by Lori Wilde
Clay
Texas Rascals Book 11
Lori Wilde
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Excerpt: Jonah
About the Author
Also by Lori Wilde
1
“Oh, Clay, the most dreadful thing has happened!”
“What’s wrong?” Clay Barton stared at his kid sister.
Anne stood on his front porch of the old log cabin he rented on the back forty acres of the Trueblood ranch in Rascal, Texas. Her nine-month-old daughter, Molly, perched on her right hip. Worry lines creased Anne’s forehead, and her face blanched pale.
“It’s Holt’s mom… She’s got to have emergency surgery, so we’re flying out this afternoon to be with her. I’m picking Holt up at the office, but I don’t have anyone to look after Molly.”
“Come inside.” Clay took his sister’s arm and led her over the threshold. With one hand, he raked a pile of nuts and bolts off the sofa cushion and into a cardboard box, then gently guided his sister onto the couch.
“We can’t take Molly with us; she’s teething and cranky, and it’s too late to call the service in Midland and get a nanny out here today.”
Although Holt and his sister had enough money for ten nannies, Anne didn’t hire live-in help for Molly as did most of their well-to-do friends.
“Too bad Mom and Dad are in Japan for the month.” Clay rocked back on his heels.
Anne shook her head. “If it wasn’t such short notice, I could find someone. It’ll take at least three days, maybe longer. I can’t impose on my friends for that length of time.”
“I’m really sorry to hear about Holt’s mother.”
“You’re my only hope, Clay. If you could just take Molly for today, then call the service so they can get a nanny out tomorrow. And since you work from home… it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”
Imposition? More like a major lifestyle change.
Clay stared at his niece. Gleefully, she kicked her chubby little legs and grinned at him. He stroked his raspy beard stubble with a thumb and forefinger. The thought of being responsible for a baby scared the daylights out of him.
Cornered, Clay pursed his lips. How could he turn down his sister in need? But how could he take on a nine-month-old? Especially now when he was about to make a breakthrough on his latest invention, the Barton Home Recycling Machine.
He’d been burning the midnight oil for weeks hoping to iron out the inevitable glitches. Clay tried to think of a way out of it and came up with nothing. It was only one day.
“Parenting is out of my league,” he mumbled.
Anne sighed. “I understand if it’s too much for you. I guess Holt will just have to go alone.”
Clay felt like something nasty stuck on the bottom of a shoe. He’d been working on the recycler for four years, what was another day or two? Besides, this was his niece. It would give him good practice for that day far, far into the future when he became a father.
“Don’t worry, Anne. I’ll keep her for you.”
“Thank you, thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me and Holt.”
“Hey, what are big brothers for?” He chucked Anne under her chin, and his gaze traveled to the doe-eyed baby, sucking her thumb as she sat in his sister’s lap. “Let’s just hope Molly and I both survive.”
“Don’t worry,” Anne said. “You’re marvelous with her.”
Molly gurgled in agreement.
“Buckle up, kid, your Uncle Clay is new at this.” Clay reached over to tweak Molly’s little foot encased in a soft yellow sock. She wore a frilly yellow dress with white bunnies on the front, and she gave him a winsome, toothy smile.
“I brought some of Molly’s stuff with me,” Anne said. “Clothes, formula, diapers, her car seat, the Pack ’n Play, and her stroller. I’m afraid I was pretty frantic, so I don’t know for sure what all I packed, but you can run over to the house for anything else you might need. I was in such a hurry I’m not sure I remembered to turn on the alarm system. If you go over, could you check if I armed it?”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“I wrote up a list of instructions for Molly’s daily routine, plus the name of her pediatrician and a permission letter to have her treated in case something should happen.” Anne took a stack of papers from her purse and passed it to Clay.
Overwhelmed, Clay simply nodded.
Anne patted his arm, then stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’ll do fine. I have complete confidence in you.”
I’m glad someone does. “Call me as soon as you get there,” he said.
“Of course.” Anne settled Molly onto the couch cushion and crouched in front of her.
“Bye-bye, Snookie Bear,” she cooed. “You be a good girl for Uncle Clay. Mommy loves you.”
Anne rained kisses on her daughter’s face, then straightened. “No one could ask for a better brother.”
She pressed her house key into his hand.
He swung Molly onto his hip and walked Anne out the door, down the steps, and over to the top of the line Lexus parked in the bare patch of dirt outside the cabin. He helped Anne unload Molly’s belongings and set them on the porch.
“Have a safe trip.”
Anne kissed them both again, then got into the car. She slipped on sunglasses and started the engine. Clay noticed the tight worry lines around his sister’s mouth.
He and Molly waved goodbye until Anne’s car disappeared from sight, then he glanced at the trusting little soul peeking up at him. Her grin widened, and she held out her arms in a gesture so charming it melted Clay’s heart.
Wow. Alone with a baby out in the middle of nowhere.
He gulped. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me, kid.”
Molly wouldn’t stop crying.
Clay was beside himself. He didn’t know what to do. He’d given her a bottle, burped her, and even fed her bits of his banana when she’d reached for it. He’d changed her diaper, talked to her, rocked her, and paced the floor with her.
Still, the baby wailed. Huge tears trailed down her reddened face. Her little body shivered from those gulping sobs.
After several hours, when she showed no sign of quieting, Clay admitted defeat. Something was wrong. He needed professional help. Jostling Molly on his hip, he leafed through the notes Anne left him until he found the number to the hospital in Omaha where Holt’s mom was having surgery.
He cooed to his niece while he waited for the automated phone system to patch him through to the surgical waiting room, but Molly was having none of it. She arched her back and bucked against him, her cries growing louder, more insistent, until Clay’s ears rang.
Someone answered in the waiting room but told him neither Anne nor Holt were there. Frustrated, he switched off the phone and tossed his cell on the kitchen counter. Where were they? Was their flight delayed? Was Holt’s mother out of surgery yet?
“Come on, Molly,” he begged, “give me a break.”
She looked at him with such a desolate expression on her face, Clay felt guilty for his impatience. The baby was sick. His worst nightmare had come true. Better safe than sorry. He picked up the cell phone and called Molly’s pediatrician.
&
nbsp; “I need to make an appointment for my niece, Molly Johnson,” he said to the receptionist. “Now. Today. This afternoon.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barton, we’re completely booked up today. Maybe first thing tomorrow morning?”
“And listen to the baby cry like this all night? No way.” For emphasis, he held the receiver close to Molly’s sobbing mouth, then returned it to his ear. “Hear that?”
“If it’s an emergency, take her to the hospital.”
Clay sighed, thanked the woman, and hung up. “Well, Molly, what are we gonna do? Is it an emergency, kiddo?”
Molly quieted for one blessed moment and stared at him. Just when he thought the crisis was over, she hiccupped and started in with a fresh round of tears.
Shoot.
If only he knew what was wrong. If she were really sick, he wouldn’t hesitate to take her to the hospital, but maybe she was just missing her mother.
“There’s more than one doctor in this town, isn’t there?” He googled pediatricians in Rascal, Texas, and discovered there were only two. Molly’s doctor and another one in the newer part of town.
He called and begged for an appointment. The receptionist said if he could get Molly to the office within the next half hour, Dr. Tobie Avery could work her in.
“Thank God for Dr. Avery,” Clay said, switching off the phone. “He’s my kinda man.”
He brushed his lips lightly across Molly’s fuzzy little head. She smelled so good, like baby powder and innocence. Her eyes drooped, and her sobs lightened to miserable sniffles.
Waltzing her into his bedroom, Clay held his breath, praying that the lapse in crying would last. But when he set her down on his unmade bed, the waterfall of tears returned.
Hurriedly, he dug through the little suitcase Anne had packed for her and found a lightweight yellow sweater and matching bonnet. It was windy outside, and Clay didn’t want to take any chances on the kid getting an earache on top of everything else.
Molly squalled the entire time he dressed her, carried her outside, and settled her into the front seat while he installed the car seat Anne had left for him in the back of his extended cab truck, and finally buckled her into the contraption.
Clay got behind the wheel and slipped the key into the ignition. The truck whined. He pumped the gas pedal, but his fifteen-year-old pickup refused to fire up.
Swearing under his breath, Clay got out and poked around under the hood. There were definite disadvantages to posing as a poor cowboy.
He rented the old cabin and kept a beat-up vehicle to keep people in town from finding out who he was. When he’d been Clay Barton, son of the famed Fort Worth cattle baron, Carlton Barton, someone was always trying to marry him for his money.
Four years ago, he’d turned his back on Fort Worth and the society scene, seeking refuge in the simple life. A he remote cabin smack dab in the ten-thousand-acre ranch did the trick. He enjoyed living like a hermit. Although his family hadn’t understood his decision, they respected it.
Finally, he had the quiet he needed to work on his inventions. And then Anne and Holt had moved to Rascal when Holt hired on as an executive at Barrington Oil and Gas. He’d begged Anne not to tell anyone they were siblings and blow his cover and serenity he’d found in the small town.
Just a dead battery. Thank heavens.
He could charge it with the tractor, but what to do with Molly? He couldn’t leave her strapped in the hot truck or alone in the house either.
Ahh, the Pack ’n Play Anne had brought for Molly to sleep in.
Carrying the baby in the crook of his arm like a football, he hurried back into the house and sat her down on the floor while he opened up the Pack ’n Play. It was only when he tried to wrestle it through the doorway that he realized he should have set the thing up outside.
After a bit of a struggle, he got the Pack ’n Play through the door and onto the front porch, then he settled Molly inside it where he could monitor her while he fired up the tractor that came with the cabin.
He attached the jumper cables from the tractor to the pickup and went back to sit on the porch with Molly while the battery charged.
The baby was still sobbing her little heart out, and the sound was a knife right through his gut. Poor kid.
Rascal was in the high desert of the Davis Mountains, and because of the elevation the temperatures rarely shot above ninety. Combine that with the lack of humidity, and the May afternoon weather was downright balmy. Fluffy clouds slid across the wide blue sky, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Not as long as Molly was suffering.
The doctor’s receptionist had told him they could fit her in if he got there within half an hour.
By the time he reached the doctor’s office, mounting tension had him ready to pull his hair out, strand by strand.
Dr. Tobie Avery’s office was small, and his was the only name on the door. Clay entered the deserted waiting room. Were they closing up? Was he too late? It had taken almost an hour and a half to get the truck started and drive the fifteen miles into town.
The receptionist, so young she looked like a high school girl in vocational education training, smiled up at him.
“My, that child has a fine set of lungs.” The receptionist, who’s name tag said Tiffani, smiled.
“Yes.” Clay nodded, reaching in his pocket for his wallet to retrieve the permission note Anne had written for him. He rifled through the contents but couldn’t find the letter. He patted his pockets.
Nothing.
With a groan, he realized he’d left it back at the cabin. Drat. He would have to go back for the permission slip or try to get Anne on the phone.
Or another option. He could just pretend Molly was his kid.
Clay ran a hand through his hair, caught in the quandary. What could it hurt? Dr. Avery wasn’t Molly’s regular doctor, anyway. It was one day. One visit. He’d pay cash. No one would ever have to know.
The baby’s incessant sobbing was the deciding factor.
“I’m Clay Barton,” he said, “and this is my daughter, Molly.”
2
Dr. Tobie Avery heard the baby screaming from her office at the rear of the clinic. She finished the apple that had served as her late lunch and tossed the core into the wastebasket.
Pushing back from her desk, she got up, washed her hands at the sink, then dried them on a paper towel. The morning had been hectic, and Monday afternoons were her time off to do paperwork, but when Tiffani told her about the harried man with a crying baby, she’d agreed to see them if they got here before two when her office hours began. It was now three-thirty.
Hearing the child’s screams for herself, Tobie understood why the poor father was so distressed.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Tobie walked down the corridor, opened the door separating the waiting room from the rest of the building, and peered out.
A tall, lanky man in a black straw Stetson stood at the front desk, a look of pure despair written across his handsome face. He clasped a wriggling yellow bundle to his chest. A bundle that possessed a cry as loud as a megaphoned cheerleader at a high school pep rally.
Tobie took instant pity on him. “May I help you?” she asked, stepping across the floor to join him at the front desk.
“Yes. I need to see Dr. Avery right away,” the cowboy said, relief ringing in his voice at the sight of her. “Molly won’t stop crying.”
“This is Mr. Barton,” Tiffani introduced him. “And his daughter, Molly.”
Tobie extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Avery.”
The man arched an eyebrow in mild surprise but quickly took her hand and shook it heartily. His grip was firm, self-confident. His gray eyes sparkled with an intriguing light.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting...”
“A woman?” Tobie finished the sentence for him.
“Such a young and beautiful woman,” he said, valiantly struggling to keep a grasp on the baby.
She was used to that reaction. Her first name oft
en threw people. They expected a grandfatherly man who might have shortened Tobias to Tobie.
“Why don’t you bring your daughter back to the exam room?” Tobie ushered them through the door and into the examination room.
The cowboy set his baby on the examination table, stepped back, swept off his Stetson, and hung it from the clothes hook on the wall.
“Could you undress your daughter, please?” Tobie asked, closing the door behind them. She’d only been in practice for six months, and so far, she couldn’t afford to hire a nursing assistant. Taking a digital thermometer from its holder mounted on the wall, Tobie waited while he unbuttoned Molly’s sweater.
Tobie noticed how tenderly he removed the child’s clothing, as if he were afraid that she’d shatter into a million pieces.
Unexpectedly, she felt jealous of Mrs. Barton, and an odd sense of longing stabbed through her as she thought of Edward. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine her fiancé caring for a baby at all, much less with such tenderness.
That’s not fair, she scolded herself. Edward’s already raised three children.
She understood his reluctance in wanting more kids. They could have a happy life together without children, and who knew, maybe someday she’d convince him to change his mind.
It was unusual for a man to be so comfortable around babies under a year old. Maybe he came from a large family. She felt a stab of sadness. As an only child, she’d dreamed of having siblings to squabble with. If she ever had kids of her own, she’d definitely have more than one. In fact, she wanted half a dozen.
Once he had stripped Molly to her diaper, Tobie moved closer and took the child’s temperature. Molly’s screams intensified.
The cowboy grimaced and glanced away.