The Cowboy's Secret Baby

by Leigh Riker

  Calvin looked at the ground. “You know what? You sound like Willow Bodine.”

  Becca’s best friend. “That’s not fair.”

  “But you know how she and Cody were. Her dad wasn’t keen on him either, and that’s partly why they broke up. Maybe that rubbed off on you. Fine,” he said, throwing out a hand in defeat then starting back toward the house.

  Becca stood there a moment before she followed, as if a dark shroud had dropped around her shoulders, weighing her down. A fresh bout of nausea threatened. She hadn’t meant to ruin things, but this was a huge step and maybe she hadn’t thought it through. Without his embrace, more exhausted than she’d been when he picked her up tonight, she felt cold, alone.

  The Realtor was standing at the back door, gazing out into the yard. Calvin climbed the steps ahead of Becca. He muttered, “Let’s not do this, then. I wouldn’t want you to make the wrong decision.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “YOU OKAY?” AT THE picnic table in Lizzie’s backyard she and Dallas were supposed to be discussing the rodeo—a business meeting—but she didn’t seem to be paying attention tonight. Even in the dim light, she looked pale and wan, worried, and Dallas saw that same distance in her eyes as he had at the kids’ rodeo.

  She yawned. “Sorry, I never seem to get enough sleep. Becca and I spend the first hour at work each day trying to stay awake. And I talked to the kids this morning. When I mentioned cleaning house before they come home, Seth said, ‘You didn’t throw out my stuffies?’ Then Jordan whined about spending his summer with the baby, and Stella wouldn’t even speak to me at first.” Lizzie moved her glass of herbal iced tea around on the table. “Then I made the mistake of asking about Harry. They all said he was downstairs but would be right back. There’s apparently a Starbucks in the resort lobby.” She sighed. “I was upset that he’d left them alone, but Stella finally said, ‘We’re big enough to take care of each other,’ and all I could think was—without me.”

  She kept shooting looks toward her driveway, the street and the house on the other side where her nosy neighbor lived. Dallas didn’t buy her explanation. “What else?” he asked.

  Her unhappy gaze met his. “When I told Stella I disagreed about Harry leaving them alone, Jordan piped up, ‘He doesn’t care, Mom,’ with an air of disdain that sounded remarkably like Harry. ‘You’re divorced,’ he told me. ‘Dad can do what he wants.’”

  “Aw, Lizzie.” She couldn’t keep him from thinking of her that way, and he couldn’t keep the name from coming out now. Dallas tried to take her hand, but she drew back.

  Her mouth turned down. “Harry has too much time in a different state to indoctrinate them, turn them against me.” Her eyes flashed. “I won’t be his pawn to move around on the chessboard, giving him an advantage. The kids are vulnerable, open to suggestion, eager to please their father, who was largely missing from their lives last winter and this past spring, which doesn’t give Harry the right now to subvert my role as their mother.”

  “I’m sure they don’t see it that way.”

  She rubbed the frown line between her brows. “Why am I telling you my troubles? The worst part is, I almost ruined my surprise and told them about your rodeo as a bribe, which I’ve never done. I felt tempted, though. Jordan was greatly impressed when you moved in next door, and before he left for Colorado, I know he peppered you with questions.”

  “He did,” Dallas agreed with a smile.

  “I could have handled the call better, but on top of all that, last night I nuked a frozen meal for dinner—only to discover later it was well past its use-by date.” He saw something else in her expression, and for a moment she paused. “I don’t feel that well today, enough to put me off my game.”

  “If you’re not up to talking business tonight, we can postpone the discussion.” Again, he thought. Elizabeth had canceled before to attend her women’s meeting.

  “No,” she said, “I’d rather be distracted.” She pushed a sheet of paper across the table to him. “About your rodeo, I made this list of people to approach as possible sponsors, and because I couldn’t sleep last night I drafted a press release to start the PR push.”

  “What else?” he asked, because obviously there was more that troubled her.

  “My mother and I had words about the rodeo last week—about you, actually.”

  He glanced at the list on the table next to her untouched glass of iced tea. He’d read it later after he pried the truth from Lizzie. Was the problem tonight her ongoing concern about public exposure?

  She inhaled sharply. “Dallas, there’s, um, something I need to tell you.”

  His gut churned. “I can guess you’re a breath away from saying you can’t help after all. Leaving me to do all the planning. Don’t. We still need to designate a charity,” he rushed on so she wouldn’t get the chance to pull out, “and everything doesn’t happen at once.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Do you ever get discouraged? You must be the sunniest person I’ve ever known,” she mumbled, as if he wouldn’t be once she explained some issue. “Dallas—”

  “No, you’re beating yourself up right now because your mother doesn’t approve of the rodeo or, especially, me.” Maybe she was right about that. “What’s the worst Bernice, or anyone else, can think?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. “That we’re doing more than talking, that we already—”

  His voice tightened. “Well, let me tell you something. Most people aren’t that concerned, or even interested, in what we do. They’re too caught up in themselves. Why not look ahead instead of back?” He finished his tea then set the glass down.

  “I’m trying,” she said. “And, yes, I know I’m whining.”

  Dallas looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see a crowd, do you?”

  “No,” she admitted, “but that doesn’t mean there won’t be once—” She broke off. “This town’s full of people who don’t focus on themselves. My mother is only too happy to let me know who’s been talking.”

  “You’ll have to confront that someday. Her, I mean. Why not now?” While I’m here willing to act as a buffer?

  “I did try.” Lizzie gazed at him for a long moment. “Why aren’t you married, Dallas? You’d make someone the best husband. And a good father—”

  “Husband? Father? Me?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not married because I had a lousy set of parents before I went to live with the Maguires. My dear old dad was a dealer, and I don’t mean cars. My mom was an addict too—match made in heaven, right?—and I’m never going down the road they traveled.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you had a loving home with the Maguires. You’re in no danger, Dallas, of falling into the same kind of life your actual parents led.”

  “That’s what Hadley said.” He looked away. Sometimes he worried about that, one reason he’d seldom taken the pain pills his doctors prescribed after his accident. “But they hurt people. They abandoned us.” And then, for his brother, it got worse. “I was luckier than Hadley, yeah, and until I saw him again last Christmas, I thought I’d gotten past that early stuff.” He shut off the about-to-gush spigot of memory, pressing his lips tight.

  “Yes,” Lizzie said, “your brother had a worse upbringing than you did—or, rather, no upbringing—yet Jenna loves him as much as he loves her.”

  He couldn’t seem to help the flat tone of his voice. The subject of marriage, kids, made him twitch. “Yeah, well, I’m fine the way I am. Single. No dependents like Hadley has with Grace and Luke. And Jenna. Except, of course, for my folks. I’ll be on the road again soon, and I’m not going to stop until I earn enough to care of them all their lives.” And enough to take care of the family he might have someday, but Dallas didn’t add that.

  Lizzie only stared at him until he had to blink. “I understand—about your career too—but don’t you also want a good relationship? For yourself?
Whether or not that includes children?”

  He wondered where this was going. He felt as if there were a sudden noose around his neck. He’d never been serious about a woman and wasn’t going to start now, even if the woman sitting across from him appealed to him. More than she should. “Why do you care if I get married or not? Or have a family?” Dallas reached for the pitcher of tea. “I thought we were talking about this rodeo. You in or out, Lizzie?” He could virtually see her decide not to say whatever else was obviously on her mind and had been since the kids’ rodeo.

  “In,” she said, and his bones turned to water. “You need me more than I imagined.”

  * * *

  WITH A GROAN, Elizabeth rolled over in bed. Normally she had a cast-iron stomach. When the kids brought a bug home from school, she rarely caught it. Even Harry, who’d never tended to a sick child, had often suffered instead. Now her morning nausea had become an unwelcome friend with the fatigue that made her want to cover her head with the blankets and try to sleep it off. Which wasn’t likely considering her pregnancy.

  The doorbell’s sudden chime made her feel worse. “No,” she said aloud, “not this early.”

  Was Dallas at the front door again with more plans for the rodeo? His enthusiasm was contagious, and she’d certainly stepped into the event with both feet last night. The soft yearning she’d seen in his eyes, the obvious pain caused by his birth parents—and that must be only half the story—had done the trick. That, and her own cowardice. She wanted to do the right thing. She’d tried several times to tell him about this baby, but then Dallas had claimed he wasn’t marriage material or a great prospect as a father, and she’d lost whatever nerve she had. He might not want a family, yet she guessed he needed something.

  When the bell rang again, she flung back the covers, stood without thinking, and another wave of nausea rolled through her. Elizabeth clung to the bedpost until her stomach settled, then grabbed yesterday’s jeans and tunic. Taking no time to comb her hair, she flew down the stairs.

  Not quite to her surprise, instead of Dallas, Bernice was trying to see through the frosted side glass in the front door. Elizabeth unlocked then opened it. With bleary eyes, she studied the Pyrex dish in the other woman’s hands before Bernice walked into the house as if she’d been invited. “I’ve brought my special breakfast casserole.”

  The very thought of food roiled her stomach again. “That was thoughtful of you, but I’m not hungry.”

  Bernice, brown-haired and brown-eyed, was already bustling down the hall to the kitchen. With a sinking feeling, Elizabeth went after her. What do you want? She could guess the answer to that. Several times this summer Bernice had shown up with such an offering, her way of getting into the house. Who is the young man who just moved in? she’d asked her first visit. And more recently she’d suggested, With Harry and the children gone, you must be lonely.

  Bernice shoved the casserole into Elizabeth’s microwave, found the coffee canister and set the machine to brew. While Elizabeth looked helplessly on, she pulled mugs from the upper cupboard, plates from the lower one, obviously familiar with the layout of Elizabeth’s kitchen. “My appetite’s never good before coffee either,” Bernice said, assessing Elizabeth’s pale face, “but I can see that with everyone away you’re not eating well.”

  She couldn’t deny that. She was trying to keep her last meal down right now. “You’re probably right.”

  The microwave dinged. While Bernice poured coffee then served, Elizabeth did her best not to bolt for the bathroom. She refused the coffee, then nudged her plate aside. “Bernice, I’m in a bit of a rush today. I’ll save these eggs—”

  “With ham, onion, cheese, a touch of fine herbes...” As a longtime widow, and with no job, without grandchildren to spoil, Bernice likely had time on her hands, and Elizabeth figured cooking, when she didn’t eat out, was better than Bernice watching out her window. Still, Elizabeth didn’t care to become her latest project. Nor was Bernice alone. Her mother was part of that club.

  Trying to remember her manners, Elizabeth rose. “I wish I could chat, but I really need to get to work.”

  Bernice touched her arm. “Before you go, I just want to say I think Harry did you a terrible disservice. Your mother doesn’t agree, and I also used to think he was an outstanding mayor, a model husband and father, but...”

  “That wasn’t true.” Elizabeth dropped into her chair again. All right, let’s get this out in the open. After Bernice left, she’d have to call Becca to say she’d be late. “What’s on your mind, Bernice? Mom says you mean well, but you’ve made a habit of crossing the street to probe about one subject or another ever since Harry moved out.”

  Bernice cut her portion of the casserole into ever smaller pieces. “I was happy to see someone rent the Whittaker house but...really, Elizabeth? I’ve seen Mr. Maguire cutting your grass. I heard voices only last night—”

  “What?” Elizabeth said sharply. As she’d suspected, even sitting in her backyard with Dallas hadn’t worked to avoid prying eyes. At Olivia’s shop she’d tried to defuse such interest in Dallas from her mother, but Bernice needed the same line drawn in the sand. “It’s not enough that my entire life turned upside down—because of Harry—or that, yes, I’m the subject of everyone’s constant scrutiny, but it seems people aren’t just talking. They’re spying.”

  Bernice bristled. “I’ve done no such thing.”

  Elizabeth wouldn’t dignify that with an answer. How often had she seen Bernice at her window, the draperies pulled back, peering out across the street? It was a wonder she didn’t use a pair of binoculars. Perhaps she did. “I don’t need to be watched—or minded like a five-year-old. If you have questions about me and Dallas Maguire, ask them. Bernice, please, go ahead. I’m sure my mother will hear a report from you before I leave for work.”

  Bernice’s eyes snapped. “How dare you speak to me this way. This is a quiet neighborhood. Hardworking people, families, don’t need such goings-on on this street. Near my own house!”

  Elizabeth was shaking so hard her teeth threatened to click together. “I did nothing wrong, not when I was married to Harry and he was cheating behind my back, and not after our divorce. Last night Dallas and I were working together on his rodeo, a charity event to benefit this town. He doesn’t have to do that. He could let his injuries heal until he’s ready to go back to the rodeo circuit, spend time with his brother instead, but he wants to contribute—and I’m helping, which my mother already knows, so I can save you the trip to see her. Or did she tell you?”

  Neither of them had eaten a bite of Bernice’s casserole, and their two coffee cups were still full. “You would do far better to keep company with my son,” Bernice said. “He’s a respected citizen in this community and Barney’s not going anywhere.”

  “Worse luck for him,” Elizabeth said. Bernice’s bachelor son, who’d been a vice president at the Barren Cattlemen’s Bank for years, had quit to seek a different pursuit, but he still lived with his mother, who monitored his every action too.

  And there was that phrase again. Keeping company. Ah, but at least now they’d gotten to the true reason for this morning’s visit. “You may be my mother’s friend, but that does not give you permission to insult me or Dallas.” This time she rose from her chair and stayed standing, her pulse hammering hard enough to make her breathless. “I’m tempted to throw you out of this house and never open my door to you again.”

  In a huff, Bernice pushed past her, then down the hall. “I definitely will tell your mother how I’ve been treated here. I only came to caution you not to make a spectacle of yourself—but I was wrong to give you the benefit of the doubt. I now agree with her that you must be exactly the reason Harry strayed.”

  She charged out the door, leaving Elizabeth to wonder how much worse things would get once Dallas, then the whole town, learned she was pregnant.

  * * *

 
“DO YOU WANT to take the rest of the day off, Becca?” Certainly, Elizabeth did. Bernice’s first-thing-in-the-morning vitriol had made Elizabeth’s stomach finally revolt and she’d gotten to work after ten, but she only got a shrug for an answer now from Becca.

  “No, I’m just...tired.”

  Elizabeth could identify with that. She wanted to lie down on an antique sofa and sleep until closing time. She envisioned Bernice at her mother’s house, venting her displeasure over Elizabeth’s behavior. “Are you sure?” she asked Becca. At least one of them should get an afternoon off, though that was becoming a habit for Becca.

  The girl shrugged again then went into the storeroom, where Elizabeth could soon hear her sniffling, but, with Olivia in far-off Kedar, Elizabeth shouldn’t pursue the matter right now. She had to run the shop and deal with the rug orders for the women’s cooperative.

  Becca wasn’t being helpful. Could Elizabeth manage on her own? Had she been out of her mind to keep on with Dallas’s rodeo? Could she really handle what amounted to two jobs?

  Finally, Becca emerged from the other room, her eyes red and puffy, a soggy tissue in her hand. She shot a look at the only customer in the store, who was reexamining for the fourth time an overstuffed Chesterfield sofa. Elizabeth sighed. Becca was going to be no help at all until she talked about whatever was troubling her.

  Elizabeth walked over to their customer. “I’m going to take a short break.” To deal with her coworker, though she wouldn’t say that. “This sofa is gorgeous, and I can arrange delivery for you. We offer white-glove service. If I’m not back when you’re ready to buy, rap on the office door.” She read the tag. “It’s a great price. I wouldn’t pass this piece up.”

  The woman glanced at her. “Yes, but I’m still thinking. Hoping it will go on sale.”

  Elizabeth left her to ponder her decision. She led Becca toward the back but, at Olivia’s desk, Becca remained silent. She picked at a hangnail, and Elizabeth’s heart went out to her. From her first day, she had sensed a connection with Becca, an instinct to nurture as she would Stella or the boys.