by Leslie North
McCall Ranch Brothers
The Rancher’s Inherited Family
The Cowboy’s Rescue
The Cowboy’s Pregnant Sweetheart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JANUARY 2020
Copyright © 2020 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations.
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
Karen Peterson has always known the rodeo was Carson McCall’s first and only love. She got proof of that when they were eighteen and he left her brokenhearted to join the rodeo circuit. She never got the chance to tell him she was pregnant—and never told him she lost the baby. Nine years later, he’s back home at the McCall Ranch nursing injuries from a bull-riding accident. When she sees him, she has a wonderful idea. Her sister’s autistic son, Devon, wants to learn to ride, and Carson is the perfect man to teach him. But Carson turns her down flat. Until the consequences of a barroom brawl require community service…teaching Devon to ride. Though Carson is the only cowboy she’ll ever love, she can shield her feelings for the sake of her nephew, even if Carson still makes her heart feel like it’s on a bucking bronco. So when she realizes she’s pregnant again, she’s terrified he’ll leave.
Carson is completely at odds. All he wants to do is heal and return to his life, despite his doctors telling him he’ll never ride at the same level again. He hates that he’s not the man he was, hates that everyone pities the washed-up has-been rodeo star. The only bright part of his day is the hour he spends with Devon—and Karen. Carson never forgot her, never really got over her. She’s still the girl he loved when he was just a kid, only she’s even more beautiful now. As they spend time together, it’s hard to resist their deep attraction, and in the end, they give in to it. Still, the lure of his first love—the rodeo—is strong, and when his doctor clears him to join the circuit, he’s happy—just not as happy as he’d thought he’d be. And when he learns Karen is pregnant, he’s torn even more. Could it be that the rodeo isn’t the only thing that matters anymore…?
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(McCall Ranch Brothers Book Three)
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
End of The Cowboy’s Pregnant Sweetheart
Thank You
About Leslie
Also by Leslie
1
Carson McCall winced as his lawyer’s elbow jabbed into his still-healing ribs. The last place he would have expected to find himself was in a courtroom as a defendant. Being here was bad enough, but Sam Blackstone, his overly cautious lawyer, was making it a whole lot worse. The youngest McCall brother was so busy trying to keep his irritation from showing, he only realized belatedly that the judge was speaking to him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he replied, swallowing hard and with no idea what he had just agreed to.
At twenty-seven, Carson, who had never been in trouble with the law before, had been found guilty of assault and was now standing before a judge for sentencing. Worse yet, the judge was looking at him as if he were a common criminal.
Carson was an independent guy. The idea that this man who didn’t know him from Adam now held Carson’s fate in his hands didn’t sit well at all. He covered his feelings by glancing around the courtroom. On television, these places always looked glossy somehow, intimidating in their subtle elegance. In reality, the well-worn carpet was a dispiriting shade of beige and showed the marks of far too many boot-clad feet. The wood paneling of the walls looked like vinyl. The defendant’s chair he was sitting in, waiting to learn his fate, was an unappealing shade of blue and, unless he was happily mistaken, had dealt with its fair share of bodily fluids over the years.
“Your Honor,” his lawyer said, shooting Carson a cautionary glance, “seeing as this is my client’s first offense, I would like to ask for leniency.”
“First offense or not, it was serious,” the judge said, his voice severe.
“That’s true,” Blackstone conceded. “But prior to this incident, Mr. Carson has always been an upstanding citizen.”
Carson took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. He was tired, far more tired than he had any real right to be. Two weeks ago, he'd been released from his jail cell on bail, courtesy of his older brother Trevor, and since then, he'd gotten almost no sleep at all. Part of the problem was the injuries he’d sustained during his last rodeo ride in the PBR US Finals—the last stage he had needed to make it through to the World Championship.
His souvenirs from that ride included stress fractures in his foot and leg, which had him walking with a cane and wearing a therapeutic boot. It was a sure thing that he wouldn't be doing any more riding for some time. He had also fractured several ribs, and the doctor had said he was lucky not to have punctured his lungs. The worst, though, were some pretty gnarly intestinal wounds from where the bull had gored him. Those were the scariest, and they had almost robbed him of his life. Even now, remembering the looks on his brothers’ faces when they had first come to see him in the hospital made him feel ill. They would have been over the moon if he had given up on rodeo right then and there.
It should have been the almost-dying part that had him the most messed up in the head, but in truth, the feeling of loss was what was really getting to him, the feeling of almost having had that championship under his belt, only to have it snatched away.
Being sidelined due to sickness or injury was nothing new. He could still taste the bitterness of the memory of spending weeks sick and cooped up in his bedroom as a little boy while the world continued to move on without him. Having to sit back, helpless, while his brothers kept on racking up accomplishments. He had sworn he would never wind up in that place again, edged out of life by injury. To be there now, and to have somebody throw it in his face, had been more than he could take.
“Leniency,” Judge Warren said again, steepling his hands on the bench, “is something Mr. McCall chose not to show his victim. Had the bouncer not pulled him off the man, he might be looking at a very different situation.”
Carson found himself clenching his jaw. He took a deep breath, and another, and swallowed hard, forcing himself to relax. His lawyer and his brothers Trevor and Randy had expressly warned him
to present a calm, respectful, rational, agreeable appearance before the judge.
“With all due respect, Your Honor,” the lawyer broke in, shooting Carson another sideways glance that was clearly an instruction to keep his mouth shut. “A man as respectable as Mr. McCall, with no prior record, must surely deserve something along the lines of probation and community service.”
Carson lowered his eyes as his thoughts went helplessly back to that night in the bar. He wasn’t proud of what he'd done. He’d never been the kind to resort to violence, but that guy in the bar simply wouldn't let things go. A good ol' boy who’d lived in Winding Creek all his life—and spent a good portion of his adult years hitting the sauce, Clay had been familiar with the whole McCall family in general and Carson in particular, and he'd been relentless in the way he'd lit into Carson.
At the memory, Carson felt a blush mounting up the back of his neck. Good old Clay had just kept pushing and pushing, sneering about how Carson was never going to be "Mr. Big Shot" now, until Carson had lost it—lost his cool, lost his drink, lost everything, including his self-control. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, his stitches torn and a bar full of people looking at him like some kind of lunatic.
“Fine,” the judge said, breaking into Carson’s thoughts. “In a case like your client’s, Mr. Blackstone, the merits of community service instead of jail time are clear.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Thirty days’ community service. I have just the ticket, a task to suit Mr. Carson’s knowledge, experience, and abilities. Miss Peterson? Will you approach the bench, please?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” a woman spoke up from the gallery. At the sound of that sweetly melodious voice, Carson shut his eyes tightly, like a little boy who believes that the monsters will go away if only he can’t see them. Not that Karen Peterson was a monster. She was simply somebody he really, really didn’t feel like seeing right now. Or, preferably, ever.
“Thank you for joining us, Miss Peterson,” the judge said. “Would you please inform the court of the opportunity you have for Mr. McCall to pay back his debt to society?”
“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly, using her “getting down to business” voice that Carson remembered so well. “I would be more than happy to.” She wasn’t simply going through the formalities—she actually sounded happy.
Carson couldn't help himself; he opened his eyes despite his best intentions not to look at her. She sounded so much like she had when they were younger, so in love that the rest of the world didn't seem to matter. Listening to that voice was like hearing a dream, and although his head told him to keep his eyes forward, his heart had other plans.
The judge held up a staying hand. “Just one moment,” he said and began to shuffle through some papers.
Now that Judge Warren wasn’t staring sternly in his direction, Carson risked turning his head. In a quick glance, he saw that Karen was as beautiful as she had ever been—more beautiful, if that were possible. He would have thought he was standing next to a bona-fide movie star if he hadn’t already known who she was. All the unconscious natural beauty she’d had as a girl, before she had entirely known what to do with it, had matured into a sort of calm elegance.
Where she had been gangly, her mess of red hair always in her face, invariably sporting scabs on her knees, now she was poised and almost heartbreaking in her confidence. The red hair was still there, but today it was pulled back and pinned up in some kind of fancy hairstyle he didn't know the name of. He could still make out the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, even subdued with the use of artfully applied makeup. Her eyes were what really got to him, though, the same way they had when she and Carson were eighteen and parked in his truck far later than they should have been. Hers were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
“Hey, McCall,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, offering him one of her patented wry smiles. “Long time, no see.”
“Come on, Karen, what are you doing here?” he mumbled, trying to look as if he wasn’t talking at all. His aching ribs didn’t need any more sharp-elbowed lawyer jabs.
“You already know what I’m doing here,” she said. Carson risked another glance at her and saw that she wasn’t looking at him at all now but was staring attentively at the judge, who was perusing a particular paper he’d fished out of the stack.
Not wanting to attract the judge’s attention, he barely managed to stop himself from shaking his head at his own thickness. She was right. He knew exactly why she’d come, although he hadn’t expected her to show up at his sentencing. Word in a town like Winding Creek traveled fast, especially when it had to do with the town’s sometimes rodeo star. She had called him up two nights ago, completely out of the blue, and told him she had a proposition for him. After the way he had left her, almost ten years ago now, he hadn’t ever expected to hear from her again. He was even more surprised at her plan, and his answer had been a resounding no. He’d thought that was the end of it, but he should have known better. When Karen sank her teeth into an idea, she could be a pit bull: relentless until she got her way.
“Judge Warren, I believe that Carson McCall is uniquely suited to the special project I talked to you about to fulfill his community service.”
She had gone behind his back? Talked to the judge? "Your Honor," Carson interrupted, feeling somehow betrayed by both judge and ex-girlfriend, "she's already contacted me about this idea, and I told her I'd pass."
“For the record,” the judge said, his voice full of warning, and Carson’s lawyer gave a tug at his sleeve and a significant look. He could almost hear Blackstone’s voice in the back of his mind, repeating, Being found in contempt of court is serious business.
Carson shut his mouth and nodded to show he was listening. The judge continued, “I’d like Miss Peterson to outline this service opportunity.” Evidently not missing a single word, the court reporter nodded and kept typing away. Turning to Carson, the judge said, “Would you extend her that courtesy, at least?”
“Yes, of course,” Carson answered, although he did so grudgingly. “I’m listening.”
Right,” she said with a quick nod, either unfazed by the tension in the room or simply adept at hiding it. “As you know, I work with children with autism. I have a particular boy in mind, twelve years old. His one true love in life is horses and anything to do with them. If Carson McCall were to teach him how to ride, it might just be the highlight of the boy’s life. And, of course, I believe it would go a long way toward teaching Carson some patience.”
"My patience wasn't the problem, Karen, I—" Carson began, stiffening, but the rapping of the judge’s gavel shut him up quickly, before Blackstone could poke him again. An outburst wasn't going to do him any good, and he knew it. What was the matter with him, that he couldn't seem to shut his mouth?
"Well," Judge Warren said, leaning forward. "I suppose you might try to tell me you’d like to choose to serve thirty days behind bars instead of performing community service.” He fixed Carson with a keen eye. “But it seems to me that you have the chance to do more people a lot more good than cooling your heels in jail will do.”
Carson met the judge’s challenging stare and considered for a long moment. While a jail cell certainly seemed a better alternative than being thrown together with Karen for the next thirty days, the prospect reminded him too much of being that little boy confined to his bed while the world passed him by. It wasn’t something he was willing to relive, not if he could help it.
“All right, Your Honor,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the restless movement of the people still waiting to appear before the judge. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” the judge said, clearly pleased with this solution. “Thirty days community service with Peterson’s organization, to be supervised by Miss Peterson. I will leave Miss Peterson to fill you in on the details.”
“Don’t worry,” Carson muttered under his breath as the bailiff called for those in the courtroom to rise.
“She’s already filled me in on more than I ever wanted to know.”
2
Carson stood on the front porch of the McCall ranch house, a place he still thought of as his parents’ home, squinting down the road into the distance. He’d been waiting on Karen to show up with the subject of his community service for the last thirty minutes, alternating between standing stock still, shivering, and limping back and forth across the creaky boards. Every movement sent a jolt of pain to his ribs, but the thought of sitting on the couch and twiddling his thumbs was worse than the discomfort, and so he remained where he was.
Every few seconds, he glanced toward the riding arena where he and his brothers had been honing their riding skills since their younger days. With Trevor living at the B&B now and Randy settled in on Heather’s farm, it had fallen to Carson to keep it and the rest of the family ranch going.
“And on top of that, now I’m adding babysitting to my list of chores,” he said disgustedly to the stiff, cold air.
He’d never known Karen to arrive late when they were young; as a matter of fact, she and the boy weren’t due for another fifteen minutes. He wasn't waiting out here because she was late—he was out here because he couldn't think of any other place to be. He had tried to distract himself by tackling some of the chores he could manage in his current state, but he couldn’t seem to settle into a task. Every few minutes, he’d start thinking about Karen standing beside him in that courtroom, and that feeling of betrayal would return. Not much he could do about it now besides grit his way through the next thirty days.
