ROMANCE: MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Biker's Baby (Bad Boy Alpha Male Motorcycle Club Romance) (Contemporary MC Biker Pregnancy Romance)

by Tia Siren

  “So I take it you like the bouquet?” Thomas asked with a chuckle. “I sure am glad, Darlin’.”

  His eyebrows shot upward as she took the flowers from his offering hand, clutching their stems with unseeming tightness as she let loose with a low sharp moan.

  “So it seems you REALLY like the bouquet,” her suitor observed, adding as he cocked his head in what seemed a show of keen curiosity, “Its beauty, in fact, seems to have stunned and left you speechless beyond the point of reason.”

  Doubling over with a loud, sharp shriek, Amy gasped as she kept a fierce hold on the erstwhile stems of her rich rose gift.

  “Now Amy,” Thomas observed, softening his next words with a gentle smile, “You don’t have to exaggerate your enthusiasm for my benefit—the roses are hardly culled from real gold, you know….”

  “Could you shut your dang smooth talkin’ mouth for 10 seconds or so? I’m in pain here!” Amy bellowed, adding as she dropped her flowers sharp to her side and grabbed her bulging stomach with clutching hands. “The baby is coming! Now, if not sooner!”

  Gasping outright, Thomas rushed forward to scoop his wailing lady up in two sheltering arms and run for the house with feverish steps; not stopping until he had lain her trembling body in the sheets of her whisper soft bed.

  “I’m going to run into town and get Doc Adams, the man that birthed me and has taken care of our family for years,” he told her, identifying the kindly silver-haired physician who had brought him into the world as well as helped to ease his parents’ transition out of it. “Don’t move from that spot, Amy!”

  Rolling her eyes heavenward, his irritable patient pitched her head backward and let loose with a howl that betrayed her pain.

  “Rest assured I won’t,” she promised him, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “I mean, where would I go exactly?”

  Thomas thought a moment, then nodded.

  “Right, good point,” he answered, adding as he raced for the staircase, “I love you!”

  *****

  In all of his years practicing medicine, Dr. Calvin Adams never had seen a patient in greater distress; one whose obvious degrees of pain and exhaustion were painful to regard.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to lay down a while?” he asked, squeezing the hand of the stricken soul who now kneeled motionless beside a convenient bed.

  Jumping to his feet with a sharp grunt of protest, an indignant Thomas Wyatt balled his fists at his sides as he considered these patronizing words.

  “I’m absolutely fine, thank you very much,” he informed his concerned physician, adding as he made a broad gesture in the direction of the bed before them, “And, for that matter, so are Amy and Amelia.”

  Letting loose with a mighty shriek that would do her mother proud, the blue-eyed, porcelain skinned baby Amelia jumped into the sheltering arms of her mother, who opened her eyes to regard her beloved with a sweet, gracious smile.

  “This isn’t even your baby,” she reminded him, adding as she reached forward to take his hand in hers, “Yet you stayed here by my side as we brought her into the world together,” she paused here, adding as her eyes widened in what seemed a show of sheer wonder, “And you didn’t even pass out cold!”

  Thomas laughed, bringing her hand to his soft lips for a warm affirming kiss.

  “As far as I’m concerned, Ma’am, you both belong to me now,” he told her, adding as she met these words with arched eyebrows and a side-eyed glance, “While still remaining strong individual types, of course. And, furthermore, I belong to the two of you as well. Although I never shall venture to replace your daughter’s father, in your memory or her heart, I aim to be the very best father and companion that I can be for our odd little family here.”

  Amy frowned.

  “Father and…companion?” she repeated, adding as those feathered eyebrows shot up to an all-time high, “Could you perhaps think of a better word to define your relations with me, Cowboy?”

  Thomas pursed his lips, getting the sinking feeling he’d just said something wrong—and how.

  “Pardner?” he suggested.

  Amy shook her head.

  “Nope,” she insisted, pursing her own pearl pink lips in a show of distaste as Thomas shuffled his feet beneath him. “Try again.”

  Thomas paused, keen awareness dawning in his eyes as—fully and finally—he caught the lady’s meaning.

  “Husband?” he suggested. “Could this be the word you mean?” he paused, here, adding as his azure eyes flew wide with the dawning of awareness, “You mean you’re finally ready to become my bride?”

  Without awaiting Amy’s reply, an elated Thomas turned to the doctor who in all likelihood just birthed the first of many babies in this house and told him, “Hear that, Doc? You’re my witness. This fine lady here just said she’d marry me.”

  Then without hesitation, the groom to be dropped to his knees beside the bed. And this time, the doc noticed as he gathered a gurgling baby Amelia in his arms, Thomas looked once again like he just might faint as he took Amy’s hands in his.

  “Miss Amy,” he declared, adding as he stared deep into her eyes, “I love you so true, more than life itself. Would you do me the honor of being my bride?”

  Amy smiled.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” she cooed with a playful wink, adding in a softer, sincerer tone, “I would be honored, Thomas, to be your bride.”

  Surging forward across the bed, the couple’s lips collided in an impassioned kiss; one whose ardent tenderness seemed binding in nature. Thomas seized Amy’s mouth with the fondest ardor, his full soft lips massaging hers as they murmured with contentment.

  For just a moment Amy felt their surroundings dissolve around them; leaning hard into Thomas’ kiss as they drew closer together.

  Then suddenly she remembered that they were not alone. Eyes flying open in a single smooth flourish, she broke their kiss as she pointed a not so subtle finger in the direction of their family doctor.

  “Sorry,” the couple mumbled in synch, averting their gazes to the physician who now shaded Amelia’s eyes as he let loose with an affectionate chuckle.

  “You certainly do have two insane parents,” he informed a gurgling Amelia, adding with a wink, “And I do believe that I’ve never met a more fortunate child.”

  *****

  Five months later

  For the occasion of her second wedding, Amy had no desire to revisit the wedding chapel that served as the cornerstone of her provincial hometown. That chapel, she believed, would always be a special place for her and Vance; a place where memories lived.

  Instead, and as suited their usual style, she and Thomas did things their own way; choosing to marry right square in the center of their rose field.

  “This is the same place where you repeatedly insisted that you never would love me,” he reminded her.

  Amy rolled her eyes.

  “Go on and rub it in Cowboy,” she chided him, even as she reached forward to kiss him senseless for what had to be the tenth time. That day.

  On the morning of their wedding, Amy wore a lush ivory calico concoction that consisted of a polonaise—one boasting a yoke front and back trimmed with ruffled lace—and a frothy bustled full-length skirt with a flounced trim and a lengthy cascading train; one that also came lined with the finest lace. She carried a dew glistened bouquet of radiant golden roses, picked from her own garden; additional florals adorned the strands of her free-flowing reddish gold hair, in the form of fresh grown baby’s breath that completed her ethereal look.

  The beams of a brilliant Texas sun guided her tender footfall as she made her way between fresh blooming rows of golden roses; the most splendorous of which stood tall and proud at the center of the garden.

  It seemed odd, she figured, to compare her very masculine figure of a future husband to a rose; yet as she beheld the manner in which his flowing blond hair and bronzed face both shone in the light above them and the way that his crystalline
eyes came aglow the moment that he saw her, she knew full well that the comparison fit.

  Briefly dragging her gaze away from the subject of her keen attention, she beamed at the assembly of family and friends gathered to witness their nuptials that day.

  Her smile shone especially bright the moment she saw Amelia, herself adorned in a charming lilac print calico dress with a lace collar, puffed sleeves and full skirt. A matching floral headband atop her still bald head completed the adorable look.

  Holding Amelia was a glowing Aunt Grace, herself wearing a puffed sleeved, high-collared dress of lavender calico as well as a snide smile; one that just seemed to scream, “I told you so.”

  Finally, Amy’s gaze returned to the man of her heart; one dressed resplendent and much in the fashion of a frontier groom.

  Wearing a sleek cotton yoked shirt with a banded collar and stamped metal buttons, along with a black paisley vest with matching jacket and trousers as well as a smart bolo tie, Thomas looked every inch the handsome dashing bridegroom; one who held out his hands to her as she joined him at the altar.

  The couple stared deep into one another’s eyes as their attending pastor—a short, balding gentleman who appeared just a bit out of place at the center of a field but smiled gamely all the same—began to state the classic and conventional vows of matrimony.

  Then, as there was nothing remotely conventional about the two of them and their most peculiar romance, they said vows all their own—because they could.

  “My darling Amy,” Thomas addressed his new wife, tone warm and sincere. “When I ordered myself a mail order bride, I well imagined a woman that reflects your beauty and grace. I never imagined someone of your incredible spirit and amazing intelligence. You are an exquisite human being, Amy, and I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you and Amelia.”

  Amy smiled.

  “My dear Thomas,” she returned, clasping his hands tight between hers. “When I answered your ad for a mail order bride, I was darned and determined not to fall in love with you—and the sole reason I use the word darned, mind you, is because my aunt and daughter are present. Yep, my convictions ran pretty strong. Darned strong, as a matter of fact,” she paused here to acknowledge the laughter of the crowd, adding in a softer, more serious tone, “I never imagined that I could fall in love again; but when a woman meets the perfect man—one who is kind, handsome, intelligent, hardworking, and endlessly loving—then what else can she do?”

  “Well I know what you do,” he told her, adding as he swept his new wife up in his strong arms and pulled her closer than close, “You marry him.”

  Amy thought a moment, then nodded.

  “Well if you insist Cowboy. I’ll do just that,” she assented, adding as she waggled her eyes in something of a playful tease, “As long as you agree to give me one of those humdinger kisses for which you really should be famous. Then another. Then another. And if you fancy, you can keep on kissing me, for the rest of our natural lives.”

  So the deal was made.

  ****

  THE END

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  The Yellow Rose – A Clean Western Historical Romance

  The singular act of shucking an ear of corn might not be considered the most glamorous or intellectually challenging activity; but, for some odd and inexplicable reason, Abigail Tompkins loved every moment of it.

  Standing side by side with her parents, Ray and Sandra Tompkins, the owners and proprietors of the Diamond T Ranch in the heart of Austin, Texas, she basked with a smile in the sumptuous rays of the golden Texas sun; also reveling in the vision of endless emerald green fields that signified their life and industry.

  Every morning she joined her parents in the tending of their 50-acre farm; a modest but fertile plot that also had served as the site of her childhood home.

  Even as a child her tiny hands had picked and shucked these precious ears of corn; also garnering many precious memories in the company of the two dear friends who—as an added bonus—had brought her into the world. Mighty nice of them, she thought.

  “I do believe, dear daughter, that you may have set some sort of record this morning for most ears of corn consecutively shucked,” her mother, a petite brunette with wide brown eyes, graced a grinning Abigail with a playful nudge as she added, “Congratulations!”

  Standing upright at the center of the field, the tall, sturdy Abigail straightened her straw hat atop her dark haired head as she considered this curious praise.

  “Well I must say it, Mother,” she said finally, “If that is the most exalted accomplishment that I can achieve throughout the course of my young life, then—well—that makes me feel pretty darned sad and pathetic, to be truthful. Thanks for that, Mum.”

  Chuckling as they exchanged looks that reflected their keen amusement, Ray and Sandra turned as one to fix their 21-year-old daughter with a warm, affectionate smile.

  “Make no mistake, Daughter. You accomplish every bit as much as we do on this ranch—more so, on some days,” Ray Tompkins assured her, adding as he reached forward to grace her sturdy shoulder with a loving pat, “And especially since both of your younger sisters abandoned us this year to marry their ever adoring beaux, we can’t tell you how much we appreciate you staying on with us—helping us build the Diamond T into something special.”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” she acknowledged his compliment, adding as she made a broad gesture across the heather strewn fields around them, “The Diamond T is my home—not to mention my business. I’d far rather shuck corn than birth babies or clean up after some man, any day of the week.” She paused here, adding as she thrust a sturdy finger square at the center of her own denim clad chest, “This is my job, and I do it well. And I never have even the slightest desire to be anywhere else.”

  Ray nodded.

  “Well your Ma and I can’t be any prouder,” he affirmed, adding as he graced his daughter with a warm, loving smile, “As you well know, Girl, your grandparents were the settlers who claimed this land. And now that they’ve passed, your ma and I have every intention of doing them proud. But we can’t do it without our dear lady farmer.”

  Striking a deep bow in response to his words, Abigail tipped her straw hat in her parents’ direction before stepping sidewalks down their row of planted corn; soon leaning forward to continue her work as she whistled absently to herself. It would only be an hour or two; she mused, until she and her folks would retire to their ranch house to enjoy a hearty noon meal made from home grown—and handpicked--ingredients.

  “And before we come back to the fields, I do believe I’ll encourage Pa to take a good long nap,” she thought, adding with a slight frown, “He has been looking a bit weary as of late. He perhaps needs to take a bit of rest—that is, if Ma and I can hog tie him into staying out of the fields for five darned minutes.”

  The joyful peace of a quiet Texas morning was shattered seconds later, as she heard a harsh, ragged cry rent the air around her; drawing her gaze toward the source of the sound.

  She gasped outright as she saw her father’s wiry body collapse outright on the ground beneath him; clutching his heart as he let loose with a single pained moan and his eyes snapped shut.

  Kneeling immediately beside her husband, a distraught Sandra grabbed her husband’s hands and screamed, “Ray!”

  Running to join her parents at the center of the field, a stone-faced Abigail struggled to stay composed as she too knelt beside the motionless body of the man who lay still and silent between his own corn rows.

  “Pa,” she breathed, shaking her head from side to sid
e as she leaned forward to put her ear to his chest.

  Her eyes flew wide as she heard no sign of a heart beat; and as she saw an aura of eerie stillness overtake her father’s body. His eyes remained closed, his lips relaxed, his tanned, robust face drained of all color, and his chest felt as hard and hollow as a jagged edge rock in the Texas desert.

  “Pa,” she repeated, this time with a rough sob as she wrapped her arms tight around his limp shoulders. “No!”

  Sandra said nothing, only wrapped her husband and her daughter in two loving arms as—true to her nature—she tried to love the hurt away.

  “This time, though,” she said aloud, adding as she strove to wipe the tears that flew free down her daughter’s face, “I simply can’t do it.”

  *****

  “I cannot believe that this has happened. Why?”

  Since the death late last year of his beloved wife Elsa, Cal Hopkins had asked this question countless times; only to hear the empty echo of his own voice as—once again—he heard no answer.

  How fast and far could a heart fall, he pondered; and how far and fast could a life fall apart? It was only a year ago that he and his beautiful Elsa, the love of his heart since their early school days, had been expecting their first child; receiving their good news in the wake of the most joyful and productive year of their lives.

  Married at age 21, the couple was perceived by family and friends as the ideal representation of the perfect pair; a tall, muscular groom with thick ebony hair and eyes of crystal blue, paired with a petite golden haired woman who seemed the picture of femininity. Their wedding gift had come in the form of a large plot of land along the northern border of their native Texas; a lush green parcel that they knew would form the cornerstone of their lives together.

  Soon they set to work side by side to turn a workable plot of land into a home and business; building a basic two-story wood plank house with a sloping roof and a homey front porch, and planting a field of Elsa’s chosen crop, the kind of sublime, sun-kissed golden roses that grew only in the heart of Texas.