Cowboy Baby Daddy (A Secret Baby Romance Compilation)

by Claire Adams

  “Mom, I like it here,” I told her firmly. I frowned, knowing that she would expect more of an answer than that. “I love it in Chicago. You know that,” I admitted. “But it's a good change of pace, to come here for a little while. It's been a while since I was able to relax. The other day, I sat down with a book and did some reading out on my porch. Do you know how long it's been since I did any reading?”

  That finally got the conversation changed over to what book I was currently working my way through, and I breathed a mental sigh of relief.

  All I could think about, though, was that I was happy here, and Eric was part of the reason I was so happy. I swallowed hard and plucked a few last weeds from the ground, using the manual labor in a futile attempt to distract myself.

  Chapter Seven

  Eric

  Emma stood in front of the popsicle case for nearly five minutes, debating what she wanted. To be honest, she didn't deserve a popsicle that day, but I'd used it as a bribe to ensure her good behavior for the past half hour while I did a little shopping at the general store, and I knew what would happen if I reneged on my promise.

  To be really honest, I didn't need anything from the general store, but I'd needed to distract Emma and had hoped that getting her out of the house for a little while might do the trick. That day had been temper tantrum after temper tantrum, as though Emma was making up for the week apart while she'd been at daycare.

  Not for the first time, I felt bad that I couldn't devote more of my attention to her. I spent as much time with her as I could, and we were practically inseparable on the weekends, but I knew she needed more attention than what I was giving her. It was hard, being a single dad. Harder than I ever could have expected.

  I scooped Emma up into my arms, kissing her on the temple. “All right, kiddo, what's it going to be?” I asked.

  “I don't know, Daddy,” Emma whined. I wondered if maybe she was getting sick and that was the cause for all of this crankiness. But she hadn't made any complaints about feeling yucky, and her temperature seemed normal. I'd have to keep an eye on her over the next few days. Maybe I could trick her into coming into the office for some tests if she thought that we were playing a game of pretend.

  I had become a little overprotective of Emma since her mother's death, but although I recognized that in myself, I couldn't help it. If anything happened to Emma as well, it would ruin me.

  The bells over the door chimed, drawing me away from my thoughts. I glanced over to see who it was and grinned immediately. “Hi Olivia,” I said, waving at her. “Look, Emma, it's Ms. Olivia.”

  Emma didn't wave, and her face settled into a pout like she was upset that my attention had turned away from her for two seconds. She started to squirm a little, so I bent down to set her on the floor. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off, running into another aisle.

  Olivia looked shocked, and I grimaced, imagining what she must be thinking about my parenting ability at the moment. “Emma's a little cranky,” I apologized. “She's been riled up all day, and she hasn't been down for a nap yet. Don't take it personally.”

  “I wonder if it's something in the air,” Olivia said, managing a small, crooked smile. “I've been feeling pretty cranky myself.”

  I hummed, guessing I knew the source of Olivia's crankiness. I knew I shouldn't ask about how things were going with her mother, not so soon. I didn't want to harp on how important it was that she start chemo right away; I knew Olivia already understood the severity of the situation. I had no desire to ever see her cry like she had the other night. But the topic was important, and I couldn't just ignore that elephant in the room.

  “How is your mother?” I asked gently. “Have you reached any resolution regarding treatment?”

  Olivia's smile turned pained and brittle. “She and I had a good talk,” she said. “We're moving toward a decision.” There was something about the way she said it that made me wonder how genuine she was. But then again, she didn't seem like the kind of person to lie to me. She had been up front the last time the conversation hadn't gone well. I had to assume that we were making progress.

  I smiled at her. “That's great to hear,” I said.

  Olivia looked vaguely uncomfortable, fueling my further suspicions that things might not be going as well as she was trying to tell me they were. But before I could say anything in response, there was a loud crash from the next aisle over, and Emma's unmistakable wailing sounded.

  We both hurried toward the noise and found Emma lying on the floor, surrounded by boxes of cereal. She was holding her knee, her face contorted in pain. “Emma, what happened?” I asked frantically. She clung to me, continuing to wail. “Where does it hurt, baby?” I asked. It was kind of a stupid question; I could tell from the way she was holding her knee that that was what hurt. But in my frantic state, it was the first thing that I could think to say.

  “Emma, honey, can you tell us what happened?” Olivia asked gently. “Use your big kid words, please.”

  “I wanted the chocolate cereals, but when I tried to reach them, I fell,” Emma said tearfully.

  “Did you get a boo-boo on your knee?” Olivia asked, still just as calm as before.

  Emma nodded tearfully, and I took that as my moment to step in. “Do you want Daddy to kiss your boo-boo all better?” I asked. When I received another nod, I didn't hesitate to do just that. “How's that, sweetheart?” I asked.

  “It still hurts,” Emma said, but she wiped her eyes.

  “When I came in here, it looked like you guys were looking for ice cream,” Olivia said, an encouraging smile on her face. “And ice cream is the best thing when it comes to making boo-boos feel better. Even better than kisses.”

  Emma climbed hesitantly to her feet. “Daddy?” she asked.

  “We were looking at ice cream, weren't we?” I asked her, standing up and scooping her into my arms, trying not to let on how badly she had worried me with that cry.

  She nodded solemnly, and I carried her back toward the previous aisle. Olivia trailed behind us. “What's your favorite kind of ice cream, Emma?” she asked.

  “Strawberry,” Emma told her.

  “Oh, yum,” Olivia said. “I love strawberry ice cream. Especially when it has chocolate chips in it.”

  Emma's eyes grew wide. “Daddy, can we get strawberry ice cream with chocolate chips?” she asked shyly.

  I smiled. “I think we could do that,” I said, thankful to Olivia for solving the question of which frozen treat we'd be taking home. I could see how great she was with Emma, and there was something about that, coupled with the fun that we'd had the other night, that made me want nothing more than to invite her out for another evening.

  I couldn't date her; I knew that would be wildly inappropriate. But maybe we could meet up and discuss what we were going to do about her mother. She must still have questions.

  I turned toward her, about to open my mouth, but before I could say anything, the bells above the door chimed again, and Georgia Witherspoon waltzed into the shop. I grimaced, but there was no hoping that she wouldn't see me; we were pretty obvious, standing right there at the front of the aisle. I heaved a mental sigh and braced myself.

  Georgia Witherspoon was a nice enough woman, and beautiful to boot. She could have been a model if she'd wanted to. Maybe she was; I didn't know enough about her to really know. She was blonde and rail-thin, with big blue eyes and a sweet smile. And she'd been chasing after me ever since Emily died, making no attempts to sugarcoat her interest in me.

  I was no longer quite as bothered by her advances as I had been right after Emily had died, but I didn't exactly welcome them, either. She showed absolutely no compassion when I was mourning, and I didn't want to dishonor my former wife's memory. But it seemed like the more I held Georgia at arm's length, the pushier she became until the whole town knew that she was interested in me.

  In light of those advances, I had begun to actively avoid her as much as I could. Of course, some run-i
ns were inevitable, given what a small town Tamlin was. But why does it have to be here, when I'm with Emma and Olivia?

  The thought came unbidden, and I frowned. I wasn't asking Olivia out; we were discussing specifics of her mother's health. It didn't matter if Georgia overheard that.

  Georgia made a beeline toward us. Well, toward me, rather: she didn't even bother to introduce herself to Olivia, even though I was sure that the two hadn't met before. In fact, her eyes barely even grazed over the other woman. She was fixated on me.

  “My good Dr. Jones,” she said breathily. “How lucky that I ran into you here. See, I've been having this pain in my shoulders, and I was hoping you could look at it. It's not a sharp pain, but I've had it for a few days now, and I'm starting to get worried about it. What do you think it could be?”

  I barely resisted rolling my eyes, wondering how anyone could be quite as forward as her.

  Forward wasn't the word that I wanted to say.

  “Georgia, I'm off-duty now; you know that,” I told her. “I only deal with emergencies on the weekends.”

  “But what if it is an emergency?” Georgia asked, feigning real worry. “For all I know, I could have cancer.”

  I wanted to slap her, hearing that. As much as it hurt to hear her say something like that, though, my immediate thought was to look toward Olivia. I was sure it couldn't be easy to hear someone so flip about the idea of cancer, not with everything Olivia was going through with her mom at the moment. But Olivia's face was carefully neutral.

  Of course, that meant that I couldn't tell what she was thinking about this whole meeting. And for some reason, that worried me.

  “I doubt that a pain in your shoulders is cancer,” I told her. “But if you want me to take a look, there are tests that we can do when I'm actually in the office, if you want to make an appointment.”

  “But right here,” Georgia said, catching my hand and placing it on her front, dangerously close to her breast. “What do you think, Doctor?” she asked. “Is there a lump there? Can you feel anything?”

  I politely extracted my hand, hardly believing how bold she was being. I could only imagine what Olivia must be thinking.

  Not that Olivia would care, even if Georgia and I were dating. I was just her mom's doctor, but for some reason, I seemed to keep forgetting that. I shifted Emma in my arms, surprised that she had stayed so quiet through all of this. I knew it was because she needed a nap.

  That was the perfect excuse for me to get out of there, I realized.

  “I don't feel anything there, but if you'd like to have some tests run, for cancer or anything else that might be wrong, you're welcome to make an appointment, just like everyone else,” I told Georgia, my tone frosty. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to enjoy the rest of my weekend. And I think it's time for Emma to go down for a nap.”

  Emma stirred in my arms, pouting at me. “No, Daddy,” she said plaintively, but from the way she cuddled closer to me, I could tell that she was ready to go to sleep for an hour or so. I smiled down at her; she was cute like this.

  Olivia was smiling at the young girl as well. Georgia, on the other hand, looked disgusted. I wondered what she thought would happen if she and I did get together. Didn't she realize that she was going to have to see Emma all the time?

  I hid a smile, pressing a kiss to Emma's forehead. Then, I bent down to scoop up our shopping.

  I couldn't resist one parting shot toward Georgia. I smiled at Olivia. “I'll see you tomorrow morning,” I told her.

  She waved at me, and I went to check out.

  Chapter Eight

  Olivia

  I didn't want to say that Monday morning came too soon, but waking up after a restless sleep, knowing that I would be dealing with Emma all day again, was enough to make me sigh. Of course, I had done some planning over the weekend, and I thought I had enough activities to keep her and Harlan entertained, when he joined us after school. If she would behave herself, and if I could pull Harlan away from his screen.

  If I were well-rested, I'd probably have been feeling pretty good. But the previous night, I'd been plagued with thoughts about Georgia and our run-in at the general store. I could tell that she was interested in Eric; she hadn't made any secret of that. I could still hardly believe that she'd basically put his hand on her breast, right in the middle of the store. There had to be some sort of history there, but whatever it was, I didn't know it. And it wasn't like I could ask Mom about them; she'd only tease me about being interested in Eric.

  I was coming to realize that I was, in fact, interested in him, but I knew that there was no way I could ever have him. It would be so inappropriate for me to even consider asking him out. He was my mother's doctor. Anyway, I needed to focus my energies on convincing Mom to start chemo. I couldn't afford to be distracted by some guy, no matter how handsome and caring he was.

  It bothered me to think of him with Georgia, though. From the way they'd been acting, I had a feeling they must have dated in the past. And it made sense. Eric was probably the only eligible bachelor in town, and there was no denying that Georgia was gorgeous.

  Even if Eric weren't Mom's doctor, the more I thought about it, the more I doubted he would be interested in me. Our dinner date was lovely, but afterward, I'd cried all over him. If that hadn't been enough to permanently friend-zone me, I didn't know what was. And he hadn't even kissed me goodnight. Instead, we'd hugged, and that hug, unlike the one at Mom's house, had been super awkward, like he felt obligated to deliver it rather than actually wanting to deliver it.

  I'd probably looked awful after all that crying. But that was even assuming that he'd thought I looked good in the first place. He probably wasn't even interested in me.

  Especially not with someone like Georgia throwing herself at him.

  Harlan's dad called just before 9 to let me know that Harlan was feeling sick and wouldn't be coming into daycare that day. Well, that was one fewer kid that I had to worry about entertaining for the day. And it meant that I was all alone in the house when Eric arrived with Emma.

  Emma immediately skipped over to the box of coloring supplies, looking the happiest that I'd ever seen her. Eric looked happy too, and he was carrying two coffees from the diner. “Good morning,” he greeted me.

  “Good morning,” I said, wondering what had the pair of them in such good spirits. But I wasn't about to question it.

  “Do you like theater?” Eric asked, handing me one of the coffees.

  I frowned at him. “Is there a theater in Tamlin?”

  “Oh no,” Eric said, shaking his head. He grinned. “One of my patients gave me two tickets to a play that they're putting on in Westbrook on Wednesday night. He practically begged me to go.” He paused, his grin widening. “I figure if I have to go, I might as well torture someone else with it as well. So I really hope your answer is that, no, you don't like theater.”

  I burst out laughing. “It can't be that bad,” I said.

  “Only time will tell, I guess,” Eric said, shaking his head. “You interested? I could pick you up around 5, and we could get an early dinner before the show.”

  Hope bloomed in my chest. There was no mention of illnesses this time, and it sounded like an actual date, rather than something that friends would do. I couldn't keep the smile off my face. “I guess I could go with you,” I said. “Just for the sake of your sanity. You shouldn't have to endure torture on your own.”

  “Phew,” Eric said. “I didn't know what I was going to do if you said no.”

  “You'll have to pay for dinner, too,” I teased.

  “Done,” Eric said. He glanced at his watch. “Well, I have to get to work, but I'll see you on Wednesday.” Then, he frowned. “I mean, I'll see you sooner than Wednesday since I'll have to pick up Emma this afternoon, and then I'll drop her off and pick her up again tomorrow.”

  I laughed at how flustered he was. Maybe I wasn't the only one who was starting to develop feelings for the other. “I understand,”
I told him. “See you this afternoon, and looking forward to the show on Wednesday.”

  On Wednesday, I pulled out practically everything that I owned, trying to figure out what I wanted to wear for the date. Of course, I still didn't know if he thought this was a date or not. He'd made no indication when he was asking me. For all I knew, he just felt bad wasting one of the tickets since they'd been a gift from his patient. But I was going to make it clear that I considered this to be a date, whatever he thought about it.

  I finally settled on a black, lacy cocktail dress that I had never had an occasion to wear before. With its A-line waist skirt, it emphasized my curves without being too over-the-top, and it would match with whatever he was wearing. I wore a simple pair of flats with it, not wanting to look overdressed by pairing the outfit with heels, and I brushed out my hair but left it falling in soft waves over my shoulders.

  When I answered the door to Eric's knock, I could tell that I had played things right. From the expression on his face to the sharp intake of breath, I could tell that I'd made an impression. I grinned inwardly, but outwardly, I tried to act nonchalant.

  “Hey,” I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek and then following him down to the car. I knew it was going to be about half an hour to get over to Westbrook, but if this went the same as our previous evening together, we'd have no problem coming up with things to talk about.

  “So just so I know how much you're going to hate tonight, what's the worst play that you've ever been to?” Eric asked as he started driving.

  I giggled and shook my head. “For all you know, tonight's performance is going to be incredible,” I told him.

  “It could be,” Eric conceded. “But you don't know Henry Welden, and he's the lead in this play.”

  I thought back. “Probably the worst play that I've ever been to was this rendition of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' that I went to when I was about 13,” I mused. “A family friend was performing in it, but he just had some bit part, nothing special. He was over the moon about it, though, and dragged us all along. I spent the whole play not sure what was happening. It didn't help that the actors didn't have microphones, and you couldn't hear half of what was being said.”