The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby

by Sherryl Woods

  “What time?” he asked with a resigned sigh.

  “Eight,” Cody said. “You might as well take off and head up to the main house now. The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get back to work.”

  “If you need me—”

  Cody chuckled. “Oh, no. I’m not taking the blame for you not showing up. Obviously Daddy has some bee in his bonnet that concerns you.”

  Hardy heaved an even deeper sigh and headed for his pickup. When he reached the main house, Janet Adams answered his knock.

  Harlan’s wife was a handsome woman. With her high cheekbones and black hair streaked now with gray, there was no mistaking her Native American heritage. She carried herself as regally as a queen. One look at him, though, had her shaking her head, her expression amused. “I should have known,” she murmured.

  “Known what?” Hardy demanded, perplexed.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. He’s expecting you. He’s in the dining room having breakfast.”

  “I can wait till he’s finished.”

  “Heavens, no. He wants you to come right on in and join the party, I’m sure,” she said, that twinkle back in her dark brown eyes.

  She led the way to the dining room, then gestured for him to go in. “If you need rescuing, give me a call,” she said in an exaggerated whisper as she turned and walked away.

  Only then did Hardy hear the voices, one deep and masculine, the other feminine and familiar. A baby’s whimpers counterpointed the other two. So, he thought, that’s what this was about. Harlan had set him up…again.

  Before he could beat a hasty retreat, the sneaky old man caught sight of him.

  “There you are,” he boomed. “Come on in, son. Grab yourself some breakfast.”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Hardy said, his gaze locked on Trish and the baby even as he spoke to Harlan. Patches of color blossomed in her cheeks, proving that she, too, had been caught by surprise.

  “I invited you, didn’t I? Now get some food before it gets cold and have a seat. We have some planning to do.”

  “We do?” Hardy and Trish said in unison.

  “Of course we do,” the old man said, undaunted by their reaction. “If Trish here expects to get her store up and running soon, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

  Trish’s gaze shot from Hardy to Harlan Adams. “Sir, with all due respect, any work that’s to be done is my responsibility.”

  “I’m the landlord,” Harlan countered. “I can’t have you moving in when the place is a mess, can I? Now I’ve been thinking. You’ll want it painted, of course, maybe some bookshelves built in, a counter for your cash register. What else?”

  Trish looked stunned. She also looked as if she were about to blow a gasket. Apparently Harlan Adams was unaware that she’d left Houston because another domineering man—her father—had been intent on taking over her life and making all of her decisions for her.

  “Mr. Adams,” she began, her chin lifting defiantly.

  “Harlan, young lady. I thought we’d settled that.”

  “Mr. Adams,” she repeated just as firmly. “After Willetta moves out and I have a chance to go over the space more thoroughly, I will decide what needs to be done. Then I will make arrangements for the workmen. And I will pay for it.”

  Rather than being incensed by her declaration, Harlan let out a whoop of laughter. “Oh, you’re a fiery one, aren’t you? That’s good.” He went right on as if she hadn’t just made her wishes perfectly clear. “Hardy, you’re handy with a hammer and a saw, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose,” he said, finally getting the full picture. “But I’m working for Cody with the cattle, sir. I can’t just pick up and take off for however long it takes to get the store ready.”

  “You can if I say you can,” Harlan Adams countered. “Old age still has some privileges around here.” He frowned at Trish. “You got any objections to Hardy doing the work?”

  Hardy could see her struggling with her reply. She was obviously torn between diplomacy and indignation, between practicality and a desire to keep Hardy at arm’s length.

  “None,” she finally said with evident frustration.

  “Good. That’s settled then. Willetta will be out by the end of the week. I’ll speak to Cody. You can start work down at the store on Monday, Hardy. Does that suit you, Trish?”

  Looking as if she were surprised to be consulted, Trish responded tightly, “That will be fine.”

  “You just tell Hardy whatever you need, and he’ll take care of it,” Harlan said. “The bills will come to me.”

  “Absolutely not,” Trish said forcefully. “These are my renovations.”

  “To my property,” Harlan countered evenly.

  Their gazes clashed, though Hardy was pretty sure he detected more humor than fire in the old man’s. Hardy grinned at Trish.

  “Give in gracefully,” he advised. “You can’t win.”

  “I most certainly can,” she said, frowning at him. She turned back to Harlan. “If you insist on having your way on everything, I’m afraid this won’t work out.”

  Harlan looked vaguely startled by the declaration, then held up the paper she’d just sighed. “We have a contract.”

  Her gaze met his evenly. “With an escape clause,” she reminded him. “All it takes is a letter from me and the deal’s off.” She reached for pen and paper. “I can write it right now, if need be.”

  Harlan chuckled. “Okay, you can have it your way. You pay the bills.”

  Trish looked pleased with the victory, but Hardy had the distinct impression Harlan would have the last laugh. He suspected the bills would come in, just as she’d asked, but that not a one of them would reflect the market value of the purchases. He could hardly wait to see the fireworks when Trish received the first one.

  Harlan stood up, walked over to the sideboard and picked up the pot of coffee sitting there. He had barely poured himself a cup, when Janet walked into the room.

  “I saw that,” she said, sliding the cup out of his reach.

  “Woman, don’t you have someplace to be?”

  “Not since you made me give up my law practice so we could share our golden years,” she replied sweetly.

  “What’s golden about ’em when a man can’t even get a decent cup of coffee?” he grumbled, but his gaze was warm as it rested on her face. Something in Hardy’s chest tightened just watching the two of them.

  “I’d best be on my way,” Hardy said, suddenly needing to be out of the room and away from Trish, away from Laura and away from the kind of glowing, unconditional love he knew he’d never experience.

  “Wait,” Trish said, drawing his gaze. “I’ll come with you, so we can make some arrangements for next week.”

  “Whatever.”

  As they left, Hardy thought he heard Janet ask, “Satisfied?”

  Something told him she wasn’t referring to breakfast. He suspected she wanted to know if her husband thought his scheming had paid off.

  “I’d say it’s looking promising,” he told her, confirming Hardy’s guess. “Now come on over here beside me and make me forget about that coffee you’re denying me.”

  Hardy chuckled. He turned and caught Trish’s grin. Obviously she had caught the exchange as well.

  “He’s something, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “He’s a sneaky meddler,” Hardy contradicted, but without any real rancor.

  “That’s certainly true enough. I’m sorry about you getting roped into this. If I could have thought of a way out, I would have. I’m sure there are plenty of contractors I could have hired to do whatever work is needed at the store.”

  Her eagerness to rid herself of his company annoyed him, especially under the guise of consideration for his feelings. “I’ll survive. I imagine you will, too. In the end, you’ll have your bookstore. Isn’t that what matters?”

  “I suppose.” She peered at him intently. “Hardy, do you regret ever suggesting that I stay here? I know you
said it impulsively and then I ran with the idea. I’ve always been like that. If something sounds right to me, I do it. I don’t always stop to consider all the ramifications. Just look at how I ended up here in the first place.”

  He shrugged. “What I think doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re staying.”

  “But you’d rather I go,” she persisted. “Why?”

  He had thought that was obvious. “Because of what just happened, for one thing. Harlan’s not the kind to let go once he’s gotten an idea into his head. He’s settled on getting us together, and he won’t rest until he’s accomplished that.”

  “We don’t have to go along with it,” she pointed out as if she genuinely believed it was a simple choice. “We’re adults. We both know what we want and what we don’t.”

  What Hardy wanted right this minute, more than anything, was to kiss the woman who was staring at him so earnestly, the woman who actually believed they were in control of their own destiny. He wanted to wipe that certainty off her face. He wanted her to tremble in his arms with sensations she couldn’t simply wish away because they were inconvenient.

  And because he usually took what he wanted, he stepped closer. Before she could begin to guess what he had on his mind, he dipped his head low and brushed his lips over hers. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, he thought, startled by the depth of his sudden need for more. He cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her again, ignoring her startled gasp, savoring the fact that it enabled him to dip his tongue into the sweetness of her mouth.

  With the baby clutched tightly in her arms and trapped awkwardly between them, she swayed toward him. Hardy was pretty sure the earth tilted on its axis, that heaven opened up and welcomed him, when he’d been counting on hell.

  It was Laura’s whimpers that finally cut through the sensations rocketing through him. Clasping Trish’s shoulders to keep her steady, he took a step back and fought for control. She stared up at him, her expression dazed and dreamy. Two red patches appeared in her cheeks.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, fury replaced bemusement. “You have one heck of a nerve,” she declared furiously. “Just because you’re doing me a favor, don’t start thinking—”

  Hardy cut her off before she could travel too far down that particular path. “I am not doing you a favor,” he reminded her. “I am doing a job that my boss has requested that I do. That’s it.”

  “All the more reason not to take advantage of the situation,” she countered. “This is a business relationship. It’s not personal.”

  “You call it whatever you like,” he taunted. “Personally, I’m beginning to think the benefits outweigh the salary.”

  “I am not part of the deal,” she insisted. “If I have to, I will tell Harlan that it’s not working out and that I don’t want you anywhere near the store. Then he’ll want to know what you did to offend me.” She let the threat trail off.

  “And you’ll say I kissed you?” Hardy suggested. “Darlin’, believe me, that will make his day.”

  As acceptance of the truth washed over her, she sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “So do we try to make this work?”

  “We don’t seem to have any choice.” She scowled at him. “No more kisses, though, and that’s final.”

  Hardy kept his expression sober and nodded dutifully. “No more kisses,” he echoed, then grinned, “unless you ask real nicely.”

  “I won’t ask.”

  “We’ll see.”

  There wasn’t a woman on earth he couldn’t make want him if he put his mind to it. A little charm, an innocent caress or two, a careless wink. He’d have her right where he wanted her in forty-eight hours. Maybe less.

  Then what? he wondered as she went stalking off toward her car, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders squared with singed pride. Would a few more kisses satisfy him? Was that the goal? Or did he want her in his bed, just like all the others who’d come so easily? Thinking of Trish as nothing more than another notch on his bedpost turned his stomach sour. She didn’t deserve that. Laura’s mother deserved better.

  There was just one trouble with that. He didn’t have better to give.

  Chapter Eight

  Unable to control her exuberance, Trish twirled around in the middle of her new store, then clapped her hands in delight.

  The property was hers as of this morning, and it was going to be fantastic. She could envision every bookcase, made of a warm wood that would give the room a cozy feel when the fireplace was lit. Two comfortable chairs for reading were arranged in front of it. The chairs would be covered in a bright chintz and deep enough to snuggle into. An antique table in the same wood as the shelves would sit between the chairs, with porcelain teacups and a silver teapot that was always filled. Maybe she’d even learn to bake scones. And there would be fresh flowers in a small crystal vase.

  Of course, there would be books, jamming the shelves, invitingly displayed on more antique tables, stacked high near the cash register for impulse sales. And while the atmosphere would be deliberately old-fashioned, there would be a state-of-the-art computer for tracking everything, including all the special orders and catalogue and Internet sales she anticipated.

  Right now, however, the space looked more like a nightmare than her dream store. Willetta apparently hadn’t done a thorough cleaning since the fifties. Maybe longer. The last paint job had been haphazard at best, doing nothing to conceal patches or fine cracks in the plaster. The floors, which had been a lovely oak once, had been dulled to near-black by years of wax and dirt building up. It was even more decrepit than the building she’d rented in Houston, and that had been a dump.

  If it hadn’t been her nature to be optimistic, Trish might have been appalled by the work that faced her. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and headed to the store for cleaning supplies.

  She had virtually the whole weekend ahead of her. Kelly was looking after Laura and had promised to do so again after church on Sunday. Trish planned to make a lot of progress over the weekend so that the real work could get under way the instant Hardy showed up on Monday. The sooner he was finished and out of her hair, the better. That kiss had told her quite clearly just how dangerous a mix it would be for the two of them to be in the same room for long.

  Therefore it was with no particular pleasure that she spotted Hardy leaning against the side of his pickup in front of her store as she returned from her shopping. Struggling with her bags, she frowned at him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to help.”

  “You’re not scheduled to start work until Monday.”

  “You’re here, aren’t you? There’s work to be done, right?” he said, taking the bags from her before she could utter a protest.

  “But—”

  He sighed and faced her. “Trish, I am not going to throw you down on the floor and ravish you. Get that picture right out of your head.”

  Of course, as soon as he said it, that was all she could see. Heat stirred low in her belly as she imagined herself flat on the floor with Hardy’s body on top of hers, with him buried inside her. Obviously her hormones didn’t have the sense of a gnat.

  “I was not worried about that,” she insisted, unlocking the door and preceding him inside.

  He surveyed her with a skeptical expression. “If you say so. Now what do you want done first?”

  She wanted him to go.

  But not nearly as much as she wanted him to stay, she concluded with regret. They could do the work together in half the time that it would take her alone. And having company always made work seem easier. It was just that his company promised to leave her feeling every bit as rattled and unsettled as that kiss they’d shared.

  Just as she accepted that, she saw him heading for the door. “You’re leaving?” she asked, fearing that her lack of a warm reception had finally daunted him.

  He grinned. “No, darlin’, Don’t go getting your hopes up. I don’t scare off that easi
ly. I’m going to get my radio out of the truck. We can’t work without music.”

  She stared at him. “We can’t?”

  “Well, I suppose we could, but this will be better. There’s a six-pack of beer in there for me and some sodas for you. And a bag of chips, a couple of sandwiches, apples, brownies. I’m not entirely certain, but there may be a pig in there ready to go on the barbeque.”

  She was stunned. “Hardy, we’re not having a party.”

  “Tell that to Kelly. She packed it all.”

  She stared at him blankly. “Kelly? When?”

  “When I stopped by the house to see what you were up to. She told me you’d come into town. She sounded as if you’d gone off to work in a coal mine in some godforsaken land where no human had ever gone before. Before I knew it, I was carting bags of provisions out to the truck. She seemed to think we’ll perish from hunger.”

  Trish stared as he carted in a card table, two folding chairs and grocery bags every bit as bulging as he’d described.

  “Maybe she was anticipating a blizzard,” she joked weakly.

  Or maybe she’d merely been hoping for one, a doozy of a storm that would leave Trish trapped here with Hardy for a day or two. She peered into the bags and caught a whiff of the just-baked brownies, clearly still warm from the oven. Unable to resist, she snatched one from the package, then offered them to Hardy.

  “Not just yet,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat, enjoy your brownie and start bossing me around?”

  With regret, she put her brownie aside and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “No, no, I’ll get started, too.”

  He clasped her shoulders, nudged her toward a chair, then handed the chocolate square back to her. “Come on, boss lady, bark out some orders. You know you want to. There’s not a woman alive who doesn’t get a thrill from having a man at her beck and call.”

  “You’ll do anything I want you to?” she asked speculatively.

  His eyes widened. “Now that certainly sounds promising. What did you have in mind?”