The Bull Rider's Christmas Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Good thinking.” He hustled her toward the door.

  “Excuse me?” A kindly, middle-aged clerk wearing a pink-and-blue-striped Baby Depot T-shirt approached. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and since I’m in charge of gift registry and have five little ones of my own, I’m fully qualified to help.”

  Wren was back to nibbling her lower lip.

  Cash’s stomach hurt.

  “I, um, think we need more time.” Wren hedged closer to the exit.

  “Judging by the size of your baby bump,” the clerk noted with a big grin, “your time is almost up.”

  “COULD YOU BELIEVE THAT woman?” The first thing Wren did when they got home was scoop up Prissy, showering her with love. Next, she took off her heavy coat, hat and gloves before kicking off her rubber snow boots. “One would think baby-store employees would be trained to lay off the high-pressure sales tactics.”

  “No kidding,” Cash said right behind her, scratching behind the puppy’s ears.

  On her way to the kitchen, Wren said, “I’m starving. Want me to make you a plate of whatever Mrs. Cahwood left?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “On second thought…” She veered toward the bathroom. “Nature’s calling.”

  “I knew you’d wriggle out of cooking.”

  “You have to admire my skill!” she shouted on her mad dash down the hall.

  After washing her hands, she wound her way toward her closet to change into more comfy clothes. On such a cold night, her green fleece sweats would be extra warm.

  Humming the jazzed-up version of “Rock-a-Bye Baby” that had been playing during their failed shopping mission, Wren quickly changed and then headed for the kitchen, where she hoped Cash had found something good.

  Rounding the living-room corner, she found Georgina and wished she’d stayed in her room.

  “Hello,” Cash’s mother said, rising from the sofa to give her a hug. “You look ready to pop.”

  “Um, thanks?”

  “Have a seat,” she urged, patting the sofa. “Cash tells me you two had an ultrasound this afternoon.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am…” Was it wrong for Wren to be terrified of what the Buckhorn matriarch might say next?

  “He also said you chose to not learn the sex. I don’t blame you for wanting to be surprised.”

  “Thank you,” Wren said, relieved by Georgina’s seemingly mild-mannered turn. Lowering her gaze, she laced her fingers atop the baby. “As long as he or she is healthy, I’ll be happy with whatever we get.”

  “As long as it’s a boy.” Cash lit the fire and then turned to face her. Wren had always been a sucker for his smile, but something about this night’s version made him extra attractive. It’d been a good day. Riding snugly along side him in the truck while gumball-sized snow cocooned them in their own special world.

  “I don’t mean to be an interfering mother,” Georgina said, “but Cash also told me about your failed mission to the baby store. When you two do finally get around to making a temporary nest, keep in mind that you’ll want to get two of everything. One set for here, and one for Wren to take with her to Baltimore.”

  Though Wren was thankful the woman had finally digested the fact that she and the baby wouldn’t permanently reside in Weed Gulch, something about her tone was off-putting. “Mrs. Buckhorn,” Wren couldn’t keep from asking, “what is it about me you don’t like?”

  “Excuse me?” She pressed her hand to her chest. It was a work-and weather-roughened hand with nails not painted and fancy, but filed short. “How did you draw that conclusion? I hardly even know you.”

  “From the day we met, I’ve gotten the sense that you disapprove of everything about me, from my career goals to my nonexistent craft skills to my refusal to marry your son. But one fact you need to understand is that the last thing Cash wants is to be tied down with not only a wife, but a child. Do you really want to rail road your son into a lifetime of misery out of your antiquated sense of honor?”

  “Anyone up for hot chocolate?” Cash clapped his hands, smoothing them together. “Yeah, I’m thinking that’s just what we need.”

  “Son? Is what Wren said true?” Though her eyes teared, Georgina still looked as tall and unyielding as ever.

  Cash turned his back on his mother and hustled toward the kitchen. “I think Mrs. Cahwood bought me some mini-marshmallows. I’ll check.”

  “If it is true,” Georgina said, hot on his heels, “I’m sorry.” The older woman’s hands fluttered about her long hair, and her lips quivered.

  Wren should’ve minded her own business, but if Cash was going to endure another attack, she felt honor bound to stand by him.

  “Knowing you like I do,” his mother continued, “I never thought you’d be the sort to engage in a one-night stand unless you felt an extra spark for a woman. All this time I assumed you and Wren were just playing hard to get, but would eventually realize you’ve fallen in love with not only each other, but your baby.” Looking out the window at the still-falling snow, she added, “Again, I apologize for being a foolish old woman with ideals better suited for the last century.”

  At the back door Georgina took her long leather duster from a hook. After slipping it on, she removed gloves and a hat from the pockets.

  “Mom…” Cash abandoned his marshmallow mission. “Don’t leave like this.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You’re an adult. Do let me know when you’re having your surgery, though.”

  When she walked out, he chased after her. “At least let me put boots on and drive you home. You shouldn’t be walking in this.”

  “Your father and I delivered calves out in the pasture in worse storms than this.”

  “Mom, please…”

  Already halfway across the drive, she waved. “You two have a nice night.”

  Inside, with the door shut on wind and blowing snow, Cash took off his wet socks and flung them against the stone hearth.

  Again Wren followed, wishing there was something she could do to if not comfort him, at least help him calm down.

  “Damn her,” Cash said.

  Going to Cash, she slipped her arms around his waist, wishing the baby wasn’t blocking her from fully pressing against him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me, confronting your mom that way. I guess that’s one more thing to blame on hormones.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” He returned her hug, shielding her from whatever hurt in her world. Cash was big and strong and capable. The opposite of how she currently felt. “God’s honest truth… What just happened is a huge part of why I want nothing to do with setting up my own family. I loved my dad, but as you can see, even with him gone, I still don’t measure up. As great as he was, he set what, for me anyway, were unobtainable expectations.”

  “Did he say that? Or was it your conscience always wanting to please him?” Wren ached for Cash.

  Never had she considered herself lucky for growing up not knowing her parents, but maybe there was a certain satisfaction that stemmed from having to please only herself.

  Mouth dry, holding him for dear life, she said, “Did it ever occur to you that you could make a conscious decision to not be like your father? Create your own rules. Keep the parts of your upbringing you cherished, while at the same time raising our son or daughter with the qualities you wished your father had had.”

  “Great plan,” he said with a sad laugh. “Only one problem.”

  “What?” Pulse racing, she prayed that problem had nothing to do with her. She’d grown to enjoy Cash’s company and never wanted to hurt him.

  “Practically as soon as our kid is born, you’ll be taking him or her away. It’s hard to implement all of these brilliant ideas when I won’t even have the damned dog to practice on.” He turned away from her, striding to the corner wet bar to pour a shot of Jim Beam. Downing it in one gulp, he poured another.

  “That’s not fair.” Taking the glass from him, she dumped the amber liquid down
the drain. “And getting rip-roaring drunk won’t do a thing to help your emotion al clarity.”

  Rolling his eyes, he noted, “This from our resident basket case who cries during every sappy commercial?”

  “I really dislike you,” she snapped.

  “Ditto.”

  Tears started and wouldn’t stop.

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s rest, and hopefully we’ll wake sane in the morning.”

  “That’s it?” He was shredding her heart, and rather than discuss it, he wanted to sleep? She longed to rail at him, but then remembered her heart had nothing to do with their situation. Per her request, they were casual friends. Yes, they’d soon share a child. Yes, Cash would forever be in her life. No, they would never share anything more.

  Hand to his forehead, he sighed. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing.” Fighting a fresh onslaught of tears, she woke Prissy from where she’d fallen asleep on a sofa cushion. With the dog in her arms, Wren retreated to her room.

  Unfortunately, Cash followed. “Obviously you expect more of me, or you wouldn’t have asked the question.”

  “All right…” Arms crossed, she said, “I’ve always heard it’s not wise for a couple to go to bed angry. But since we’re not a couple, in our case, that rule doesn’t apply.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Let me get this straight—after weeks of you declaring your independence, you now all of a sudden want there to be a you and me?”

  “No.” Yes! But she didn’t understand why. With every fiber of her being she no longer wanted to leave him. Trouble was, no matter how badly she might want to, she absolutely couldn’t stay.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Cash?”

  He woke from a deep sleep to find Wren standing alongside his bed, clutching her belly. Bolting upright, he asked, “What’s wrong? Something with the baby?”

  “I think so,” she said, fear lacing her voice. “I woke with a horrible headache, ringing in my ears and I’m dizzy.”

  “Could you be getting a cold or flu?”

  “I suppose, but all of those are signs of high blood pressure.” Wringing her hands, she looked lost. “I’ve been meaning to get a home pressure monitor, but they’re expensive and I felt funny asking you for money when the last time we were at the drugstore I felt fine.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Out of bed, he rummaged through his dresser for a clean T-shirt and socks. Finding yesterday’s jeans where he’d left them over the end of his footboard, he pulled them on over his boxers. “What’s wrong with you? You didn’t mind me spending a small fortune on new clothes for your dog, but when it came to watching your own health, pride got in the way?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” she said.

  He snorted. “You already call Doc Haven?”

  “Uh-huh. He said with the weather, it’d be fastest for you to drive me into Tulsa. He’s called ahead to Saint Francis hospital, so they’ll be expecting us.”

  “What’re they going to do?” he asked as he headed for her room, where he found her a giant sweatshirt to slip on over her flannel nightgown.

  Miraculously, she didn’t fight him about his choice, in stead lifting her arms for him to help put it on. “I would imagine order a twenty-four-hour urine test for protein. Put me on a fetal monitor to test the baby’s heart rate and to see if he or she is feeling any stress.”

  “Less chitchat, more action.” Nudging her toward the front door, he asked, “Need anything else?”

  “What about Prissy? She’s too tiny to stay here alone.” Wren was so unsteady on her feet that Cash had to reach out a couple of times to steady her.

  “Your mutt will be fine,” he assured her. “In the morning I’ll call Mrs. Cahwood and ask her to take the dog home with her until we get back.”

  “Thank you,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “This is scary enough together. I can’t fathom going it alone.”

  He wished for an elegant turn of phrase to comfort her, but he was fresh out of poetry. “Wait here,” he said after pulling on her coat, hat and mittens. “I’ll be right back with the truck. And while you wait,” he called halfway out the door as an afterthought, “sit.”

  Thirty minutes later Cash barreled down the Turner Turnpike as fast as crappy road conditions allowed. One lane had been plowed, but no way was he able to go his usual seventy-five.

  Wren intermittently dozed, and if it hadn’t been for her seat belt holding her upright, he was fairly certain she’d have long since slumped onto his lap.

  What had her sweet kiss been about? Why did he care? It bugged him that in such a short time she’d become his everything. Before her arrival he’d fixated on nothing but his knee. Calculating over and over the time until he rejoined the tour. Now he had fleeting moments when he wasn’t so sure he even wanted to go back out on the road. As much fun as he had playing with Wren’s pup, he couldn’t fathom what holding his son for the first time would do to his heart.

  Piggyback rides and sledding and building snowmen and forts in the winter. In the summer he’d sign him up for Little League and 4-H—all the things his father had done with him. All four Buckhorn men and Daisy would fish and hike and sit around campfires soaking in stories of how their great-grandfather and Duke had pieced their land together like a patchwork quilt. Buying parcels here and there until he’d made it into the powerhouse it was today.

  Dallas and Wyatt oversaw the farming and running cattle. Breeding top-notch quarter horses and even pumping oil. It was a huge undertaking keeping all their father’s endeavors in good order. His mom worked too hard. As did his brothers. None of them seemed to resent his spending nearly every weekend on the road, but secretly, did they?

  Wren stirred. “Where are we?”

  “Just east of Sapulpa. Won’t be long now.” The snow had stopped and this part of the state hadn’t been hit nearly as hard as the ranch. “While you’re up, I’ve been meaning to ask what kind of trouble high blood pressure can cause. I mean, you hear about it with older folks, but I never thought of it as being a problem for pregnant women.”

  She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “As a formal diagnosis, it’s called preeclampsia. The main concern is in causing narrowing of blood vessels, including the ones in the placenta and umbilical cord. This leads to the baby not getting enough oxygen or nutrients.” Drawing a snowflake on the fogged window, she added, “If left untreated, it can lead to placental abruption, seizures, premature birth, coma.”

  “Swell.” Instinctively he reached for her hand, easing his fingers between hers. “But that’s not going to happen to us, right? Because we’re treating you and the baby in time?”

  “Right.” Taken at face value, her answer was positive enough, but knowing her as he did, he knew she couldn’t hide her lingering fear. He recognized it in the dampness of her palm. The way her expression had glazed—as if she hadn’t shared the full extent of her worries.

  How long until she trusted him completely? Would the time ever come? Considering how standoffish he’d been in regard to their one day being a couple, did he de serve having her rely on him? Not only for her and their child’s financial support, but emotionally?

  “YOU GAVE ME QUITE A SCARE,” Doc Haven said to Wren in her hospital room the next morning. She and the baby were hooked up to so many monitors she felt more like a robot than soon-to-be mom. “Thought you’d been taking it easy so this wouldn’t happen?”

  “I was, but Cash and I got into a tiff and I guess things went downhill from there.”

  “Your vitals look good for the moment. Blood pressure’s higher than I’d like, but I’ve seen worse and still delivered plenty of healthy babies. Once I’ve got your urine results, we’ll reassess.”

  Nodding, she said, “Thanks. This is the first time I’ve seen a hospital from this perspective, and it’s scary. I much prefer being the doctor to the patient.” The newly re modeled maternity wing featured wood laminate flooring and
soothing floral wallpaper. There was an oak rocker, built-in sofa and even a recliner. Botanical prints and striped curtains finished what designers had hoped to be a warm, friendly birthing environment. A thoughtful nurse or aide had even hung red and silver gar lands for the holidays. If it weren’t for the monitors, Wren could almost have imagined herself in a hotel.

  Chuckling, the white-haired man made a few notations on her chart, then promised to release her as soon as he felt it was safe for her and the baby.

  WREN HAD FINALLY MANAGED to drift off to sleep when Cash bumped open the door and entered the room.

  “Everything okay?” Carrying three bags of chips, a microwave burrito and two Cokes, Cash said, “I ran into Doc Haven in the hall.”

  “Our baby’s fine. Me, too,” Wren assured him. With the exception of the butterflies winging through her stomach every time she saw her baby’s father, she thought. He’d been so good to her. The whole night, never leaving her side. His jawline sported dusky brown stubble and his longish curls looked as if they’d developed a halo. Wren knew the effect was caused by perpetual hat head, but she’d grown to like it all the same. Then there were his eyes. Darker this morning—like the perfect Christmas tree she’d wanted to hike through the woods to find.

  “Did the doc say when you’re getting sprung?” Up on settling into the recliner, he carefully arranged his snacks on Wren’s nightstand.

  “Probably tomorrow. And FYI, the smell of that burrito is no bueno.”

  Poised with the offensive thing at his mouth, he asked, “Want me to eat it out in the waiting area?”

  “No. I could probably still smell it from there.”

  He downed it in three bites. “Did I do anything in particular to tick you off—besides eating?”

  “Sorry. I’m antsy.” Hands folded on top of her belly, Wren sighed. “Throughout my pregnancy I guess I’ve played this game in my head that it wasn’t really happening. Sounds nuts, but it was a way to cope. I’m afraid of everything. How I’m going to do justice to both being a parent and completing my residency.” Covering her face with her hands, she was even afraid of crying again.