Caught by the Cowboy Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  Holden followed Bernadette at a much slower pace, thinking about their impasse from different angles, thinking that he needed what he didn’t have with Bernadette: time to broker a deal.

  When they reached the tour office, a tow truck pulled up. A burly, younger man in a grease-stained blue work shirt leaned out the window. “Do you belong to that motor home?”

  Holden nodded.

  “I pulled it out of the ditch.” He shut the engine off and gathered paperwork before getting out. “Name’s Tom. I just need your signature and a hug from my aunt Myrna, and I’m outta here.”

  “Does that mean we’re leaving?” Devin asked hopefully from where he was sitting on the porch steps.

  “Not today,” Holden said briskly. “We’re taking that campsite Myrna offered and forgetting about schedules and timelines. It’s what the doctor ordered.”

  And although Bernadette stared at him in surprise, she didn’t argue. Not one word.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S WITH DAD?” Devin asked Bernadette in a worried voice as they walked to the campground, leaving Holden to retrieve the motor home alone. “Did you tell him to slow down? Is that why we’re camping here tonight?”

  “I told him a lot of things, but even I didn’t expect him to make camp here. Or to propose.” This last she added almost under her breath.

  “You guys are getting married?” Devin had excellent hearing. He held out a fist for a bump. “Yes!”

  “No.” Bernadette closed her hand around his instead of touching her knuckles to his. “We’re not.” The corner of her heart that still loved Holden ached.

  You deserve better than unrequited love, Dr. Carlisle.

  “But you’re having a baby together.” Devin freed his hand and looked at her shrewdly. “If you’re not getting married, what kind of example are you setting for me?”

  “Nice try.” Bernadette smiled. There was more to the teenager than book smarts, and she was glad they were moving past the deception of his text invitation. “I should warn you that I have three younger brothers, and I don’t fall into the verbal guilt trap that easily.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Not to mention your assumption that babies mean marriage is outdated. Don’t be a Dr. Dunce.” Her heartless medical nemesis.

  “Oh, now you’re just heaping it on.” Devin rolled his eyes.

  She sniffed. “How did you, an only child, learn the fine art of family torture?”

  There was a bounce to Devin’s step. “You’ve never attended a Monroe gathering as a Monroe, so you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Again, three younger brothers.” Although, it was comforting to know the Monroe family dynamics were similar to those in the Carlisle family. “Can I assume my child will be treated like one of the Monroe family, even if they don’t have the Monroe name legally?”

  “You mean, will they be pranked, teased and loved for who they are if their last name is Carlisle?” Devin nodded, affection for his family beaming from his normally reserved smile. “Yep.”

  “That’s nice to know.” She hadn’t realized how important family was to her until she’d become pregnant.

  Devin lengthened his strides. His feet were large compared to his frame, indicating he still had some growing to do. But his pace was taxing the last of Bernadette’s reserves. “I’m going to be a good older brother, Dr. Carlisle. But I could be even better if you help convince my dad to ship me to MIT for the summer session. The last day to show is this Monday.” A week away.

  “Oh, don’t try to put me in the middle of you two.”

  They were behind the town proper now. The old buildings looked in worse shape on this side, even sheltered by tall pine trees.

  “Dr. Carlisle, Dad needs to be with you right now. Not me.” From his pleading tone, it was clear Devin wasn’t giving up on his summer plans. “You’re a doctor. You can make him live healthier.”

  “No one can make Holden do anything he doesn’t want to do.” She was panting now, trying to keep up with the teen even though they were going downhill toward the river.

  Devin turned around, walking backward. “I know Dad can be a little stubborn—”

  “A little?”

  “—but on paper, he’s good marital material.”

  “Turn around so you don’t fall.” Bernadette gave Devin’s shoulder a gentle prod in the right direction and proceeded to catch her booted toe on a rock. She righted herself. “I don’t need a matchmaker.”

  “Hear me out.” Devin jogged out of reach, tucking his thumbs beneath his backpack straps. “He’s well educated. He won’t embarrass you at your office Christmas parties.”

  “As a small-town doctor, I won’t be having any more of those.”

  “Well...” Devin’s gray eyes, so like his father’s, sparkled. “He’s loaded. He’s the equivalent of a financial rock.”

  Uh-oh. Apparently, Holden hadn’t told his son anything about his financial status.

  “And he gives the absolute best Christmas gifts.” Devin’s gaze turned dreamy. “Last year, Dad set me up with a media room.”

  “How will he top that?” If he could swing it financially, that is. And how would Holden react when she told him not to spoil her baby just as he’d spoiled Devin? Could she write that into a custody agreement?

  They reached the Standing Bear Campground. It was small and perched on the shores of the Salmon River. The road dead-ended a short distance away at a small bathroom facility. Upriver and through the trees, Bernadette could see the horse barn.

  “It’s quaint,” she said, not sure what she’d been expecting.

  Holden should be able to relax here. The river flowed past at a gentle pace, and the ancient pine trees provided some shade.

  “Quaint? I assume that’s adult-speak for small, Dr. Carlisle. There are only four camping spaces in the entire campground.” Devin shook his head. “And we’re the only campers. This is worse than being in Second Chance.”

  “You say that like Second Chance is beneath you.” Bernadette felt the need to rise to the defense of her new hometown.

  “It’s not Boston.” He shrugged.

  “You mean it’s not MIT,” she corrected gently, considering the choice of campsites. “When you want to be somewhere else, nothing compares. I miss my practice in Ketchum, but I’m prepared to make the best of it in Second Chance. Didn’t you graduate a year early? Is it really setting you back to miss out on the summer session? You’re already ahead of your peers.”

  Devin made a derisive sound that Bernadette translated into Adults know nothing.

  “Take it from someone who’s been through medical school,” Bernadette said, studying the campsite choices through a weary lens. It was time for this baby maker to sit, eat and hydrate. “Med school is competitive and cutthroat. You’ll benefit from reading ahead and preparing to enter a mental boot camp.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Bernadette tossed that derisive sound back at him, hoping he’d translate her meaning into You know nothing, Devin Monroe.

  Holden’s motor home slowly crested the hill behind them.

  Bernadette pointed to a campsite near the bathrooms. “That one’s convenient.” Especially for a woman afflicted with morning sickness who valued her privacy.

  “The first one has shade.” Devin pointed to his choice.

  Bernadette glanced up at the trees. “Your space has a bat house.” She pointed to the ground. “Notice the white evidence of their passing?”

  “No need to argue.” Devin directed his father toward the campsite Bernadette had chosen. “I don’t suppose you cook? I got hungry waiting for you guys and ate your burgers.”

  “Thus proving that teenage boys have a bottomless pit when it comes to their stomachs.” She gave in to fatigue, sat at the picnic bench and drank some water.

  “Gui
lty as charged.” Devin slung his backpack on the picnic table. “Do you? Cook, I mean.”

  “I’ve never liked being in the kitchen, not even to bake Christmas cookies.” She tugged off her boots and set her feet on the bench.

  Devin tsked. “We’re in trouble, then. None of us cook, and there’s nowhere to eat but Myrna’s grill, which wasn’t very good.”

  “You ate everything!” Bernadette wasn’t letting the teen slide by on that.

  “And I drank your root-beer float, too,” he admitted sheepishly. “Myrna was right. The ice cream made me feel better about being stuck here.”

  Holden came down the motor home stairs. “Did I hear someone talking about dinner? Myrna offered to bring down one of her special meals—a box of tacos, a bowl of black beans and roasted carrots.”

  “One of these things doesn’t belong together, Dad.” Devin rooted around his backpack for a book.

  “You mean the carrots?” Holden smiled at Bernadette. “She wanted to make sure the one with a bun in the oven—her words, not mine—had a serving of vegetables.” He walked toward the rear of the rig. “Why don’t you help me set up camp, Dev?”

  “Sure. And then I’ll stake out a spot inside to read before dinner.” Devin walked behind his father, and then turned, giving Bernadette two thumbs up.

  He’s playing matchmaker, hoping Holden will send him off to summer school.

  “Not happening,” Bernadette told his retreating back.

  After the motor home was connected to power, the bump-outs and awning extended, and a rug laid practically the length of the rig, Holden produced a glass of orange juice, a box of crackers and a package of Brie in front of Bernadette. “You haven’t eaten for a long time.”

  She’d just been thinking the same thing, but the altitude and her lack of energy had kept her inert. “You’re up to something.”

  “Just being nice to the mother-to-be of my child.” Holden sat down across from her and gave her that grin that had charmed her the night they met all those months ago. “How’s that baby feelin’, Mama? Joyful?” He opened the Brie. “And I’ll be happy to fetch whatever you need. You deserve the red-carpet treatment.”

  Bernadette gasped. She’d tossed a lot of terms and conditions at him on the route back from Recline Point. She hadn’t thought he’d take her up on any of them. Was he teasing or sending a message about how she made him feel?

  Bernadette didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or to sit back and enjoy Holden trying to make things up to her.

  Which would be okay as long as she didn’t give him her heart a second time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WE’RE CLOSED.” FRANKIE tried to shut the tour-office door on Holden after dinner.

  He stuck his loafer in her way. “I just need the makings of s’mores.”

  She gave him a disparaging look. Instead of a cowboy hat, she wore a beanie, the tips of her short, purple hair showing. But the rest of her looked the same—scruffy clothes, cynical eyes, jutting chin.

  He reached for his wallet.

  “Look. I don’t know why my gran likes you. You’re pushy, and your wife scared her into going to the doctor, which we can’t afford.”

  Holden’s hand rested on his back pocket above his wallet. “Most people think you can’t afford not to go to the doctor when you’re feeling sick.”

  “That’s your experience as a rich dude.” Frankie rolled her eyes.

  Holden had faced down worthy opponents over the years, men and women who raised voices and upped the stakes if he made a mistake. He was good at reading people when there was a negotiation in play. This girl was big on the bluff. “Should I tell your grandmother I bribed you to let me ride Shortcake?”

  Frankie scowled.

  “You think I didn’t figure that out?” Myrna appeared in a doorway behind the display of baby items. She’d shed her miner’s hat and cowboy boots. Her multicolored striped socks had a hole in one toe. “Sunshine, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Gran, you should be in bed.” Frankie spoke without toning down her scowl at all.

  Myrna came to stand next to Frankie, putting her arm over her granddaughter’s narrow shoulders. “You came so I could take care of you, not the other way around. Now, run on down to the barn for a last check of the horses. And make sure you treat yourself to an ice cream when you get back.” She inclined her head toward the nearby cooler.

  Frankie looked torn, as if she’d find scowling at Holden more pleasurable than earning an ice cream. But then she huffed, took an ice cream anyway, and fled the building.

  Myrna heaved a sigh. “With her, it’s always a battle. Didn’t think I’d be raising a teenager again.”

  “Me either,” Holden admitted.

  Myrna frowned at him. “Francesca was right. We’re closed. Don’t make it a habit to knock before or after business hours.”

  “We’ll be gone tomorrow. I just need some s’more ingredients—graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows.”

  “If I sell you what you need, you should also buy your wife a pair of flip-flops. Those red boots she bought are bound to be stiff. And those sneakers of hers are going to take forever to dry. You need to get back in her good graces since you can’t seem to tell her how you feel about her. I wouldn’t have pegged you for one of those nonexpressive types. Makes me wonder how you won her over in the first place.”

  He wasn’t discussing his personal life with Myrna. “You carry sandals? That’s almost as surprising as you selling cowboy hats and boots.” Holden glanced around at the room and the stacks of merchandise. “What’s your turn rate? Your inventory costs must be high.”

  “Beg pardon.” Myrna was reaching for what Holden needed to make s’mores, tucking them into the crook of her arm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You should only carry items that move quickly.” He picked up a small plastic bubble-making gun, wiping away the dust on the package. “How long have you had this for sale? Or those boots Bernadette bought?”

  “I’ll tell you how long.” Myrna rang up his items. “Since the month of None of Your Business.”

  Holden bit back a grin. “And your margins are probably slim, too, which makes you work harder for every dollar of profit.” He glanced around, picking up a pair of pink plastic flip-flops that looked close to Bernadette’s size. “You know, you could probably sell this place to a developer and never work again.”

  Myrna was back to scowling. “Where I come from, life is about more than making money. It’s about passing on something important to folks and leaving something special to family.”

  “Money is special.” He paid up his bill. “It allows your family to do important things when you’re gone.”

  “You don’t understand life.” She shook her head vehemently, white hair floating above her head like a cloud. “It’s about purpose. It’s about joy.”

  “Oh, joy I understand.” He gathered his purchases.

  When it came to life’s expectations, Myrna was as bad as Bernadette, judging success by a feeling.

  * * *

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Bernadette looked Holden up and down, reassuring herself he was okay.

  He’d lit a campfire after they’d eaten the taco meal he’d bought from Myrna and then disappeared.

  “Were you wondering if I’d collapsed somewhere, perhaps for real this time?” he asked in a teasing tone, handing her the new pair of flip-flops.

  Of course she had been, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She thanked him for the sandals instead.

  “I went shopping at Myrna’s.” Holden sat in a webbed folding chair next to her and handed her a paper grocery bag. “You can’t sit around a campfire without having s’mores.”

  The bag contained one candy bar, a box of graham crackers and a bag of marshmallows.

  “I’m i
n heaven.” Bernadette unwrapped the chocolate candy bar. “Baby was craving sweets.”

  “Hold on.” Holden snatched the bar from her. “That’s for the s’mores and memories. Devin, come on out and roast a marshmallow with us.”

  “Dad, I’m—”

  “Studying. Yeah, I know.” Holden smirked at Bernadette. “I bet you were just like him at seventeen.”

  “I wasn’t.” She’d been too busy helping to care for her father as he battled cancer. And when she hadn’t been helping, she’d been studying. Gah. “Okay, maybe I was.”

  He ran his hand gently over her hair. “Want me to roast a marshmallow for you, too?”

  “Absolutely.” And if she hadn’t been pregnant, she’d have taken a chocolate martini to go with her s’more. “Why did you only buy one chocolate bar?”

  “Do you need more than one s’more?” The corner of his mouth slanted upward.

  “I’m eating for two. So yes. But I’d want two even if I wasn’t pregnant. You know, that’s a law up here in the mountains. One person, two s’mores.”

  “What?” Holden’s smile came out of hibernation and broadened like a ray of sunshine coming over the mountains. “Two s’mores? You didn’t even eat lunch.”

  “I know. Don’t judge.” Bernadette was in trouble and not just from eating junk food all day. Her attraction to this man came from a place she had no control over, a place inside that made her want to smile back and pretend everything was like before.

  “Dev, will you bring me the marshmallow roasting forks?” Holden stretched his feet toward the fire.

  “Sure,” Devin called back.

  “He’s studying,” Bernadette chastised gently. “Why don’t you go inside and get them?”

  “It’s a dad technique.” He held up a finger. “Wait for it.”

  Devin came down the steps and handed Holden two long metal roasting forks. He put his hands on the back of the third chair around the campfire, as if tempted to join them. “Can you burn a marshmallow for me, too?”