The Bull Rider's Christmas Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

“Hope you’re decent,” Cash called, “because like it or not, I’m coming in.” The doorknob jiggled and true to his word—albeit with his eyes closed—he barged in. He’d brought the puppy with him, a fact that did little to help Wren’s emotional train wreck.

  Seated on the tile tub surround, she covered her face with her hands.

  Cash knelt in front of her. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!” she wailed. “Everything!”

  “Okay, breathe…” He set the puppy on Wren’s baby belly. Lowering her hands, she looked down at the squirming, shivering mess of a tiny dog. It whimpered and looked up at her, melting her into hundreds of shattering pieces. Scooping it up, she cradled it between her breasts, nuzzling the puffy fur between the dog’s ears. “Better?”

  She nodded. “Sorry. This baby has my emotions all over the map. You couldn’t have known.”

  “That I’m living with a psycho?” He laughed.

  Wren didn’t.

  With Cash stroking her hair and the dog licking her nose with the sweetest puppy breath, had Wren been a cat, she’d have purred.

  “I’m kidding,” he said, “but when you get a second, I’d love you to let me in on what it was about this goofy-looking dog that sent you over the edge.”

  “It’s stupid. I’m stupid for letting something that happened a hundred years ago affect me today.”

  “You don’t look that old.” He tugged a lock of her hair.

  “I feel it.” Yawning, the hamster-sized dog still held close, she asked, “Wanna take this conversation to my bed?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  CASH HAD NEVER SEEN A prettier sight than Wren sleeping with his gift snuggled into the crook of her neck. She’d broken his heart with the story of how she’d found a puppy hiding in the bushes at her orphanage. For weeks she’d secretly fed it and cared for it, visiting every chance she’d gotten. Then she’d been caught sneaking it lunch scraps. By that afternoon, the pound had loaded it into the back of a truck and she’d never seen it again.

  Since then, she’d avoided anything with fur like the plague. Fur equaled pain. Though she hadn’t said it, he assumed she felt the same way about forging emotional connections.

  So that was her reasoning. What was his excuse?

  Wren was a great woman. Any man would be thrilled she was having his baby. Any other man would have also long since proposed, but not Cash. No matter how perfect Wren might be, he wasn’t the marrying kind.

  Didn’t have it in him.

  “What are you doing?” Wren asked, catching him standing over her.

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?” She yawned, in the process waking the fur ball—who also yawned.

  “You two look alike.” Both of his girls had crazy bed hair and sleepy eyes.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She gave the dog a rub.

  “Got a name for her?”

  She took a minute to answer. “I named my first dog Waldo, after the books. I loved them.”

  “Waldo?” Cash made a face. “Not a very pretty name for such a gorgeous little girl.” Snatching the dog for himself, he held her out in front of him, surveying her mutton-chop sideburns.

  “How about Wenda?” Wren suggested. “That’s his girlfriend’s name.”

  “I thought his girlfriend was Wanda?”

  Laughing, she asked, “Got your iPhone? Let’s look it up.” Ten minutes later they’d discovered Wenda and Wanda were twins. Waldo had officially dated both.

  “Kinda kinky if you ask me,” Cash said, “which is always a good thing, but that still doesn’t help with a name.”

  “True.” Sitting up in the bed, Wren turned thoughtful. “I had a friend at the orphanage named Priscilla. She had the prettiest blond curls and was adopted just before her sixth birthday. Losing her was as tough as losing my dog.”

  “Do you have any childhood stories that aren’t tear-jerkers?”

  “Not so much,” she admitted, “but anyway, what if we call our puppy Prissy? She’s not blonde, but she does have an angelic, beauty-queen look to her that leads me to believe she’ll have a great career in breaking doggy hearts.”

  “We talking about the same mutt?”

  In a surprisingly agile move considering her size, she took the dog from him. “Come here, Precious. Don’t listen to a thing he says.”

  “Thought you wanted to name her Prissy?”

  “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

  Heading for the kitchen to warm the dinner Mrs. Cahwood had left them, he asked, “You’re not going to pull that name-change stunt on our boy, are you?”

  “Nope,” she said, trailing after him with the dog riding her belly. “Especially since we’re having a girl.”

  “YOU DO REALIZE WE HAVE a human baby due in four weeks and should be shopping for her?” In the south Tulsa Pet Warehouse, Wren peeked into her purse to find Prissy napping on the miniquilt Delores had made. “Not to mention Christmas is also barreling toward us. Have you thought about gifts?”

  “Four weeks is plenty of time to get human baby gear and presents for the family.” Cash grabbed a cart. “This dog baby, however, is here now and needs toys and clothes and that special food I saw advertised on TV.”

  “Cash, you’re spoiling—ooh, look at that rhinestone collar.” She made a beeline for a specialty Princess Pup endcap. Who knew there were so many adorable pooch clothes? Dresses and T-shirts and even hats and matching booties packaged in sets of four.

  “Let me get this straight—if I want to buy Prissy special food, that’s spoiling, but you can pick out fancy clothes when God already gave her a fur coat and that’s perfectly fine?”

  Wren stuck out her tongue and selected a blinged-out T-shirt that said I’m a Princess…You Scoop It!

  Thirty minutes later the cart was so full with a bed and food and a plush carrying case that Wren had to ask Cash to push it to the checkout stand.

  In the truck with Prissy on her lap, Wren dressed her and put on her new collar and bow.

  “Know what we forgot?” Cash asked, veering the truck onto Highway 169.

  “Looks like we’ve got everything to me.” Holding up Prissy, Wren couldn’t remember a time in recent history she’d ever been more content. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “She also doesn’t have a name tag. We should’ve at least gotten one with a phone number on it in case she gets lost or runs away.”

  “What number would we put? Right after the baby’s born, all three of us will return to Baltimore.”

  Fury didn’t begin to describe the sudden change in Cash’s expression. Blaring the horn, he passed the car in front of them that was going five under the speed limit.

  “Cash?” Wren tightened her hold on Prissy. “I’ve never seen you like this. What’s wrong?”

  “What do you think?” Cash passed another car and another.

  “You know that just as soon as I’m able, the baby and I and now my puppy will all need to go home. To Baltimore. I have my residency waiting and I’ve even reserved a spot in the hospital’s on-site day-care pro gram. It’s award winning. Our baby will receive groundbreaking infant care.”

  Turning on the radio, Cash flipped through stations, ultimately settling on pounding rock.

  “Avoiding the issue’s not going to make it go away.”

  “Excuse me for caring.” Turning off the music, he focused on the road. “Sometimes I wish we’d never even met.”

  It didn’t matter that he’d spoken the words out of anger—they still hurt Wren to her core. “Don’t even bother going to your house. Take me straight to Tulsa International.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Though they passed an exit, he didn’t even slow.

  Shifting on the seat, she said, “You’re the one acting like a child about my leaving.”

  “You running away is grown-up?”

  Lips pressed tight, she vowed to remain silent the rest of the way to their ranch home.
Only, the place she’d once viewed as a temporary haven no longer existed. Cash had ruined it.

  “Dammit, Wren, answer me. Tell me why you’re still leaving. Couldn’t you do your residency in Tulsa or Oklahoma City? Think about it. During the week, I can be with the baby. Isn’t that better than him spending fifteen to twenty hours each day being raised by strangers?”

  The last thing Wren wanted was to dignify his question with an answer, but he’d left her no choice. “Of course being with you would be better, but you’re missing the point. I’m not a team player. Never have been, and I have no intention of starting now. Any time I’ve ever grown attached to someone or made a friend, they leave me. You’ll do the same. Only instead of just me being hurt, our child will be, too. As a good mother, isn’t it my job to protect my baby from pain? Especially when it inevitably stems from being abandoned by her own father?”

  Shooting her a disgusted glare, he asked, “You honestly think that little of me?”

  Cuddling Prissy, she snapped, “I try not to think of you at all.”

  “Liar.”

  Yes, she was. But to let him know how much his friendship had come to mean would be foolhardy. She hadn’t gotten where she was today by letting people in, but by shutting them out. Remembering that was key to escaping Cash with her heart intact.

  “YOU NEED TO EAT,” Cash said over the chick flick he’d popped into the DVD in hopes of making Wren smile. As she no longer fit in the kitchen-table chairs, they’d taken to dining in the living room. Only, tonight she wasn’t watching the movie or vacuuming her food.

  “Why do you care? Remember how you wish we’d never met?” Feigning great interest in the movie, she nibbled a green bean.

  “You know damn well I didn’t mean that.”

  “Then why say it?”

  “I don’t know.” Probably had something to do with hurting you the way you hurt me.

  Outside, cold wind howled. Hard to believe it was al ready December. Where had autumn gone?

  Putting her plate on the table with considerable effort, she rolled onto her side, away from the TV and him.

  “Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.”

  “Did I say it did?” Her voice was muffled due to her having drawn her blanket over her head.

  He turned off the movie. The sudden silence was jar ring, but not as much as this constant bickering.

  “I was watching that” came a halfhearted complaint from somewhere under the sofa mound. Prissy peeked out from under the covers, eyeing Wren’s thick-cut pork chop.

  “How long do you think we have left together? Assuming the baby’s on time, four weeks, and then what’s a standard maternity leave? Six weeks more?”

  “I’ve already taken too much time off. I’d like to be back in Baltimore by the first of February. As it is, I’ll be lucky if the dean lets me rejoin the program midyear.”

  “No.”

  She tossed back the covers hard enough to damn near knock off the dog. “What do you mean, no? Last I heard you don’t have a whole lot of say in the matter.”

  Prissy used the boost to leap onto the coffee table, helping herself to Wren’s meal. Lightning fast, uncaring she’d dredged her brand-new pink shirt through ketchup, Prissy tugged the chop and herself to the table’s edge, vanishing under the couch.

  “Did you see that?” Cash couldn’t help but laugh. “If our kid’s anywhere near as sly as our dog, we’ve got trouble.”

  “No kidding.” Wren also sported a slight smile.

  Until their eyes met and hers filled with tears. She held out her arms and he went to her, holding her tight, praying she understood he didn’t want to marry her, but he certainly didn’t want her to go.

  “We’re going to be all right,” she promised. “But this fighting has to stop. It’s not good for any of us—especially my puppy, who will probably throw up all night.”

  Cash grinned past the knot in his throat.

  Somehow, some way, bull riding was no longer his top priority. His biggest problem now? Learning to breathe without Wren and his baby and a seriously cute mutt dog.

  Chapter Eleven

  “How’s Mommy?”

  Wren cringed upon opening the door Monday morning to find Georgina carrying more fiber muffins and slung over her shoulder a bag that no doubt carried a new form of torture. “Good morning. I’m doing great. How are you?”

  “Honestly,” she said on her way to the kitchen, “I had my annual physical this morning, and my blood pressure is up, too. Curiously enough, when I told Doc Haven that my diet is quite healthy and I exercise every day, he suggested all of the unknowns surrounding my third grandchild might be causing me stress.”

  “Oh?” Ignoring Cash’s mother’s not-so-subtle dig, Wren helped herself to a muffin. “Thanks for bringing these. They are super-duper effective.”

  “You’re, ah, welcome.”

  Catching Cash’s mother off guard had become a hobby of sorts. After all, it wouldn’t hurt her to at least call before her visits.

  “Since needlepoint wasn’t your thing, I brought you a new hobby in which I know you’ll excel.” When Wren returned to the sofa, head filled with remembrances of the knotted catastrophe that had occurred the last time she’d tried being crafty, Georgina pulled out a cellophane-wrapped box, brandishing the cover like a Price Is Right model. “Taa-daa! You’re going to make a latch-hook rug to hang in the baby’s room. Aren’t the blue booties adorable?”

  “Yes,” Wren said, “but I’m pretty sure I’m having a girl.”

  “Nonsense.” Opening the box, she drew out a large chart and a tool she pronounced to be the latch-hook instrument. “Everyone knows that if a woman craves boiled eggs during her pregnancy, she’ll only give birth to boys. Mrs. Cahwood told me you’ve been eating dozens of her deviled eggs, which are made from boiled eggs, so there you go.”

  WEDNESDAY MORNING WREN found herself back in Tulsa, only this time for an ultrasound.

  Constant arguing between herself and Cash had morphed into a bittersweet understanding that their remaining time together was already brief. Why poison it with petty bickering when they’d be better served preparing men tally and physically for the new life to come?

  “This your first?” the ultrasound tech asked.

  “Yep,” Cash answered from his chair alongside Wren’s padded table.

  “Nervous?” the tech asked.

  “Is that snow outside cold?” Again Cash acted if he was the one hauling around his thirty-pound baby!

  The pretty, petite blonde laughed.

  Wren suppressed the urge to smack him. Wasn’t there a rule about guys who were expecting a child not flirting?

  The pressure of the tech and her wand was making Wren have to pee.

  “I’ve got a great shot of your baby’s sex. Want me to print a copy for you?”

  “No!” Wren snapped.

  “Yes!” Cash leaned over her, trying to get a view.

  “Oops.” The screen had already gone blank. “Once Mommy told me she didn’t want to see, I exited.”

  “Damn,” Cash mumbled, shoulders slumped.

  “What does it even matter?” Wren asked.

  “Oh—it matters.” He helped wiped the gunk off her belly, tickling in the process.

  “Stop,” she said with a giggle. “You know I can’t stand it when you touch there.”

  Which only made him do it more.

  “You two make a darling couple,” the tech noted. “Good luck with your new family.”

  Wren started to correct her, but didn’t.

  AFTER SCRAPING SNOW FROM the truck’s windows, Cash hopped into the warm cab alongside Wren. “While we’re in the big city, does Prissy need anything? I noticed she’s running low on Tiny T Bonz. She prefers the filet flavor over the porterhouse.”

  “It frightens me how you know that.” She directed a heater vent toward him.

  “What can I say? I take my parenting duties seriously.”

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nbsp; “After the pet store, we really should make a stop at Baby Depot. What if she surprises us by coming early and we don’t even have a crib?”

  “You’re right,” he said, turning on the wipers and lights. “Wanna stop for lunch first? I’m seriously craving a nice, thick steak.” He winked. “I’m sure our boy is, too.”

  After watching the mother of his child wolf down more food than he’d thought humanly possible, Cash bundled her back into the truck and headed for the baby store.

  A good six inches of snow had already fallen, with no signs of a letup. Traffic was nuts, with far too many rotten drivers out on the roads.

  Finally in the store’s lot, Cash put the truck in Park, leaving the heater blasting. “Think I should call Mom and have her check on Prissy?”

  “Probably. I would hope Mrs. Cahwood is home in front of a nice fire by now.”

  He dialed his mom’s cell, only to five minutes later wish he hadn’t. “I swear that woman’s sole purpose in life is to make me miserable.”

  “I highly doubt that.” Wren tugged on her mittens. “What’d she say?”

  “Just that we need to quit playing house, pretending a puppy is our child when what we should be doing is stepping up to the real-life obligation of planning a custody visitation schedule before her blood pressure gets any higher.”

  “Ouch.” Nibbling her lower lip, Wren asked, “Does that mean she’s not checking on the puppy?”

  “She’ll do it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the price we pay for her services is having to hear more of her wishes and wisdom.”

  Once Cash had Wren safely in the store, overwhelmed didn’t begin describing his avalanche of emotions. Grabbing a few things for Prissy had been fun. Selecting everything from toys to safety equipment to rectal thermometers for his child was a task he wasn’t equipped to handle.

  “I think I need to sit.” Judging by her wide eyes, Wren wasn’t faring much better.

  “Want to come back when the weather’s nice?”

  “That’s a great idea,” she said, going limp from what he guessed was relief. “In the meantime, we can make a list. I’ll go to some baby websites and figure out which basics we’ll most need.”