The Bull Rider's Christmas Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  Fighting the knot in her throat, Wren said, “Fair enough. But if you’re so relieved to be free of a binding relationship, then why did you kiss me? Why are you holding me?”

  Slowly, softly he spun her to face him. “Beyond the baby, the night you and I shared was hands down the hottest of my life.”

  Heat roared through her, flustering her mind to the point that it was impossible to think.

  His touch was tender, radiating warmth as he brushed her throat with his thumbs. “Dare you to tell me you haven’t replayed it a hundred times.”

  She wanted him so badly to kiss her that her lips actually hurt. “I—I’m also mad at you for not trusting me enough to tell me what’s wrong with your knee.”

  “It’s nothing to get worked up about. You and me, however…” He sharply exhaled. “Remember how we started out fast, but ended up slow? Which time do you think it was?”

  Sliding his big hands along her silhouette, past the sides of her aching breasts, in at her waist, out at her hips, he knelt before her, lifting the hem of her T-shirt, pressing his open mouth against her womb.

  Between her legs a low hum both dizzied and thrilled. Hands in his hair, steadying herself against his advances, she felt her breathing turn shallow. Her pulse became frenzied.

  “You know, like how did we make our baby? On the lanai lounge chairs? Standing with your back pressed against the sliding glass door? In that big, soft bed with you riding me until—”

  “Stop,” she begged. Her voice was unrecognizable. Thick with ghost passion from a night she’d tried to forget. “It doesn’t matter how our baby was made, only that he or she has become our future. Trouble is, I already have one—in Baltimore. I have to focus on that.” I can’t afford to lose myself in you.

  “Once the baby is born, you don’t want any contact with me?”

  “In a perfect world, that’d be great.” Ducking her head, she escaped to the fridge for a refill on her decaffeinated iced tea. “That said, it’s not my intention to keep you from your child.”

  Jaw hard, he nodded and stood.

  “It’s entirely up to you how much contact you want.” The tea was refreshing. Cash’s cold stare? Not so much.

  “But if I want that connection with my son or daughter, I’ll have to go out East to get it?”

  Chapter Four

  “Sorry about not having the latest on-site ultrasound,” Doc Haven said Friday during Wren’s thirty-week pregnancy exam. Assuming everything went well, he’d clear her for travel. He bustled about the room that was decorated in a Sesame Street theme. “Tulsa has everything a body could ever need in regard to medical gadgets. If I run into something I can’t handle I send folks to one of my associates over there. Speaking of which, remember our patient with the broken hip?”

  “Cash’s neighbor, Delores?”

  “That’s the one. Her surgery was a success and she’s convalescing nicely at a short-term care center. Thanks again for your help.”

  “All I did was hold her hand.”

  “Sometimes that’s what’s most needed.”

  A freckle-faced redhead sporting a high ponytail and pink scrubs took Wren’s blood pressure. “One forty-eight over ninety-two.”

  “Smidge higher than I’d like. Anyway, I’ll give Cash Delores’s address. If you happen to be that way, you might stop by. I’m sure she’d love the company.” Taking a fetal Doppler monitor from a countertop charging station, he squeezed a dollop of ultrasound gel on her belly, and then applied gentle pressure until he found her baby’s heartbeat. “He’s a strong little fella.”

  “I think it’s a girl,” Wren said. Hearing her future child’s galloping pulse never failed to thrill. She’d invited Cash to sit in on this portion of her exam, but he’d declined. Probably just as well. The more attached he grew to their child, the harder it would be for him to let him or her go.

  “You don’t want to find out for sure?”

  Wren shook her head. “I’ve always liked surprises.”

  “Me, too,” he admitted while checking her wrists, hands and ankles for fluid retention. “I miss that part of birthing babies. If God had meant us to know every little thing about these tykes, he would’ve installed a peephole.”

  Wren laughed.

  Her ultimate dream—although, with the baby, it might now be out of reach—was to become a heart surgeon just like her idol and friend Dr. Abigail West, but she could see where being a country doctor would have its upside. On a good day Doc Haven covered every specialty from obstetrics to geriatrics. She supposed a country practice would be satisfying, but in a different way. Not the kind of rush stemming from a successful open-heart surgery, but more of a quiet satisfaction grounded in knowing his patients for a lifetime.

  The baby’s position was charted and then a lab technician popped in to tell the doctor that her urine sample checked normal for sugar, but high for protein.

  “Thanks for working me in,” Wren said once her examination was complete.

  “My pleasure. I’m proud to say I delivered all three Buckhorn boys and the lone girl.”

  “Cash has a sister?”

  Snapping off his gloves, the doctor nodded. “Took off a while back. No one’s sure where. Georgina misses her something fierce. It’s a mystery to me why she even left. Oklahoma has everything a soul could ever need.”

  Wren wasn’t so sure. “What’s your verdict? Am I free to make immediate flight plans?”

  He shook his head. “Before your appointment I had a conference call with your big-city ob-gyn, Dr. Patten, and she agreed that if your blood pressure and urine protein were still up, we feel it’s best you stay calm and relaxed. As much as you can, it also wouldn’t hurt you to stay off your feet.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. I have to get back to my residency. I owe my roommates rent money and have other obligations I can’t just abandon.”

  Sighing, the older man crossed his arms. “Let me put it this way. Right now we’re concerned. Plainly, your body was telling you that in your current condition, travel is a major stressor. You’ve been at rest for a week, and your levels are still not anywhere near normal. I’m not ready to diagnose preeclampsia yet, but you’re close. Unless you want to be an ideal candidate for stroke, heart disease, kidney failure, delivering your baby premature or God forbid, even stillborn, you need to heed this as a warning. Slow down and let that man out in the waiting room take care of you.”

  Refusing to let the doctor’s words take root, Wren asked, “What does that mean for my residency? I’ll be back in another week or so?”

  “Considering the fact that you had high blood pressure before you even got here, added to your now high protein levels and recent fainting spell, it is my and Dr. Patten’s professional opinion that you remain on bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Wren snapped. “I can’t just—”

  “Whoa. Cool that temper of yours right on down, little lady.” Reaching for the blood pressure cuff attached to the wall, he took a reading. “One fifty-five over ninety-four.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His stern expression told her that not only was he insulted by her second-guessing his reading, but fed up with her arguments.

  Preeclampsia was nothing to fool around with. Bottom line, no matter how badly she wanted to get back to work, she wanted a healthy baby more.

  Ten minutes later she returned to the waiting area to find Cash asleep in a chair, long legs sprawling in front of him, his straw hat covering his eyes. His light snoring didn’t bother an elderly woman’s knitting or a mother settling a fight between her two little kids.

  “Cash?” Hand on his shoulder, she gave him a gentle shake.

  He jolted awake. “Time for the baby?”

  She squatted to pick up his hat from the floor. “Still ten to twelve weeks.”

  “Oh.” Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he said, “I was just dreaming that I was at a rodeo when you went into l
abor.”

  “I suppose that could happen.” After handing him his hat, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere soon, she made her way to the check-out clerk to schedule her next appointment. “Are you entered in one around then?”

  “You ask too many questions. And wait a minute…” Just outside the office he stopped and eyed her. “Why’d you make an appointment with Doc Haven? Thought you were going home?”

  “Surprise,” she said with deadpan enthusiasm. “My blood pressure’s still sky-high and I’ve been ordered to stay off my feet for the duration.”

  “Yeah, but what’s that mean?” Even confused, he was much too handsome. How was she ever going to manage living with him until her baby’s anticipated Christmas delivery?

  “Basically that through no decision of our own, we’ve become roomies for the duration of my pregnancy—barring an unlikely blood pressure miracle.”

  “So you’re still sick?”

  She nodded and headed toward the truck. But he wasn’t finished questioning and he snagged her wrist.

  “But as long as you don’t overdo it, you and the baby are going to be fine?”

  “Yes,” she said, hating the pleasant tingles he caused with his slightest touch. Her whole life, she’d been in control. Now not only didn’t she decide where she lived or who she lived with, but her body betrayed her, too, when ever Cash was around.

  “It won’t be that bad.”

  “You’re not upset?” Because she certainly was.

  “About you staying on?” He grinned. “Might be fun. The doc didn’t say anything about you restricting certain athletic bedroom activities, did he?”

  She wrenched her arm free to give Cash a swat.

  The day was clear and warm with the winds at peace. Why couldn’t she shake the feeling that until she escaped Oklahoma, she might never feel that way? Should she take a chance with her and their baby’s health? Betting that her blood pressure wouldn’t become too great a problem if she flew home?

  Still grinning, Cash used a remote to unlock his black truck. The doors had Buckhorn Ranch arched across them, with battling rams beneath.

  Upon opening her side, he offered his hand. “Yep, this could definitely work to my advantage. We could exchange sex for butler service. Kinky good fun, huh?” That white-toothed smile of his flipped her stomach. She would’ve liked to blame it on the baby, but considering the heat between them every time they touched, no one but Cash could be to blame.

  “You’re horrible! I would never have sex with you.”

  Clearing his throat, Cash reminded her with a laugh, “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but judging by the size of my bun in your oven, you kind of already did.”

  Ignoring him, she rolled her eyes.

  He circled to his side of the truck, climbed in and started the engine.

  “Back to a more polite conversational topic, you never answered my rodeo question. Will you be around during the holidays?” Hoping to counteract the stifling heat, Wren turned on the AC.

  “Officially, yes, I am supposed to be riding in a holiday rodeo, but because of my knee, I’m suspended from the pro tour. Happy?”

  “No.” She adjusted the vents to blow gale-force cooling wind on her face. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  “Then why even bring it up?”

  “I was curious. That’s all. No hidden agenda.”

  Maneuvering Weed Gulch’s main drag with its assortment of pickups, slow-moving blue-haired women in Caddies on their way to Alma’s Kut & Kurl and too many harried moms in minivans, Cash hardened his jaw.

  What was he thinking? During their time together, would she ever learn to decipher his multitude of expressions? Considering the fleeting nature of their relationship, would she even want to? The whole point of her staying was about maintaining or improving her current level of health while bringing an equally healthy baby into the world. Nothing about that plan involved becoming fast friends with her baby’s father.

  “Hungry?” Cash asked.

  “Always. What’d you have in mind?”

  “Queenie’s twisty cones are always good on a warm day. Want one?”

  “Will they dip it in that chocolate stuff that hardens into a shell?”

  Glancing her way, he grinned. “You like your ice cream that way, too?”

  Disregarding the pleasant tingle that was becoming a habit every time Cash smiled, she said, “Doesn’t everyone?”

  SHARING A PICNIC TABLE in the dappled shade of a pecan tree, Cash reckoned he got more pleasure from watching Wren devour her cone than he did eating his own.

  She had this sexy-sweet habit of licking the base that was causing a tremendous amount of below-the-belt discomfort. Trying to get his mind out of the bedroom, he noted, “All kidding aside, hope you’re not too upset about not getting to go home. Promise, I’ll try making your stay as stress free as possible.”

  “Thanks.” Lick, lick.

  Cash shifted his fly.

  “I never realized how much stress affects me. It’s scary.”

  “I’m sure.” Reaching for her free hand, he gave her a squeeze. “Now that we’re a team, though, it’s okay to chill. At least let me shoulder some of the emotional burden you’ve been carrying.” It had to have been tough—not only finding out she was pregnant on her own, but then having difficulties. Just thinking about it got him all choked up. What if something bad happened to her or the baby? “Sorry.”

  “For what?” She’d finished her cone and now wiped her fingers with a napkin. His mind’s eye saw her one day down the road, fastidiously helping their little boy or girl clean after a sticky treat.

  “Going through the majority of your pregnancy alone. I should’ve been there.”

  “Stop. My purpose in being here isn’t to ply you with guilt. I’m entirely to blame for not telling you sooner.” Head bowed, she haltingly admitted, “For not admitting to myself that I needed help sooner. Guess now my body’s making the call for me.”

  Leaning forward, elbows on the sun-warmed wooden table, he asked, “Why were you reluctant to come to me? Did you think I wouldn’t care?”

  Swallowing hard, she focused on the family foursome next in line for ice cream. “You have to understand that my whole life, I’ve been on my own. To even acknowledge I need help is a big step. Huge.”

  “What do you mean you’ve always been on your own?”

  Meeting his gaze, she said, “My earliest memories are of a church-run orphanage. While I was more than adequately fed, clothed and educated, when it came to affection, there was precious little to go around—especially once I grew older.” Shrugging, she wiped tears from her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. “After a while I figured I was better off without any touchy-feely stuff. When it came to my studies, I compensated for a lack of outside attention by overachieving. Inside, I wasn’t happy with anything less than the best. Up until now, that ideal has served me well.”

  “But to a certain extent—I mean, aside from your deciding to sleep with me—neither pregnancy nor your residency being interrupted was in any way under your control.”

  After a faint laugh, she wadded her napkin into a tight ball. “No kidding.”

  Save for the air conditioner’s steady humming, the ride home was mostly silent. Cash’s mind wandered to images of Wren as a small girl, sitting alone in the corner of some institutional playroom with few toys and even fewer friends. Though he knew it was the last thing she’d have wanted, his heart went out to the lonesome little girl. He had the craziest urge to shower her with pretty, girlie things and ensure she always had a surplus of hugs.

  Growing up, he’d been blessed with an overabundance of not only material things, but parental attention. His dad was a local legend. Famed for being a shrewd oilman and cattleman. Always fair, yet firm. His dad had been as manly as they come, but not so much that he ever shied from giving his boys plenty of pats on their backs and all-around affection. Duke Buckhorn had been such a remar
kable parent and husband that often Cash felt lost in his shadow.

  When he rode and crowds cheered, he temporarily escaped. Now, with his messed-up knee, even that respite was at risk.

  Truth be told, that was why he never wanted to marry or spend his life working this family ranch. How would he ever live up to his father’s monumental ghost?

  “DR. WEST?” Once home, after calling the rental car agency and arranging to drop it off, Wren stood in Cash’s den, hoping she stayed strong through the duration of this second call.

  “Well,” Wren’s idol said in a friendly tone, “if it isn’t my favorite resident. Are you back at the hospital?”

  “N-not exactly.” She explained her situation. “With all of that in mind, I’m temporarily stuck—but excited about getting back to work as soon as I’m physically able.”

  “Of course, I understand.” The petite powerhouse, who wore a no-nonsense bob that always managed to look impeccable, sighed. Never a good sign. “That said, I can’t help but find myself wishing this baby had never happened. I’m happy for you, but sad at the same time.”

  “I understand.” Wren could feel Dr. West’s disappointment in her.

  “I’ve lost a lot of promising candidates due to so-called love, and I refuse to lose you, Wren Barnes. As long as we’re on the same page about that, I’ll move heaven and earth to get you back into the program.”

  “Thank you.” Wren’s whole body quivered with relief. Up until now, she hadn’t realized just how afraid she’d been of potentially being booted from her chosen resident program, but with Dr. West on her side, she had nothing to fear.

  THAT NIGHT, WATCHING the sunset from the back-porch swing, Cash sipped from a longneck beer. The scent of barbecued chicken on the grill made his stomach rumble. Damned if the day hadn’t been so messed up he’d forgotten to eat. “Is it just me, or is this whole setup a little…”

  “Awkward?” The soon-to-be mother of his child flashed a faint smile.