The Rodeo Cowboy’s Baby

by Heidi Rice

  He already knew Evie loved him and she must know how much he loved her, because he never got bored of telling her. Which meant this proposal was pretty much a sure thing.

  So what the hell was he waiting for?

  *

  “The wedding was grand, wasn’t it,” Evie sighed as she tucked her breast back into the nursing bra and changed the pads. She’d had to feed Mercy as soon as they arrived home, the poor thing screaming her tiny little lungs out with indignation at being denied for more than five seconds during the drive back.

  “Yeah, it was a cool wedding.” Flynn settled the now sated baby against his shoulder and took her into the other room, to do his magic burping trick on her.

  Evie flopped back on the large tester bed he’d built for her during the long winter months, picturing the beautiful ceremony that afternoon.

  The red glow of sunset filtered through the curtains as she toed off her heels and rubbed her sore insteps—next time she’d go for less height and more comfort.

  Next time.

  The thought echoed in her head. Boone was the second of the Rodeo Romeos—as she and Piper and CJ and Kelly had affectionately nicknamed their dudes—after Cody to get married. And Shane was stepping up to the plate next month. Jesse and CJ didn’t have any concrete plans yet, but they were both up to their eyeballs in rodeo season. And they didn’t have a four-week-old baby.

  She knew it was silly of her to feel even the tiniest bit despondent today as she’d watched Piper and Boone recite their vows. Especially as she hadn’t really given much thought to making that commitment until today.

  She and Flynn had already made so many commitments together in the last nine months. Every one of them glorious—even the fifteen excruciating hours of labor that had given them Mercy. But even so, there it was, the lump in her throat that had been butting her tonsils ever since Boone had leant down and given Piper the hottest kiss imaginable while everyone hooted and hollered.

  “They looked great together,” Flynn added from the cabin’s front room.

  “I know. Piper looked radiant, and Boone was practically chomping at the bit to get her out of there after the first dance.” Evie laughed, the sound more than a little wistful, thanks to that fecking silly lump.

  “Now who’s using cowboy analogies?” Flynn winked as he walked back into the room with their daughter—who had stopped fidgeting and was now fast asleep, her tiny fist curled tightly under her daddy’s chin.

  Bingo, Magic Burp Daddy strikes again.

  As he laid the baby in her cot, Evie sat up to watch them both, the fatigue leaving her body at the thought of the hours of uninterrupted sleep Flynn had hopefully guaranteed them with that burp.

  Her heartbeat thundered, then throbbed, doing not a blasted thing to dissolve the lump, as she saw him touch his fingertips to his lips, then transfer the kiss to his sleeping daughter’s dark curls.

  He straightened and turned toward her.

  A new kind of tension, one she hadn’t felt in several months, tightened in her gut, comprehensively replacing the fatigue as the reddening light illuminated that harsh, handsome face, and his lean, muscular physique.

  Her breath squeezed in her lungs and the throbbing in her heart sunk low into her abdomen.

  She loved rugged, everyday Flynn in his Wranglers and boots and work T-shirts, but was there anything more magnificent than the man who strolled toward her now in his suit jacket, the small stain of baby spit on one shoulder, the tie unknotted and draped around his neck and the top two buttons of his dress shirt open to reveal the edges of the barbed wire tattoo on his tanned skin?

  He clasped her hips in wide palms and tugged her off the bed and into his arms.

  “Come here, Irish,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to the juddering pulse in her neck. “And stop talking about Boone instead of me,” he added, the teasing note in his voice only tantalizing her more.

  “Mmmm,” she moaned, as she stretched into the caress. She looped her arms around his neck, increasing the delicious spike of tension as she rubbed against the thick ridge in his suit pants.

  Then she remembered that sex was off the agenda for at least another month. She relaxed her hold, so as not to torture them both, and tried to find some small talk to reduce the tension.

  “Won’t it be grand when your buddies start making some friends for Mercy to play with?” she said, not quite able to resist the urge to run her nails through the hair at his nape. The silky strands fell over his collar now, much longer—and more strokeable—than they had been when they’d first met.

  “Given the way Boone and Piper disappeared so early,” he murmured, his lips caressing her neck. “And how close the rest of them were slow dancing, I don’t reckon we’re gonna have to wait too long.” He nipped her earlobe and it was her turn to do the shuddering. “Plus knocking up CJ might be the only way Jesse can stay ahead of her on the leader board.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she said, shoving him back far enough to give him a playful punch on the shoulder. “You and I both know, Jesse would be the first one to cheer himself hoarse if CJ hit the top spot. Even if she took it from him.”

  Taking the opportunity to make a dignified getaway, before the misguided throbbing in her sex got any more intense, she slipped out of his arms and headed toward the bathroom.

  Time to take a cold shower. Alone.

  But he snagged her wrist and pulled her back round to face him. “Wait up, Irish. I’m not finished with you, yet.”

  “Flynn we can’t…” She sighed, the bite of sexual frustration in her voice sounding embarrassingly like a whine. “It’s going to be a few weeks yet before I can consider sexual intercourse. And if I get any more turned on…” she sent a pointed look to the enormous tent in his suit pants “…I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “I know, Irish.” He sent her a rueful grin, stroking the pulse in her wrist with his thumb. “Look away from the erection,” he added, tilting her chin up with a knuckle. “That’s an occupational hazard I have no control over whenever you’re near. But that’s not why I stopped you.”

  “Then why did…” she began, but then the words cut off in shock as he dropped to one knee, still holding her hand, and rummaged around in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  “Flynn, what on earth?”

  “Hang tight a second,” he muttered, the flags of color on his tanned cheeks making the lump in her throat start to gag her. “Where the hell is…” Then he caught something in his fingers. The swift quirk of his lips had her galloping heartbeat slowing to a crawl. And then ceasing all together.

  “Here we go,” he said, as he produced a square box from his inside pocket, and flipped it open with his thumb, one-handed. “Would you believe I’ve been carrying this damn thing around for months, and I never practiced getting it out of my pocket on cue?”

  He was talking, but the steady buzz of blood in her ears and the giddy clattering of her heartbeat were drowning out the words.

  All she could see was the ring in the nest of black silk. A white gold band studded with a cluster of sparkling emeralds, the same deep green of Kildare in summer, of Marietta in high spring and of Flynn O’Connell’s eyes.

  The lump grew to the size of the Blarney Stone, cutting off her air supply, and her vision started to blur.

  The engagement ring was perfect. Just like the moment. And the man.

  “Hey, Irish, don’t cry. I just wanted to ask you if you’d marry…”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!” she cried, as she threw her arms around his broad shoulders and knocked him flat on his butt.

  Little Mercedes Dolores Donnelly O’Connell let out a cry of protest at the noise, as her parents wrestled around on the floor in a tumble of love, laughter and happy—no, ecstatic—tears.

  But her parents were way too busy kissing like loons for the next few minutes to hear her, and by the time they’d come up for air, she’d drifted back into a deep peaceful sleep—packed with wonderful d
reams of generous breasts laden with sweet-smelling milk, her mommy’s sparkling, love-filled eyes and the magic spot, so cozy and soft, on her daddy’s strong, steady shoulder.

  The End

  The 79th Copper Mountain Rodeo

  Book 1: The Cowboy Meets His Match by Sarah Mayberry

  Buy now!

  Book 2: The Bull Rider’s Return by Joan Kilby

  Buy now!

  Book 3: Cowboy Come Home by Sinclair Jayne

  Buy now!

  Book 4: The Cowboy’s Last Rodeo by Jeannie Watt

  Buy now!

  Book 5: The Rodeo Cowboy’s Baby by Heidi Rice

  View the series here!

  Keep Up with your Favorite Authors and their New Releases

  For the latest news from Tule Publishing authors, sign up for our newsletter here or check out our website at TulePublishing.com

  Stay social! For new release updates, behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, and reader giveaways:

  Like us on

  Follow us on

  Follow us on

  See you online!

  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling and RITA-nominated author Heidi Rice is married with two sons (which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche). She also works as a film journalist and was born in Notting Hill in West London (before it became as chi-chi as it is in the film starring Hugh Grant). She now lives in Islington in North London – a stone’s throw away from where they shot Four Weddings and a Funeral… (She has asked Hugh to stop stalking her, but will he listen?!)

  She loves her job because it involves sitting down at her computer each day and getting swept up in a world of high emotions, sensual excitement, funny feisty women, sexy tortured men and glamorous locations where laundry doesn’t exist … Not bad, eh.

  More from Heidi:

  Visit her website Heidi-Rice.com

  Check out her blog

  Follow her on Twiter@HeidiRomRice

  *

  For the latest news from Tule Publishing, visit our website at TulePublishing.com and sign up for our newsletter here!