THE TEXAS WILDCATTER'S BABY

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Their glances met in the bathroom mirror. “Kind of like the engagement-party-slash-wedding announcement we missed?”

  “Yeah.” She paused, studying him, too. “Do you get that?” She knew it was sort of corny.

  “I do.” He lingered nearby while she brushed her teeth. “We may not have started out our marriage in the most orthodox way, but we can publicly start out the pregnancy in a way that mirrors the joy we feel.”

  Ginger blotted her mouth. “And it’s only a few more days. Once the Boernes make a decision—” and she knew what her immediate work future held “—then you and I can start thinking about how and when we’re going to tell people our ‘news.’”

  * * *

  RAND WAS JUST hanging up the phone when Ginger came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. She was clad in her favorite pair of loose-fitting pink-and-white-striped pajamas that buttoned up the front. She had a white towel wrapped around her head, and her feet were bare. She still looked tired, but her color was better and she seemed to be moving more energetically.

  “Who was on the phone?” Ginger asked, settling in a corner of the love seat.

  “Our moms.”

  She paused in the act of unwinding the towel from her hair. “They heard?” Her cheeks turned a little pinker.

  Noting how good she smelled—like the citrusy soap and shampoo she used—Rand sat beside her.

  “Everyone in town heard.”

  She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “What did you say?”

  “The same thing I plan to tell everyone—that your illness was a combination of exhaustion, stress and dietary indiscretion.”

  Ginger worked a comb through her hair. “That sounds ladylike.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He winked and they exchanged grins. “Anyway,” Rand pushed on seriously, “they both know you’re fine.” And that the baby is fine, too. He cleared his throat. “And the doctor said you needed rest. So back to what we were discussing before you showered—what you’re going to eat tonight. I say we do what your mother suggested and refer to the list of acceptable foods the E.R. doctor gave us on discharge and figure it out on our own.”

  Ginger did a double take. “Whoa. Wait. Cordelia actually said that?”

  Rand nodded. He’d been surprised, too. “With a great deal of difficulty, but yes, she did allude to the fact that I’m your husband and I need to start helping you with things like this, and vice versa, if we are ever to be the kind of team—”

  Rand stopped in midsentence, swore mentally, aware he had almost said, The kind of team our baby is going to need us to be.

  Ginger finished combing the tangles from her hair. “What?” She prodded him to finish. “What did my mom say?”

  Knowing now was not the time to add to his wife’s stress, by letting her know he had already confirmed their happy news to their moms without her knowledge, he said instead, “The kind of team that all good marriages are. Or something like that. It was a little...”

  “Preachy?”

  He winced diplomatically. “That’s not the word I would use.”

  Ginger laughed and rolled her eyes. “Well, my mom is right, on this, and probably many other things, as well, loathe as I am to admit it. You and I do need to figure this out on our own.” She rose once more.

  Aware she was supposed to be resting, he blocked her way to the kitchen. “But what you want is chicken noodle soup?” Gentle hand to her arm, he guided her right back to their bed.

  Ginger shrugged, sighed and obediently climbed beneath the covers. “It’s what I always have when I’ve been sick.”

  Good to know. “Then chicken noodle soup it will be.” He brought in a sleeve of crackers and some ginger ale in the meantime. “I thought about making toast...”

  “You’re right.” She smiled at him. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

  His heart going out to her, Rand kissed her forehead and then headed back to the kitchen to see about rustling up some of the soup she craved.

  * * *

  WHILE RAND SEARCHED the cupboards for a can of soup, Ginger ate a couple of crackers, took a sip of ginger ale, then lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. It had been a long few weeks... Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

  She awakened several hours later to the most delicious smell.

  For a moment she was back home in her childhood bed, her mom in the next room, and the most wonderful sense of well-being came over her.

  And then she became aware of her wedding ring, and she remembered how she had come to be in this situation. And the tears that had been held back burst free and rained down, full-force. And that was, of course, when Rand walked in, looking handsome as ever. “Hey.” He took her in his arms and held her until the storm passed. “You haven’t even tasted my soup yet....”

  She cupped his face. His skin was warm and his evening stubble rasped against her palms. “You made me soup?”

  “I asked your mom for the recipe and she was kind enough to email it to me.”

  “That’s it? My mom just sent it to you? She didn’t offer to make it for us or insist on running over?”

  Rand gave a slow shake of his head. He turned his face into her palm, and brushed his lips across the center. “No, she just told me how to make it, and I have.”

  He left again and Ginger fell silent. Had she finally gotten through to Cordelia, after all these years of enduring her smothering ways? Or was there some other reason her mom was suddenly more hands-off than usual?

  Her husband returned, tray in hand. “Although,” he cautioned cheerfully, “no guaranteeing the results. I’m a griller, not a soup maker.”

  Ginger sat up against the pillows. “I’m sure it will be great.”

  “Well, I cheated. I didn’t make the noodles from scratch. I used store-bought.” He pulled up a chair, flipped it around and sank onto it.

  Once he’d fit the tray across her lap, Ginger dug her spoon into the rich golden broth, redolent with carrots, celery, chunks of white chicken and plump egg noodles. She blew lightly, then lifted the spoon to her lips. “Where did you get them?”

  Rand’s eyes roved over her lovingly. He appeared to like what he was seeing despite the fact her hair was sleep-rumpled and still damp. “My mom. She was still in town, having dinner with her team. So she stopped at the grocery on the way home and dropped the stuff off.”

  Ginger took a bite, then another. The soup was just what she needed. She smiled. “That was nice of her.”

  “It was.”

  Another pause. “Was she mad at you for skipping out of her Q and A?”

  Mad at me? “No.” Rand sobered. “Everyone understood. When a man’s wife needs him, the man goes. End of discussion.”

  Her throat tightened a little. “You don’t think that she thinks I was trying to undercut her in any way? Professionally or otherwise? By not having you there to back her and her team up, if need be—”

  “Or disagree with them,” Rand interjected. “No. My mom didn’t mind. Although, as it turned out, there weren’t any environmental issues for most of the semifinalists, since pretty much everything had already been covered in my initial analysis and environmental impact reports. Basically, any competitor with problems on that score didn’t make the cut.”

  Relieved, Ginger ate more soup. “So when will the Boernes decide?” she asked eventually.

  “They are going to take two or three days to confer, then they will let everyone know one way or another with a phone call from their attorney. Which, as it turns out, is a good thing for you—” he flashed her a heart-stopping grin “—since you and our baby are supposed to spend the next few days resting.” He hesitated, still scrutinizing her. “So? How is the soup?”

  “Really good,” she decreed.

  Blue e
yes narrowed. “But not as good as your mother’s?”

  Of course he would put her on the spot. Knowing it was some kind of test—that he wanted to see if she would lie—she eventually sighed and said, “It’s not better or worse, it’s just different.” She spooned up the last of his soup, savoring every bite. “Homemade egg noodles taste different than store-bought.”

  “Next time,” he promised, rising to take the tray from her.

  As soon as he’d set it safely aside, Ginger grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Grinning, she hauled him against her. “This time is great.” She raked her fingers through his dark rumpled hair, not sure what she would have done this past month without him. Not wanting to find out, either.

  “Just in case I haven’t made myself clear.” She matched his wickedly sensual look with one of her own. “You’ve been a wonderful husband, a wonderful father-to-be, a wonderful everything....”

  His mouth quirked and she brought him nearer still, intending only to share a quick, easy kiss. Her plan went awry the moment their mouths meshed.

  He cupped his hand at the back of her head and kissed her again, slowly and masterfully. Helpless against the tidal wave of feelings, she gave herself up to his embrace.

  His arms came around her as he joined her on the bed, threw back the covers, and stretched out beside her. He dropped his head and kissed her again until she moaned, until the point of breathlessness. Her body was humming with need. “Rand,” she whispered, wanting the safety and heaven only he could provide.

  Briefly he lifted his head. “Is that a yes?”

  She laughed and trailed her tongue across the powerful curve of his shoulder. “Heck, yeah.”

  He grinned. Taking in a sharp breath, he threaded his hands through her hair and tipped her head up to kiss her.

  The make-out session continued, as hot and heavy as ever. Impatient, they rolled onto their sides, facing each other. Still kissing, caressing. Her hands slid to his fly, unsnapping, unzipping. His fingertips slid beneath her pajama top, tracing the round shape of her breasts, the shadowy valley between, before finally finding and caressing the tight tips. An arrow of desire shot through her. Lower still, she was so wet. And still, they kissed and touched, stripped each other naked, and then they kissed again, until they gasped in tandem pleasure. Not satisfied with her shaky moan, he slid down her body. Nestled between her thighs.

  She writhed against him in exquisite torture. She caught his head. “Now, Rand...” She wanted him inside her.

  Rand knew their culmination would be better if he took his time. He also knew there was much, much more he wanted to give. So he simply smiled and went on a little tour. The flat of her belly, the indention of her navel, the insides of her thighs. Then lower still, kissing and caressing her until she was clutching at him, making soft little whimpers for more. He demanded everything of her, until she willingly gave it, and the distance that sometimes cropped up between them, completely faded.

  And still he kissed and fondled, and let her ardent response seduce him, heart and soul. He blazed a trail over her sensitive spots, giving her exactly what she wanted and needed, until she arched and cried out.

  “Now, you,” she insisted.

  And as it turned out, he couldn’t deny her that, either. Heart racing, he lifted her on top of him, eager for mutual gratification. Slowly, gently, he guided her onto him. She raised herself up a little, wrapped her hand around him, and took him deep. Their eyes met as they moved in perfect synchrony. And then they kissed again, his thumb sliding over the spot where they joined. She came again, which he liked, because it meant she felt so much...he felt so much...and he immediately followed her. Satisfaction roared through them and, still trembling, she pressed her face to his throat.

  Aware of everything that had changed between them—and all that, to his frustration, still hadn’t—he continued to hold her close. She clung to him, murmuring her pleasure, and eventually sliding right back into sleep. A deeper contentment—coupled with a soul-deep worry—followed. And as he held her, Rand couldn’t help but think of the look on his wife’s face back in the steakhouse bar.

  For a moment when publicly pressed about why she had married him, she’d had that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.

  Rand hoped she didn’t feel as trapped as it had momentarily seemed. Because the truth was, their marriage was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He hoped by the time their baby was born, she would feel the same way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following evening Rand walked in the door and did a double take. His gaze swept the nicely set table and cottage living area. Both were neat as a pin. He followed his nose and headed straight for the stove. “What’s all this?” He peeked at the chicken roasting in the oven.

  Proud of her handiwork, Ginger flashed him a sassy look and brought out a salad from the fridge. “What do you think it is?” She shook the bottle of homemade vinaigrette and poured it over the mixture of fresh raspberries, almonds and spinach leaves, then carried it to the table.

  Pleasure lit his face. “You’re cooking dinner for me?”

  Ginger winked and went back to fill the serving platter. “I know. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  He washed up and helped her carry everything to the table. He paused to hold out her chair for her. “You were supposed to be resting.”

  Ginger wrinkled her nose. “For me, this is resting.”

  Smiling affectionately, he sat opposite her. “That’s probably true.”

  “And we do have to eat,” she noted as they filled their plates with tender slices of chicken and roasted root vegetables. “So what better than food I’ve prepared for us?”

  “Did I bring the right woman home from the hospital?”

  Ginger grinned. “Funny.”

  “Really. All kidding aside, what’s going on?” Sobering, he paused to search her face. “Did you find out you won the bid?”

  Tension stiffened her spine. “No. There’s no news on that front.”

  “Then...?” He met her gaze and the air seemed to crackle around them.

  Ginger had promised herself that even though their situation was changing due to the baby, they would not have to alter anything about themselves. When the truth was, they had already begun to change, for the better. Aware they were on the brink of some sort of mutual epiphany, she shrugged. “I thought about everything you’ve done for me since we got married. All the food you’ve brought in, the laundry you pretty much finished by yourself, not to mention going clothes shopping with me and bolstering my spirits.”

  “And the sex,” he interjected, his eyes gleaming mischievously. He lifted her wrist to his lips and tenderly kissed the inside. “Don’t forget the great sex.”

  Tingling with need, Ginger returned his flirtatious glance. “There’s no way I’m forgetting the great sex. Not. A. Single. Minute. Of. It.” She punctuated each word with evocative meaning.

  He grinned and leaned across the table to kiss her on the mouth. “Exactly what I want to hear.”

  When they eventually pulled apart and went back to enjoying their meal, Ginger continued. “I’m serious, though. I think you’ve been a much better husband to me than I’ve been a wife to you.” She felt guilty about it.

  “That’s not true. You’re carrying my baby.”

  “Our baby,” Ginger corrected thickly.

  And it was a part of her and a part of him and a precious symbol of all their life would one day be...

  “You’re right.” Rand’s glance drifted over her barely discernible baby bump. “It’s our baby.” Contentment flowed between them as their eyes met.

  Their serious mood intensifying, Rand bared his soul. “You’ve also made me realize there’s a lot more to life than work and causes.”

  Ginger relaxed, realizing she wasn’t the o
nly one who was being transformed. “Such as?”

  “Home. Family.” He started to say what Ginger thought might have been “love” then changed it to simply, “All this.”

  Ginger rose to clear the table and retrieve the dessert she had made. Over her shoulder she said, “I do like our life together.”

  He caught up with her at the kitchen sink and took her in his arms. “Me, too.” His mouth hovered over hers, and they kissed.

  When they came up for air, she said, “Chocolate cake...”

  “Sounds good.” He undid the first several buttons on her shirt. “But it can definitely wait.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed as his lips made an evocative tour of her throat, collarbone and the sensitive spot behind her ear. Hands clutching his shoulders, she caught him with a kiss on the jaw. “We’ve so begun to think alike.”

  He lifted his head and captured her gaze. “Which, in this instance, is a very good thing.”

  Rand swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Ever so gently, he let her down beside the bed. Toed off his boots. Removed his socks. Reaching up behind him, he tugged his shirt over his head in one very smooth, easy motion. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him in just a pair of low-slung jeans.

  Her eyes roamed his satin-smooth skin and strong muscle. “Keep going.”

  His lips quirked. The jeans went. So did the boxer briefs.

  Oh, my.

  His breath rasped. “Now you.”

  Eyes holding his, she undressed slowly. One by one, everything came off. Shirt. Bra. Socks. Jeans. Panties. His heated gaze made a slow, thorough tour of her.

  “We’re good?”

  He grinned. “So good.”

  The next thing she knew, he had pulled her against him. She loved the feel of him even as she loved the ragged groan she wrenched from his chest. Her hands were everywhere. So were his. Their kisses were long, languid, passionate and sweet.

  Breathing erratically, they landed on top of the covers. He palmed her breasts. She clutched his biceps and arched up into him. And still they kissed and kissed. Already cradled by her open thighs, he slid into her. She cried out, shuddering in pleasure. And then there was nothing but the two of them, this moment, their future beckoning as powerfully as their present. His strokes were strong and slow, making her groan, making her want. She quivered and trembled against him, letting him know how very much she needed the oblivion and wonder he offered.