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SETTLE DOWN, COWBOY!
His family’s Arizona cattle ranch is just the place for Cole Dempsey to hang his hat before he heads back to the rodeo circuit. That is, until Violet Hathaway makes Cole think twice about his future when the livestock manager delivers her game-changing news: she’s pregnant!
One passionate mistake could cost Vi her job at Dos Estrellas. And whatever growing feelings Cole and Violet have for each other, she knows the professional cowboy hadn’t planned on settling down in Mustang Valley. When he hits the road again, he’ll take her dream of them making a life together. Or is a rancher’s legacy about to come full circle?
“I think of you a lot. And the baby.”
Her curiosity got the best of her. “Do you?”
He faced her and, if it weren’t hot enough already outside, her cheeks instantly heated beneath his intense scrutiny.
“In fact, I think about that night a lot.”
“Hmm. The sex.”
“Not the sex.” He dipped his head. “Though, it was good. Mighty good.”
“Cole, we can’t.” She moved away, putting some much-needed distance between them.
He stopped her with a gentle tug on her elbow. “What I think about is the talking. The holding. The sleeping in each other’s arms and waking up together with you beside me. The smell of your hair and the softness of your skin.”
Vi could feel her resistance slowly melting.
Dear Reader,
It’s interesting how many changes a story can go through from its early stages to the finished book. Having the Rancher’s Baby started out one way. When my editor read my original idea, she asked, “What if Cole was the father of Violet’s baby?” and, like that, the story went in a whole new direction.
Having a baby when circumstances aren’t ideal can be difficult. I tried hard to create realistic people in Cole and Violet. Showing their growing love for each other, and for their unborn baby, in the face of so many obstacles was a joy for me to write. I hope it’s a joy for you to read.
I’m also pleased to announce that a portion of my royalties for this book is being donated to the wild horse sanctuary in Shingletown, California. If you have a moment, please check out the great work this organization does to protect the future of wild horses at wildhorsesanctuary.org. These amazing animals are truly living legends.
Warmest wishes,
Cathy McDavid
CathyMcDavid.com
Facebook.com/CathyMcDavid
Twitter.com/CathyMcDavid
HAVING THE
RANCHER’S BABY
Cathy McDavid
Since 2006, New York Times bestselling author Cathy McDavid has been happily penning contemporary Westerns for Harlequin. Every day, she gets to write about handsome cowboys riding the range or busting a bronc. It’s a tough job, but she’s willing to make the sacrifice. Cathy shares her Arizona home with her own real-life sweetheart and a trio of odd pets. Her grown twins have left to embark on lives of their own, and she couldn’t be prouder of their accomplishments.
Books by Cathy McDavid
Harlequin American Romance
Mustang Valley
Last Chance Cowboy
Her Cowboy’s Christmas Wish
Baby’s First Homecoming
Cowboy for Keeps
Her Holiday Rancher
Come Home, Cowboy
Sweetheart, Nevada
The Rancher’s Homecoming
His Christmas Sweetheart
Most Eligible Sheriff
Reckless, Arizona
More Than a Cowboy
Her Rodeo Man
The Bull Rider’s Son
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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To the many caring individuals who work diligently and tirelessly for the benefit of all rescue animals everywhere. Nacho, Ozzie and I thank you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Excerpt from The SEAL’s Second Chance Baby by Laura Marie Altom
Chapter One
“Easy does it, Hotshot.”
Cole Dempsey nudged the paint gelding slowly forward. One step, two steps, then wait.
The six steers at the end of the corral shifted nervously and bunched closer together. Several ears twitched impatiently. Every pair of eyes stared unblinkingly. No one, not horse, rider or steer, moved for a full thirty seconds.
“See him?” Cole murmured. “Number 497.”
As if in answer, Hotshot turned his head to the left, something horses did to bring an object into better focus. In this case, it was the steer with the white patch on his chest. The one getting ready to bolt.
Cole was pleased. What the horse lacked in experience he made up for with inherent cow sense. A few more months’ training under his belt, and Hotshot would make a respectable, if not outstanding, cutting horse. Cole might even cross-train the horse for calf roping. Along with cow sense, both required speed, agility and fearlessness.
“Let’s go!” He pushed Hotshot into a quick run at the small herd, which split at the center like pins being scattered by a bowling ball.
Number 497 took off, instinctively heading for the gate. Cole and Hotshot followed, matching the steer’s every twist and turn as if attached by an invisible cord. Within seconds, they separated the steer from the rest of the herd and ran him to the far end of the corral. He reached the corner and turned to face them, awaiting his fate.
Cole pulled Hotshot to a stop. In a real team penning event, they would have herded the steer into a small holding pen, then gone after the next one until the required three were rounded up and contained. Today, they settled for simply boxing him in a corner.
“Good job.” Cole reached down to give Hotshot a pat on the neck.
The horse had hardly broken a sweat, while Cole was drenched in it, his hair plastered beneath the tattered straw cowboy hat he wore. Mid-May, early afternoon, and the temperature was already in the high eighties. Southern Arizona tended to be like that, alternating between an oven and a boiler room six months of the year. Far different from northern California, where Cole grew up.
Some might say he hailed from here, Mustang Valley. Technically, they’d be right. But his mother had taken him and his older brother, Josh, away when Cole was five to live with their grandparents. California was and always would be home to him. Dos Estrellas, his late father’s six-hundred-acre cattle ranch, now owned by him, Josh and their half brother, Gabe, was a temporary place for Cole to hang his hat. Nothing more.
As soon as the ranch was free of the debt incurred during their father’s lengthy battle with colon cancer, and Cole’s brothers purchased his share, he planned on returning to the rodeo circuit and his life as a professional cowboy.
In the meantime, he filled his days working as a wrangler and learning the cattle business, whether he wanted to or not. Whenever he found a free hour or two, he trained one of Josh’s girlfriend’s rehabilitated mustangs. Hotshot was the first to show potential for being more than a dime-a-dozen ranch horse. The first to light a fire in Cole, albeit a small one.
Practicing on green broke cutting horses wasn’t the same as busting broncs or riding a bull, but team penning was a close cousin to rodeo and, for a while anyway, allowed Cole to be his old self.
“Get a move on.” Waving his coiled lasso over his head, he walked Hotshot along the fence, encouraging number 497 to rejoin the others.
“You’re sweating the fat clean off those steers.”
Hearing a familiar voice, Cole turned in the saddle.
Violet Hathaway, ranch foreman and the only female on Dos Estrellas’s payroll, strolled unhurriedly toward the corral, her boots stirring up dust with each step. She wore her usual attire, a worn blue work shirt and faded jeans. Nonetheless, she looked good. Too good for Cole to tear his gaze away. Not that he tried very hard.
Careful, pal, he warned himself. Thinking of her in those terms was a waste of energy. She was off-limits and had made that crystal clear.
She stopped at the railing. “Skinny steers won’t bring in much money at the sale next month.”
They’d had this discussion before. Every time he borrowed a few head for practice.
“What are you doing here on your day off?” he asked.
Sundays were usually quiet at the ranch. Barring an emergency, Violet always stayed home—home being a cozy house on the outskirts of town. Cole had recently learned that about the ranch foreman, along with a few more interesting tidbits, such as the fact that she owned two cats and read gossip magazines.
“Tying up a few loose ends.” She grabbed the top railing and studied Hotshot with her expert eye. “He looks good.”
“Thanks. Hard to believe he was near starving three months ago.”
“Just goes to show you what regular meals and a little TLC will do.”
The drought last winter had been hard on the few remaining wild mustangs in the area. Hotshot had belonged to a ragtag group rounded up near the Salt River and brought to the sanctuary on Dos Estrellas in the hopes that he might be fattened up and adopted out. Now he belonged to Cole.
He rode the horse over to Violet, offering a smile as he dismounted. Looping the reins around the saddle horn, he rested an arm on the top railing near her hand. He and Violet were face-to-face, except that he had a good five inches on her. She was forced to lift her chin in order to meet his gaze.
Truth be told, he liked her petite stature. She was a lot of snap, crackle and pop in one small package. A very attractive package.
“It’s Sunday,” he said. “The day of rest.”
“Yeah, well, no rest for the wicked.”
He let his voice drop and his eyes rove her face. “You’re not wicked, Vi.” Though she could be flirtatious and fun when she let loose.
For the briefest of seconds, she went still. Then—strange for her, as Violet usually oozed confidence—she turned away. “I asked you not to call me that.”
“I like Vi. It suits you.”
And it was personal. Something just the two of them shared. Calling her Vi was his way of reminding her about the night they’d spent together, which he supposed explained her displeasure. She didn’t like being reminded.
She’d made the mistake of telling him that Vi was a childhood nickname, one she’d insisted on leaving behind upon entering her teens. They’d been alone, lying in bed and revealing their innermost feelings. Unfortunately, the shared intimacy hadn’t lasted, disappearing with the first rays of morning sunlight.
“Cole.” She sighed.
“What?” He feigned innocence.
“You know what. We agreed.”
“To what? Me not calling you Vi?”
“Don’t joke.”
She was definitely out of sorts today. And pale. She hadn’t been feeling well all week, which might account for her prickliness. Not that she’d complained to anyone, but he’d noticed.
“Okay.” He shrugged one shoulder. “No joking.”
Finally. A smile from her, though it was a small one. Even so, a powerful jolt shot through Cole. She really was lovely. Vivid green eyes, reddish-brown hair reaching well past her shoulders and twin dimples combined to give her an irresistible girl-next-door appeal.
No surprise she kept that bubbly personality under wraps. Otherwise, she’d be fighting the guys off right and left.
“I was wondering. If you weren’t busy later...” She let the sentence drop.
“I’m not busy.” Cole leaned closer, suddenly eager. “What do you have in mind?”
Could she have had a change of heart? They weren’t supposed to see each other again socially or bring up their one moment of weakness. According to Vi, it had been a mistake. A rash action resulting from two shots of tequila each, a crowded dance floor and both of them weary of constantly fighting their personal demons.
Cole didn’t necessarily agree. Sure, the road was not without obstacles. As one of the ranch owners, he was her boss. On the other hand, she oversaw his work while he learned the ropes. Confusing and awkward and a reason not to date.
But incredible lovemaking and easy conversation didn’t happen between just any two people. He and Vi had something special, and he’d have liked to see where it went, obstacles be damned.
Strange, he hadn’t given her a second thought before their “mistake.” One moment on a dance floor and, boom, everything had changed. A shame she didn’t feel the same.
Unless she did and was better at hiding it? The possibility warranted consideration.
“We need to, um, talk.” She closed her eyes and, pressing a hand to her belly, swallowed with obvious difficulty.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just this darn stomach flu.”
He was becoming concerned. Her bout with the flu had been hanging on far too long. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“Maybe.” She squeezed her eyes shut, appearing to be fighting another wave of nausea.
“Are you sure you feel all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me put Hotshot up. I’ll return the steers later.” They’d be fine for the time being, as there was both a metal shade covering and a water tank in the corral. “Give me ten minutes.”
She nodded, and he led the horse to the gate, expecting her to be standing there. By the time he opened the latch, however, Vi was gone. He caught sight of her running across the open area toward the horse stables.
Cole frowned. She was certainly in a hurry. A big hurry.
He walked toward the stables, Hotshot following along. The closer he got, the more his concern mounted. She was normally healthy as a, well, as a horse.
Entering the stables, he started down the aisle. Where had she gone? There weren’t many places to choose from. He settled on the tack room as the most logical one. If she wasn’t there, he could at least tether Hotshot to the post outside the door while he searched elsewhere.
Horses nickered as they went by, some of them stretching their long necks for a sniff or a nip at Hotshot’s hind quarters. He took the attention in stride, displaying yet another good quality.
Cole tied Hotshot to the post and opened the tack room door. It was dark inside, and no one answered when he called out. Maybe Vi had headed to the house. He started back down the aisle, only to stop short at the sound of retching and choking.
“Vi? Is that you?”
He followed the sound three stalls down to the only empty one in the entire stables. Vi was there, bent at the waist, her long hair forming a silky curtain that shielded her f
ace.
“Whoa. Are you okay?”
She coughed and held out a hand as if to ward him off. “Leave me alone.”
Like hell he would. Cole strode forward and reached her just as her knees buckled and she slumped to the ground.
* * *
THIS WASN’T HOW Violet had wanted to start her conversation with Cole, the two of them crammed elbow to elbow in the restroom behind the stables.
He ran the cold water in the tiny sink, wet a paper towel and handed it to her. “Here. You missed a spot.” He motioned to her face.
“I did?” She automatically touched her chin and cringed. Yep, there it was. She quickly wiped her entire face on the chance she’d missed another blob, then tossed the paper towel in the wastebasket. “Sorry.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
She wondered about that. How many times, exactly, had he seen a woman lose her lunch before collapsing in his arms? Did he make a habit of hurrying them to the nearest bathroom and dispensing wet paper towels? Apparently so, because he was fairly adept at it.
“You don’t say.” She tried not to sound curious.
“On the circuit. There’s always one guy who upchucks after finishing his run.”
Riding a bucking bull or horse. Being tossed through the air and landing hard. That would definitely be a reason to throw up.
She reached for the doorknob, utterly humiliated and more than ready to leave.
He waylaid her with a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine to me.”
“I’m probably dehydrated.” Violet knew that wasn’t the case, but no way was she telling Cole what ailed her. Not while she wore a vomit-stained shirt and her queasy stomach threatened to revolt again any minute.
Shouldering open the bathroom door, she stepped outside and gulped fresh air like a miner newly released after days in an underground tunnel.
“I’ll take you to the clinic if you want.”
Cole stood beside her. Right beside her. She told herself she was being overly sensitive and that he wasn’t looking her up and down with far too much curiosity.
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