your chest. Keep his head a little higher than his body. Yes, like that.” Her pulse racing, she handed over the bottle of warmed formula. “Now, offer the bottle. When he feels the nipple against his lips he’ll know what to do.”
She flushed at the unintended double entendre. Shook her head. “Sorry. That was...”
Successfully following her instructions, Cullen said, “True?” Mischief glimmered in his eyes. So he was feeling the sexual awareness, too!
His flirtatious gibe sent a shiver of awareness spiraling through her. It was a good thing they were well chaperoned. Otherwise, who knew what might happen between them? She pretended an aloofness she couldn’t begin to feel. “Ha, ha.”
His sexy grin widened. “I aim to amuse and be helpful, too.”
Which could be a problem, Bridgett thought, rolling her eyes. Since she already had been wondering what it might be like to kiss him just one more time. Luckily, they had tasks ahead of them that would prevent just that from happening.
“So, what next?” Cullen asked, as Robby drank hungrily.
Exactly what you think. We proceed, oh, so cautiously. And try not to kiss again—never mind be tempted to recklessly make love!
Tamping down her rising desire, Bridgett turned her full attention back to the baby, then continued in the soft, encouraging tone she used with all new parents. “You’re going to want to feed him an ounce. Two at most, then stop and burp him, so he doesn’t get too much air in his tummy.”
Cullen watched the baby feed with a surprising air of contentment. “We wouldn’t want that,” he cooed softly, smiling as Robby tapped his hand against the side of the bottle.
“No,” Bridgett agreed, acutely aware of what a good daddy Cullen would make. Even if he didn’t yet know it. “We wouldn’t...”
For another minute or so, they sat in silence. Savoring the wonder of the moment, the peace that could be had when caring for new life. Was this what it would be like if they had been Robby’s parents? All Bridgett knew for certain was that something about this whole situation was more magical and alluring than anything she had ever felt before.
Cullen seemed introspective, too.
Finally, he took the bottle away, checked and saw that about an ounce and a half of formula had been ingested. He handed her the bottle, then shifted Robby upright against his shoulder, in the same way she knew he had seen her do.
The sight of the big, strapping cowboy holding the fragile infant with so much awkward tenderness was almost her undoing. Again, she talked Cullen through the basics of burping. He patted Robby’s back gently until a resounding belch filled the air.
Cullen chuckled, impressed by the man-size effort. “Do I feed him again?”
“Yes.”
He shifted Robby with a little more confidence this time, nestled him in his strong arm and held him against his chest.
“Know what to do?”
“Feed. Burp. Repeat.”
“You’ve got it, cowboy.” Bridgett eased away from him, realizing she had been sitting way too close on the swing.
Her heart swelling with all she was feeling, she watched as a big silver pickup truck came up the lane. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No. You?”
Bridgett shook her head. The luxury vehicle came to a halt, and the local Cattleman’s Association president stepped out. Bridgett half expected Cullen to shift the baby to her arms. Instead, he nodded at their guest. “Let him know we’re back here,” he said.
Bridgett stepped off the screened-in porch. “Hey, Sam!” she called to one of the biggest supporters of the hospital fund-raiser every year.
Kirkland waved and strode toward them. His glance cut to Cullen, who still didn’t let go of the baby. He held his hat against his chest. “Hope this isn’t a bad time.”
Seeing Robby had taken another ounce of formula, Cullen shifted him to his shoulder to burp. “What’s up?”
“I’m just checking to see if there’s anything the association can do to support your upcoming virtual auction.”
Cullen used the corner of the burp cloth to dab at the milk bubbles appearing on the corners of Robby’s lips. “Vouch for the quality of my breeding program if anyone asks.”
Sam cut a glance toward Bridgett. Cullen gave the other rancher a look indicating he should continue.
“Actually, we already have had a number of calls the past few days, with questions about your cattle operation,” Sam said.
Cullen frowned. “Which doesn’t usually happen.”
Sam grimaced. “Not to someone of your reputation who is auctioning off purebred Hotlander cattle, no.”
A tense silence fell. Cullen exhaled heavily, even as he kept right on feeding Robby. “It’s about the baby and the puppy...”
Sam cleared his throat. “Well...you know. People talk. And character counts.”
Cullen squinted at their guest. “And people wonder why I’m still denying what they feel is obvious?”
Sam Kirkland sidestepped that landmine. “Look, all I’m saying is that if you want to delay your sale until things settle down, no one would fault you for it.”
“No.” Cullen stood, gently handing Robby to Bridgett then squaring off with their guest. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Nothing to feel ashamed about. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to act like I do.”
Chapter Six
“You’re sure you still want to go on a walk?” Bridgett asked short minutes later, after a drowsy and content Robby had been strapped into his convertible stroller.
Cullen snapped the leash onto Riot’s collar. “That was our deal.” He flexed his brawny shoulders, the motion as careless as his attitude. “You teach me. I teach you...”
“But after what just happened. With Sam Kirkland...”
He shrugged, as if the inquiries into his trustworthiness were of no consequence. “It’s a nice afternoon for a walk and everyone is cooperating.”
“Well, maybe it will help dissipate the steam coming out of your ears.”
To her frustration, he didn’t even crack a smile. He was back to being the grim, testy rancher who had come striding toward her in the hospital. He inhaled a long breath that expanded the i
mpressive musculature of his chest and drew her attention to his washboard abs. “I know you mean well, Bridgett, but you don’t need to be concerned about me.”
“Really?” She toed off her flats, sat to slip on some boot socks then stretched out one leg at a time to pull on her favorite peacock-blue cowgirl boots. “Because you sure look like you need some emotional support.”
Something flickered in his expression at that. Annoyance at having been thought to need anything or anyone, probably. “Is that what this is?” he asked in surprise.
Bridgett was suddenly stunned to realize how much she was beginning to care for him. “Isn’t that what you’ve been giving me the past few days?”
His glance lingered on the bare skin of her upper calves between the boots and the hem of her denim skirt before moving over her fitted shirt to her face. He escorted the puppy to the other side of the threshold, then held the door for her. She gently pushed the stroller out.
Showered but unshaved, wearing a dark green canvas shirt and jeans, he was every inch the indomitable Texan. He sent her a level look, showing her how to situate Riot at her left side and hold the leash with two hands across her body. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
Their fingertips brushed as he released her.
“Well, I have.” Determined to get through to him, she ignored the new heat in her skin and said in a cajoling voice, “I think we could be friends, Cullen McCabe. Good ones.”
“Friends,” Cullen repeated. He came closer, his expression that of a lion stalking his prey.
Her heart did a funny little twist inside her chest. Needing a little space to compose herself, she moved herself and Riot to the other side of the stroller. “You don’t want to be friends?”
Pushing the stroller down the long paved road that wound through the ranch, he gave her another sidelong glance. His expression didn’t change in the slightest. Yet there was something, a small glimmer of bemusement, in his blue eyes. “Platonic friends?”
She fought a blush. Duh. “What other kind is there?”
He gave her a seductive look. “Come on. Don’t act like you’re that surprised something more might be in our future. You felt that kiss as much as I did, the other night.”
The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue Page 6
