The Cowboy SEAL's Jingle Bell Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  Rowdy frowned. “Mom, you might as well be speaking Martian. What does any of that mean?”

  “Have a seat.” She patted the cushion beside her. “I’ll teach you everything I know...”

  Chapter Six

  “Grammy, what is this?” Two days after her last run-in with Rowdy, Tiffany had just come home after an endless day at the office to find a disturbing letter from the First Trust Bank lying on the desk she shared with her mom and grandmother.

  Pearl snatched it from her hand. “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to snoop?”

  “Please tell me this is a mistake?” The letter was a notice that Pearl was two months in arrears on paying her mortgage—a mortgage Tiffany hadn’t even known existed. “I thought Daddy paid off your house a long time ago?”

  “He did, but then he needed cash for legal fees, and Tommy Peterson down at the bank was nice enough to help me fill out a few forms, and voilà—your father’s legal fees were paid, so you and your mom didn’t have to worry about them.”

  “But, Grammy, you now have to pay this bill every month. If you don’t, that nice Tommy Peterson will take your house. You’re already two payments behind. That’s over a thousand dollars with late fees.”

  Her grandmother paled.

  Which made Tiffany feel horrible for scolding one of the people she held most dear in the world. But she had enough on her plate with just paying utilities, car insurance, gasoline and grocery bills. How in the world would she ever manage an extra five hundred per month? Thank goodness the Parkers were covering her obstetrician fees and prenatal vitamins.

  “I’m sorry,” Pearl said. “I figured we’d find the money somewhere.”

  Tiffany groaned, leaning forward in the desk chair. “We will, Grammy. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll figure something out.”

  “Of course you will. You’ve always been such a clever girl.” Pearl kissed the crown of her head, then shuffled off toward the kitchen. “I’m making pork chops for dinner. Why don’t you invite your handsome fiancé over for a nice hot meal?”

  “Grammy, I already told you, Rowdy and I aren’t getting married.”

  Pearl gave her a backhanded wave. “Sure you are, honey. You’re carrying his baby. Maple Springs is a small town. If you don’t marry him, tongues are going to wag.”

  “Grammy, no one cares about single women having babies anymore. Besides, Susie and Jeb Parker are adopting the baby, remember?”

  Why had she wasted her breath on the speech?

  Pearl had already left the room, leaving Tiffany alone with too many worries and fears for one heart to bear.

  * * *

  “WAIT—PLEASE DON’T tell me you’re Mr. Gosee?” Tiffany groaned before leaning back in her desk chair at Hearth and Home Realty. It had been a blessed whole week since she’d seen Rowdy. Halloween had come and gone, and she’d thought he’d returned to his submarine or ship or wherever it was navy SEALs spent their time.

  “Right. Get it? As in I need to go see a few houses?” Rowdy flashed her that lopsided, toothy grin that got her all hot and bothered and wishing for a pitcher of margaritas and a dark dance floor on which she’d spend a few hours kissing him. All of which was stupid, considering as soon as their baby was born, odds were she’d never see him again. “I emailed all my needs. Do you have any properties lined up?”

  “I did for your alter ego. But none for you.”

  “Aw, come on. My money spends just as good as his, and from what you’ve told me, you could use the commission.”

  “Of course I could, but do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in with Gigi and Pearl? I told them I have no intention of marrying you, and neither has spoken to me since. Even Mr. Bojangles is giving me the cold shoulder. He slept with Grammy last night.”

  “Can you blame him? Not only is she a great cook, but I like her sunny disposition. You’re about as welcoming as barbed wire.”

  “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Oh—I really do.” As if excited just hearing his daddy’s voice, her traitor baby kicked. “I have a plan. A good plan. You can’t just come in here—”

  “Whoa. Stop right there. I’m not here to discuss my son or our pending nuptials or anything other than buying a house. If you’re not interested in making my home-ownership dreams a reality, then I’ll ask your boss if he’d be willing to show me a few places.” He stood.

  “Sit down. If you promise to keep talk strictly on houses, I did find a few I think Mr. Gosee will like. But I’m warning you, if I get one hint that this is a trick and all you’re really after is another shot at changing my mind about the adoption, I’ll dump you right in the middle of the road—any road.”

  “Fair enough.” He offered her his hand to shake.

  After eyeing his outstretched hand with a narrow-eyed glare, she turned her attention to her computer, printing fact sheets for three small ranches. “Per Mr. Gosee’s request, these are all horse properties. One has a full barn—the others have rustic lean-tos that could, of course, be improved.” She handed him the papers, then retrieved her purse and three mini Snickers bars from her bottom drawer. Since tequila was off the table as a stress reliever, chocolate would have to do.

  Keys jingling, she squeezed into her coat, then led the way from her office, all too conscious of his presence. He made her feel hot and tingly and hyperaware. The last place she wanted him was behind her, but if he’d been in front, then she’d have been tortured by the view of his backside hugged by faded Wranglers.

  “Would you rather I drive?” he asked when she struggled to fit behind the wheel.

  “I can manage.”

  “I don’t doubt you can, but what would it hurt for you to kick back and let me serve as your chauffeur?”

  His offer was tempting...

  It was only ten thirty, yet her lower back throbbed. Don’t get her started on how her swollen feet had turned numb from being squeezed into heels.

  “You forget, I grew up around here and know all the best shortcuts.”

  “Okay.” She handed over her keys and they made the seating transition. “But no funny business. We’re strictly house-hunting. That’s all.”

  “You have my solemn vow.”

  She snorted. “Seems like you gave me that the night I got pregnant. Let’s see... How did that go?” She lowered her voice to mock him. “‘Baby, I give you my solemn vow as a bull rider that you’ll never have another ride anywhere near as fine as this.’” She tried folding her arms, but her sleeves were mortifyingly too tight to allow for the simple movement, so she settled for glaring out the passenger-side window. “Have you ever even ridden a bull?”

  “That hurts.” He clutched his chest before backing out of her assigned space in the lot behind the office. “I’ll have you know I was almost state champion back in—Well, let me think about it. It was three years before I graduated high school, so that would’ve been—”

  “Never mind.” She glared harder.

  “Turnabout’s fair play. You told me you were a rodeo queen. Is that true?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve won several titles.”

  “Name one.”

  “Name one of yours.”

  “I asked you first.”

  “So you weren’t a rodeo queen?”

  “So you weren’t a bull-riding champion?”

  At a stop sign, he slanted a breathtaking grin in her direction and she lost it. She laughed and he laughed and then pregnancy hormones had her crying from the absurdity of their situation.

  “Truth—” she dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue she’d taken from her purse “—I was fourth runner-up in the Miss Rodeo Fort Worth competition when I was sixteen. But a horrible girl named Windy—spelled with an i—accidentally spi
lled nachos down the front of my custom-made white satin pantsuit. If it hadn’t been for her, I have no doubt I would have worn the crown.”

  “Hell, yeah, you would have.” At a four-way stop, he fixed her with a look so intense, so downright mesmerizing, her heart skipped a beat. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re sweet.” Pulse on a treacherous gallop, she looked at her hands clasped atop their baby. How long had it been since a man told her she was pretty? A while. Not since she and Rowdy had first been together. “She was a far better barrel racer. Even without the sabotage, she probably would have won.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. A lot of women might have fallen apart after what you’ve been through, but adversity seems to have made you stronger.”

  His kind words were hot chocolate. A crackling fire. A foot massage followed by—

  From behind them a FedEx driver honked.

  “Sorry,” he said along with a backward courtesy wave. “To him—not to you.”

  They rode the rest of the way to the first house in silence, but something about his compliment warmed her on a fundamental level. She had fought for so long—for everything. Not just for money to pay bills, but to keep her mother and grandmother comfortable. To eat healthy and care for the miracle growing inside her that she would all too soon gift to a more deserving mother.

  Truth be told, she didn’t used to be a nice person. Maybe she hadn’t loved Crawford the way she should have? Maybe if she’d been more focused on his needs instead of planning what to wear to her next charity event, he might have stood by her side when her dad’s business had taken such an ugly fall?

  “This it?” His question provided a welcome respite from her dark thoughts.

  Since she could no longer afford her smartphone, she eyed her county map. “Looks like it. The home is vacant, so pull right into the drive.”

  Though the main roads were clear, patches of slushy snow made the trek down the dirt drive less than ideal.

  “I apologize for this. The owner’s out of state. I should have thought to have it plowed.”

  “No worries. I’ll park in a dry patch so you don’t ruin those fancy shoes.”

  “Thanks.” He noticed? Rowdy was full of all kinds of surprises this morning.

  The two-story classic American bungalow featured a wide front porch supported by sturdy square columns. But the place was in need of a thorough cleaning, as brown leaves and a thick coating of dust covered the wood-plank porch floor.

  Tiffany fumbled with the lockbox but eventually led them into the dark home. “It’s a total fixer-upper, but with a price of fifty thousand, you’d have plenty of room in your budget to renovate. There are four bedrooms. One full bathroom to share upstairs and a powder room on the ground floor for guests.”

  The carpet was gold ’70s shag and birds could be heard chattering in the chimney. Heavy gold velvet drapes were drawn and mildew was the prevailing scent in the air. Water stains marred the sagging ceiling.

  “There’s probably hardwood under the carpet. Want me to tug back a corner so you can take a look?”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m getting serious haunted vibes from this place. Let’s check out the next place on our list.”

  “Are you sure? We haven’t even seen the kitchen. Plus, there are ten acres of good grazing land for your horse.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I mean, come on. At any price, could you see yourself living here?”

  “Rowdy...” she warned. “You promised your sudden drive to become a homeowner had nothing to do with me.”

  “It doesn’t. It was a rhetorical question.”

  “Oh—well, in that case, no. This place gives me the creeps.”

  Tiffany locked up the house and had never been more relieved to be back in a car—any car. Not because she’d been that afraid of the spooky old house but because her feet seriously hurt. What had she been thinking? Heels and her seventh month of pregnancy had been an awful idea.

  Upon reaching the end of the drive, Rowdy took a left. “The info sheet says this next house has a hot tub. I’m excited to see that.”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Hate to be a party pooper, but don’t hold your breath. I can’t count the number of listings I get all jacked up to see, then they wind up being an agent’s work of fiction. Like this one time, I saw that a listing featured an atrium. My client had been transferred here from Jacksonville, Florida, and missed her sunshine. Well, that was before I learned to preview properties, and boy, did we get a surprise. That sun-flooded atrium we envisioned to be glass walled with palm trees and parrots? Turned out to be a hallway that had a leaky ceiling. The owner’s solution had been to bust the roof all the way out, staple tarps to the edges, and sledgehammer holes in the walls of other rooms that they then used for a new hall. It was bizarre.”

  Rowdy whistled. “Gotta give ’em points for creativity.”

  He punched the new address into his phone, then set the route. “What did you do before selling homes?”

  “I’m kind of embarrassed to say, but nothing.”

  “You had to do something.”

  She shrugged. “I lunched. Shopped. Did charity work.”

  “See? Charity’s a good thing.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Why do you sound so down? As my Realtor, aren’t you supposed to be chatting me up?”

  “Sorry.” She forced a smile. “Something occurred to me, and I haven’t been able to get the thought from my mind.”

  “Lay it on me.” He turned onto Ponderosa Court.

  “Remember what you said earlier? About adversity having made me stronger?”

  “Sure. What about it?”

  “When Brandi did what she did—you know, sleeping around on you—did you feel guilty?”

  “No way. Why should I feel bad because of what she did? But what does any of what I went through have to do with you?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, aiming the heater vent down from her flushed face. “At least not directly. But part of me wonders if I had been a better wife, maybe Crawford would have stood by my side through Daddy’s troubles.”

  “Back up the truck.” He cast her a sideways glance. “You don’t really believe that, do you? That somehow you’re to blame for your idiot husband leaving you when you needed him most? That’s BS. I’m assuming you two went with the traditional vows, meaning he was aware of the whole for-better-or-worse scenario? Plus, he was hitched to you—not your father.”

  “You make it sound so black-and-white.”

  “It is. A man doesn’t leave a woman when she’s down—at least not me. I wasn’t raised that way.”

  “Remember when you wanted me to meet your mom?”

  “Sure. Want to come for dinner some night? Or we could just stick with the original offer of cinnamon rolls.”

  “That sounds nice, but...” Suddenly emotional for no reason, Tiffany wanted to say yes but shook her head. Getting close to Rowdy’s family would only make her decision more painful for all involved. Before now, she hadn’t considered the fact that it wasn’t just Rowdy whose life would be impacted by her giving up the baby. Though his big brother had already given his parents two granddaughters, did they want more? Obviously, they must be proud of their hotshot SEAL son, but did they want more for him? A daughter-in-law and more grandchildren and for him to settle down closer to their family home? “Definitely no.”

  “Why not? Mom and Dad are great. You’d like them.”

  “I’m sure I would.” Which was the problem. The bigger her baby grew, the closer she came to her heart officially breaking when it was time to hand him over to the Parkers. She couldn’t then turn around and do that to Rowdy’s family, too.

  “Then why not come for dinner?”

  “Rowdy..
.” She sighed.

  He held up his hands. “Invitation rescinded.”

  “Thanks.” It crushed her that he gave up so easily, but then, why had she expected anything different when she’d asked to keep their dealings on a professional level?

  They arrived at the next house.

  This one was an A-frame overlooking a four-acre lake. Though the home had been painted an unfortunate shade of electric blue, the landscaping was lovely. Rolling hills dotted with patches of forest and snow-covered pasture.

  “Hope this comes with a riding mower.” Out of the car, Rowdy held his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the sun.

  “Why would you need to mow anything? Can’t your horse eat the grass?”

  “See those fences?” He pointed to newish-looking split-rail fences rimming the property. “Since it says on the info sheet that this has thirty-six acres, it stands to reason that the area not fenced is what they consider a lawn. I’m a fairly good judge of distance, and I’m going to say that’s about three football fields’ worth of lawn my wife is going to want me to mow every Saturday afternoon when I’d rather be watching college football.”

  “But you’re not married.” Her chest squeezed uncomfortably at the thought of him one day living here—or anywhere—with another woman. What was the significance of the fact that she didn’t want him but she sure didn’t want him canoodling with anyone else?

  “For now, I’m single. But I’m a great catch. Out on the open market, I won’t last long.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He winked.