Once the twins started school, Moody visited whenever he had the chance, but those times dwindled to the point that if she hadn’t been so determined to stand by her marriage vows, she might have considered asking for a divorce. Cassidy had been conceived the last time Effie had been with Moody. She’d been two months pregnant when he’d served her with divorce papers.
Wasn’t something Effie liked thinking about, but far from missing their little family, he’d eventually swapped them for a hot-to-trot raven-haired barrel racer whose daddy had more money than God and the tricked-out trucks and matching horse trailers to prove it.
“Mom! Gramma says hurry up and come eat!”
Startled by Colt’s interruption of the barn’s peace and her chaotic thoughts, Effie dropped the horse brush to wipe tears she hadn’t realized had been falling. “Coming!”
She knelt to retrieve the brush, then rose to smooth the chestnut’s mane. “Guess you’re probably ready for lunch, too, huh?”
The horse snorted.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She filled his water trough and gave him plenty of hay and a scoop of grain.
Her mare, Lulu, was out to pasture, grazing.
“Mom! Come on!”
“Almost done,” she said on her way out of the mystery horse’s stall.
“What took you so long?” Colt met her at the barn’s open door.
“The hurt man’s horse was overheated. He needed brushing.”
“Oh. How come your eyes are all red and puffy?”
“They are?” She swiped them again. “Must be the heat. What did Grandma make for lunch?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.”
“Sounds good. I thought you loved her grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“Yeah, but when we were at Scotty’s house on Sunday after church, his dad cooked steaks for lunch and then we went swimming and stuff. Why can’t we ever do that here? And how come Dad doesn’t want to see me anymore?”
Effie pressed her lips tight.
Where did she begin with telling her precious son that Daddy knocked up his girlfriend while he’d still been married to Mommy and now he had no interest in anyone but his new family? Then there was the not-so-little matter of child support checks that never seemed to come. Effie had dedicated her entire life to Moody. She’d even dropped out of nursing school one semester shy of graduating—stupid. But that was what love did to a girl. And she had loved that no-good cowboy with every breath of her being.
“Mom? Why can’t we have steak? And a pool with a slide? And a house that’s so cold inside that even in the summer Scotty’s mom wears a big fur coat that looks like a fox.”
Because your father is a low-down, two-timing snake who— No. She would never make the boys think their dad was anything less than the hero they believed him to be.
“Mom? I want a pool!” Colt gave up walking toward the house to hop.
“I’d like one, too.” She caught up with him and planted her hand atop his head in an attempt to calm him. “Along with a giant bathtub and air-conditioning so cold I need a coat in the middle of summer, but we have something way better than all that.”
“Like what?” The way Colt’s chin touched his chest, he didn’t look convinced.
“Love.” She smoothed his hair. “Lots and lots of love.”
“Yuck! That’s gross!” He ran toward the house. “I want steak and a pool!”
Effie sighed.
Mabel leaned out the screen door. “Eff, hon, do you have that poor stranger’s wallet?”
“I forgot it in the barn.”
“Could you please get it?” Mabel asked. “I want to call his wife. She’s no doubt beside herself with worry.”
“Agreed.” To her son, Effie said, “Colt, get in the house, and don’t forget to thank Grandma for cooking.”
“I don’t want a stupid sandwich! I want steak!” Instead of joining his brother and sister inside as he’d been told, Colt darted around the back of the house.
“The boy needs a firm hand,” Mabel noted.
“I know.” He needs his father.
“Let him sulk for a bit. Might do him good.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I see him through the bedroom window. He’s sitting on the swing. Go ahead and grab the wallet, then get in here and eat before your soup gets cold.”
“Yes, ma’am.” In this heat, Effie doubted anything could get cold, but after swallowing the all-too-familiar knot at the back of her throat, she marched back to the barn.
At the moment, that poor stranger needed her help far more than her smart-mouthed son.
* * *
MARSH DRIFTED IN and out of consciousness.
We tried intubating on the way, but he was too combative. He’s bleeding from the site, so we had to restrain him to keep him from pulling tubes out.
Light. So much light. He squinted against the fluorescent track’s glare. Where was his boy? His wife? The angel who’d found him?
How much Crotalidae was given?
He got the initial six, and we’re hanging another six right now.
“Sir? Could you tell us what kind of snake bit you?”
Were they talking to him?
“Sir? Were you bitten by a rattlesnake?”
Marsh tried nodding but couldn’t be sure if he’d even moved.
“Sir, judging by the severity of your symptoms, we need to double-check you weren’t bitten by something more exotic. Are you sure it was a rattler?”
“Y-yes,” Marsh managed. After having to put down one of his grandfather’s best horses when it broke its leg in a prairie dog hole, Marsh had been out on the range, filling as many of the damned things as he could, when the snake lunged without warning. It clamped onto the webby flesh between his thumb and forefinger for an eternity before Marsh shook him free. He’d done his best to stay calm, drunk as much water as he could, then climbed into his chestnut’s saddle, strapping himself in before aiming the horse for home.
Sounds definitive to me. Look at the poor guy. He’s twitching all over. See the fasciculations? How his muscles look like worms under his skin. It’s bad. One of the worst snakebites I’ve seen in a while.
Copyright © 2016 by Laura Marie Altom
ISBN-13: 9781488006203
Having the Rancher’s Baby
Copyright © 2016 by Cathy McDavid
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
-moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Having the Rancher's Baby Page 21
