The Cowboy SEAL's Jingle Bell Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Most people say start at the beginning, but I have a short attention span, so jump right in with the juicy parts.”

  He grinned.

  She nearly swooned. Baby, your daddy’s a looker...

  “Anyone ever told you you’re a little kooky?”

  “All the time.” She settled a pillow behind her back. “Now spill.”

  “Okay, but don’t think badly of me. Because seriously, no one hates me more than me.”

  That didn’t sound good, but who was she to cast stones? “Considering I got knocked up from a one-night stand, this is a judgment-free zone.”

  After a deep inhale, then slow exhale, words tumbled too fast, as if he’d been holding them in for far too long. “The night we met? Part of the reason I was so damned drunk was another woman. Back in Virginia, Brandi and I dated on and off—nothing serious. Then she tells me she’s pregnant and the baby’s mine.”

  Now Tiffany sucked in a deep breath. “Where’s the infant and his or her momma now?”

  “That’s just it...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We hardly had a great love story. It was all about sharing a few Friday-night drinks, then releasing the week’s tensions. But hell, when she told me she was carrying my baby, I was prepared to do right by her and my kid. I bought her a ring, got down on one knee—the whole nine yards.”

  She leaned in closer. “Why aren’t you married to her now?”

  “Damn, woman, if you’d quit interrupting, I’d tell you.”

  “Sorry.” To stop herself from blurting about a dozen more pertinent questions, Tiffany drew her lower lip into her mouth and bit.

  “So anyway, I wasn’t exactly proud of how this whole thing was going down, but we got married, and then I got shipped out. Making a long story real short, by the time I got back, she’d had the baby—a boy. I had a son. I’d had a couple hundred sleepless nights to ponder what it was going to be like when I got home—you know, taking on the role of dad and husband to this infant and woman I hardly knew.”

  Where in the world was this going?

  “Back on base, when I stepped off our C-130 transport, she waited for me on the tarmac with all of the other wives. When I caught my first sight of her with a baby stroller—not gonna lie—I could’ve downed an entire bottle of Pepto. Still, she was my wife, this was my son, and I was determined to be a great dad and partner. All around us, my SEAL buddies were making out with their wives or hugging their kids, so I got into it. Or at least tried. I kissed her cheek, then reached into the stroller for my son. Only when I picked him up for our first hug, I got a helluva shock—there was no way this kid could be mine.”

  “What? How could you tell?” Tiffany could deny it all she wanted, but when it came to juicy gossip, she was every bit as bad as her mother. This story was getting good.

  “Let’s just say the little guy was cute as a button but looked more like Bruce Lee than me. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any Asians on the family tree. She admitted to having slept with another guy around the same time as me and that she was already back together with him. She pulled a packet of divorce papers from a pouch on the back of the stroller. Told me that once I signed them, our marriage would be officially over, then wished me a nice life. After all those nights I’d spent worrying about how I was going to perform as a father, just like that, the issue was off the table.”

  “Whoa...” Out of habit, Tiffany rubbed her baby bump. “You weren’t kidding. That was nuts. But how does what Brandi did make you feel bad about yourself?”

  “Because I was an idiot for landing myself in that situation. I’d always worn protection with her, but accidents happen. Now here I am again, facing the same issue with you. But the funny thing is, after another long-ass tour filled with way too much time for thinking, now maybe I am ready to be a dad.”

  “Do you know how crazy that sounds? After what that woman put you through, I would have figured you felt like she’d given you a get-out-of-jail-free card. I’m now offering you another one.”

  “But I want my son.”

  Tiffany shook her head. “You only think you want to be a dad. Trust me, I have bouts of suffering from baby fever, too. When those adorable diaper and baby-food ads pop up on TV, the chubby-cheeked close-ups get me teary eyed every time. But those aren’t the realities of raising a child. To do right by him, to put the same time, attention and love into your son as you do being a SEAL, you might have to give up your career and move back to this dead-end town.”

  “Funny you mentioned that...” He set the dog between them, then cupped his hand over her belly. His palm created a warmth like a heating pad. When his barest touch felt this good, what if he spooned her? Warmed her entire aching back?

  No, no, no. She might be able to squelch this impractical line of thought, but she didn’t remove his hand. Selfishly, the much-needed comfort felt too good.

  “I’ve always liked this town. I’ve seen a lot of the world—and granted, Paris and the Mediterranean have their perks. But honestly, there’s an awful lot of ugliness out there, too. Here I’d have nothing but blue sky and the faces of everyone I love.”

  “And snow. You forgot about the multiple feet of snow.”

  He laughed.

  “And what if this baby turns out to be not yours? Remember your not-so-nice implication that I’d made a mistake? You said as much back at my office.”

  “Sorry. The last thing I meant to imply was that you’d been sleeping around. I was there the night this little guy was conceived.” He now added an infuriatingly distracting rub to her tummy. “I clearly remember being so hot for you that I was too out of my freakin’ mind to make sure the condom was—well... How do I put this? Positioned correctly?”

  Hot didn’t begin to describe their chemistry.

  Volcanic.

  Seismic.

  Cataclysmic. All sorts of -ic words. And now that there was a baby on the way, apocalyptic also applied. Before she found out she was pregnant, life had still been a disaster but at least manageable. Now? Her sheer size made most tasks three times tougher than usual. As for the pang in her heart each time the baby kicked? That was the worst. Of course she wanted to keep their baby—more than anything. But logic dictated that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Since you’re already knocked up, why not at least try seeing if we still share a connection?” He leaned closer, all the while stroking her tummy with his thumb.

  Had there ever been a more idiotic question? They didn’t share just a connection but the kind of explosive spark she’d never even experienced with her former husband—which was probably why they were now divorced. Rowdy’s warm breath tickled her upper lip, goading her into all manner of naughty thoughts.

  “We could pick up right where we left off...”

  He shifted the dog lower on the bed, then inched still closer until the empty space between them couldn’t have been thicker than the flyer she’d found on her car window the night after having made the poor choice of being with him.

  Why wasn’t her dog defending her?

  And speaking of poor choices...

  The memory of seeing her positive pregnancy test served as a much-needed bucket of cold water to her flaming cheeks. Tiffany backed away. “You should probably go downstairs. If Grammy catches you up here, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  He leaned forward, nuzzling her neck. “I never did mind dancing with the devil. Besides, I could tell straightaway your grandmother and momma like me just fine.”

  “I wouldn’t take it too personally.” Tiffany crossed her arms. “They’d love the trashman if he’d make an honest woman of me. They’re both old-school and believe a woman has no business being pregnant without a wedding ring.”

  “So? Let’s get one. First thing in the morning. Then, come afternoon, you can get to work finding us a house.�
��

  “Stop. Are you even listening to yourself? Rowdy, you’re free. The Parkers are taking our baby and giving him a better life than we ever possibly could. He’ll have the best of everything. Private school. Travel. Art lessons and dressage and speaking five foreign languages. Don’t you want that for him? Don’t you want him to have more than two parents who—up until this morning—didn’t even know each other’s last names?”

  “While all of that fancy stuff sounds dandy, it doesn’t hold a candle to true family ties. I’ll be a great dad. I’ve already been practicing for damn near a year.”

  “Yay for you. But I can’t be a mom—not yet. Maybe not ever. I already have one failed marriage, a father in prison, a mother teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown and a grandmother who refuses to see the bad in anyone, when I can’t remember the last time I had a man tell me the truth—present company excluded. I think. Hope.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. No matter what you say about anything, I’m not changing my mind about the adoption.”

  “Sorry, angel, but that decision’s not entirely up to you. I have rights, too, you know?” He cupped his hand possessively over the baby. “This decision isn’t just about you. We went over this at your office.”

  She sighed. “Please, just go.”

  He stared at her for the longest time.

  The dim lamplight showed a weariness in him that she hadn’t before seen. Shadows beneath his eyes and a sad downward turn to his lips. He was heartbreakingly handsome. Long lashes and those grassy-green eyes that called to mind sunny days spent downing Long Island ice teas on the sidelines of polo fields. What would a man like Rowdy have been like in her former world? Would she have given him the time of day?

  She was so caught up in his stare that she forgot to breathe. When her body forced her to remember, her gulp went down too fast and left her coughing.

  He was instantly by her side. “You okay?”

  Still unable to speak, she nodded.

  “We’ll continue this discussion in the morning. Only you need to be ready to make concessions.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned for the door.

  No. He couldn’t just waltz in here and dictate what she could and couldn’t do. But she was tired of talking in circles, so she kept her mouth closed. Unfortunately, there was a lone question hammering at her like a woodpecker against a rickety wood shed. “Rowdy?”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t bother facing her.

  “What did your parents say about your first marriage?”

  “Not a damned thing. They don’t know.” With that shocker, he exited her room and shut the door.

  More confused than ever, she scooped up the dog to settle him on his pillow beside her, then covered him with his own leopard-print fuzzy blanket. She turned out her bedside lamp, bunched a pillow between her legs and one behind her back and three more behind her head but still couldn’t get comfortable—not the way she’d been with Rowdy alongside her for support.

  Why hadn’t he told his folks about his first baby scare? Embarrassment? Pride? But that morning, he’d offered right away to drive her over to meet his mom. Why? What about their situation made such a huge difference?

  The old her—the Tiffany who’d believed in happy endings—might have wondered if Rowdy had been looking for more from their union than she had, which was basically one night free from the nightmare that had become her life.

  Running her hands over her belly, she closed her eyes and tried sleeping, but peace refused to come. Her lower back ached, and she was hungry and had to pee.

  After a trek to the restroom, she carefully made her way down the back stairs to the kitchen. A mug of hot cocoa and a half-dozen of her grandmother’s oatmeal cookies would be delicious. After that, she’d pop the rice bag she used as a heating pad into the microwave and then try going back to bed.

  At the base of the stairs, she traipsed down the hall and into the kitchen, only to come to an abrupt stop.

  Rowdy’s entirely too-fine muscular legs and derriere clad in red-striped boxers were the only parts of him visible behind the open fridge door.

  She’d just turned to tiptoe her way back up the stairs when the fridge door slammed.

  “Jeez, woman!”

  She spun around as fast as a seriously preggers woman could to find Rowdy clutching his chest.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry. I assumed you’d be sleeping.”

  “I should be, but you’ve got me so wound up on about eighty different topics that I’m having to stress-eat.”

  “You’re wound up? How do you think I feel? I’m starving.” She nudged him aside to make her way to the fridge.

  “For the sake of both of our growling stomachs, let’s table all topics involving the baby and focus on food. Deal?”

  He held out his hand for her to shake.

  She should have known better than to touch him again.

  The instant she pressed her palm to his, a warm tingle didn’t just take hold but threw her slightly off balance, as if she were standing on the bow of a yacht when it crashed down from a wave. He was without a doubt bad for her—in the most maddeningly wonderful way. All the more reason to steer clear of him.

  After breaking their brief hold, she asked, “Want me to make you a sandwich?”

  “Sit.” He clamped his hands over her shoulders, aiming her toward the round oak table and nearest ladder-back chair. “Your grandmother’s dinner was so good that I don’t see the point in messing with perfection, do you? Leftovers sound awesome.”

  Trying not to get caught staring at his ridiculously toned body, she nodded.

  Outside, wind howled.

  Gusts made the old house shiver.

  But inside, Pearl kept the propane heat on a tropical high. Refilling the tank wasn’t cheap, which reminded Tiffany just how much she needed to make a house-sale commission.

  “Tell me about your husband.” He cradled four Tupperware bowls in his arms, then dropped them all onto the gold-speckled laminate counter. His biceps were big, but not bodybuilder beefy.

  Her cheeks flamed from the memory of wrapping her fingers around them while he’d—

  “Sorry. I see you’re turning red. Was that too intimate of a question for our first late-night snack?”

  She inwardly groaned. Would it be too much to ask for you to put on some clothes?

  “Okay... Since that subject’s apparently off-limits, I’ll—”

  “No,” she said, fanning her flushed face with a coupon circular Pearl must have left on the table. “It’s not like that. I’m having a hot flash.” Caused by you! “Crawford and I were the ultimate cliché. We met at the University of Texas. His fraternity was always paired with my sorority. Our parents ran in the same social circles. We both had the same ambitions. He wanted to conquer the business world. I wanted to rule the Junior League and raise gorgeous babies. Looking back on it, I guess the whole thing was a big, shallow mistake. He’s already remarried and aside from the embarrassment of the whole thing, I’m not all that heartbroken.”

  “You mentioned earlier that he broke things off because of your father’s conviction?”

  “Yep. I should have at least cheated or something, you know? At least given him a true reason for the split.”

  “If you don’t mind another question, what’s your dad locked up for?”

  “Insider trading.”

  He nodded. “Ever planning on going back to Texas?” Now that the lids were off all of the containers, he opened three cabinets before finding the one holding her grandmother’s white china plates.

  “Honestly?” A strangled laugh escaped her. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I have visions of gliding back into town behind the wheel of a brand-new Jaguar convertible. My hair and nails and outfit will be fla
wless and I won’t rely on a man for my well-being, since I’ll run my own real estate empire.”

  “Nice.” He spooned heaping portions of mashed potatoes, meat loaf and peas onto both plates.

  “For the record—what this Crawford character did was pretty shitty. Sounds like a total douche bag. I mean, hell, he married you—not your dad.”

  “No kidding, right?” Her respect for Rowdy rose by a considerable margin. He could just be blowing happy smoke up her skirt, but his words seemed as genuine as his sympathetic smile. A problem, since the last thing she wanted was to be reminded of why she’d spent the night with him in the first place.

  He popped one plate into the microwave, then joined her at the table with bowls of ambrosia and three-bean salad. He handed her a spoon. “Dig in.”

  “Thanks.” She did. Never had she been more grateful for her grandmother’s overabundance of side dishes at any given meal. “Mmm...” she said after swallowing her first bite of the sweet fruit salad. “When I was a kid, we used to always have this for special occasions.”

  “Should I take it as a compliment that Pearl made it for me on an ordinary Monday night?” His slow and easy grin was potent enough to steal her next breath.

  They ate in companionable silence until both small bowls were empty. She was caught off guard by how much she enjoyed the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with him. Why was it that the harder she fought to resist him, the more he drew her in without the least bit of effort?

  The microwave beeped.

  She offered to get the one plate and put the other in, but he insisted on serving her, right down to delivering a napkin and fork.

  “Thank you.” She waited until they both had their meals to start in on hers.

  “Don’t wait on my account,” he said. “Need anything else? Salt or pepper? Ketchup?”

  “No, thank you. This is perfect.”

  The baby gave her an extra-hard kick. Surprise had her grasping her belly.