The Boss's Pregnancy Proposal

by Raye Morgan

  She smiled at Grant. “Ready or not,” she said in answer to his question, “I’m here for the party.”

  “Good.”

  She liked the way he looked here in his family home. She’d worn white slacks and a soft blue shirt with a white scarf at her neck and she’d thought that would look country.

  But Grant was the real deal. His boots looked like they’d been worn at the Alamo, his jeans were scuffed almost threadbare in places and held up by a wide leather belt sporting a huge brass belt buckle with a big rattlesnake worked into the metal. His cotton shirt was open at the neck, displaying some gorgeous flesh. The sleeves were pushed back, revealing muscular forearms. All in all, he was the picture of what a fantasy cowboy would look like. It made her gasp a little every time she looked at him.

  She met Misty, the family dog, a golden retriever with a permanent grin and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Then Grant introduced her to Rosa Cortez, the woman who had been housekeeper at the ranch, “since time began,” as he put it. A plump, chatty woman, she promised to fix them a nice lunch for later in the day. Taking Misty along with them, they made their way outside and he led her to the barn and then to the stables, where Callie touched a horse for the first time in her life.

  “They are so big!” she cried, awed and a little nervous at the same time. “They don’t seem that big in the movies.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been riding,” Grant said, shaking his head. “We’ll have to remedy that real soon. We’ll get you up on ol’ Bessie there. She’s gentle as a kitten. You’ll love it.”

  Callie stroked Bessie’s nose and looked into her deep, soft eyes. She liked Bessie just fine, but she didn’t think she was going to relish riding her. “I’ve always liked having both feet on the ground,” she said. “I don’t really see any reason to give that up.”

  He laughed. “You just wait. Once you get used to horses and we let you go, you’ll feel like you’re flying.”

  She didn’t bother to quibble aloud, but she had no intention of ever getting up on a horse. Still, she had to admit they were beautiful and she loved their eyelashes. Following Grant through to the opposite doorway, she stopped and spoke to each horse she found. Some snickered back, some ignored her. But she didn’t want anyone to feel left out.

  Out behind the stables was a corral where a number of cowboys had gathered. As she and Grant approached, Callie could see that they were working with large calves and from the smell of burned hair, she realized they were probably branding them. She wrinkled her nose, not sure she was going to enjoy this much. She glanced at Grant, thinking to suggest going on back to the house, but then she noticed the look on his face and she turned quickly to see who he was looking at.

  A tall, handsome cowboy wearing leather chaps detached from the others and came toward them. The two men stopped in a squared-off fashion and grinned at each other.

  “Hey,” said Grant, touching the brim of his hat.

  “Hey,” said the cowboy, touching his as well.

  That was it, but she could tell these two men were old, close friends. In California, they would have hugged. In France, they would have been kissing cheeks. But this was Texas—old Texas. And she liked it.

  “Callie, meet Will Jamison.”

  She smiled and he touched his hat again and said, “Nice to meet you, Callie.”

  “Will’s the ranch foreman. Just like his daddy was before him.” Grant nodded. “He and I go way back.”

  “Back so far,” Will agreed, “I sometimes wonder if we weren’t switched at birth. Maybe I should be the one riding around in that fancy car and you should be the one working here, eatin’ dirt all day.”

  “Pay him no mind, Callie,” Grant advised her. “He’s just aiming to play on your sympathies.” He grinned. “Just try to get this man into a suit and tie for even one day. He’d come running back to the ranch so fast.”

  “We were raised together,” Will told her in a friendly manner, bending down to scratch Misty behind the ears. “Two peas in a pod. Until he had to ruin everything by going off to become a city slicker.”

  “Hey, man’s gotta work for a livin’.”

  Will snorted. “You call that sissy stuff you do in the city working? I’ll show you working.” He reached for a coil of rope he had slung over his shoulder. “Here, let’s see if you’ve still got the touch.”

  Grant took the rope, looking at it almost lovingly.

  “Let’s see you bring in one of those young ones,” Will said, gesturing toward where the work was going on. “And lay our brand right on his backside.”

  Grant tried his hand with the rope, twisting it and twirling it a bit. “Man, I haven’t done this for years and years,” he said, pulling up one end and starting a slipknot.

  “Well, never mind then,” Will teased. “I wouldn’t want to mess up those soft, lily-white hands of yours with some real man’s work.”

  “Stand back, cowboy,” Grant drawled, his lasso in his hand. “I got me some ropin’ to do.”

  He set off toward where the calves were being released with a Western swagger that was only partly facetious.

  Will grinned and winked at Callie. “Come on over here, Callie,” he said, leading the way to a good vantage point against the railings. “You don’t want to miss this.”

  Grant did pretty well, actually. Will kept up a running commentary, mostly for Callie’s sake, but also to poke fun at Grant occasionally. Watching Grant hog-tie a big, rough-looking calf made Callie wince and bite her lip, and when he reached for the red-hot branding iron, she had to close her eyes and groan a little.

  Will looked at her curiously. “You from Texas?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes, I’m from Texas.” She tossed her hair back and raised her chin proudly. “Born and raised.”

  “In Dallas, I’m thinkin’,” he said, shaking his head as though it were a darn shame.

  “That’s true. I’m city raised.” And then she added something she’d never told anyone before. “But I’m told my daddy was a rodeo champion. A bronc buster.”

  Will’s face changed. “No kidding. What was his name?”

  She shrugged. “He didn’t stick around long enough to give me his name. My mother told me once and I wrote it down somewhere. I suppose I could find it if a real need arose.”

  “I see.” Will’s gaze darkened a bit. “One of those drive-by parenting situations, huh?”

  “You got it.”

  They were quiet for a moment, watching Grant. He was working hard and doing quite a bit of shouting, it seemed to Callie. Misty was bouncing around, trying to help, and barking whenever Grant shouted, as though to back him up. But he looked to be in his element. Who would have thought she’d be marrying a cowboy? That made her smile.

  As the newly branded calf ran off to get away from these crazy ranchers, Will turned to her again.

  “So I hear you and Grant are fixin’ to get hitched,” he said, giving her a searching look.

  She nodded. “You heard right.”

  “You couldn’t get a better man. He’ll do you proud. Don’t you doubt it.”

  She heard the sincerity in his voice and saw it in his eyes. “You know,” she said softly, “I think you just may be right.”

  He nodded. “But we’re going to have to teach you how to ride and how to be a ranch wife.”

  She tried to smile but couldn’t quite make it. “Do I have to?”

  “Sure. You’re going to be a Carver. You gotta know your way around ranching.”

  Hold it just a minute there.

  This wasn’t what she’d signed on for. She gazed at him, a little worried.

  “Did Jan do it?” she asked, and the moment the words left her lips she wished she could pull them back. This was none of her business. Why was Jan on her mind so often?

  But Will didn’t seem bothered by the question.

  “No, as a matter of fact, she did not. And believe me, that was a problem now and then.” He looked as th
ough he was about to launch into a fuller explanation, but he caught himself and stopped, staring at her.

  “To me, you look like a smarter gal,” he said instead. “I think you probably understand that compromises must be made in all parts of life, even when wrasslin’ cattle. One person can’t always be the one to win. You got to develop an instinct for where to give in and where to stand firm. Just like Grant’s been doing out there right now.”

  Grant called to him and he responded in kind, but Callie stayed where she was, thinking over what he’d said. One thing she hadn’t expected was a lesson in life from a cowboy. But she had to admit, Will had a few home truths to convey. She was glad he seemed to take to her. He might be an important ally in the future.

  Grant came back to her looking a bit worse for wear, but very pleased with himself.

  “I can still hold my own,” he proclaimed proudly. “Hell, I could come back here and take over running this ranch and have it doing twice as good as it’s doing now.”

  That last was for Will’s benefit, and they argued good-naturedly for a moment or two. Grant slung an arm around Callie’s shoulders and began to lead her back to the house, still ragging on his friend. But when Callie glanced back, she caught Will giving Grant a thumbs-up that was obviously meant to convey approval of his marriage choice. That gave her a glow that matched the one Grant was riding on.

  Back in the house, Grant washed up while Callie wandered around, admiring the rustic but strangely elegant furnishings. He came out looking freshly scrubbed.

  “Rosa says she’ll lay lunch out in half an hour,” he told her.

  “What will we do until then?”

  He thought for a moment, then had an idea.

  “Come on,” he said with a lascivious wink that was pure mockery. “I’ll take you up to my bedroom.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  F EIGNED suspicion filled Callie’s dark eyes and she dug in her heels.

  “Why?” she demanded to know.

  Grant grinned and tugged on her hand. “Just to show you.”

  She frowned. “Show me what?”

  “I don’t know. All my trophies. How’s that?” He laughed. “Come on. Follow me.”

  She wasn’t seriously reluctant, so she did follow him and they ended up in a large room overlooking the back garden. A huge bed took up most of the middle of the room.

  “Wow. This bed looks big enough to have a party in,” she said.

  She colored when he laughed and she realized how that could be taken.

  “Too bad I was such a shy guy I never thought of that myself,” he said sadly.

  She threw him a skeptical look. “Shy guy” just didn’t fit with the man she was getting to know. “Right.”

  Lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed, she looked around at the furnishings. Basketballs, baseball gloves, a snowboard, a racing bike, trophies and banners. There was no doubt this room had belonged to a male child. She had a quick vision of all the friends and fantasies that must have passed through this room over the years.

  “You know, this is just crazy,” she said softly, looking up at him. “How can I marry you? I don’t really know you. I don’t know what sort of person you really are.” She studied him, frowning. “I don’t know if you’ve been a solid citizen or a womanizer. I don’t know if you cheat on your taxes or…or rescue little donkeys from the snow. Who are you?”

  He stared at her for a moment. “It doesn’t usually snow in this part of Texas,” he said at last. “At least not when the donkeys are out.”

  She bit her lip. She refused to laugh. Instead she rose and began wandering about the room, looking at the artifacts of his growing up years.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, picking up an endearing picture of a young Grant in a soccer uniform. He was trying to look tough and fierce for the camera. “Tell me what you were like as a child,” she said, setting it down.

  “As a child?” His shrug was nonchalant. “I was a boy genius, of course.”

  “Really.” She perused the titles in his bookcase—mostly old textbooks. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, let’s see.” He struck a pose as though harkening back in time. “Naturally I was a Boy Scout. Helped my share of old ladies across the street. Won all my badges.”

  “What else?” she asked, assuming he was only half-serious. There was a mocking tone to his attitude that let her know he wasn’t going to reveal any more than he had to.

  “There’s not much more.”

  She gave him a look. “Come on. Make an effort. I need to know.”

  He shrugged and his voice took on the timbre of a radio announcer.

  “I was a studious lad right from the start. Top honors in recitation. Walked miles through the snow to get to school.”

  “I thought you just said it didn’t snow around here.”

  “Snow in the metaphorical sense, of course.”

  She sighed, losing hope of getting anything honest out of him now. “I should have known.”

  He went on. “When I wasn’t studying, I was collecting things. Coins, stamps, butterflies.”

  “Girlfriends?” she suggested casually, finding a stack of annuals and taking one up to flip through.

  He scowled at her. “Never.”

  “No kidding.” She raised an eyebrow as she found a page in his annual signed by lots of girlish sounding names.

  “Of course. I was the model student. Summers I spent at science camp. I wrote journals and was president of the entomology club. Advisor to Student Scholars. Champion at one-hour chess. I had no time for frivolous things like girls and parties and…”

  “Hmm. Then I guess this yearbook must belong to some other guy named Grant. Here’s a note from someone named Snookie. ‘My dearest Grant,’” she read from the page, glancing up to see how he was taking it. “‘Thanks so much for giving me your picture. I keep it under my pillow so I can kiss you good-night every night. I pretend I’m your one and only girl, even though you explained to me how you don’t believe in going steady…’” She looked up at him, aghast. “You cad!” she cried.

  He shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Snookie? Never heard of her.”

  “Here’s another one. ‘Grant, you hottie! I saved you a seat in assembly but you didn’t show up. I’m looking forward to Friday night. You are so hot! Love, Mimi.’”

  Grant’s innocent act was beginning to fray around the edges and he was looking a little shifty-eyed.

  “I don’t remember any Mimi, either,” he said before she had a chance to make a comment.

  “I’ll bet she remembers you.”

  He frowned, shoved his hands down deep into his pockets and looked at her sideways, trying a new direction. “You know, I really think this is a sad case of mistaken identity.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded hopefully. “It’s like you said. She must have meant some other Grant.”

  “Right.” She nodded, eyes dancing. “I’ll bet your school was just brimming with guys named Grant Carver.”

  He grimaced. “Brimming with Grant Carver wannabes, maybe,” he muttered.

  She grinned. “Okay, let’s see if we can pin this down,” she said, turning to the index. “This Grant Carver was captain of the swim team. King of Junior Prom. Senior class president. Does that ring a bell?”

  He blinked blankly and shrugged. “Who remembers high school?”

  “Oh, wait! This Grant Carver was voted ‘Most Likely To Be Shot By A Jealous Husband.’” She looked up, her eyes dancing at his discomfort. “Grant, I don’t see anything about the chess club here.”

  “They must have left that out.” He grimaced. “Never mind. Let’s go down and see if lunch is ready.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s read more of those letters.”

  “Let’s not.” He made a halfhearted pass at grabbing the book from her but she kicked off her shoes and jumped up on the bed, out of reach.

  “‘Dear Grant,’” she read. “�
�You are so cool, but your kiss is so hot.’” She laughed. “All these references to heat. A theme seems to be coming through, don’t you think? Hot, hot, hot.” She made a face at him.

  His eyes were smiling but he was pretending to frown and tried to grab the book again. “Give me that.”

  “No!” she cried, bouncing away from his reach. “We must read all the letters. The truth must come out! Your wild past can’t be suppressed forever.” She frowned down at him. “Was this really your attitude toward girls in those days? Sexist pig.”

  “I told you. That isn’t me.”

  “Then who is it, your evil twin?”

  “Could be. I won’t know until you hand over the book.”

  “Hah!”

  He held out his hand. “Give me the book.”

  She taunted him with a grin. “Make me.”

  He didn’t hesitate. In one bound, he was up on the bed with her. Laughing, she tried to get away, and when that didn’t work, she clung to the yearbook, trying to keep him from taking it. That didn’t last long. He had the book, and then she was falling onto the soft surface of the bed and he was falling with her.

  They landed together, face-to-face, her hands flattened on his chest. She was still laughing, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw something darker and more disturbed there.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  He couldn’t answer her. He was too busy trying not to want her.

  His hands were clutched in fists to keep from touching her. And because this was so hard, he had to ask himself—could he do this? Could he marry another woman? He stared down into Callie’s dark eyes and searched for an answer.

  Callie’s face had a look of impatience, as though she’d waited for something that hadn’t happened and she was getting darn tired of this. With a flash of quick irritation, she threw her arms around his neck.

  “If you can’t even kiss me, how are we ever going to make love?” she whispered.

  He stared down at her. She didn’t understand. Sex was just sex. He could do that anytime, anywhere. But kissing—that was opening up and letting someone in—a connection between heart and soul. Once he’d kissed her…