The Millionaire's Pregnant Bride (Texas Cattleman's Club: The Last Bachelor Book 1)

by Dixie Browning

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, he scratched his jaw and apologized. “I guess I came on too strong.” He wasn’t about to admit that, convenient or not, she and her baby were now his responsibility. He was learning what set her off and what he could get away with.

  “I guess you did. But you need to understand that being in control of my own life is important to me. I, um, I might have overreacted, too.” If her quick, tremulous smile was meant to disarm, it did the trick. “And we haven’t really known each other very long.”

  “Or very well. I think it’s about time to change that, don’t you?”

  She came away from the wall as if she’d backed into a live wire. “Oh, well, as to that, I think we’re doing just fine. I mean, look at the way we work together in the kitchen. And I’m even learning to like old submarine movies.”

  Slowly he shook his head. “Diana, Diana. What am I going to do with you?” He knew what he’d like to do, but it wasn’t going to happen. That hadn’t been a part of the bargain. “What do you say we head out of town and take it easy for a few days after I get done at the office? You might want to check with your friend at the clinic about riding. Horses, that is.”

  His grin had been purely wicked, Diana thought a few hours later as she dressed for her first visit to a real working ranch. She thought they might have clarified their relationship, but she couldn’t be sure. Just when she thought she understood where he was coming from, he moved.

  Her mother used to say, “Just when I think I know where it’s at, it moves.”

  Evidently knowing “where it was at” was big back in the seventies.

  Diana didn’t even know what it was, much less where.

  She must have yawned a dozen times between looking over the old apartment to see if there was anything she needed to bring back with her and dragging out her suitcase to pack for a weekend on a real ranch.

  A ranch! Imagine that. After all her childish fantasies, she was going to get to play cowgirl.

  With a real live cowboy, too. Better watch it, princess.

  She yawned some more over sandwiches eaten at the bar in the kitchen after Will returned from the office. “Honestly, it’s not the company, it’s one of the early symptoms of pregnancy,” she said after apologizing. “I wonder if anyone ever slept through the entire nine months.”

  Will was watching the noon business report and only murmured, “Hmm.”

  Greenspan said something about creeping inflation, and Diana reminded herself to go easy on the mayo from now on. Her waistbands were already getting a bit snug. On the other hand, it had been almost two days since she’d felt the slightest queasiness.

  “What were you saying?” he asked when a commercial came on.

  “I was saying that I can stay awake now for hours without yawning.”

  “The question is, can you stay on a horse without falling off?”

  “Was Roy Rogers’s horse named Trigger?”

  “That good, huh?”

  “You’re not the only one who likes old movies. I used to watch cowboy movies every Saturday morning. Why do you think I moved to Texas?”

  “Let me guess. The lush jungles? The ice-capped mountains?”

  The gentle teasing was still new enough to cause flutters in her modest bosom. The bosom that would probably grow a full cup size, if the pamphlets she’d read could be believed.

  Would he notice?

  Do you want him to notice?

  As unlikely as it was that she could ever have become the mistress of a wealthy oil tycoon, Diana marveled even more at finding herself married to a man like William K. Bradford, who’d been referred to by several women in the secretarial pool as a hunky stud.

  Or maybe it was a studly hunk. Either description applied, although, according to rumor he never mixed business with pleasure.

  She was beginning to wonder about that. He was still wearing his business suit, and they were both taking pleasure in the sandwiches she’d created from practically nothing. Cheese, salsa and bacon on pumpernickel.

  “What does the K stand for?” she asked a couple of hours later as they left the outskirts of Royal behind and headed southwest. She had packed her black slacks, two pairs of jeans, two pullover sweaters and her warmest fleece jacket.

  Will downshifted for a patch of sand that had blown across the highway. “King,” he said grimly. “No cracks, please.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” she murmured with mock solemnity. And then, in the same solemn tone, “Does that make me Diana Queen Bradford?”

  He shook his head, swerved to avoid a pothole, then glanced at her with a wicked grin. “You wish,” he teased. “You do realize, don’t you, that now that you know my secret, I’m going to have to find a way to silence you?”

  Her mind zapped instantly to one of the more pleasurable methods he might use to silence her and Diana found herself struggling to catch her breath. She hadn’t forgotten the way his kiss had felt, not for a moment. Its very gentleness had set it apart from every kiss she had ever received from any other man.

  Not that there’d been all that many. An impatient man, Jack had seldom bothered to kiss her. When he had, it had been an obvious part of his lovemaking routine. As foreplay, it had all the passion of a paint-by-numbers masterpiece.

  Taking charge of her thoughts, she closed the door on the past. “King, hmm? You said the place doesn’t have a name—have you ever considered calling your ranch the King Ranch?”

  He chuckled. “I’m afraid somebody beat me to it. Have you ever considered calling yourself Lady Diana?”

  “No, but when I was about five or six, I used to pretend I was a princess. It was a game my mother and I made up.”

  They fell silent again, but it was a surprisingly comfortable silence. When they passed a truck stop, Will turned off the highway and pulled up to the gas pumps. “Rest rooms are inside. I’ll meet you there in five, and we’ll stock up on junk food.”

  Feeling suddenly carefree and optimistic for no real reason, Diana stepped out and found herself unexpectedly surrounded by her husband’s arms. Flushed, she said, “Careful with those promises, dude—I’m eating for two, remember?”

  “I remember,” he said, his voice a shade deeper, huskier than usual. She was still surrounded by his loose embrace, and just before he stepped away, he leaned down and placed his firm lips over hers.

  And, just as it had before, the world tilted on its axis and trembled for an instant before righting itself again.

  “Well,” she said breathlessly, sidestepping his arms. “I’d better—that is, I really do have to, um, wash up.”

  Will didn’t say a word, but he stood and watched as she scurried across the paved apron and let herself inside Taylor’s Trux Top, Gas and Great Eats. First thing he needed to do was go online and check out the care and feeding of a pregnant female. An elusive, funny, increasingly fascinating pregnant female.

  Less than an hour later, having made little conversation but great inroads in the popcorn, the fat-free corn chips and the bottled iced tea, Will turned off at a mailbox onto an unmarked road that was obviously well maintained. “Look, I’d better warn you, Miss Emma’s going to want to fatten you up. In fact, once she finds out about the baby, she might not even allow you out of bed. Her husband, Tack Gilbert, manages the ranch, but Miss Emma runs the house with an iron hand.”

  “So what if we don’t tell her?” Diana suggested. “About the baby, I mean?”

  “Does it show yet?” He glanced at her flat stomach. “I didn’t mean that, exactly, but is there some clue—something women pick up on that men don’t?”

  “Later there might be. Dark patches on my face.” He looked so horrified that she burst out laughing. “What, you’re going to divorce me if I get a few brown patches? What about stretch marks?”

  Her smile faded as the implications struck them both. If she had stretch marks—and she probably would before it was over—he would never see them. They didn’t have that kind of relatio
nship.

  And crazy or not, Diana found herself almost wishing they did.

  Then she was staring at the house. From what he’d said, about the ranch not having a name, she had expected a small frame house and a few unpainted outbuildings.

  Rancho Anonymous was far more than that. The main house was built of log and cedar siding, with lots of stone and glass. There was a wraparound deck, part of it open, the rest roofed over. Perfect, she thought, for watching the sun go down over that pasture full of horses.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “I didn’t know there was that much green grass out in the country.”

  Will pointed out the windmill and explained about the irrigation system. “Those hedgerows you see out there are all that keep the sand from covering it when we get a hard blow.” Taking her arm, he led her toward the house. “Ranching’s a hell of a lot more interesting than spreadsheets.”

  “I can imagine,” she said, and she could. Funny thing—seeing him at work, she could never have imagined him on a ranch, looking as though he belonged. Yet, now that she’d seen him here, she had trouble picturing him back at work, soberly suited, addressing a meeting of the board.

  “Is that an airport?” She pointed to a flat metal building in the distance with a wind sock on the roof.

  “Just a hangar. I keep a couple of small planes here in case I need to get back to town in a hurry.”

  A couple of small planes. Uh-huh. It was just beginning to sink in that her husband was an extremely wealthy man. With Jack, it had showed. The house he’d lived in—the expensive toys with which he surrounded himself. He’d collected old cars. Bentleys. He’d once joked that while a Bentley wasn’t quite as ostentatious as a Rolls, it was common knowledge that anyone who could afford a Bentley could easily afford a Rolls.

  It hadn’t been common knowledge to her. She’d never even heard of a Bentley. Will drove a luxury sedan, but she didn’t think it was a Bentley, much less a Rolls. But at least it didn’t have a gigantic pair of horns mounted on the hood. He owned two planes and probably one of those pickup trucks she saw over by one of the barns.

  Her father had driven a battered old VW bug covered with faded hand-painted slogans. Flower Power. Make Love, Not War.

  Feeling suddenly out of her depth, Diana glanced uncertainly at the man beside her. He dropped a casual arm across her shoulder and led her toward the house. “Come on inside and meet Emma. Tack can bring in our bags later.”

  She was no horsewoman. That much quickly became evident. Even though Will had put her up on the fattest, oldest, slowest mare in his stable, she clung to the reins and the saddle horn with both hands and tried to hook her legs around the creature’s broad belly.

  “You dig your toes in any deeper and she’s going to take off with you,” he warned. The manager, Tack, was grinning through his tobacco-stained handlebar moustache.

  “Fat chance. Look, you wanted me to ride, I’m riding, okay? Can I help it if he doesn’t feel like moving?”

  “He’s a she. Her name’s Mairsy.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No’m not. Some kid named her Mairsy Doats before I ever got her. Actually, she sort of came with the ranch. Want to try something a bit more challenging?”

  Diana looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. And then she tried to remember how Dale Evans had looked in all those old Saturday-morning movies. Petite and relaxed, for one thing—not gawky and scared half to death. A white hat and a fringed skirt probably wouldn’t change anything where she was concerned. “You know what? I sort of feel like lying down for a while.” She wasn’t above playing the pregnant female card. Might as well take advantage of it while she could.

  “Sore butt, huh? Come on, then. We’ll give it another shot tomorrow.”

  She scowled at him. Sure they would. And the sun would rise in the west.

  Miss Emma took everything in her stride. When Will had first introduced her as his wife, she’d looked startled, but quickly rallied. “Well, now, I’d better put another pillow on the bed. Mr. Will uses both of ’em. You want one or two?”

  Diana’s mouth must have fallen open. Will had closed it for her with a thumb under her chin and said, “Give us any extras you can round up, Emma. We’ll work it out, all right?”

  They had worked it out. The first night she had slept in the master bedroom while Will slept in the room across the hall. He’d been willing to share a room, but as he was pretty sure she wasn’t ready for anything like that, he hadn’t suggested it. If Emma had any question, he’d blame it on his snoring.

  Which he didn’t. Or at least, no one had ever complained.

  Diana thought Will looked incredibly masculine in his ranch wear, which consisted of scuffed boots, a flannel shirt worn with a leather vest, and a pair of jeans that were worn thin and faded in all the strategic places. All he needed, she decided, was a white hat, and he could easily play the good guy in any Western.

  It had been her decision to tell the housekeeper about her pregnancy. Will readily agreed. So they told both Gilberts over breakfast, allowing them to believe the baby was Will’s.

  “Lord bless you, honey, I know how that is. My oldest sister’s been pregnant half her life. Raised seven young’uns, then helped raise two grandkids. Still looks young as ever, too, even with white hair. Claims it’s all on account of the way she eats. Stuff I can’t even pronounce. If beans and greens and good beefsteak aren’t healthy, I don’t know what is.”

  “That was easy,” Diana remarked afterward.

  And it had been, but after that, Emma insisted on coddling her, making her come in and rest when she’d rather be outside watching the horses or exploring the various outbuildings. Making her eat all her greens, which she truly didn’t care for, and seeing that she had an afternoon nap.

  “You take that girl up to bed, Mr. Will,” she said as soon as Diana had washed up from her second horse-riding experience, which had gone only slightly better than the first.

  Diana felt herself blushing. She rather thought Will might be blushing, too, but then, it could be just a result of coming into a warm kitchen after being out in a cold, blustery wind for hours.

  “Come on, little mama, let’s settle you down for a nap,” he said, and she had no choice but to accompany him up the stairs.

  “I might not know much about horses, but I do know how to take a nap,” she grumbled. “I certainly don’t need you to show me how.”

  “You sure of that?” Those incongruous dimples flashed in his cheeks. “You were pretty cocky when you climbed up on that mare today, too, weren’t you?”

  “It twitched. How did I know it was going to twitch before I could get settled?” Okay, so she’d made a tiny little noise. At least she hadn’t fallen off.

  “And besides,” she said moments later when he opened the bedroom door and ushered her inside, “I’m hungry. I need something to tide me over until supper.”

  “I’ll bring you up a snack.”

  “Oh, don’t bother,” she grumbled. “I hate crumbs in my bed.”

  “Seriously, as thin as you are now—”

  “I’m slender, not thin!”

  “Right. Well, as slender as you are now, you’re still going to need to watch your weight. I went online last night after you turned in, and one of the things I learned was that—”

  “I’ve never had a weight problem. As long as I exercise regularly and watch what I eat, I never will.”

  “Never?” he drawled, staring directly at the part of her body just below the braided leather belt. Making her entire body tingle with awareness. “Honey, pretty soon folks are going to start thinking you swallowed a watermelon seed.”

  She sighed, then grinned. “Look, what if we tell Emma that my restlessness keeps you awake and that’s why we sleep in separate rooms? She was giving me a funny look this morning.”

  “What if we don’t?” His voice was too quiet, his intent too clear. She could easily have avoided him, but instead, she stood there an
d let nature take its course.

  The kiss started out as gently as the others had. Then Will tilted his head, bringing his hands up to clasp her face, and something changed. That tilting axis effect again. Feeling the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, she moaned softly in surrender.

  Hot, wet satin. How could anything so soft feel so firm? He tasted of coffee and smelled of horses and leather and grain. Those long, hard muscles she had admired so much on their wedding night hardened still more as his hand dropped below her waist, cupped her bottom and pressed her even closer. Feeling his arousal stirring against her, she caught fire.

  It’s not the man, it’s you, you fool! It’s those crazy hormones of yours acting up again!

  Whatever it was, she was suddenly more aroused than she had ever been in her life. The embarrassing dampness between her thighs, this fierce, mindless urgency….

  Stop it before it’s too late, a voice whispered.

  Too late, too late, came the echo as Will eased her toward the bed. He was breathing as if he’d just chased down a herd of wild horses. On foot.

  “I probably ought to sleep,” she panted.

  “You’ll be sore. Let me at least give you a back rub.”

  She choked off a laugh. “It’s not my back that aches.”

  His warm hand slid under her hips. “Here?” he suggested. “Or here?” he murmured when both hands came under her and he cupped her cheeks. “Or here?” His palms slid down her thighs and moved inside, where she was feeling the slightest bit of irritation from miles of walking and trying to ride that damned old plug.

  Trouble was, she couldn’t catch her breath to tell him to stop—to tell him that all she needed was a nap and a dusting of talc.

  It wasn’t true. What she needed was far more complicated and far more dangerous.