Butterflies fluttered in her tummy.
“Buying a house is a big commitment,” Rowdy said. “Eventually, when I retire from the navy, I’ll end up back here, helping my dad and brother. Whoever I marry will have to get along with my mom and Justine. I assume they’ll go shopping and garden and bake together. Plus, they do charity work.”
On the meandering path to the home’s front door, Tiffany asked, “What sorts of charities? In Dallas I volunteered for the local animal shelter.”
“Nice. I think Mom works at the hospital—showing visitors to patient rooms, delivering flowers, that kind of stuff. Justine reads books to old folks at Pine Manor. It’s a retirement center.”
“They sound like sweethearts.”
“They are.”
For some unfathomable reason, her hands shook while trying to work the combination on the lockbox. What would Rowdy’s mom and sister-in-law think about her giving her son up for adoption? As mothers, would they look down on her? Or understand?
Most days, Tiffany didn’t even understand.
But she felt backed into a corner.
Not only did she not feel emotionally strong enough to be a good mother, but the whole financial strain seemed insurmountable. She truly had no other option.
What about Rowdy? her conscience nudged. How many times has he proposed?
Funny, but accepting his offer of marriage struck her as a cop-out. The coward’s solution to her problems. He hadn’t gotten her into this money mess. How would it then be fair to expect his help? They were virtual strangers. Aside from their lone hot night, they had nothing in common. Sure, the baby was half his responsibility, but the last thing she wanted was for him to feel trapped like he had with Brandi.
Most important, Tiffany deserved more than what would essentially be a marriage of convenience. If she ever married again, it would be forever. Rowdy was sweet, but not exactly a forever kind of guy.
“Need help?”
She looked up to find him kneeling alongside her.
His face was close enough to hers that with minimum effort, she could have leaned forward to press her lips to his. She could have. And it was an undeniable fact that kissing him would feel beyond amazing. Sublime. But what would that solve? There was no denying their physical chemistry. But that had nothing to do with the kind of love it took to sustain a forever kind of marriage.
“Tiff?” He cleared his throat. “You okay?”
Free hand to her throat, she hastily nodded.
“You look pale. Need a break?”
“No. I’m good. Great.” The lockbox popped and the house keys dropped into her open palm. “Okay, we’re in.”
She opened the door to enter a space that more closely resembled a taxidermy shop than living room.
“Hmm...” Rowdy arched his head back, taking it all in. The area featured an at-least-twenty-five-foot vaulted ceiling. Every inch of available wall space was covered in heads—deer, antelope, elk, bighorn sheep. An eight-foot grizzly stood in a corner. The air felt oppressive from the creatures’ ghosts. “I guess this beats my roommate’s centerfold pics.”
“Look beyond the current decor. Remember, all of this will be going along with the owners.”
“And their plaid furniture? Never been a fan of plaid.”
“What if your wife loves it?”
“She won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s a deal breaker. If we get to the stage in our relationship where I’m thinking of popping the question, then I’ll first ask about her relationship with plaid.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “If you’ll follow me upstairs, we’ll look at the bedrooms.”
“I’ve seen enough. We can move on.”
“But don’t you at least want to see the kitchen? And what about the hot tub?” She pointed toward the sliding glass windows leading to the deck.
“I’m good. I’ll know the right place when I see it, and sorry, but this isn’t it.”
Tiffany sighed.
In her perfect dream scenario, Mr. Gosee would have fallen for the very first house they’d toured. The more she was forced to be with Rowdy, the more curious she grew about the type of woman he would one day be with. Beyond a physical type, what personality traits would he find irresistible? A sense of humor? Intellect? Was he looking for a great conversationalist or lover?
She shouldn’t care but oddly did.
Her cheeks heated at the realization that she already knew what qualities he appreciated in the bedroom. The sex between them had been—
“Tiff, holy crap.” He pointed at her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you need a break?”
“Huh?” She’d been so deep in thought about her baby’s father that she’d forgotten her own rule about their house-seeking mission being strictly platonic. “What do you mean? We still have another house to see.”
“You’re not going anywhere but home. You have to get off of those footballs you call feet.”
She glanced down to find that her feet and ankles had swollen to the point that the skin beneath her nude pantyhose had reddened. She hadn’t felt any pain, because they’d gone past that point to numb.
Fear slithered through her in disorientating waves. “I’ve read about this in books. Do you think something’s wrong with the baby?”
“There’s only one way to find out. We’re taking you to the ER.” Before she could even think about launching a protest, he scooped her into his arms.
Chapter Seven
Our baby.
While the doctor examined Tiffany, Rowdy paced in the ER’s crowded waiting area. A TV blared some god-awful kid show and an assortment of moans, coughs and general conversations interfered with the signal usually telling his brain to chill during emergencies.
But that was when bad guys shot at him.
This was a whole nother ball game.
He’d gladly take a bullet over the emotional strain of wondering what was going on behind closed exam room doors. He’d been seated in the hard plastic chair for two freakin’ hours. What could be taking so long? Should he call Tiffany’s mom and grandmother? Should he call his parents? What was the protocol on this situation? He needed a manual. At the very least, an officer barking orders.
But if he was on the verge of becoming a father, what did that say about his parenting skills? When it came to any family emergency, his mom and dad always seemed to know exactly what to do. What was wrong with him that he didn’t?
And what was happening with the hospital bill? As the baby’s father, shouldn’t someone have asked him about insurance? He assumed his military coverage would automatically include his unborn child, but that was another issue he’d need to look into.
A pinched voice said over an intercom, “Mr. Jones, please come to the service desk.”
Rowdy stood, but then so did an elderly man dressed in overalls and a red shirt. His green ball cap read McGinty’s Tack and Feed.
They reached the desk at about the same time.
In deference to the man’s age, Rowdy gestured for him to approach the clerk first. He wanted to think the kindness was because his folks raised him right, but the God’s honest truth was that he wasn’t sure he was ready to handle bad news should something be wrong with Tiffany or their baby.
Turned out the older gentleman had been the Mr. Jones in question, so Rowdy started to sit back down, but his seat had been taken by a teen boy with a nose ring and green hair. If that were his kid, he’d shave him bald and yank the ring out with pliers.
But then, hell. What kind of parent didn’t allow their child to experiment with his or her personal sense of style? The summer between his junior and senior years of high school, he’d gone through his own brief Goth stage. His folks hadn’t much liked it, but they h
adn’t stopped him.
Could Tiffany be right? Could neither one of them be ready to be parents to this baby who was barreling their way?
He paced in front of the snack machines for a good thirty minutes before hearing his name again called over the intercom. This time an orderly greeted him and led him to the curtained-off room where Tiffany and her enormous belly sat up on a too-narrow bed. Her complexion had turned sallow, her formerly tidy bun had fallen and she’d sucked her lower lip into her mouth as if trying with all her might not to cry.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked at her side, forgetting his mother’s order not to show how much he actually cared.
“I have edema and my blood pressure’s too high. The doctor put me on bed rest for the week. But I have showings scheduled for three clients. I can’t just lounge in bed. Mom and Grammy need the money from those potential sales.”
“Slow down...” He took her hand, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Right now all that matters is keeping you and the baby healthy. Everything else can wait.”
She shook her head. “If I don’t get those commissions, who knows what could happen? Grammy could lose her house. She didn’t want anyone to know, but I found out by accident that she mortgaged it to pay off Dad’s legal fees.” Her heart rate skyrocketed on the monitor, as did the baby’s.
“Relax...” Rowdy coached. “Take a few deep breaths. It takes a long time for a bank to officially foreclose. One of my idiot roommates, Connor, bought a great condo he was going to fix up on weekends and sell for a nice profit, but then we got deployed. He thought he’d set up auto-payments but never went to the bank to sign the forms. Long story short—he didn’t make his payment for six months, but once he got back, he got it all sorted out and he eventually made a killing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll go show the houses on your behalf.”
“If only that would be legal. But if it were, you’d do that?” She met his gaze and the intensity of their connection caused his pulse to race as fast as hers. Didn’t she know by now that he’d do anything for her and their unborn child? But why? He barely knew her yet couldn’t shake the sensation that he’d always known her. That he couldn’t imagine life without her. Not a good thing considering maybe she’d been right about the adoption all along.
“Sure.” He strove for a light tone. Like she hadn’t turned his entire world upside down and inside out and every damned way in between.
She sharply exhaled. “That would’ve been great. Thanks for the offer.”
“No problem.”
A man and woman suddenly rushed into the room. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”
Rowdy glanced over his shoulder to find the sort of power couple he’d seen only on TV. The man with slicked-back blond hair wore a navy suit, pin-striped shirt and red power tie. The set of his mouth was pinched with worry. The woman with him had sleek dark hair. A red dress with black stockings and heels. More gold around her neck, wrists and fingers than Fort Knox. Yet her bloodshot eyes looked as if she’d been crying. She clenched a tissue in her hand.
Let me guess—Jeb and Susie Parker? His son’s adoptive parents.
No wonder no emergency room staff had asked him about payment. When Tiffany called in the cavalry, they’d probably made all the necessary arrangements for the bill to be paid.
Rowdy wanted to hate them but felt an odd compassion for this couple who for all outward appearances seemed to have everything yet lacked the ability to conceive their own child.
“Tiffany...” The woman dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue. “We got your call and I swear I haven’t breathed since. But the doctor said you and the baby will be all right? You just need rest?”
Tiffany nodded. Her gaze darted from him to the couple. “Susie, Jeb—this is Rowdy. He’s the baby’s biological father.”
“Oh.” Susie looked from Tiffany to Rowdy, then raised her trembling hands to her mouth. “Oh, God...” She shook her head, then turned to her husband, hiding her face against his pricey suit’s lapel. Suddenly, they were no longer powerful and all the money in the world meant nothing compared to the gift of a newborn son they believed they were receiving.
“Shh...” Jeb said to his wife. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” He held out his hand to Rowdy, forcing a tight smile. “Nice to meet you. We, ah, can’t thank you enough for your remarkable sacrifice.”
About that...
“Yeah. Sure.” Rowdy shook the guy’s hand but then felt so overcome by raw emotion that he cleared his throat, then said, “I’ll leave you all alone. Tiff, I’m guessing you’ll want the Parkers to drive you home?”
Her eyes also shone with tears. She opened her mouth to speak but then clamped her lips shut and merely nodded.
Rowdy’s heart felt near exploding from pain and confusion, so he left.
He should have stayed.
He should have told this couple here and now that there was no way in hell they’d ever be raising his son. But how could he claim any of that when he’d never been more confused?
After driving aimlessly for thirty minutes in Tiffany’s SUV, knowing he’d have to at least see her again to return her vehicle, he wound up back at his family’s ranch.
The day had turned into the perfect Indian-summer afternoon. After the early snow, what few leaves remained on the oaks and maples surrounding the house and barn were putting on a colorful show.
While parking Tiffany’s SUV—his truck was back at her office—Rowdy spotted his brother teaching a gelding, Dandy, manners in the round pen, so he sauntered that way, appreciating the scents of loamy soil and hay.
“You look like hell,” Carl said. He gave the black gelding a rub, then led him out the gate to play. The last time Rowdy had been in, the gelding had been a little guy. Now he was almost ready for saddling. He missed a lot being gone from the ranch. But he loved serving his country.
He loved being a SEAL.
His job wasn’t merely a paycheck but his calling.
Rowdy said, “Feel like it, too.”
“What’s up?”
Where did he start? Why hadn’t he told the Parkers that his son would never be theirs? “You’re a dad—a great one.”
“Yeah. What about it?” Carl aimed for the barn.
Rowdy climbed over the fence to meet him inside. It took his eyes time to adjust to the shadows. He’d always felt at peace in the quiet barn. In a way, it was his church—slanted sunbeams filled with dust motes his dad used to tell him were angels, watching over him and keeping him safe. The rich aroma of leather tack that had been in the family for generations, lovingly cared for and oiled, made him feel a profoundly deep connection to not only his family but the land.
Carl said, “Prying words out of you is about as easy as it’s been getting Dandy prepped for saddling.” He took a pair of well-worn leather gloves from a shelf and handed them to him. “If you can’t tell me what’s wrong, at least make yourself useful. The stalls all need cleaning. Ingrid has an ear infection, so I had to run her to the pediatrician this morning instead of doing my usual chores.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“South pasture. He found a calf with scours, so he’s bringing him in for treatment.”
Rowdy nodded.
Carl handed him a pitchfork, then took a wheelbarrow down to the last stall. This time of year, they brought most of the horses in for the night. Though cattle were the ranch’s biggest source of income, they also raised and trained horses. Carl and his father had earned the reputation of being a couple of the best trainers around.
What was Rowdy good at? Sniffing trouble.
His nickname with his buddies was Voodoo because he had an uncanny knack for exposing the earth’s human scum. This ability came in real handy while on active duty in Iraq or Afghanistan, but it wouldn’t do beans for him in North Dakota.
> One more reason to reconsider becoming a father?
His chest ached from the decision rocketing toward him faster than enemy fire. By his calculations, Tiffany had about six weeks until she delivered their son. In that time, he’d have to make what now struck him as an impossible choice.
Together, Rowdy and Carl cleaned three stalls without saying a word.
But then Rowdy’s dam of silence broke. “I was out with Tiffany this afternoon, looking at houses like y’all told me to, when I noticed her feet looked like a pair of footballs.”
“It happens. With both pregnancies, Justine had to spend a lot of time off her feet. She teased that was nature’s way of telling me to spoil her rotten.” He smiled. “Damn, I love that woman.”
In the moment, Rowdy envied his big brother and his friend Duck. Both of them seemed to have life figured out.
“Did you take her to her doctor?”
“Her feet were so big I ran her straight to the ER. Long story short, you’re right. The doc told her to stay off her feet for the next few days. Oh—and she needs to stop cramming her toes into silly high heels.”
“Sounds like a solid plan. So what’s the problem?”
Rowdy shoveled faster. “While we were at the hospital, this frantic couple stormed into Tiff’s room. Turns out they’re the adoptive parents she selected.”
Carl whistled. “Bet that was an ugly scene. How’d they take the news that your son is no longer on the market?”
“That’s just it.” Rowdy froze, resting his hands atop the pitchfork. “I couldn’t tell them. The woman—Susie—was crying with worry over the baby. Her husband, Jeb, was a real professional type. Suit. Tie. The whole nine yards. But even he had tears in his eyes. And I stood there looking at them, thinking they already love my son. They have loved him longer than I’ve even known he existed. They probably have a nursery already in place and, hell, a preschool application at some fancy-ass academy where rich folks send their kids to get trained to be even richer. But what do I have to offer? Like Mom pointed out, the vast majority of the year, I’m not even in the country. Can you imagine being away from Isobel and Ingrid for that long?”
The Cowboy SEAL's Jingle Bell Baby Page 8