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

by Tia Siren

  “Elsa embodied the wild Texas rose,” Cal remembered, smiling slightly as he recalled his wife’s golden blonde, almond-eyed beauty. “It was no wonder that she loved those dang flowers so much. And when I saw how much money said dang flowers brought in, I grew to love them too.”

  Yet he loved nothing more than the lovely, vibrant woman who worked every day beside him in the fields; showing the strength and fortitude of a seasoned rancher and the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a little girl.

  Yet in his arms she remained a woman, making love with him long into the night as they fulfilled each and every fantasy that had carried them through their courtship. And when their passion finally culminated in the conception of a child, the couple celebrated both the success of their ranching venture and the expansion of their family.

  “Everything was so perfect,” Cal remembered now, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “How did it go wrong?”

  He’d near begged his wife to stay home and rest for the duration of her pregnancy; allowing him and his older brother Stephen to do the bulk of their farm work until well after the arrival of their child.

  “Yet she knew that we couldn’t yet afford to hire farm hands. She also knew, furthermore, that my brother had his own ranch to run,” he recalled, adding as he ventured to take a deep sustaining breath, “So she insisted every day on comin’ to the fields with me, workin’ by my side in the heat of the Texas sun….”

  He paused here, dark memories filling his psyche as he remembered their last day together; a 24-hour period that surely would haunt him until his dying day.

  Elsa had appeared the picture of health in the early hours of the morning; her delicate face shining radiant with a warm maternal glow, her lustrous mane of heather blonde hair flying like a pennant in the Texas wind.

  He’d never forget the vision of his lady walking toward him that day, clutching as she did a lush, fresh picked arrangement of golden Texas roses.

  “I can’t believe the irony,” he released with a sigh, adding as his heart clung to her memory, “She looked just as she did on the day of our wedding, so young and beautiful, carrying her bouquet as she came to me.”

  And then without warning their romantic dream morphed into a nightmare; his bride staggering before him as her breath escaped her and her eyes fluttered shut.

  Although he’d carried her immediately back to their home and summoned the town doctor, Cal found that his desperate efforts to save his bride amounted to nothing. At the end of the day, all he could do was comfort his wife in his arms as she and their child passed from this life without so much as a word of goodbye.

  Now he lived alone in the house that they built, just barely sleeping in their bed and working every day in the fields they had planted; coming to curse the roses she loved, as they only served to remind him of a joyful life destroyed.

  His brother Stephen worked with him some days, and even stayed with him throughout just a few of his long, lonely nights; trying to distract him with poker games, horseshoe throws and other trivialities that he hoped would bring a smile to the face of his grief-stricken brother.

  Finally, a frustrated Stephen suggested that his brother venture out of the house and try a new career; perhaps even pursuing his lifelong dream of a career in law enforcement.

  “Before you met Elsa and decided to become a gentleman farmer, you had a dream to put on a silver badge and saddle up as the sheriff of this town,” he reminded his brother, adding as he punched his broad shoulder with a hard and hearty fist, “Elsa would want you to be happy, Cal. And she’d love the sight of you riding tall and proud through the city, keeping the peace and making a name for yourself.”

  Reluctantly taking his brother’s advice, Cal rode into town one day and signed up to be a deputy at the local sheriff’s office; leaving Stephen to tend his ranch while he learned the particulars of law enforcement.

  Although he did find some small measure of happiness and comfort in the day to day duties of his new job—a calling that allowed him to fulfill his boyhood dreams of keeping the peace and flashing a shiny badge—he also found that his newly honed law enforcement duties took him all too frequently away from his home and ranch. And while Stephen paid frequent visits to his fields, trying to maintain his brother’s rose gardens and other crops while also tending his own land, it soon became apparent that some extra hands were needed at Elsa’s Rose; the newly named ranch that Cal swore to make a success—if nothing else as a thriving and beautiful tribute to the rose of his life.

  “Please don’t take offense Steve, you have really been my savior during some mighty rough days,” he told his brother one day. “I don’t think I could have survived the nightmare of Elsa’s death without you by my side, lifting me up and dang near cattle prodding me into going on with my life and work.” He paused here, adding with a frustrated sigh, “I just think that this ranch is getting too big for two people who have limited time to work the land. I do believe it’s high time that I hired, at least, one farm hand.”

  Stephen, a handsome young blond man with clear blue eyes and a muscular build, nodded in hearty agreement with his brother’s words.

  “Say no more my brother,” he told Cal, “I’ve already placed a help wanted ad in The Daily Post. I promised all helpers a decent wage plus room and board.”

  Cal grinned.

  “Good work,” he praised his brother, adding as he graced Stephen with a slight slap on the back, “And since I’m going to be busy in town just about every day this week, I’ll leave it to you to pick two or three of the very best ranch hands ridin’ the range.”

  The smile died on Stephen’s lips as he considered these words.

  “Well now there are just a few problems with that idea, dear brother,” he told Cal, adding with a hefty sigh, “I only advertised for one helper around this place, and I didn’t exactly request the services of a ranch hand. And, all things considered, I do believe it best that you interview our prospects yourself. Personally.”

  Cal froze.

  “I can’t say that I quite like the way you just said the word personally,” he admitted, adding as he folded his arms strong and firm before him, “And if you didn’t advertise for a ranch hand, what specific job title do you want to fill?”

  Stephen shrugged.

  “Well, if you really want to know the nitty gritty of things,” he mumbled, shuffling his feet beneath him. “I advertised in particular for a mail order bride.”

  He cringed as his chagrined brother met these words with an unearthly, near inhuman growl; ducking just in time to avoid Cal’s lethal left hook.

  “A Mail. Order. Bride?” he repeated, spitting and grinding out these last words as though they were poisonous. “What kind of madness has seeped into that already dense noggin of yers? How dare you place one of those tasteless ads in my name?” he paused here, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “What are folks in this area going to think when they find out that the deputy sheriff of this here town is seeking out a…a….”

  “A mail order bride,” Stephen supplied, remaining clear of his brother’s striking range as he added, “Remember just a few minutes ago, brother when you were thanking me profusely for pulling you through a rough time? Could we maybe go back to that point, before you decide to use me as target practice for your shiny new six-shooter?”

  Cal shook his head.

  “Well why is it that you think this time has been so very rough for me?” he countered, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “Elsa was my life, my whole world. I’ll never find a woman as sweet, as beautiful, as hardworking, as supportive, as smart,” he paused here, adding as he raised his sculpted chin to prideful effect, “My wife was nothing short of the perfect woman. And once you have experienced perfection, you don’t lower yourself to connectin’ up with some woman who would sell herself off as a mail order bride.”

  With these words he whipped off his wide brimmed ivory hat of silver belly felt, tossing it reckless to
the ground beneath him.

  “Hell Stephen, no man who respects a woman would buy her into servitude,” he insisted, adding as he seared his brother with a fierce sideways glance, “What kind of a human being do you think I am?”

  Stephen sighed.

  “I’m not talkin’ about buyin’ slaves Brother—that’s against the law, just as it should be,” he asserted with a sharp nod, “I’m talkin’ about getting the help that you need to run this place—along with some much needed female company. Mail order brides are mature and very willing women looking for adventure.” He paused here, adding as he made a broad gesture down the length of his brother’s tall, muscled form, “And seeing as to how you’ve always been popular with the ladies, I think that just about any lady would grab the opportunity to get adventurous with you.”

  *****

  All things considered, Abigail Tompkins figured that she’d prefer any fate to that of a mail order bride.

  A teacher. A nurse. A ranch hand. A stable girl—even the type that hacks out the stalls on hot summer days. A dancing girl at any given saloon. A nun at any given convent.

  “OK then, I’m veerin’ dangerously close to the ridiculous with those last two options,” she sighed, adding as she cast a self-conscious look down the length of her fully made form, “Nobody is going to put these hips on a saloon stage—especially given the fact that their bearer would be tempted to deliver her high kicks straight to the face of the first man who leered at her or made an inappropriate comment. And she’d give the same treatment to any given Mother Superior, who tried to tell her what to do—or, in that particular environment, what not to do.”

  So why had she planted herself square at the center of a rickety old stagecoach, riding with unseemly speed to meet a man in search of a mail order bride? And why, for that matter, had she dressed for this rather miserable occasion in a dag gum calico dress; a fancy and highly impractical effort colored cranberry red and boasting an elegant lace lined collar and a prim empire waist?

  “Oh, and let us not forget the puffed sleeves,” she growled aloud, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “Real women do not wear puffed sleeves.”

  Indeed, there existed only one living person in Abigail’s life who could inspire such complete and total tomfoolery.

  “What mad and utterly ridiculous things I won’t do for my Ma,” she mused, remembering once again the fateful conversation that had delivered her straight into this most unfortunate situation.

  In the wake of her father’s death, she and her mother had tried valiantly to do the same amount of work once performed by five people. Yet in the absence of her father and sisters, they quickly found themselves overwhelmed by both work and bills.

  By becoming a mail order bride, her mother reasoned, Abigail could still live her dream of working the land; also potentially bringing home the man and the money needed to revive their own ranch.

  “So here I am,” she shook her head as her rented ride made a long last turn through the gates of Elsa’s Rose; the spacious ranch where she’d agreed to meet her mysterious future husband. “One question though: Who in the blazes is Elsa, and why in the blazes does she not mind me marryin’ her man?”

  Her troubled meditation was disrupted by a vision that soothed her senses; an image perhaps more beautiful than any she’d ever seen.

  Before she grew endless fertile rows of ebullient golden hued roses; sun kissed florals that both adorned and glorified their nature made surroundings.

  At the center of this horticultural haven stood the most radiant vision of all: a tall, ebony-haired wonder who himself seemed the product of his ethereal surroundings.

  The man’s eyes sparkled as wide and azure as the Texas day that oversaw his labors; his skin glowing as bronze as the sun itself as he stood shirtless in the midst of the florals who seemed to command his attentions.

  Quickly paying and dismissing the stagecoach driver who’d delivered her into this paradise, she soon found herself standing squarely at the center of this most intriguing scene; getting a better look at the florals that dotted the landscape and the man who apparently tended them.

  Her gaze basked in admiration at the singular vision of the Texas yellow rose; a floral wonder that boasted large lush blossoms, velvety petals, and a sublime golden hue.

  In exchange for shucking more corn than seemed humanly possible, Abigail had been allowed to tend a small garden of yellow roses at a far corner of her parents’ property.

  “Yet it seems that this gent has a whole ranch just brimmin’ with roses,” she thought in silence, adding with arched eyebrows, “I guess that would explain the latter half of its mysterious moniker. I still don’t know who in the blazes Elsa might be—and do I even want to know?”

  “So do ya favor yellow roses, Miss?”

  Abigail jumped as her thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a deep sonorous voice; a most appealing tone that raised her gaze to behold the face of an angel.

  Now she stared straight into the azure blue gems that she’d admired from the stagecoach; finding that they gleamed brightly from a peerless face that also boasted carved cheekbones, full moist lips, and a perfect cleft chin.

  Then she allowed her curious eyes to stray the length of his tall, muscular form; a body defined by the presence of hard toned pectorals and abdominals, and long trim legs that today came encased in tight, sculpting blue jeans.

  “Beautiful,” she breathed, adding as she squared her substantial shoulders and stood up straight in the field, “That is to say, I find these flowers incredibly beautiful. And, just so you know, I’m Abigail Tompkins. I’m the lady who sent a letter in answer to your advertisement for a mail order bride.”

  The man nodded.

  “Pleased to meet ya, Ma’am. I’m Cal Hopkins, owner, and proprietor of Elsa’s Rose, which as you may have heard is the largest farming garden in this stretch of Texas. And I’m mighty glad to hear that you favor these flowers,” he told her, adding in a matter of fact tone, “As those are the only roses you’re likely to be receivin’ during your time at this ranch.” He paused here, adding with an empathetic smile, “I’m so sorry to tell you this, Miss, but I am not interested in cultivating a romantic relationship with my thusly called mail order bride. I am interested only in cultivating my crops, and with the help of someone who knows the lay of the land.”

  Abigail thought a moment, then pursed her lips.

  “Did you come to that conclusion when you placed your advertisement for a mail order bride?” she queried, adding as she inclined her head sharp in his direction, “Or at the moment that you saw me step out of the stagecoach?”

  She froze as the man before her whipped his ivory cowboy hat clear off his head, holding it reverent over his heart as he said, “Oh no Ma’am, please don’t take offense at what I said.” He paused here, adding as he returned his hat to its place on his head and let loose with a frustrated sigh, “Truth be told I didn’t even place that blasted ad. My brother placed it, with the intention of finding me a new bride—totally ignoring the fact that all I need is an able assistant here on the ranch. I already had my wife, the love of my life, and was on the verge of fatherin’ the child that completed our family. Then, in a heartbeat, they were both gone.”

  With these words, he took the garden hoe clutched in his sturdy grasp and threw it recklessly to the ground beneath him.

  “For all my brother’s annoyin’ meddlin’, I have assured him that I am in no need of a replacement bride,” he insisted, planting his hands firm on his hips as he added, “I want a professional arrangement here, nothing more.”

  His eyes flew wide as his guest met these words with a loud, joyful whoop; one that came accompanied by a spirited Texas two-step that would look right at home at a barn dance.

  “Well Ma’am, I’m most pleased that you’re taking this news so well,” he muttered, adding as he pinned her with a sideways glance, “Did you come to that conclusion when you answered my advertisement for a mail order
bride? Or at the moment that you saw me here working in the fields?”

  Coming to an abrupt halt as her rawhide boots skidded in the dirt below her, Abigail let loose with a hearty chortle as she considered this question.

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous Gent,” she admonished her host, adding as she pointed a most accusing finger straight in his direction, “You likely qualify as the most ridiculously handsome gent I’ve ever seen. I reckon that your degree of preposterous male beauty probably should be illegal, in point of fact. And most any woman would be more than eager to hogtie you into submission and drag you headfirst before the nearest justice of the peace.”

  Blinking with surprise as he considered these words, Cal let loose with a robust chuckle as he shifted his boots in the grass beneath him.

  “Well you sure do have a way with words Miss,” he praised her finally, adding in a reflective tone, “especially to the ears of a man who hasn’t laughed in a mighty long time.”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Oh, I hear ya. Back at home on the Diamond T Ranch, my folks and I used to laugh the day away. Then when Pa passed, it was all I could do to muster a smile,” she released these words on a tired sigh, adding as she graced her host with a warm, knowing smile, “I have the distinct feeling, Gent, that you and I are two of a kind. One day we’re just moseying through the process of working our own land and living our dreams. Then that pesky ol’ thing called life happened along and threw some big ol’ cow pies in our path.”

  Guffawing outright in response to her words, Cal stepped forward to offer the lady his hand.

  “At this point Ma’am, I don’t give a lick if you lack one bit of experience in working the land,” he told her, adding as he inclined his head in her direction, “You are hired.”

  *****

  Two weeks after taking on an additional hired hand at his ranch, Cal Hopkins was pleased to see that she did indeed know how to work the land. This lady Abigail, in fact, proved herself an expert on all things horticultural, standing tall and proud in rows of roses and making them grow and bloom more beautifully than ever; also tending his more conventional crops of corn and cotton, increasing the productivity of his farm while his second career as a law enforcement officer continued to thrive.