Kissed by a Cowboy

by Pamela Britton

  “Speaking of cutting horses, I suppose I could put that stroller together and bring the baby with me while I ride.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  They both looked up to find Wes’s mother standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.

  “The baby is still sleeping. You go do what you need to do today, Wes. I’ll come get you if she wakes up.”

  Wes let the tall box that contained the stroller slide to his feet. “Mom. You don’t have to watch her. She’s my responsibility.”

  “And I’m your mother, and the child’s grandmother.”

  Maybe.

  She didn’t say the word out loud, but Jillian could read it in her eyes.

  “Plus, you have a lot riding on that horse, Wesley. I’m anxious to see you get started. Go. Do what you need to do.”

  Jillian could see how torn he was by the way his lips pressed together and his fingers flexed as they held the white bag. His determination to be a responsible father warred with his desire to start training his new gelding and to carry out his duties as farm manager. Her estimation of him rose even more. When she’d first met him, she’d pegged him for a careless cowboy. Silver spoon in his mouth. Spoiled, probably. After watching how he reacted to his life being turned upside down and hearing what he hoped to accomplish, she realized nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Can I watch you ride?”

  What are you doing, Jillian? You already like him too much.

  “Of course.”

  If you don’t watch out, you’ll end up liking him even more.

  And that would never do.

  Chapter Eleven

  He’d wondered on the way home from the sale if he’d imagined Dudley’s talent. It took ten minutes of working with the horse to realize that if anything, he’d underestimated the scope of his ability. After an hour of working cattle, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Not just talented, the horse was gifted. He’d nearly come off a few times as Dudley ducked left and then right chasing a steer, legs close to the ground, the steer he held back from the herd crying out in distress.

  “Easy, boy,” he told the horse when he pulled him up. His black cowboy hat had become dislodged. He had to cram it back down on his head. “You’re doing great.”

  The animal snorted and then shook his head as if saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

  Dudley’s copper coat had turned mocha-brown with sweat. He patted him again and said, “That’s enough.”

  “He looks great.”

  It was his mom’s voice. He hadn’t even noticed her arrival, but there she stood, next to Jillian, outside of the massive circular pen his mom claimed she’d had built for her racehorses, but he knew better. Racehorses didn’t need cattle chutes, but that, too, his mom had excused away. Made it easier to doctor the cattle they raised if they had a place to gather them. He hadn’t been able to argue the point.

  And then he spotted the stroller.

  He’d been able to forget for a brief hour that he was a daddy. The anxiety returned to kick him in the gut. He’d tried half a dozen times to get hold of Maxine. She hadn’t returned a single call. As he rode Dudley toward his mom, he wondered yet again if that wasn’t part of her plan. Make him sweat. Keep him guessing what her next move might be. Manipulation. And it had worked.

  “How is she?” he asked, trying to see over the rail of the arena to the tiny bundle inside.

  “She woke up hungry, but we took care of her, didn’t we, Cowboy?”

  His dog glanced up at his mother, but only briefly. He kept his eyes on the stroller. Weird. He’d seen them before. Whenever there’d been children at a cutting event, he’d never given them a second look. But his dog seemed to know he had babysitting duty today.

  “Did you need me to watch her for a bit?” Jillian offered.

  Jillian. The whole time he’d saddled up Dudley, she’d asked if she could help him out, and when he’d declined, she’d taken it upon herself to pick up a rake and start mucking stalls. He’d told her no...and been firmly ignored.

  “I can take her off your hands,” Jillian added.

  “No, no,” his mom said. “She’s fine right here.” His mom reached through the rail, patting Dudley on the neck. “What’s his name?”

  “Dudley Dual Right,” Jillian provided.

  His mom laughed. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that in a while. Things had been tough for her since his dad had died. Tough for him, too, but he always kept so busy. His mom tried to keep busy, too, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. It didn’t help that the clock continued to tick down toward his next birthday. He knew she worried about him, fretted over his future.

  “How long have you been watching?”

  “Ever since the arena came into view.”

  His house was tucked back, away from the massive stable where his mom bred and raised her racehorses. His home had originally been a caretaker’s cottage, the stables built by a wealthy movie mogul in the 1930s and then refurbished by his dad when they’d bought the place. It was out of the way, around the base of a small hill, but he’d been so engrossed riding that he hadn’t even noticed his mom strolling down the gravel drive.

  “I think he might be as good as Bugsy.” He stepped down. The dark brown chaps he wore had slipped down around the waist. He tugged them back up.

  “Oh, Wes, really?”

  Nobody could understand the importance of this little horse like his mom. His gaze fell on Jillian. Well, Jillian, too.

  “How did you end up with him ahead of the sale?” His mom eyed the horse, her knowing gaze skating over the horse’s narrow frame. They’d been so busy taking care of Maggie last night they hadn’t even had time to talk.

  “That’s a funny story.” He tugged the reins over Dudley’s head. “Jillian told me to buy him.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Jillian shrugged. “I just liked the looks of him.”

  “And then he bucked off his owner.”

  “He what?”

  “The owner was an idiot,” Jillian explained.

  “But Jillian insisted I buy him.”

  “Are you a professional consultant or something?” his mom asked.

  “Well, I’m a trainer first. I specialize in horses with difficult dispositions. I suspected Dudley’s problems had more to do with who was riding him than being a bad horse.”

  “Like a horse whisperer or something.” His mom seemed tickled by the concept.

  “Something like that.”

  “Wow. We have a mare who has a horrible disposition. We’re hoping to breed her, but I’m almost afraid for fear of what she might do to the foal. Maybe you could help us pinpoint what’s going on.”

  Jillian eyes glowed. “I’d love to help out.”

  “In fact, I might have you look at all my racehorses.” His mom turned to him. “I can’t imagine it’d hurt, and it might actually help.”

  Just then the baby started fussing. He watched as both Jillian and his mom went to the side of the stroller, his mom cooing at the little girl. She might have aged in recent years, but she was still beautiful, especially when her whole face softened the way it did right then. Jillian had looked the same way earlier, but for some reason the two of them together, Jillian and his mom, shushing and kissing at the little girl, his little girl, it did something to him.

  A cold nose brushed his hand. He glanced down and spotted Cowboy. The dog’s tail wagged, as if he tried to tell him that he understood his master’s fascination, that he felt the same way, too.

  “Can I pick her up?” he heard Jillian ask.

  “It’s not up to me—it’s up to Wes.”

  They turned to look at him, but was it up to him? Damn it. He wished Maxine would call him back. “Sure.”

  This was potentially the biggest year of his life, and Maxine’s little stunt couldn’t have come at a worse possible time. And yet the sight of Jillian lifting up Maggie, of the way she nestled the baby in the crook of her arm
and then the way she cooed at the little girl some more, a smile on her face, it had him thinking for the first time that maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

  The thought stayed with him up until the moment Maxine called, and then just the tone of her voice told him nothing would ever be the same again.

  * * *

  “WHAT DID SHE SAY?”

  It was a while before her son would answer. Vivian’s appetite had completely faded the moment she’d heard Wes’s cell phone ring and then spotted the tension that had spread across his face. He’d left the kitchen to take the call, but she didn’t need to know what was said to know it wasn’t good.

  “She says the baby’s mine and therefore my responsibility.”

  No demand for money? That surprised her. The moment the woman had arrived at her front gate, Vivian had known there was trouble. She’d met her at the racetrack on the night of the benefit, but Maxine had never been to the farm before. When she’d heard her name and recognized her on the security camera, she’d felt a kick to her gut. She would have never guessed what she had inside that vehicle, though.

  “Well, if you’re Maggie’s father, she’s right.”

  Wes took a seat at the table. In the distance the ocean sparkled like a million Christmas lights. They were eating early so they could put the baby down for the night at a reasonable hour. She glanced over at the bassinet she’d bought earlier, but not even the fact that the little girl was quiet seemed to calm her son’s nerves. If she didn’t miss her guess, not much would bring a smile to his face.

  Poor boy. So much on his plate, and now this.

  “She said if I don’t take care of her, she’ll put Maggie up for adoption.”

  Vivian wasn’t much for swearing, but she felt like it right then. “Did you tell her you would never let that happen?”

  “I told her. And she knew it before. It’s why she dumped her here in the first place. I just wish she’d told me earlier what was going on.”

  Vivian wondered if this wasn’t all part of some kind of plan. Get her son attached to Maggie and then threaten to take the child away unless Wes gave her money.

  Her stomach churned just thinking about it. Their dinners lay in front of them, forgotten. Chinese stir-fry. From the smell of it, her cook had outdone herself.

  “I suppose I’ll have to call on Monday for a paternity test just to confirm it, even though I know she’s mine.”

  “How do you even arrange for those?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to call Dr. Starnes.”

  “In the meantime, I think it makes sense to have me look after her.” She glanced at the bassinet. “She’s less than two weeks old, Wes. She won’t be much trouble.”

  “Mom, you’re too old to be watching a baby.”

  “I am not too old.”

  “It’s a lot of work.”

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  “It’s my responsibility.”

  “Yes, but I’m here to help.” She picked up her fork even though she wasn’t the least bit hungry. In times like these it helped to go on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. When her husband had died, that was what she had done. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out. One day at a time. “Wes, you don’t allow me to help enough as it is. Please. Just this once, accept my offer. You have no idea how much it’s killed me to watch you slave away all these years.”

  Her one and only child peered up at her with sadness in his eyes. “It’s for a good cause.” He picked up his fork, too. She had to work to hide her relief. The boy needed to eat. “If I succeed, then all that Dad and Grandpa and Great-Grandpa worked for will continue on.”

  “It’s a stupid policy.” She shook her head again. “I told your father that when I first heard about it. It’s stupid and outdated. These days there’s any number of things you could do to keep the bulk of the Landon fortune intact.”

  “There is, but like Dad used to say, you can’t argue with success. Dad didn’t see any need to change it and if I succeed—”

  “When you succeed.”

  He nodded once. “When I succeed, I’ll do the same thing. And Maggie will have to prove herself one day, too.”

  “Both you and she will have the money I’ve saved up over the years. My own money isn’t tied to your father and his fripperies.”

  “Fripperies?” He cocked a blond brow at her, and she thought that was better. He didn’t seem as stressed. “Mom, you’ve been watching too much Downton Abbey.”

  “That’s what this reminds me of. Something out of a British historical.”

  “Well, it is what it is.”

  That was what her husband used to say, too. She’d tried to get him to change his mind over the years, but he’d always insisted having to earn his keep had been the making of him. Hardworking. Outgoing. Not afraid to take risks—that had been her husband. One only had to look at Edward’s brothers to see what happened when men rested on their laurels hoping for a handout. They had the same upbringing, but they’d turned out to be selfish, superficial wastrels, according to Edward. Her husband had been the most remarkable man she’d ever met. Just thinking about him made her heart grow heavy, but she reminded herself that she’d been left behind to help Wes.

  “Well, I’m glad you had the sense to accept Jillian’s help today.”

  “I don’t think she would have let me say no, but she can’t be here all the time.”

  “Wesley Landon, I am telling you right now that I am going to help you with the baby. And if I’m not around, I’m sure any one of the other ranch hands or their wives will help out. It takes a village to raise a child and you have one right here. No, no.” She held up her hand. “I’m not taking no for an answer. If Maggie turns out to be yours, that means she’s my grandchild. I’m only doing what any grandmother with a very large trust fund and too much time on her hands would offer to do. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  He might pretend as though he didn’t need her help, but she could see the relief in his eyes when he said, “All right. Fine.”

  “And I think you should let Jillian Thacker help out, too.”

  “Mom, I’m not going to hit her up for free day care.”

  “Not that way. I had to talk to Mariah about the CEASE fund-raiser we’re holding here and she told me Jillian’s been a big help with CEASE’s rescue horses. From what I hear she’s a huge asset when it comes to spotting potential problems.”

  “With any luck there won’t be any problems.”

  He had a point. She almost—almost—told Wes about everything she’d heard, but her pragmatic son would have a tough time believing in animal communicators.

  “Just the same, I’m going to invite her out to the farm tomorrow to look at Dolly, the mare I want to breed. I’ll have her look in on you, too.”

  “Mom, you don’t need to do that.”

  “I want to, Wes. I want to help you to succeed and if there’s even a slim chance this woman can help, I’ll take it. It’s too important not to do everything we can to ensure your success.”

  “But—”

  “Shush. I’ll send her down in the morning.”

  She saw his lips twitch. “Why do I suddenly feel ten years old again?”

  She got up from the table, scooping up her plate in the process. “Because you’ll always be my baby.” She glanced inside the bassinet and at the sleeping little angel inside of it. “Even when my baby has his own baby to care for.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Even when my baby has his own baby to care for.

  The words repeated inside Wes’s head as he made arrangements for a paternity test. Maxine had sounded so certain that the child was his, and to be honest, he’d started to believe her. She’d even volunteered to take a test, too, something that would make the DNA typing easier.

  Still, the day of the lab appointment, his hands shook as though he had low blood sugar. He’d never driven Maggie anywhere and, to b
e honest, the thought scared the bejeezus out of him.

  “You ready, kiddo?” he asked the little girl. They were in his family room, Maggie on a blanket alongside the car seat. His mom had given him a quick lesson the night before. Actually, it’d been more like a journey of discovery for the both of them. “Hopefully, I’m doing this right.”

  Insert left leg through one hole. Right leg in the other. Snap the two plastic pieces together. There. Done.

  He sat back and admired his work. Maggie looked more like a race car driver. She gurgled and cooed happily, as if she knew she was going for a ride. It made him smile. The plastic mobile his mom had bought to hang off the handle caught her attention. It put such a look of wonder on Maggie’s face, Wes’s grin grew. Her whole body quivered when one of the dangling bits moved, and Wes would swear her eyes smiled.

  Next, the truck.

  That, too, was accomplished with relative ease. The seat snapped into the base with a satisfying snick. He made sure the seat belt looked right. He had to take a deep breath before he climbed into the driver’s seat. If he positioned his rearview mirror just right he could keep the car seat in his line of sight.

  Keys. Ignition.

  The truck’s engine started instantly. He backed out of his driveway like a ninety-year-old man. His speed didn’t improve much as he headed toward the lab his doctor’s office had recommended. According to their family physician it would take less than forty-eight hours for results. The only delay might be mail. Apparently, they needed to send the samples back east for testing. It wouldn’t be more than a week, two weeks max, before he’d know for certain if Maggie was his.

  His heart began to beat faster the closer he got to the lab. When he pulled into a parking spot in front of the single-story building he had to take a moment to collect himself.

  Why was he so scared?

  He glanced at the car seat in the back. This was it. The moment of truth. There’d be no turning back once the test was in the mail.

  The reception area was full of people. The lab was also a clinic to donate blood and so the people in the lobby were a blend of old and young, well dressed and poorly clothed, tense and relaxed. Fortunately, they took him right in. Wes clutched the car seat’s handle, matching diaper bag bouncing against his back, as he was shown into a room with a curtained door.