Two weeks later, two days after Kenna’s due date, their baby had still given no indication that he or she was ready to be born. Kenna was anxious and frustrated and annoyed by Daniel’s hovering. For the past several weeks, he’d insisted on staying close to home—just in case. But the race this weekend was in Concord, barely more than a two-hour drive away, so she practically shoved him out the door.
Of course, he still refused to leave her alone and called his mother to stay with her until he got back. Kenna didn’t object to that—she enjoyed Jane’s company. And she felt reassured by the presence of a woman who had been through the whole pregnancy and labor experience—three times.
As Kenna closed her eyes to breathe through another contraction—because, of course, her labor had started just after Daniel had called to confirm his arrival at the racetrack—she was beginning to have doubts that she would get through this labor, never mind want to do it again.
On Jane’s advice, she’d already had a long soak in the jetted tub of their master bath, which had been heavenly, and now she was seated in front of the television with a heating pad against her lower back.
The green-and-gold number seven-twenty-two car driven by Ren D’Alesio was running in second place, as it had through most of the two hundred and thirty laps that had been completed so far. After crashing midway through the inaugural race of the season, he’d started to have some modest success. Working with his team, he’d learned to temper his aggressiveness with patience, and it had paid off with two top-ten finishes in recent weeks.
He was still looking for his first win, and although she knew a lot of drivers raced for years without getting one, she couldn’t help feeling that he was close. Or maybe she just really wanted the win—for Ren and GSR and especially for Daniel, because she knew how hard he’d worked to get the team to where it was at now.
And right now, she really wanted their baby to hold off being born until the race was done and his or her daddy got home, but she was beginning to have serious doubts that would happen.
“Fifteen minutes,” Jane said, announcing the time since Kenna’s last contraction. “I really think we should go to the hospital now.”
“After I see the number seven-twenty-two car cross the finish line,” Kenna bargained.
“You can see it on the sports channel highlights,” her mother-in-law assured her.
“But I promised Daniel that I’d watch the race.”
“You also promised that you’d call if there was any indication that you were in labor,” her husband said from the doorway.
She spun around, surprised and thrilled, to see him. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Concord!”
“I’m here because someone—and it wasn’t my wife—called to tell me that my wife was in labor.”
“Early stages of labor,” Kenna said, fingers crossed.
“I think I’d be more willing to believe that if I heard it from a doctor,” Daniel told her.
“But Ren’s going to win this one—I can feel it.”
“I’d be happy with a top-five finish and with you at the hospital,” her husband said.
“There’s only another one hundred and sixty-eight laps to—” She sucked in a breath as another contraction tightened her belly.
“We’re going now,” Daniel told her.
* * *
It took Lorenzo D’Alesio four hours, twenty-six minutes and fifty-three seconds to complete the four hundred laps at Charlotte Motor Speedway and take the checkered flag. It took Kenna almost as long to push an eight-pound thirteen-ounce baby into the world.
Of course, she did her job without a pit crew at her beck and call, although she did have most of the Garrett family popping in and out of her room periodically to offer encouragement and check on her progress. And she had a husband who never left her side for a single minute during that intense period of labor.
And when their naked and squalling baby boy was transferred to his hands for the first time, she watched the array of emotions that crossed over his face. Joy. Terror. Pride. Relief. And, most of all, love.
When he finally lifted his gaze to hers, the tears in his eyes matched her own.
After the baby had been weighed and measured and returned to his happy but exhausted parents, the room began to fill with visitors. Most of Daniel’s immediate family were there, and a few cousins stopped by, as well as Sue Ellen and Becca.
“Does he have a name?” Becca wanted to know.
Daniel looked at Kenna, and she nodded.
“Jacob Scott Garrett.”
“Jacob...after your grandfather?” Jane asked.
“It seemed appropriate,” Daniel said, and smiled at his wife. “Since, in a roundabout way, he got us to where we are today.”
When the baby started to fuss, Daniel shooed everyone out so that Kenna could nurse their son and they could all get some rest.
Nate was the last to leave, and paused in the doorway on his way out. “Oh—in case you haven’t heard, he won.”
Daniel looked at him blankly.
“Ren D’Alesio,” his brother clarified. “Driving the number seven-twenty-two car for Garrett/Slater Racing. He made his move on the second turn of the last lap and never looked back.”
“I knew it,” Kenna said as Nate walked out. Then she looked at her husband in silent apology. “And you missed it.”
“Ren’s going to win a lot of races.” He sat down beside the bed and took her hand, linking their fingers together. “The birth of our first child—that was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and one that I wouldn’t have missed for anything in the world.”
“You’re really not disappointed that you weren’t there?”
“I am exactly where I want to be,” he assured her. “For now and forever.”
* * * * *
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Chapter One
The man standing at the foot of the long staircase was one tall, dusty cowboy and looked entirely out of place standing on the polished wood floor in his boots and spurs and bat-wing chaps. A straw hat was pulled low over his forehead, but the moment he spotted her descending the long steps, he swept it off to reveal thick waves of varying shades of chestnut. Yet it was the speculative gaze on his face that jarred Lilly Lockett the most and prompted her to lift her chin to a challenging tilt.
She halted two steps from where he stood with a gloved hand resting on the polished balustrade. “Are you lost?”
To her dismay, he threw back his head and howled with laughter. “A few folks around here would say I’m lost all the time, Ms...?”
The unsettling glint in his eyes put a prim note to her voice. “Lilly Lockett. And you are?”
Climbing one step closer, he jerked off a scarred l
eather glove and extended his hand to her. “Rafe Calhoun, at your service, ma’am.”
Lilly wasn’t sure if the blush warming her face was because the man was touching her or because she’d mistaken a member of the Calhoun family for a common ranch hand.
“Hello, Rafe Calhoun. Are you Bart’s son or grandson?”
His outlandish grin was bracketed by a pair of incredible dimples, but they only made up a small part of this man’s striking looks. His skin was tanned to a deep nut-brown, making a pair of gray eyes stand out beneath hooded brows. Chiseled cheekbones angled downward to a proud, hawkish nose and lean cheeks, while a hank of rusty-brown hair flopped onto a high forehead. She’d heard through the rumor mill that one of the Calhoun boys was a player with the ladies and from the looks of this one she’d pretty much bet him to be the culprit.
“Bart is my grandfather.” His gaze slipped from her face to her bare ring finger then farther downward over her navy blue scrubs. “Are you here to treat him?”
Determined not to allow this rakish cowboy to rattle her senses for one moment longer, she pulled her hand from his and stiffened her already straight spine. “I’m Mr. Calhoun’s—Bart’s physical therapist. I’ll be working with him the next few weeks.”
If possible, the grin on Rafe Calhoun’s face grew even deeper. “Well, now, that’s the best news I’ve heard in days.”
Her back teeth clamped together. “Really? The fact that your grandfather has had a stroke and needs physical therapy is good news to you?”
“Aw, now, Lilly,” he began in a slow, flirtatious drawl. “That wasn’t even close to what I meant.”
Not about to give this man an opportunity to work his charms on her, she said, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Calhoun. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to be at the hospital in forty-five minutes.”
He stroked a thoughtful finger along his jaw. “It only takes thirty minutes to get to town from here. Surely you can give me five of those extra ones.”
“What makes you think you deserve five minutes of my time?”
The question appeared to take him aback and while he was searching for words, she stepped around him and started across a wide corridor that would eventually lead her to a side exit of the huge ranch house. Rafe Calhoun’s jingle-bell spurs rang out as he hurried after her.
“Now wait a minute, Lilly. You’re not being very friendly. You don’t want to give me a bad first impression, do you?”
Pausing, she turned to find him standing directly behind her and so close that she could smell the dust and sweat on his clothes, see the gray horse hair and streaks of dirt clinging to his white shirt. Now that the grin had been wiped from his face, she was able to observe his lips in their natural state. They were thin and hard with a tiny white scar adorning the top corner. Apparently, at one time, something or someone had busted his mouth.
The man probably liked fighting as much as he liked kissing, she couldn’t help thinking.
“I’m not interested in giving you any sort of impression. I’m not making visits to the Silver Horn ranch for your amusement, Mr. Calhoun. I’m here to treat your grandfather. Now goodbye!”
“How could anything so cold come out of such a beautiful mouth?” he countered. “Especially when I haven’t given you a reason to dislike me.”
She breathed deeply and assured herself that she wasn’t feeling an ounce of attraction for this man. She was simply fascinated by his rough, tough appearance and the easy way all those pretty words rolled from his tongue.
“I’ve not given you any reason to flirt with me, either,” she said stiffly.
Instead of making him angry, her response merely made him laugh. Again. And Lilly was shocked at how the low, rich sound sent a shiver of pleasure right through her.
“You’re definitely a saucy little thing.”
And he was just the sort of man that Lilly had taken great pains to avoid these past few years. “I’m not a thing, Mr. Calhoun. I’m a woman.”
The corner of his lips, the one with the fetching little scar, curved upward. “Yes, I can see exactly how much of a woman.”
Incensed, she said, “If that’s the case, then go find the nearest mirror and tell the guy looking back at you that he’s not quite the Romeo he thinks he is.”
With that she didn’t wait around for his response. Instead, she walked quickly away from him until she was completely outside of the house. Fifteen minutes later, she’d driven halfway to Carson City and by then she realized her fingers were aching from the choke hold she had on the steering wheel.
What was she doing? Why had she let a playboy’s silly flirtation get her riled? At twenty-eight years of age and working most of her adult life as a nurse, she’d dealt with all types of men. And she understood that the majority of them had one thing on their minds. It was obvious that Rafe Calhoun was no different.
Shoving a hand through her shoulder-length blond hair, she kept her eyes on the highway while she fought to push the man’s image from her mind. She hoped to heaven she wouldn’t run into him again, but she seriously doubted she could be that lucky. She’d only started Bart Calhoun’s therapy three days ago and the task of rehabilitating the use of his leg and arm was going to be long and arduous. And given Rafe Calhoun’s persistence, she had the sinking feeling he would make it a point to bump into her whenever she was at the ranch.
You can’t be worrying about that, Lilly. Men like him are everywhere. And for the past seven years you’ve managed very well to stay out of their reach. You can stay out of Rafe’s path, too.
But that was going to be easier said than done, she thought, as she pulled into a parking space set aside for hospital personnel. Men like Rafe weren’t exactly everywhere. There had been something about him that had struck a nerve and made her so totally aware of the long months she’d gone without so much as having a man hold her hand. And that sad fact was hardly something she wanted to dwell on.
“Good morning, Lilly. How did it go with Mr. Calhoun this morning?”
As Lilly passed the nurses’ station, she glanced over to see Jolene, a young brunette nurse that worked the morning shift in the E.R.
“He’s trying his best.”
“Well, I’d sure like a job inside that fancy mansion, but I wouldn’t want to deal with Mr. Calhoun. I’ve heard stories about his last visit here at the hospital. He had most of the nurses in tears or wanting to kill him.” Gesturing over her shoulder in the direction of the snack room, she said, “I saved you a couple of pieces of pizza for lunch. It’s in the fridge if you want it.”
“Thanks, Jolene. Maybe later. Right now I’m running short on time.”
Thanks to one sexy cowboy with a glib tongue. She wondered what Jolene or any of the other nurses could tell her about Rafe Calhoun. Probably the same thing that was said about the elder Calhoun, she thought; he left women in tears or wanting to kill him.
* * *
Back on the Silver Horn, Rafe stepped into his father’s office and walked straight to the coffeepot.
“What’s up? I thought branding was going on today?” Orin asked.
Rafe glanced over at the big man sitting behind a wide mahogany desk. In his early sixties, Orin Calhoun was still as strong and vital as he’d been twenty years ago. The only difference now was that his hair was more gray than dark and age lines creased the corners of his eyes and mouth. Orin had raised five strapping sons and along the way lost the only woman he’d ever loved. Rafe seriously doubted he could ever be as great a man as his father, so most of the time he didn’t try.
“Branding is going on,” Rafe answered. “I burnt the hell out of my finger and had to come get another pair of gloves.”
Orin frowned. “We keep stacks of gloves in every barn.”
“Well, I had to put some ointment on my finger and I wanted my own gloves. Come to
think of it, I should’ve let that pretty little nurse of Gramps’s treat me. Bet she would’ve known exactly what to do to take out the sting.”
As Rafe sipped the black coffee, he watched his father let out a weary sigh. It was no secret that Orin didn’t like Rafe’s philandering ways. He’d often hounded Rafe to either settle down with a woman or, at the very least, quit chasing them like a bull in a spring pasture full of heifers. But Rafe was thirty years old and though he was open to advice, he lived life his own way and at his own pace.
“Son, I hope I don’t have to tell you to behave like a gentleman around Ms. Lockett. She’s a specialist in therapy, but also works in the E.R. at Tahoe General. She’s only taken this job as a favor to Chet Anderson, the director of nursing there, who also happens to be a friend of mine. And it would be damned hard to replace her,” he added with a pointed glance at Rafe.
Walking over to the wide window overlooking the ranch yard, Rafe gazed over the rim of his coffee cup at the busy comings and goings of the hired hands. Except for a two-year stint in college, he’d spent his entire life on this Nevada ranch. Five years ago, his grandfather, Bart, had appointed him the position of ranch foreman and during those five years Rafe wasn’t sure if Bart had cursed or blessed him. Overseeing twenty-five men, thousands of head of cattle and several sections of rugged ranch land had never been a simple task. In the very beginning Rafe had stumbled more than once, and there had been times he’d even doubted his ability to handle a job that normally would go to a much older, more experienced man. But he’d been determined to prove his worth and now being the foreman of the Silver Horn was a job he lived, slept and breathed.
“What’s the matter with you, Dad?”
Orin let out another sigh and the sound irked Rafe no end. He loved and respected his father greatly, but it annoyed the hell out of Rafe to have the other man treat him as though he were still a bumbling teenager.
“All right, son. Just so you understand how important she is right now. She could be the difference in your grandfather getting strong enough to walk again.”
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