She took a long, slow drink, then let herself sink farther into the cushiony sofa, curling on her side, leaning her head back while she studied Scout.
He was big but lithe, hands strong and shoulders broad. His legs were long, and while he’d put on a pair of black dress pants and a black button-up to match, he wore cowboy boots—black, probably his dress pair. She smiled to herself. She didn’t meet many cowboys in Africa or New York. It was kind of nice to know she could always find one here in Texas.
“I made one of these for your granddad every night, the last few months,” Scout said softly. “The stroke had done enough damage that he didn’t get up and around much except for his physical therapy, but every evening after I was done with work, I’d come in to give him a report, and he’d shuffle out here to this sofa. I’d mix him the drink, and then he’d pretend to drink it while I talked.”
“That sounds just like him. I don’t think I ever saw Grandpa actually drink alcohol, but he sat around with a cocktail in his hand every night.”
Scout laughed. “Yep, that was George. Someone must have told him that’s what men of a certain caliber did, and so he tried to follow along, even though he obviously hated the stuff.”
Stella smiled softly. “He wasn’t a leader,” she said. “He wasn’t a follower either, though. He was just a really good man trying to do the right things, trying to take care of his family. Trying to run a good business.”
Scout put his hand over hers. “He was a very good man, and he loved you so much. You need to know that. Toward the end, when Jean Anne and I were the ones here with him…”
Scout paused and cleared his throat, and Stella’s heart surged because she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice—he had loved her grandfather too.
“He talked about you and your dad and grandmother all the time. Every night, we’d get him set up for bed, and he’d start the stories about each of you. He’d keep at it until his eyes would just drop shut and the story would end midway through.” He took a breath, letting it out slowly, and Stella found herself leaning toward him, anxious to know what he was going to say next, drawn to the shared history, the shared love of the man who’d been the closest thing to a father she’d ever had.
“I think it was his way of getting reacquainted with you guys. He was ready to go see your dad and grandma, so he wanted to remind himself of who they were so he’d recognize them when he got to where he was going.”
“And what about the stories about me?” she asked.
Scout leaned closer to her, his breath warm on her face. “I think he wanted us to know you, to be ready when you came to tell him goodbye.” He took a deep breath. “He worshipped you, and through his eyes, it was easy to see why.”
Stella smiled at that. Here she’d thought she might not be able to smile again for a while.
“Thanks for that,” she told him. “It helps.”
He leaned back, putting a little more distance between them. Stella almost asked him not to.
“You know what else helps?”
She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his words of wisdom.
“Dancing,” he announced before he stood and walked over to the stereo on the corner shelf. “Your granddad also loved to listen to his favorite station every night. And if Jean Anne would put up with it, I’d give her a turn around the room.” Old-fashioned country music began to play, and Scout held out his hand to her.
“I don’t know how,” she said.
“That’s okay. I do.”
So Stella stood and met Scout between the sofa and the fireplace. He pushed the coffee table aside with his booted foot, then put one hand lightly on her waist and held her hand with his other. He started with a simple two-step—quick, quick, slow, slow.
She resisted being led at first. She wasn’t used to it. Stella was nothing if not independent in every way.
He chuckled. “You city girls just won’t let anyone else be in charge, will you?”
She had to laugh, then, and finally relaxed until they were moving smoothly. “You might be leading,” she told him with a little sass, “but you can’t do it without me. We’re a team.”
“You’re absolutely right, Red.” Then he threw in a spin, and Stella laughed. They danced until she was breathless, and then they both collapsed on the sofa, heads leaned back, feet on the coffee table.
“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” he asked, his face turned toward hers and much closer than she’d realized.
“You were so good to him,” she said, not answering his question. “You spent your days taking care of his business and your nights taking care of him.”
“I was lucky. He took me in when I couldn’t go to my own family. I love them, but…it’s complicated. I need to have something that’s my own. Your granddad gave that to me, and I was happy to repay him however I could.”
Stella blinked away tears, and Scout reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Then he did the most remarkable thing. In a moment that should have been full of sorrow and regrets, Scout Beckett did something that changed Stella’s world, that made everything okay again. He leaned in a touch more and pressed his lips to hers.
Stella felt the whisper of breath that left her body as his heat began to move through her, his energy, his hope. Her mouth opened beneath his, their tongues began to dance, hands began to roam, and Stella let everything go. She let the exhaustion go, she let the expectations go, she let the despair go. Scout brought life, and dreams, and plans. While clothes were tossed aside and skin touched skin, the fire warmed them as they slid to the rug. Whispers turned to touches that turned to sheer pleasure, and Stella and Scout became something altogether new.
* * *
The sun seeped in through the gaps in the curtains, and the sounds of a dairy farm hard at work could be heard outside. Stella sat up slowly, trying to piece together the events of the last forty-eight hours. “Oh, God,” she groaned, holding a hand to her forehead. “What the hell made me think that was a good idea?”
“Well, I might have voted for it too,” Scout said from the doorway that led to the kitchen.
Stella jolted to her feet, clutching the blanket to her very naked front. “Oh! Um…” She waved, like the humiliated fool she was, and then wished she could melt into her grandfather’s wood floor.
Scout walked forward, grinning, and handed her the cup of coffee he carried. Then he kissed her on the forehead—almost brotherly about it—before backing off a few steps.
“Jean Anne has cleaned up the kitchen—and no, I didn’t let her back here to see the remains of what we were up to—and there’s scrambled eggs and biscuits ready for you. I’ll meet you at the table.”
She nodded, not sure what else to do.
Ten minutes later, clothes and the coffee had calmed her down somewhat, so she made her way to the kitchen, hunger overcoming any lingering doubts.
Scout stood from the barstool where he’d been sitting, reading some sort of booklet—Milk Delivery Systems in the Era of Global Warming—and grinned as he pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table.
She sat down and began to load her plate with food. She suddenly realized she was starving.
“Before you start into your speech,” he said, smiling as he buttered a hot, fluffy biscuit. “There’s no reason for it to be awkward. I know it didn’t mean anything, and no, you don’t have to feel guilty because you had a one-night stand at your granddad’s funeral.”
Stella burst out laughing, which was so inappropriate yet appropriate at the same time.
She shook her head, looking at the incredibly appealing man in front of her. If hooking up with someone permanent were in her life plans, she’d definitely consider him a top candidate. But her work in developing nations didn’t allow for permanent anything—not a permanent place to live, not a permanent place to work, not a permanent man to get involved with.
“Oh my God. Thank you.” The words rushed out of her, intermingled with laughter. �
��You really know what to say to a girl the morning after.”
“Or this girl, anyway.” Scout winked as he took a sip of coffee.
Stella felt all the tension inside her melt away. He seemed to have some sort of magical ability to make her feel better, no matter what the circumstances.
“So, now that you’ve single-handedly defused that situation, I guess we need to talk about what happens next. I’m afraid I had to leave in the middle of a project, so I don’t have time to stay right now and do all the things that I’m sure need to be done. And there’s the will…” She stopped, not certain what actually needed to happen next. She’d never been through this kind of thing before.
“So, let me tell you a story,” he began, his expression growing somber. “Nearly eight years ago, my parents both died—about a year apart. Cancer.”
She watched him, her heart aching for the pain that still showed in his eyes.
“I was in college, my middle brother was in vet school, and Bran, the oldest, was already working on the ranch with our dad. I’m only saying all this because, well, I’ve been through it—twice. And here’s something they never tell you…there’s no rush. The will is there, no matter what, and the belongings aren’t going to get up and walk away. Obviously, all this is yours now—”
“But it ought to be yours,” she said quickly. “You know I have no use for a dairy farm, and I wouldn’t have the first idea how to run it.”
He took a bite of egg and chewed thoughtfully. She grabbed one of the huge fluffy biscuits and laid some serious butter on it.
“Conveniently, I have the down payment and financing ready to buy it from you.” He smiled almost apologetically.
She grinned at him. “I bet you do. So we just need to go through the legalities of the will, then I can sell it to you, and everyone will have what they need?”
“Exactly.”
“Perfect. So, can you keep things running until I get back from Benin in a couple of months? Then I’ll have time to come down here and do all the paperwork, sort through Grandpa’s stuff, and hand the rest over to you.”
He nodded. “If you trust me to keep it going while you’re gone, it’d be my pleasure.”
Her gut told her there was nothing to worry about, and her heart told her she’d like the chance to see him again when it was time to handle the sale.
“I trusted you with quite a bit last night.” She blushed, and he chuckled. “And more than that, my grandpa trusted you with everything. You took care of him when I couldn’t, and for that, I’ll always be incredibly grateful. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll make sure you get what you earned all these years you were so loyal to George.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice gravelly as he looked down at his plate.
“In the meantime, I’ll clean up the dishes if you promise not to mention that birthmark I have on my left butt cheek.”
He roared with laughter, and they both picked up the dishes.
3
Two months. She had said she’d be back in two months. Now at nearly the three-month mark, Scout was beginning to think he’d been played. By Stella and George.
“So you still don’t know if you can sell my brother that acreage out by the road?” asked his number two guy, Lonny, as they watched the cows being brought in for the evening.
Scout leaned against the side of the metal milking barn and shook his head, while the sun began to set over the plains that spilled from the hills on the other side of the property.
“Nope. I’ve tried reaching her three times—email, phone, and the lawyers—no response.”
“Even the lawyers don’t know how to contact her?” Lonny asked, incredulous.
“Nope. Apparently, she doesn’t leave forwarding information when she’s off on one of her third-world jaunts. Hell, for all we know, she was caught by some rebel insurgents in Eritrea and…well, I don’t wish that on her, but she does do some dangerous shit.”
Lonny nodded. “I’m sorry, boss. I don’t mean to nag at you. Jose just keeps asking. He’s got more cows than grazing land, and that acreage is real convenient for him.”
“I agree, and we’ll never use it.” He shook his head. “George kept it because it had been given to him and his wife as a wedding present, but even he agreed it’ll never be useful to the business.”
Lonny squatted next to one of the old barn cats and gave her a scratch on the back. “So tell me again what the will said?”
Scout sighed. He’d been sick about the will since two weeks after George’s death, when the lawyers had finally explained the whole thing to him. It didn’t help that the old man had included a message telling him, while he’d been grooming him to take over the farm, he’d hoped Scout would understand his decision, in time. That there was more at stake than the property and livestock but what George had meant by that was anyone’s guess. The property and livestock were everything to Scout. When he’d left home, he was determined to get out from under his brothers’ scrutiny and judgment to become a success in his own right; something that had always been elusive to him as the youngest Beckett brother. As far as they were concerned, he was a screw up, but he’d proved them wrong building this farm up and making it profitable and what the old man did, didn’t make any sense. He’d even hired his own attorneys to look everything over, but it was clear, and it was final.
“Stella gets everything, just like we thought, but she has to live here nine out of the first twelve months after his death, or the entire thing gets liquidated and goes to charity.”
“So, you can’t buy it until the twelve months are up?”
“Yep.” Scout’s gut burned at the thought. He felt betrayed by George and hated that he was angry at the old man who’d been like a grandfather to him as well.
“And if she don’t show up in the next few days…”
“Then it’s all over,” he said. All over for the farm, and all over for him. After six years, through fair weather and foul, the last eighteen months entirely on his own as George became incapacitated and eventually unable to make decisions. If Stella damn Steadman didn’t show up in the next six days, Scout would lose everything.
* * *
She checked the stick again. No. No, no, no, no. “Dammit,” she muttered as she looked first at the timer on her phone, then at the back of the box. She slumped down onto the edge of the old bathtub, letting the little plastic stick fall on the floor with the other six that all said the same thing—pregnant.
Dropping her head to her hands, Stella finally allowed the truth to sink in—she was pregnant. Good God, she was actually pregnant. She was going to have a baby. A real live baby that had to eat, and sleep, and go to the doctor. It had to be watched twenty-four seven; you couldn’t forget and leave it somewhere, then come back later like it was a set of keys. A baby that would be completely reliant on her—Stella Steadman—for the next eighteen years.
“Oh, lord,” she wailed, “what have I done?”
She’d gone and had sex with a hot cowboy and no condom, that’s what she’d done. They hadn’t even discussed it. Neither of them. It was completely unlike her, but of course she’d been on the pill, so not a real worry. Except the same grief and chaos that had made her forget to tell Scout Beckett to cover up had also made her forget that the antibiotics she’d been on, after being exposed to some nasty bacteria in Benin, had rendered her birth control pills useless.
And now here she was—single, pregnant, and six days from losing her grandfather’s entire estate. The time since the funeral was a blur of complications that had made the Benin project run over, along with an increasing fatigue and sickness that had dulled the passage of time until this moment, when it was like she’d suddenly wakened from a dream. Only to find the nightmare was real.
“Stella, you’re such an idiot,” she murmured. She sighed as she bent to pick up all the plastic pregnancy sticks. She threw them away, then walked to the sofa—which was also her bed—and lay down, staring at the wat
er-stained ceiling. Her apartment was tiny—four hundred square feet—and no place for a baby.
Not that it mattered much. Baby was going to be in Africa or Central America or the Middle East…with its mother.
Her head began to throb. It was too much. She couldn’t possibly figure all that out right now. She had to think about things like vitamins and obstetrician appointments, right? Wasn’t that what you did if you were pregnant? Yes, she felt certain a visit to a doctor was crucial. She was also sure that communicating with the baby’s father was standard operating procedure. She’d allowed things to spiral until she was in danger of violating the terms of the will. Well, avoidance is more like it, but as much as she wasn’t ready to return to the only home she ever knew, she also knew that she’d lose the whole farm to a charity if she didn’t. She couldn’t do that to him. She wanted her grandfather’s life work to be cared for by someone who knew how much he’d devoted to it. And for the next few months, she needed that farm. She needed a place to catch her breath and make her plans today, and she needed the money from it for the baby’s well-being tomorrow.
Yes, Stella thought as she listened to the incessant sound of cars and crowds below the one window in her New York apartment, she needed to go home.
4
The little SUV rattled up the driveway, and Scout stopped pacing and thrust his way out the back door. She was finally here. He checked his watch. Not a moment too soon. Nothing like bringing it down to the wire. Stella had finally shown up to do her nine months’ penance with eleven hours and forty-two minutes to spare. He shook his head, trying to rein in the exasperation.
She pulled the blue Honda CRV to a halt and climbed out, looking as ethereal as he remembered, but maybe a touch more vulnerable, not quite as sassy as she’d been the morning after their one-nighter. He tried not to smile to himself—that had been one hell of a good night. If she only weren’t going to be here so long, he’d ask for a repeat. But he didn’t need more complications. He had nine months to prepare to take ownership of the farm, and then he had years of hard work ahead of him to turn it into the business of his dreams. Complications weren’t part of that equation.
Wrangling His Pregnant Cowgirl: Beckett Brothers Book Three Page 2