A Baby for the Texas Cowboy Read online

  Feeling lighter, a smile playing over her lips, Tinsley pushed the heavy door all the way open and stepped over the threshold.

  *

  Anders pulled into a parking spot across the street from Verflucht. He frowned when he saw the motorcycle. Tinsley’s balance and center of gravity was going to change pretty quickly. Also the motorcycle wouldn’t be practical commuting from the ranch to work. He’d get her something safe and practical, and she could ride the bike for fun after the baby. Even that didn’t sit well since bikes were dangerous, but he could hardly judge, considering how he made much of his living.

  August’s warning to go in low key niggled at his conscience, but he shoved the advice away. August hadn’t been low key once in his life. And Kane’s advice to give her space? Hypocritical. He’d admitted as much since he’d practically kidnapped his baby momma and their toddler when he’d discovered his daughter’s existence.

  Anders was a cowboy. Bull rider. Ranch owner. Texan. Investor. His own man. Successful in every area of his life. He did not need advice from big brothers or friends. He was going to play this his way. Too much was at stake.

  He got out of his truck, crossed the street and opened Verflucht’s front door. He hesitated on the threshold while his heart hammered. His chest felt like something squatted on it.

  Dread.

  But not indecision.

  He knew what he had to do.

  How he felt about Whiskey, marriage and a baby at this time in his life was irrelevant. His perfect wife list on his phone that his brothers had laughed about so uproariously was going to have to be deleted.

  Once he got things settled with Whiskey, the sooner both of them could prepare for their new normal.

  He squared his shoulders. The only way to go was forward, and Anders hadn’t ridden to the top of his profession by backing away from rank bulls or any other challenge fate tossed.

  He stepped into the re-renovated tasting room and scanned the area. Empty. It was the first time he’d been in the tasting room since the accident last spring when a wine tour bus had crashed through the front window, damaged the custom bar August had imported from a historic French chateau, and knocked into a support beam, which had put a hole in the upstairs apartment August had tricked out anticipating living there. Five of his employees had been injured. They were all healed up now, and the tasting room was finally repaired and would be ready to open soon.

  Anders didn’t notice any of the fixes. He was here to see Whiskey. But she was not where his brother and sister-in-law said she’d be.

  He walked through the room, the soles of his cowboy boots solid on the restored wood floor. He quickly climbed the stairs to the apartment and opened the door. Lots of light. Kitchen with what looked like high-end stainless steel appliances, island with white quartz that shimmered a little in the early afternoon light, and four red leather barstools.

  But still no Whiskey.

  Anders’ tension cranked higher as he went back downstairs. Then he noticed that the tasting room was actually bigger than he’d thought and there was an alcove with a garage door in the back. The door was raised to lead outside to the back.

  Showtime.

  Anders strode across the room and through the door. He pulled up short. Whiskey stood on a wine barrel looking over a weathered fence.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She startled, and the wine barrel rocked.

  She jumped off. Anders caught her with one arm and pulled her tight to his body.

  “Let go.” She pushed away from him. “What are you doing here? You can’t just show up without notice.”

  Her honey-gold eyes had turned more amber now, like her namesake drink, and spit fire. Anders felt something low and wicked in his body spark to life.

  “We’ve got a few things to sort out.”

  “Not really.” She pushed past him. Her thick ponytail flared behind her like a flag, and the sun turned her wavy copper hair to fire.

  “Don’t walk away.” He caught her arm.

  She spun toward him, and the extra momentum brought her flush with his chest. His body immediately reacted, which was not part of the plan.

  They both took a step back.

  “We need to talk,” he asserted, trying to keep his voice even.

  “Now you want to talk?” she mocked. “And I’m supposed to listen when you wouldn’t even give me the respect of a couple of minutes of your valuable time when you were with your friends?”

  He winced. Her shot hit true.

  She stalked past him and returned to the tasting room and he followed. “I asked to talk to you alone, not for some huge favor,” she reminded.

  “I…you…” He paused, trying to find the words to explain. “You caught me off guard. I’d just won. The adrenaline. The other riders.” With each reason he gave, she just looked more deeply unimpressed.

  “You wouldn’t give me a private moment so you got a public declaration.” She brushed her hands together. “Now you know, so nothing more to say. We’re done.”

  “Done?” he echoed incredulously. “We’re not even started.”

  “I felt you deserved to know, but I’m not expecting anything.”

  “You’re not expecting anything?” he repeated, feeling like his brain wasn’t working. He’d never seen Whiskey angry. It would be hot if her ire were directed at some other hapless cowboy.

  “Stop repeating everything I say.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, but the action pushed her breasts together and up so that more creamy cleavage was revealed in the deep V of her thin, bohemian-style floral top.

  He’d never seen her wear anything like it before except that afternoon she’d been working his brothers’ weddings. It was pretty. And distracting as hell.

  “Is the baby mine?” he demanded, suspicion rearing up out of nowhere, startling even him.

  Her breath whooshed out, and she stared at him, beautiful eyes huge and round and her plump pillows of lips forming a circle.

  “It’s not an unreasonable question, considering.” He knew he should back down, but now that he was on this road, he needed to walk it. Pretty crucial fact.

  “Considering what?” She flung her arms wide. “You wouldn’t even talk to me and now when you finally climb down from your mountain of superiority, you have the audacity to suggest that I was sleeping around and had a whole stable of men to entertain me? That I don’t know which one knocked me up?”

  The mental image that painted—Whiskey with other men, men he knew and competed against weekly—burned his brain.

  Tension snarled between them just like the words. The air felt hot. It was hard to breathe. He even saw red, and the top of his head felt like it was going to blow off.

  “You think I’m a slut,” she taunted and laughed a little. Anger and disbelief and then a determined glint of steel sliced through her glare. “You think the mother of your child is a slut.”

  He winced at the word. “I didn’t say that.”

  Her accusing tone didn’t sit well with him. He’d had more women than he remembered. Whiskey had the same right to find pleasure and fun.

  She rolled her eyes. “I had to watch you every weekend yacking it up with—” She broke off quickly and Anders felt his interest kick up. She’d watched him. She’d noticed.

  “Yes,” he said softly taking a step toward her.

  “So, if I don’t know who my baby daddy is, why did I pick you? Oh wait, you probably think you’re all that.”

  “I think you might think I’m all that.” He felt something in his chest warm up and kick free, unfurl.

  “Not even close.” She closed the distance. The heels of her motorcycle boots were hard on the wood floor and the jangle of the chains on the boots were musical in contrast. “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want your money and I don’t want your pity and I sure as hell don’t want you to make some dumbass sacrifice like thinking you have to spend time with me when your mind is
somewhere else with someone else. You’re the type of man who always has one boot out the door.”

  The sensation of heat and warmth fizzled out.

  Jesus. This was a disaster.

  His fault for trying to avoid being alone with her because he’d been worried he’d say something stupid like “I missed you.” Or “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Whiskey,” he began. He needed to defuse the situation but had no idea how. Dammit. He should have listened to August and Kane. But no. He’d rushed off hotheaded and unprepared.

  “That’s not even my name.” She huffed.

  Anders waited.

  “That’s not on me.” He’d asked her before, but she’d laughed that husky laugh of hers and when combined with her enigmatic expression that always cranked him higher, he’d been distracted enough to let it slip.

  He’d liked the name Whiskey. Suited. Sexy as hell.

  “Tinsley,” she said finally, as if she were in an interrogation room and confessing to a crime. She hesitated, and an expression he couldn’t quite define flitted over her beautiful features. “Tinsley Underhill.”

  He felt as if she’d just kneed him in the balls and thrown a hard uppercut to his jaw. They’d made a baby and he hadn’t even known her real name. Not even close.

  How was this even happening?

  “Why not tell me?” He bit out the question.

  “Climb off your superior custom saddle, cowboy. The nickname suited what I was doing, and you were trying to get under my short skirt just like every other bull rider, businessman and cowboy attending the sponsor events.”

  Her tone was dismissive. Anders felt both shamed and angry and the flare of jealousy was especially unwelcome.

  He pinched his nose and breathed in deeply.

  They were going to raise a child together. They had to learn to communicate without emotions getting in the way.

  “Let’s start this again.” He dug deep and cleared his throat, feeling like he’d swallowed a Brillo pad. “Please. Tinsley.”

  He tried out her name and liked the way it tripped off his tongue.

  “I am sorry I was a jerk when you tried to talk to me at the arena.”

  Her expression didn’t change.

  “I was shocked at your…” He waved his hand vaguely in her direction and then jammed his hand in his pocket, feeling dumb.

  Somehow, she managed to arch one eyebrow while still nailing him with the stink eye—not what he was used to with women, well, with anyone. He was golden. The charming Wolf. He rarely pissed anyone off.

  “I didn’t do this to myself,” she said. “And I certainly wasn’t planning a pregnancy.” She turned away and hissed something under her breath he couldn’t quite hear because his heart still thundered in his ears.

  “I know,” he said knowing he was handling this badly. He’d not slept last night. “I took precautions, Tinsley. I always do, but…” He trailed off. No excuses. From the moment she’d uttered the P word—well, not the exact moment, but the moment it had sunk in that he’d had an epic birth control fail—he’d known what he had to do.

  Tinsley’s face held no give.

  Damn. She was really going to make him work for it.

  Her right. You effed up both your lives.

  “I’m sorry,” he said simply, but that didn’t seem enough either. He was really floundering. “Let’s start over.”

  “How?” She laughed as if amazed at the concept that they could communicate as friends.

  Because we’ve seen each other naked.

  “It took guts to come to me,” he admitted and then winced. It shouldn’t have taken guts.

  He’d been with a lot of women. More than his share, he conceded, feeling like he had a mouthful of sawdust.

  Tinsley should trust him to do the right thing by her and her child, but why would she? He’d had one foot out the door the minute he’d walked in. He’d congratulated himself on his honesty and that he and Tinsley had agreed on the score.

  “Let’s sit down. Have a conversation.”

  He looked around the tasting room. No tables or chairs. And the apartment upstairs also had been empty of furniture.

  “Anders, stop playing nice.”

  “I’m not playing anything,” he said, offended.

  “You’re a player. I knew that. It’s fine for the proverbial roll in the hay, but not for anything long term.”

  Where was she going with this? He felt his usually barely there temper kick up a notch. What exactly was she accusing him of—hit and run?

  “And that’s fine,” she emphasized. “Because I didn’t, and I don’t want anything long term with you.”

  His mouth formed the W of the word what, but nothing came out. He swallowed and yanked at his hair as if that would pull out the words. “You told me you were pregnant with my child.”

  “Yeah. I am, but if you want a paternity test I get that.”

  He felt like the conversation was a broken gate swinging back and forth wildly in the wind.

  “Is that safe for the baby now?”

  “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter because I’m not asking for anything.”

  “What?” He looked around for a chair.

  “I told you.” Tinsley still had her arms crossed as she leaned against the wine bar as if she needed it to hold herself up. “I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t need anything from you. You are off the hook.” She unfolded her arms and made a big swishing motion like he was supposed to disappear. Cowboy in a magic show.

  Anders blinked, feeling as if all the air in the room had just been sucked out.

  Too damn bad. He managed to bite the words back and keep them in his head. She might not expect or want anything from him—and who spoke like that to the father of their child, anyway?—but she was going to get it.

  “Anders, I’m starting work. We don’t have to decide anything today.”

  “If the baby’s mine, then we conceived it at the weddings. And that means you’re nearly through our first trimester,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Our,” she repeated, and again she nibbled on her lower lip, and then, as if realizing she was doing it, she pressed her lips together, blew out air, and moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Anders remembered vividly the heat of her tongue and how her lips felt wrapped around his cock, and he barely restrained a groan as his cock twitched to half-mast.

  Bad timing.

  “There’s no our here,” she said, and her voice wobbled a little before she sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. “I don’t think your boobs are going to double or that your stomach will balloon. You won’t be staving off stretch marks with some organic whatever concoction from an online store.”

  His gaze inadvertently dipped to her breasts. They’d been siren-call tempting before, and he still fantasized about how they felt in his palms and the sounds she’d make when he’d suck on her nipples even though her clothing.

  Eyes up, idiot.

  Guiltily he looked back into her face expecting anger. Or a sucker punch. Instead, the first hint of a wry ‘boys will be boys’ smile played around her soft, plump, pink mouth. Only he was most definitely a man.

  “You look beautiful, Tinsley,” he said softly and without thinking about it, he walked toward her.

  “Please, Anders.” She took a step back. She even held out her hand, palm out like a sexy crossing guard. “We don’t have to talk about anything now.”

  The hell they didn’t.

  “Anders, take the out,” she said in a rush, stepping forward and placing her hands on his chest like she could push him out of the tasting room. “I’m not asking for anything from you. Not money or time. You’re young. A bull rider on top. You’ve still got years to ride. To earn top money. To build your brand. You don’t want a baby to slow your roll. You don’t want me.”

  Her words were a slap in his face. Still, he’d blown it about as badly as a man could, and
he had to leash his frustration in order to pull out a save. So he covered her hands with his. They were ice cold. He rubbed them lightly. She acted so tough, but she was afraid. Why? Of him? That didn’t sit well.

  “You forgot something on that list of yours,” he said, massaging her hands.

  “What?” She looked up. Her dark gold gaze glittered and her voice was edged with defiance.

  “I’m also a dad. I am the father of your child. And that trumps everything.”

  His hands dropped to her hips. He pulled her close and let her feel his growing arousal. He didn’t want her—what BS. He hadn’t stopped wanting her. “I’m not walking away, Tinsley, no matter how hard you push. I intend to marry you so that our child has a mother and a father and we will raise our child together.”

  *

  “Marry? Together?” She stared at Anders in horror. “No.” She tried to draw in a breath, but it was too fractured to deliver the oxygen she needed. “We aren’t together.” She tried to infuse her voice with conviction, but she sounded young, uncertain—like the child and young woman she’d once been. She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t. She’d worked too hard to remake her life, and herself. She couldn’t be trapped again.

  “I…you didn’t…want this,” she said. “We didn’t plan on a baby.”

  “No. But we have a child coming, and we have to prepare.” Anders sounded infinitely patient, unlike John when she had once—only once—balked at his plans. Defensively, she wrapped her fingers around her throat. “We have to be on the same page.”

  “I don’t…I don’t want…” Thoughts flew around her brain like swarming bees. She couldn’t catch one. She couldn’t hear herself think.

  Why was he here? Why was he trying to act all noble or whatever game he was playing? There was no same page for them.

  “You and I did our best to prevent a pregnancy.” Tinsley clung to that fact. “You have condoms in your wallet. In your travel bag. In your toiletry bag. You are ready at all times.”

  “Nothing’s foolproof, Tinsley.” He seemed so calm, as if both their lives hadn’t been blown up by one broken condom.