The Bull Rider's Christmas Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  “I’ve got work to do,” he snapped.

  “I only made an innocent comment. Why are you defensive?”

  “You really wanna know?” Stabbing his pitchfork in hay, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Because aside from one insanely hot night, I don’t even know you. Because what happened in my life before we met is none of your business. Because I just want a few minutes to myself to process the fact that like it or not I’m going to be a father. I’ve got a million reasons. Need more?”

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  He was right—on all counts. So why did that fact hurt? Why did she even care? In a week she and her baby would be on their way, and aside from what would hopefully be civilized holiday visits she’d rarely see him again.

  “Damn, if I don’t feel married already.” After smacking the stable wall, he marched toward the house.

  Upon noticing his backside was equally impressive, Wren felt her mouth go dry. If only she didn’t have those wild Vegas flashbacks to contend with. Maybe then she’d stand a fighting chance at keeping her mind on task. As for where her body was headed…

  The baby she carried pretty much said it all!

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER Cash pushed himself out of the pool and grabbed for a towel. A swim always cleared the fog from his brain. Too bad his knee still hurt like hell. The morning’s rain was long gone and with sun beating on wet prairie, the day had been a scorcher. The scent of drying chlorine already rose from the pavement.

  He reluctantly headed for the house. Wren carried his child. Shouldn’t he at least feel warm and fuzzy to ward her? Instead, the notion of not only seeing her again, but being stuck with her for a week was incomprehensible.

  What would they talk about? Would his mother keep riding him about marrying? Couldn’t she just accept the fact that he had reasons he wasn’t ready to head down the aisle—damned good ones?

  He found Wren in his guest room, lying crossways on the bed reading, damn near camouflaged by clothes. T-shirts, shorts and silky, lacy unmentionables, the mere sight of which had him shifting his fly to a more comfortable position. Their night in Vegas hadn’t been merely hot, but more like an inferno. Where was that woman now? And how the hell had she squeezed so much into an overnight bag?

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” After raising her gaze from the pages of what looked to be a steamy, pirate-ravishing-a-maiden saga, she rolled onto her side. “Why?”

  “You look like an old cat I used to have. She’d spend hours ripping up my room, then lounge among the wreckage, purring like a feline queen.”

  Wren laughed. “No purring for me. Just exhaustion. I got off to a great start unpacking, but I seem to have a tenth of my normal energy. It’s a drag.”

  “Sorry.” Not sure what to do with his hands, he settled on crossing his arms.

  “What’re you apologizing for?”

  “Not to brag, but it was my superhuman seed that got you into this predicament.” After capping off his outrageous statement with the slow grin that universally got him out of hot water with women of all ages, he yanked off his towel, using it to wipe down his stillwater-beaded chest.

  Wren rolled her eyes. “Never have I encountered an ego bigger than yours.”

  “Thanks.” He rubbed his damp hair. “I think.” He’d just started unfastening his swim trunk’s button-fly when the good almost-doctor cleared her throat.

  “Do you mind?” Slapping down her book, she raised her eyebrows a good inch.

  “Mind what?”

  “Not undressing in front of me.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, we might be strangers when it comes to knowing each other’s favorite colors and foods. But in the biblical sense, back in Vegas, we pretty much become experts on each other’s anatomy. Think it’s a little late for you to now turn shy.”

  It didn’t take special psychological training to see that she struggled keeping her eyes off him.

  “It’s all right, you know.” He gave his chest and abs a flourish. “You’re allowed to look.”

  Not only did she grab for the nearest eye covering, but she said, “For the duration of my stay, it would be most appreciated if you’d disrobe in your own room.”

  On that, he had to laugh. Two could play this game. “Oh, honey, I’ll keep my naked body behind closed doors as long as you quit waving those she-devil scraps you call panties in front of your face.”

  Yanking them down to see that she had indeed covered her eyes with lace, she growled.

  He smiled and took his sweet time sauntering all the way into his shower.

  Chapter Three

  “Could you please speed it up?”

  Standing in front of a pen filled with adorably chirping, fuzzy yellow chicks, Wren shot Cash a dirty look. They’d shared a house for all of two days and already the man drove her nuts. “Since I’m still dizzy, I told you I could ask your mother to drive me to town for sham poo. Then I wouldn’t have had you nagging me over every little thing.”

  “And I told you, nobody carts around my pregnant woman but me. You’re my responsibility. Besides, even if Mom had driven you, I was already headed to the feed store, so what was the point in wasting two tanks of gas?” In honor of their being out in civilization—if Weed Gulch and all ten of its downtown stores could even be considered civilized—Cash had at least worn clean boots and a long-sleeved baby-blue shirt that did wicked-good things to his green eyes. Not to be too formal, he’d left his shirttails loose. His straw cowboy hat looked as if it had been sat on one too many times and then run over by a tractor. Despite that fact, even at the feed store Cash drew women the way cupcakes drew kindergartners.

  “Afternoon, Miss Lucy.” He tipped his hat to a pigtailed five-year-old who was kicking the fool out of a gum ball machine. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “It took my money.”

  Kneeling, he plucked her fallen quarter from the concrete floor. “Wouldn’t happen to be this money, would it?”

  Arms around him for a hug, she said, “Thanks, Cash.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  Moving a few aisles farther, he asked Wren, “Want me to buy you some chicks?”

  “What would I do with them?”

  He shot her an indecipherable look before moving deeper into the store. His long-legged stride made it impossible for her to keep up, so she didn’t even try, in stead losing herself in the novelty of a place that sold not only live chickens but veterinary supplies, denim overalls and Crock-Pots. The rich scent of grain mingled with that of freshly popped popcorn—given away free with every purchased can of coconut popping oil.

  Mouth watering, she grabbed a still-warm bag as well as everything needed to make the snack at home.

  “Cash Buckhorn,” said a big-haired blonde near a card board weed-killer display, “as I live and breathe. Been doing much dating since that knee has you stuck in town?”

  “Nope.” He took two pairs of leather gloves from a rack. One pair large. The other small. “Heard you stood up for Ruby at her wedding.”

  Eyes closed, the woman hugged herself, expression dreamy. “It was the most gorgeous ceremony ever. You know how Ruby’s daddy prides himself on having the prettiest barn in three counties? Well, he had it decked out so fancy you’d be hard-pressed to even tell horses usually live there.”

  “That’s nice.” A muscle ticked in Cash’s jaw.

  “Ruby thought it might’ve been awkward had she sent you an invitation.”

  He shrugged. “She’d have been right.”

  Careful to remain in the shadows of rakes and hoes, Wren continued peeking around the wood handles, curious as to where this conversation was leading.

  “You poor thing.” Hands on her hips, the mystery woman cocked her head. “You’re as heartsick as a kitten leaving its litter. Come to the Grange Hall dance with me Saturday night. It’ll be just what you need.”

  “Love to,” he said, “but besides my bum knee, I can’t.”r />
  “Oh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He sidestepped the woman to snag a gaping Wren around her waist. “Please meet the mother of my child, Dr. Wren Barnes. Since she’ll be bunking with me till week’s end, even if my knee worked, it’d hardly be proper for me to go dancing with you.”

  Before Wren could answer, Cash planted on her lips a kiss so hot that she thought if he kept it up much longer, her popcorn-making supplies would burst without a stove!

  “WHY’D YOU DO THAT?” Wren demanded once Cash had her back in his truck.

  “You being a city gal,” he said with a sideways glance while backing out of the lot, “and looking about twenty months pregnant, you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.” As amazing as the kiss had been for a feverish few seconds, the aftermath had been a nightmare. She’d always been a private person, and it had never occurred to her that it was even possible to know every single person in a store. But Cash did. And now all those people were under the impression that she was Cash’s girl. Only, she wasn’t. Fortunately, she’d soon be gone, leaving him on his own to chase the tails of whatever lies he’d spun.

  Since her companion obviously had no logical explanation for his unappreciated—although decidedly expert—advances, Wren focused on the scenery. Weed Gulch boasted one main road, which also happened to be a state highway. On that road there were two stop lights. One at the intersection in front of the town hall. The other at the entrance to the local school that housed kindergarten through grade twelve, all on the same campus. According to the Kiwanis Club sign, the Weed Gulch Wagoneers had been 1A state baseball champs in 1989.

  Here and there were housing subdivisions mixed in with mobile homes and barns. Reasor’s Grocery stood adjacent to a pasture filled with grazing cattle. A fieldstone library was squeezed between a mom-and-pop barbecue restaurant and the shell of an old convenience store that now served as a used car lot.

  “You may not understand that kiss,” Cash said out of the blue, “but trust me, sometimes these things have to get done.” Veering onto the county road leading to the dirt road that led to the ranch, Cash said, “Ruby used to be mine. Now, all because I didn’t feel the timing was right for me to settle down, she’s already gotten herself married to another guy. Tell me, does that sound right?”

  Wren angled to face him. “In other words, in a perfect world she should have spent her whole life waiting for you to be ready?”

  “I never said anything of the sort.”

  “Uh-huh.” Frowning, she added, “Which leads us right back to my question of if you didn’t want to marry her, why do you even care that some other guy did?”

  “I don’t. Not really.” One hand on the wheel, with his other he fished a stick of Big Red from the pack he kept on the dash. Her mouth watered from the sweet cinnamon smell, but she refused to give him the pleasure of asking for a piece. “Truth is we’d long ago grown apart. The twentieth time around with her only told me what I already knew—together we had smokin’ chemistry, but little else.” Thoughtfully chewing, he added, “This is more of an ego thing. I’m easily the best-looking man in the county. Can’t have people thinking I’m not worthy of marriage.”

  “Your head gets any bigger, you’ll have to add a sun roof for you to fit in your own truck.”

  He winked, leading her to the conclusion that her dig hadn’t bothered him in the least. What did was the notion of him being with this Ruby in an intimate manner. Why, she couldn’t say, but with his baby growing inside her, she couldn’t bear to think of his skilled hands being on any other woman’s curves.

  “What’s wrong with your knee?” she asked, to clear her mind of irrational jealousy. “Nothing.”

  She pressed, “Then why do you sometimes walk with a limp and you told the blonde back at the feed store that your knee’s bum?”

  “Long story,” he said with a glance out his window. He didn’t say another word, and his clenched jaw and tightened hold on the wheel told her to stay out of his business.

  A GOOD FIFTEEN MILES down the road, Cash slowed upon finding Doc Haven’s white cargo van pulled in front of Delores Hawke’s place.

  Slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting the town doctor who’d run into the middle of the road, Cash instinctively stretched out his arm to brace Wren. “Hold on….”

  The white-haired doctor jogged to Cash’s side of the truck.

  Cash lowered his window. “Need help?”

  “And then some,” the older man said, struggling to catch his breath. “Delores took a tumble from her kitchen stool. Not only broke her hip, but put a nasty gash on her head. County ambulance is clear over in Marquette dealing with a cardiac arrest. Can you help me get her stabilized and in the back of my van?”

  “Absolutely,” Cash said, already pulling to the side of the road.

  The elderly woman’s home was stifling, reeking of Bengay and mothballs, and at least ten degrees warmer than the muggy eighty outside. Sidestepping stacked news papers and yarn-filled baskets, they finally reached the moaning woman.

  Kneeling alongside Delores, oblivious to the blood, Wren took the woman’s hand, smoothing the top, assuring her everything would be okay.

  Wren helped herself to alcohol swabs from the doctor’s bag and cleaned Delores’s forehead. Though the wound had bled a lot, it looked to be superficial. Cash had been hurt enough during his rodeo days that he knew the difference between a major blow and one that’d let you finish out your rides.

  Wren distracted the older woman further by making small talk and then holding firmly to her hand while Cash and Doc hefted her onto a gurney.

  Within minutes, the pain meds Doc had loaded into Delores’s IV conked her right out.

  “Whew,” Doc said once they’d gotten the patient settled in the back of the air-conditioned van. Removing his cowboy hat, he used his shirtsleeve to wipe sweat from his brow. “I sure am glad you two came along when you did.”

  “Why didn’t you call the house?” Cash asked.

  “I did. Only, no one picked up.” Looking to Wren, the man said, “I appreciate the help, but why are you out of bed?”

  Wren looked sheepish. “We just made a quick run to the store.”

  “Hmmph.” Doc Haven frowned. “Well, try to take it easy from here on.” He paused, then added, “You certainly have a way with patients and seem familiar with a head wound. Nurse?”

  “She’s nearly a doctor,” Cash offered, unexpectedly proud of Wren’s achievements. “Graduated from Johns Hopkins.”

  Doc whistled. “Dang, girl. With a fancy pedigree like that, you probably already know more than me.”

  “I would hardly say that.” Wren reddened. Her flushed cheeks made her look younger. Less world-weary than her usual concentrated expression. Patting her belly, she said, “I’m supposed to be in my residency now, but life sort of got in the way.”

  Eyeing Cash and then her, he harrumphed. “In my day, folks got married before having babies.”

  Cash grinned. “Back in your day, you also didn’t have microwave ovens or HDTV.”

  “Your point being?” The doctor put his bag on the truck’s passenger side.

  “Only that whether we’re married or not doesn’t make a hill-of-beans difference to this little guy or gal.” He cinched his arm around Wren’s waist. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but it made him inordinately glad that she was as forward thinking in her anti-marriage views as he was.

  “YOU’VE HARDLY SAID A WORD since we’ve been home.” Cash finished unloading the feed from the truck to find Wren at the kitchen table, a cookie in one hand and her pirate book in the other.

  “You’re still not talking to me?” Easing onto a counter stool, he noted, “And seeing how much you like hearing your own voice, I must’ve done something pretty bad.”

  She treated him with a glare.

  “At least you’re looking at me. Somewhat of an improvement.” He pitched a wadded napkin at her.

  “Stop,” she barked. “I’m a
t a good part and would appreciate not being disturbed.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? Whatever I did this time for you to be mad at me, I’m a miserable excuse of a human, lower than the manure lining the soles of my work boots.” Off the stool, he was suddenly behind her, folding his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

  Breaking free, she fairly flew to the side of the cramped room that he wasn’t on. “Lay off the charm. I’m immune.”

  “You wish.” He winked, and as if on cue, the butterflies in her traitorous tummy fluttered. “Come on,” he coaxed, moving close to her. “You know you wanna tell me why I’m the most wretched beast to ever roam the earth.”

  Tired of fighting, Wren allowed herself a few minutes’ surrender. Leaning against him, soaking in his strength was akin to removing twin bricks from her shoulders. “It’s stupid.”

  “The reason you’re upset?”

  She nodded. He’d wrapped her in a backward bear hug and she circled his muscular forearms with her hands, resting her cheek on his shoulder. His T-shirt smelled clean and fresh, his skin like baked-in sun and soap and that unique something she inherently knew was him. Like it or not, a part of him grew inside her.

  “Out with it,” he urged.

  “All day you’ve told anyone who would listen that I’m carrying your baby. When the doctor asked if we were tying the knot, you seemed to delight in telling him we aren’t.”

  Tensing against her, he noted, “I don’t delight—ever.”

  “Whatever you want to call it, I got the notion you were sticking it to everyone who’s ever told you what to do. Using our baby to thumb your nose at their conventionalism.”

  He took a long time to answer. “That’s not true. I’m just relieved you feel the same way about getting hitched. I’m not ready for that, and to be honest, I’m not sure I ever will be.”