The Single Dad's New Twins (Billionaire Cowboy Romance)

by Holly Rayner

  It feels good to relax and do something that I know how to do. I may not know what I’m doing when it comes to men, relationships, or motherhood, but I sure do know how to bake.

  The fancy dessert is finished and chilling in the refrigerator at one o’clock when I hear Garrett’s truck pull into the driveway. I wait twenty minutes, and then carry the desert, which is wrapped in tinfoil as well as a dishcloth, over toward the ranch.

  This time, I know Garrett’s inside. I ring the bell as a matter of courtesy, and then open the door and call in. “Garrett? Are you home?”

  “In my office!” I hear him call out. Then I hear him continue to speak, but in a quieter tone. He must be on the phone.

  I follow the sound of his voice through a lounge area, and then down a carpeted hall. When I reach the office, I set the dessert on a little table just outside. Then I knock lightly on his door.

  After a few seconds he calls, “Come in!”

  I push the door open and step inside.

  “Sorry to bother you,” I say. “But I heard your car pull up, and thought I’d better see if you were available. It’s already afternoon and I want to do most of my driving tonight before dark.”

  “Yes, good thinking,” he says. He pushes his phone to the side, as if trying to put it out of mind. “I have no idea where the day went. I’m in the middle of selling one of my companies in Asia, and we’ve hit a few snags. I’ve been tied up on the phone all morning. But that can wait. Let’s talk.”

  “Great,” I say, sliding into a seat that’s positioned in front of his desk. “Like I said last night, I’m really glad we’re going to handle this in a business-like fashion. I think if we stay calm and think logically, we can come to some terms that both of us feel good about.”

  “That would be excellent,” Garrett says, placing his hands in a triangle in front of him and eyeing me. “How do you propose we begin?”

  “Well, I was thinking the best place to start might be terms of custody. I have no idea how involved of a parent you want to be. I’d love for the twins to know their father—to have a relationship with you… If that’s something you’re interested in.” I eye him.

  He nods but doesn’t speak. I continue.

  “I’m open to your thoughts,” I say. “I’ve been tossing around the idea of joint custody, but I know you work a lot. You might not want that. You could see them every weekend, or every other weekend…”

  Still, he doesn’t speak. Am I imagining things, or does he look pale all of a sudden? He seems hurt by what I’ve just said, but I have no idea why.

  “I’m not trying to pressure you to be involved,” I say. “If you don’t want to have the twins in your care, that’s okay. I’ll manage. I just think it might be nice if they have a relationship with you.”

  He nods and clears his throat. “Yes, I’d like that… a relationship. It would be good.” He clears his throat again. He’s obviously uncomfortable.

  “You don’t have to decide right now,” I say.

  “Good,” he says. “I’d like to think about it.”

  “Then there’s the matter of finances,” I say. “I looked up the standard amount of childcare for the state of Oklahoma, and—”

  My phone rings, cutting me off. “Excuse me,” I say as I reach into my bag. “I didn’t realize I got service here.”

  “It’s only in this office,” Garrett says. “On the rest of the property it’s very spotty. I had to cut down trees between that window and the cell tower.” He points to a window to our left.

  “Oh.” I look down at the phone in my hand. “My landlord,” I mutter. “I should take this…”

  “Go ahead,” Garrett says. “I don’t mind.”

  I press a button on my phone to accept the call, and then hold the phone up to my ear as I walk over toward the window that Garrett pointed to.

  “Karla? This is Tim Hines. I’m calling about your rental unit.” He sounds nervous. I don’t like it.

  “Hi, Tim,” I say. “I’m excited to move in on Monday. Is everything on schedule?”

  “Uh… about that,” Tim says. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of an issue over here. The apartment is not going to be ready for you this Monday like we discussed.”

  “Not ready?” I repeat. “I don’t get it. I thought the renovations were almost done. You mentioned at the beginning of last week that all you had left was a few finishing touches.”

  “There’s been some flooding,” he says. “It happened two nights ago, when one of the construction crew members cut through a pipe in the ceiling by accident. Water leaked into one of the walls, and they had to tear apart the wall to make sure no mold grew. I’ve tried to call you about it several times.”

  “I’ve been… tied up,” I say, rather than go into the details of my personal life.

  I look over my shoulder and see that Garrett has pulled out his laptop. He’s looking at the screen, but I know he’s also listening to me. How could he not be? I’m in his office, for goodness’ sake. I wish I could step out into the hallway to get some privacy, but I’m afraid of dropping the call.

  “I really need to move into that apartment,” I say. “I already moved out of my previous place yesterday. I’m living out of my car at the moment—all of my stuff is in storage.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Tim says.

  “How long is this going to take?” I ask.

  “It’s unpredictable,” he says. “Maybe a week, maybe two.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t wait that long. I need an apartment on Monday. I’m going to have to look for something else.”

  “Go ahead,” he tells me.

  “I’ll need my money back,” I say. “I gave you a down payment and the first month’s rent.”

  “Can’t do that,” he says. “I already spent that on the construction crews.”

  “That is your problem, not mine,” I say.

  “I’ll get your money to you at the end of the month when I collect from a few other tenants,” he says. “Until then, just hold tight.”

  “Hold tight?” I repeat, my voice rising with panic. “How am I supposed to do that? I have a right to get my money back—”

  I stop speaking as I realize that Tim has already hung up the phone.

  No! This is not good.

  I look down at the phone, thinking about my next move. Should I take him to small claims court? It would take weeks—or even months—for the case to go through, plus I’d need money for a lawyer. I can’t wait weeks or months. I need a place to live now, and my bank account is frightfully low. In fact, I think I nearly drained it by booking a hotel in Willow Creek last night.

  What am I going to do?

  Stunned, I walk back to the chair I was sitting in before.

  Garrett looks up from his laptop. “Everything okay?” he asks while closing it up and moving it to the side.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble. In my mind, I’m trying to remember exactly what I have left in my bank account. There’s no way I’m going to move into that apartment now that I know how unreliable and careless the landlord is. I don’t want to rent form a guy like that. I’m going to have to find a new apartment—but do I have enough money to do so? Some places ask for first and last months’ rent, along with a security deposit. There’s no way I have enough for that.

  “… and then there’s schooling to think about,” Garrett says. I think he’s been talking for a while, but I haven’t exactly heard what he’s been saying. “The tuition will affect my payments, but we don’t have to worry about that for a few years.”

  “I’m sorry… what?” I say.

  Garrett pauses, examining me. Then, instead of repeating himself, he says, “Karla, you seem distracted. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You’re having some kind of trouble with your apartment?”

  I nod. “Yeah. The landlord promised me it’d be ready this Monday, but he kind of just pulled the rug right out from under me. There’
s been some holdups with the construction—they were working on renovations, so I could move in—and now the apartment’s not going to be ready for another one or two weeks.”

  “I gathered that,” Garrett says. “What did he say when you demanded a refund?”

  “No dice, basically,” I say. “He’s not going to be able to give me my money back until the end of June.”

  Garrett is silent.

  “I’ll figure something out,” I say. “I’ll just have to find somewhere else to live for a little while.”

  I picture the little office space at Christy’s house that she converts into a guest bedroom by putting a cot inside. The thought of staying with her for a few weeks while I figure out my housing situation makes me cringe. Her house is filled to the brim with dogs and kids, bouncing off the walls. The last thing they need is another body in the mix for that long.

  “You could stay here,” Garrett says. He’s no longer using his business-like tone. Instead his voice is warm, soft, and gentle. A shiver runs up my spine as he says this. I remember the way he invited me to his house, on the night we spent together. I remember how warm his breath was, when he whispered the invitation in my ear.

  Of course, this time, the offer is different. Our situation is different. But there’s still something in his tone that’s intimate and gentle, just the same.

  I stare across the desk at him and search his eyes. His gray-blue eyes search mine in response. It’s as though he’s trying to peer into me and see how I feel about his offer.

  “That’s really nice of you,” I say. “We do have a lot of details to work out… child custody, support payments…”

  He nods. “Yes. Colt has a break between trimesters at school. He has the entire week off. We’ll be here, and it’s fine by me if you use the guest house. I think Colt would be upset with me if you left this afternoon before he had a chance to see you. You know, he talked about you quite a lot. Something about a zombie apocalypse?”

  I laugh, recalling the afternoon I spent with the boy. “Yeah. He was going to tell me how he would modify your car to turn it into a vehicle that would survive an end-of-the-world, zombie-attack scenario.”

  “Interesting,” Garrett says, chuckling too. “What do you say? Do you want to stay?”

  I can’t overthink this. His offer is kind, and I really need a roof over my head while I find a new apartment.

  I nod. “Yes. I’ll stay for the week while I figure out what to do next. Thanks, Garrett.”

  I feel myself blushing a bit, and I don’t know why. Garrett isn’t inviting me to stay in his bedroom… He’s just letting me crash in his guest house for a little while.

  I look down, bite my lip, and try to compose myself. I think it was the tone of his voice when he said I could stay here in Willow Creek. It reminded me of that night, all those weeks ago—the night that started it all. A lot has happened since then, and it would do me good to remember that.

  Chapter 13

  Garrett

  Karla looks up at me through her long, dark eyelashes. “Should we get back to the meeting?” she asks.

  Her words send an ache through my chest.

  This feels wrong—all wrong. I don’t like thinking about the fact that soon I will have children that don’t live with me all the time. Yes, she’s offered to share custody so that I can be involved, but still it means I will miss so much.

  Who am I kidding? I work so much. Even if I was fathering children with a woman I was married to, I would still probably miss the big milestones—like the first steps, or the first time one of them says “da-da.” I’ve missed so much of Colt’s life, due to work.

  I have to stop prioritizing work over my own son. Not for the first time, I realize that in the blink of an eye he’s going to be a teenager, and then he’ll move out of the house. Marry… have children of his own.

  “…That way we could adjust the budget according to what is happening that year for the two of them,” Karla says.

  “Yes, right, the budget,” I say. “I’m fine with that.”

  Wrong. This is all wrong.

  “Great,” Karla says. “I’m glad we got that settled. Do you want your lawyers to write something up, or should I try to look around for a good one?”

  “I have an excellent staff of lawyers,” I say. “I’ll ask one of them to handle this once we have the parameters straight.”

  “Good,” Karla says. “So that’s sorted. Maybe you can think over the custody thing and decide on how often you want to see them. We could meet again tomorrow, once you’ve given it some thought?”

  I agree, though I know that no matter how much I think on the matter, my heart will continue to protest. Karla stands, and I walk her to the office door. She’s wearing a skirt, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful it looks on her. It’s a flattering cut that shows off the curve of her hips and her toned legs.

  She steps out into the hallway and begins to walk away.

  “Oh!” she says, turning around. “I almost forgot something.” She hurries back to me, and for a brief, crazy moment I think she’s about to reach out and embrace me. I imagine how her arms would feel, wrapped around my neck. I imagine her lips, soft and warm against mine.

  Her arms are out, but she doesn’t reach for me. Instead she picks up a cloth wrapped dish from the table near my office door. “Tiramisu,” she says. “I baked it for you. It’s my grandmother’s recipe; I think you’re going to like it.”

  “Tiramisu!” I say as I accept the heavy dish. I peek under the cloth and see aluminum foil.

  She laughs. “It’s wrapped up tight,” she says. “Put it right in the fridge. It should be perfect in a few hours. You could have a slice after dinner.”

  “This is my favorite Italian dessert,” I say. I return the corner of cloth that I’d pulled away, and then look at Karla. She’s smiling. Her eyes, the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen, sparkle as she looks at me with kindness.

  “I know,” she says, sounding pleased with herself. “Mrs. Romano mentioned you always get it at Romano’s Kitchen, so I figured it was at least in your top ten. I just wanted to show my thanks to you for fixing my car.”

  We stand, just looking at each other for a moment. I feel speechless. No one has done anything this nice, or this thoughtful, for me for years. My wife used to do things like this. She would surprise me with tickets to a show put on by one of my favorite bands, or she would put little notes in my briefcase, which I’d find when I opened it up at the office. Ever since she passed away, those little surprises and kind gestures have been missing. Sure, my chef cooks my favorite dishes often, but I pay her. I’ve been surrounded by employees for so long, I forgot what it’s like to receive a gift that I didn’t request ahead of time.

  “Enjoy,” Karla says softly. Then she turns and walks away from me.

  I lean against the doorframe, the dish heavy in my hands, and watch her walk away.

  I don’t move for quite a while, even after she’s out of sight.

  Then, I carry the dish into the kitchen. I’m about to open the fridge and put it inside, but the desire to have a taste gets the best of me. I unfold the cloth and then peel back the tinfoil. The creamy layer of mascarpone is perfectly smoothed on the top layer and dusted with cinnamon.

  With a spoon, I dip into the layers of goodness and pull out a bite. I place it on my tongue and savor the flavors.

  It’s absolutely perfect.

  I lick the spoon clean and walk it to the sink.

  Once I’ve put the entire dish into the fridge to chill, I walk over to a bank of windows in the kitchen that look out over the front lawn. To the right, I can see the guest house. Is Karla inside? What is she doing?

  A longing comes over me. I remember how sweet her lips were when I kissed her. I want to taste her lips again, just like I tasted the sweet dessert she gave me.

  But so much has changed.

  She’s carrying my children, yet we’re not in a relationship. I can’
t confuse things by developing feelings for her. She’s so intent on handling this in a business-like manner, and she’s absolutely right. It will be better this way—less chance of messy emotions getting involved and mucking things up.

  I walk away from the window. Staring at the guest house will only make thoughts of Karla continue to bubble up.

  Instead of dwelling on my situation, I return to my office and bury myself in work. I know it’s a coping mechanism that I have, but I have it because it works—soon my confusion about Karla is completely out of mind.

  In the early evening, I drive into town and pick up Colt from his camp. We eat dinner in town, and when we arrive home, just before dark, he notices Karla’s car still in the driveway.

  “She didn’t leave?” Colt says, hopefully, peering out of the passenger window as I pull the truck into the garage.

  “Karla’s going to be using the guest house for a little while,” I say. I park and turn off the engine but remain seated. “But we might not see her that much. She and I have a few business-related things to talk through, so we’ll be having meetings, but other than that we should give her space.”

  “What kind of business things?” Colt asks. “She said she was a cook. Are you going to start a restaurant for her or something?”

  I shake my head. “It’s complicated, son,” I say.

  Colt sighs. “You say that about everything, Dad.” He pushes the truck door open and hops out.

  I lean my head against the headrest. I know I’ll have to tell Colt about the half-siblings he’s about to have, but I don’t know how to approach the subject. He’s finally doing well after such a rough spring. I’d hate to upset him now.

  “That’s because everything’s complicated,” I whisper to myself. Then I open my door and follow Colt to the house.

  We watch part of a baseball game together, and then each head off to bed. In the quiet darkness, with no distractions to aid me, my mind returns to Karla. When I finally manage to fall asleep, it’s with thoughts of her on my mind.

  In the morning, I prepare breakfast for Colt and me, and then we make the drive into Willow Creek. Colt seems excited to go to camp, which makes me happy. When I return to the ranch, I head to the stables.