The Cowboy SEAL's Jingle Bell Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Everything okay?” He eyed where she held her hands. “You’re not having contractions, are you?”

  “No. He just practiced his favorite soccer move. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Not bothering to ask permission, Rowdy knelt alongside her chair, framing their son with his big hands, then leaning forward to rest his cheek to her womb.

  Their son.

  Her heart twisted from the rush of affection she felt for the man and unborn child—neither of whom would ever belong to her.

  Chapter Five

  “You’re up awfully early.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rowdy had hoped to sneak out before the three women of the house were awake, but Tiffany’s grandmother was an early riser. “I figured since the storm passed, I should get a head start on digging out my truck.”

  Sun shone on the sea of white visible beyond red gingham curtains. The sky was a deep, clear blue. According to his phone, the temperature would be in the forties by noon, so thankfully, the snow would melt as fast as it had fallen.

  “Wise idea. But you’re not going anywhere without a nice rib-sticking breakfast.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t dare tell her he was still full from all the food he and Tiffany had put away the previous night. Man, oh man, could that girl eat. If her appetite was any indication, their son would be a bruiser. “Anything I can help with?”

  “Since you asked, I’d be much obliged if you’d gather the eggs and make sure the chickens have feed and their water didn’t freeze. The coop is just around back. You might also check their heat lamp once you’re out there.”

  “Will do.” He was glad for the busywork. It might at least give him a fighting chance of forgetting the feel of his son moving just beneath his hands.

  If things were different between him and Tiffany, she might have welcomed him, placing her hands atop his to press him closer, instead of stiffening at his every touch. As it was, he’d guessed he was crossing a personal-space boundary but didn’t much care. He’d already missed the first seven months of his son’s life and he’d be damned if he’d miss one day more.

  In the front hall, he slipped his feet into his boots, then shrugged on his coat and added his cowboy hat and gloves.

  He trudged through two feet of wet snow before reaching the chickens. Their coop was a fussy yellow shed that he figured his mother would very much like, given her affinity for the color. A flower box hung askew beneath a paned window and the wooden shingled roof had turned green with moss.

  Near the latch-hooked door, he spotted a lidded feed bin and opened it to get a scoop. The grains smelled good. Familiar and sweet. While for the most part, there wasn’t much about his life as a SEAL that he didn’t enjoy, he had to admit to missing quite a bit about growing up on his family’s ranch.

  He ducked his six-foot-two-inch frame through the coop’s low door to find the Araucana ladies not happy about his intrusion. Cozy in their straw-filled roosting shelves, they squawked and squabbled. A rooster strutted close enough to land a peck to Rowdy’s shin.

  “Hey,” he protested, closing the door on the chill. Judging by the muggy heat and glow, the heat lamp was working just fine. “Don’t peck the legs that are attached to the hands feeding you.”

  He shook grain into a shallow food tray, checked that the water hadn’t frozen, then gathered ten blue eggs, which he held in his sweater’s upturned hem. How amazing would it be to perform these chores with his son? To teach him about different breeds. He might enjoy Easter Eggers—they laid huge eggs that ranged from rose and blue to green and brown. Rowdy’s boy could raise his own chicks for a 4-H project.

  Rowdy wanted his son with a visceral pull on his heart.

  After what he’d been through with his first stab at parenthood, he now actually felt ready. Excited. How could he get Tiffany to feel the same?

  The rooster delivered another peck to his shin.

  “Thanks, buddy. You’re making me feel about as welcome as Tiffany.”

  Rowdy left the coop to deliver the eggs to Pearl.

  “You are a sweetheart,” she said with a big smile. “I can’t tell you what a treat it is to have a big, strapping man around the house. I have my suitors, but they mostly come by for pie and sugar.” She winked. “If you know what I mean.”

  It took him a sec, but Rowdy eventually caught on. “Breaks my heart to think I’m in competition for your affections, Miss Pearl.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “You are a silver-tongued devil. I see why Tiffany lost her senses around you. Take off your coat and let me whip some of these eggs into an omelet and pancakes.”

  “That sounds delicious, but how about I shovel the front and back walks while you cook. That’s more of an even exchange.”

  “Deal. There’s a snow shovel in the barn.”

  Rowdy found the shovel and made quick work of clearing the narrow path leading to the chicken coop. Around front, the wide brick walkway that led to the street took considerably longer, but that was okay. He wouldn’t want Tiffany or her mom or grandmother risking a fall.

  He’d known most of the Lawson women less than twenty-four hours yet already felt protective toward them. If he’d had his way, he and Tiffany would have already been hitched. Just because he needed her back in Virginia to watch after the baby didn’t mean they couldn’t also be friends.

  * * *

  TIFFANY WOKE TO too-bright sun streaming through her bedroom’s tall, paned windows and the unnatural sound of metal scraping against rock. She winced before trying and failing to roll over and hide her ears beneath a pillow.

  Mr. Bojangles peeked his head out from under his blanket.

  She gave him a rub. “I know it’s cold, but we need to find your booties and go outside. Want to change your sweater now or later?”

  He ducked back under his cover.

  She laughed. “We go through this every morning, sweetheart, but you know you will eventually have to leave this bed.”

  After three failed attempts to stand left Tiffany feeling like an upside-down roly-poly, she finally made it onto her feet but had to balance herself by grasping the back of the chaise.

  “Baby, you are giving me quite a workout and it’s not even eight.” She gave her belly an affectionate rub before waddling to the window to draw back the lacy curtain.

  Rowdy, in all his sheer male beauty, shoveled the front walk. The obnoxious clanging she’d heard had been the twang of his shovel hitting the brick pavers.

  Tiffany groaned.

  Part of her had been hoping his reentry into her life had been a dream.

  He caught sight of her. Smiled and waved.

  She dropped the curtain as if it had caught fire.

  The other part of her? Oh—that part unfortunately felt like a giddy schoolgirl facing her first crush. His merest brush against her made her entire body hum. When he touched the baby bump they’d created, she lost the ability to think or even breathe. The man made her crave not pickles and ice cream but kisses and hugs and settling into a home with a family of her own. But the thing she had to remember was that she’d already had all of the above and it had vanished like a morning fog. Just like a sad country song, she’d lost her man, her house and her dignity.

  At least she still had her dog.

  Sort of.

  Mr. Bojangles had taken a particular liking to Pearl—in no doubt due to her many handouts. If even her dog preferred other company to hers, what did that say for her mothering potential? As much as she adored the idea of becoming a mom to her son, the realities proved time and again that it was never meant to be.

  She forced a deep breath, brushed hot tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, then scooped Mr. Bojangles from the bed. Whether he liked it or not, they both had to face the day. Which unfortunately also meant facing Rowdy
.

  * * *

  “PLEASE TELL ME that dog doesn’t have his own red snow boots?” Rowdy leaned on the shovel’s handle.

  “Good morning to you, too.” Tiffany set her pampered pup on the section of the walk he’d already shoveled. “Thank you for tackling this job. Usually I’m stuck doing it.”

  “But you’re pregnant.”

  “Exactly. A few weeks back when we had that dusting, I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal, but turns out it was. I was exhausted.”

  “One more reason to marry me for the sake of the baby. North Dakota isn’t exactly known for balmy winters, yet my part of Virginia typically doesn’t have it too bad.”

  She rolled her eyes before clutching the two halves of her inadequate wool coat as close as they’d go—not nearly all the way around her bulging tummy. He’d have to get her a new one. Maybe online? He couldn’t let the mother of his child be cold.

  “Look.” Her sharp exhale clouded in the frosty air. “I appreciate you charging in here to act like my hero, but I’m perfectly capable of handling this situation on my own. There’s not going to be a wedding, and right after ringing in the New Year—” she patted her belly “—our baby will be blissfully happy in his new home and you and I can get back to our separate lives as if none of this ever happened. Agreed?” She held out her hand for him to shake.

  “Did you not hear a word I said last night? I’m not giving up on my son. Aren’t you at least willing to try? Once you sign those papers, there’s no going back. Can you honestly tell me you’re that ready to give up a child that could be the best thing to ever happen to either of our lives?”

  The dog left a yellow stain on the newly fallen snow.

  Rowdy couldn’t help but see it as a sign.

  He cleared his throat. “Could you at least give me the courtesy of a reply?”

  “It’s cold. I need to get Mr. Bojangles inside.” She scooped up her dog and left.

  Rowdy took that as his cue to do the same.

  He finished clearing the walk, returned the shovel to the barn, then trudged his way back to his truck. Since his words were clearly useless, he took his frustration with Tiffany out on the melting snow. Enough horsepower had gotten him out of a helluva lot of jams, and this time was no exception. The melting drift was no match for his dad’s one-ton truck. As for this mess with Tiffany and his baby, looked like he’d need to rethink his strategy.

  His specialty was brute force.

  This situation called for a bit more finesse.

  Meaning it was time to call in the big guns—his mother.

  * * *

  “MIGHT’VE BEEN NICE for you to let me know you were alive.”

  Rowdy entered his family home through the back door.

  Patsy sat at the kitchen table. Judging by the array of paperwork spread around her, she was paying bills. Never the best time for a heart-to-heart.

  “Sorry.” He took off his boots before stepping onto her prized maple floor.

  A welcoming fire crackled in the hearth, and sunshine added to the yellow room’s already-cheery feel. So why did he still feel defeated?

  “You’d better thank your lucky stars Pearl Lawson had the decency to let me know you were staying with her during the storm. I’d have called out the National Guard looking for you.”

  “Not to discount their great work, but I’m a SEAL. Think I could have survived a night in my truck.” He rummaged in the fridge for sandwich fixings.

  “Don’t sass me. I’m already in a foul enough mood over your father’s Visa bill. That man charged five hundred dollars’ worth of fishing lures. How is that even possible? With the baby coming, we’re going to need every spare dime to set up a nursery for when the baby stays here. I was thinking pale blue walls with an adorable cow-jumping-over-the-moon theme. What do you think?”

  After opening the mayo, he sighed. “What I think is that unless you help me devise a plan to get Tiffany to change her mind about giving your grandson up for adoption, we could be in for one helluva fight.”

  “Oh, honey...” She put down the Visa bill and removed her reading glasses. “What are you going to do?”

  “I told her that for the sake of the baby, we should get married. Her mom and grandma seemed on board with the plan. Tiffany’s the problem. She’s got some fool notion that she’s not fit to be a mom, but she babies her rat-sized dog like he’s heir to the Lawson throne. Oh—and I guess money’s a factor, but when I pointed out that I’ve got more than enough saved to provide a comfortable life for her and our baby, her pride kicks in and she starts spouting off about how she can do everything herself.”

  “Sweetheart, of course every woman is capable of supporting herself, but have you stopped to think about what that poor girl has been through? With her father in prison and her husband having left her, it’s no wonder she’s wary about jumping into another relationship.”

  He’d added mayo, shaved ham, lettuce and pickles to the bread and now slapped a second piece of bread atop his creation.

  “Didn’t Pearl cook you a big country breakfast?”

  “She offered, but Tiffany got me so riled I left before eating.”

  The back door opened, ushering in not only Rowdy’s dad, James, but his big brother, Carl.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” James said. “We sure could have used your help around here last night. That storm had cattle scattered all over hell and creation.”

  “Cut him some slack.” Carl removed his long duster to hang it on the wall-mounted rack. He slapped his brown leather cowboy hat on the peg beside it. “Poor guy’s had lady trouble. Justine said her friend Darcy, from Sunday school, told her that she knows a friend who plays bridge with the couple all set to adopt Tiffany’s baby. They’ve been trying for years and couldn’t be more pleased that they’re getting a son.”

  “That’s gotta be a special hell—” James sat on the entry bench to tug off his worn work boots “—to want a child and not be able to have one.”

  “No kidding, right? Lucky for us Jones men that we’re nice and fertile.”

  James and Carl shared a laugh.

  Rowdy didn’t see a damned thing about his situation that was funny.

  “Those people are not getting my son.” Rowdy had held his sandwich to his mouth but now slapped it to the counter.

  “Hon,” Patsy said, “I’ve told you a million times to use a plate when you eat. You know I can’t stand crumbs.”

  “Would you all listen to yourselves? This is my flesh and blood we’re talking about. Yours, too. I’m all set to marry this woman, but she acts like my opinions don’t even count. But I have rights. She can’t just sign away my kid at her whim, can she?”

  “I think the bigger question—” Carl helped himself to Rowdy’s sandwich “—is what you are going to do with a kid. Have you set aside your own bullheaded pride long enough to consider the fact that Tiffany might be doing you a favor? I’m not saying this is by any means an easy decision, but it just might be the right one. This couple she’s talking to seem like good people. They’ll make equally good parents to some lucky kid—maybe even yours. Realistically, what do you have to offer?” He paused his rant to take another bite of Rowdy’s sandwich. “A ratty apartment you share with four other guys. But that doesn’t even matter when you’re gone three hundred days out of the year. When you are home, you’re on call or training. You’re a full-fledged adrenaline junkie. How are you going to choose between sitting in the stands at your kid’s fiftieth losing Little League game versus planting explosives beneath some bad guy’s ship? You think you’re obligated to marry this woman, but take a good hard look at the bigger picture. Make no mistake, I love Justine and the girls, but I’d be lying if I said there are times I don’t envy your path. But let’s say you do convince Tiffany to marry your sorry ass? Wha
t then? What kind of life is that going to make for your son? Let alone his mom. What’s she supposed to do with her days? Just sit around pining for you?”

  “Your brother raises valid points,” his dad said.

  “Whose side are y’all on?” Rowdy hardened his jaw. “This is my son you’re so casually talking about. All of our flesh and blood. Sure, I’ll be first to admit changes will have to be made to my current way of life, but plenty of guys I serve with have kids and they all seem to do just fine.”

  “They’re the exception,” Patsy said. “Have you seen the statistics on SEAL divorce rates? And those marriages started out with love. What you’re proposing is more of a business arrangement.”

  “Stop.” Rowdy pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. With everything in him, he wanted to tell his family about what he’d been through with Brandi, but what would that do other than reinforce the fact that they were probably right—especially his mom with her divorce-rate statistics. He was a walking example of how easily a lonely woman found entertainment.

  “Honey...” His mom left the table to give him a sideways hug. “No matter what you decide, we’re all on Team Rowdy. If you’re determined to see this through with Tiffany—make her your wife—just tell us how to help.”

  “That’s just it,” he said. “At this point, I’m not sure what to do. I proposed. She turned me down.”

  “Well, hell, son.” Now his dad gave him a pat on his back. “You’ve got to woo her. And I’m talking a much deeper level than flowers and drugstore chocolates. You’ll have to go all in. Really prove to this woman that you’re husband and father material.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t even have my own house.”

  Carl snorted. “Thought the navy was supposed to give him smarts. Tiffany’s a Realtor, right? Kill two birds with one mortgage-sized stone. Have her show you every damned house in the county, then during all that time together, you can wow her with your charm.”

  “Duh. That was already my plan,” Rowdy said with a put-upon sigh.

  “For the record—” Patsy had left his side to take a pencil and notepad from the junk drawer, then get comfy on the window seat “—I think you’re all wrong. Oh—I’m all for Rowdy showing Tiffany what a great catch he is, but in a roundabout way. Since you’ve already tried the direct approach and bombed, looks like you’ll need to be sneakier. Now, I’m not usually in favor of playing games, but from what you’ve told me, this poor girl has been hurt to the point that she no longer takes a man’s word at face value. What I want you to do is not tell her she’s going to marry you but make her ache to marry you.”