And Cowboy Makes Three (Cowboys To The Rescue 2)

by Martha Shields

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He paused at the door and glanced at her. “You going to be this ornery the whole time you’re pregnant?”

  She lifted her chin, but couldn’t stop a smile from creeping across her face. “If I want to.”

  He smiled back. “You’re just yanking my chain.”

  “No reason I should be the only one to suffer,” she told him. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

  Three long strides brought him back to her side. He placed a hard quick kiss on her forehead. “Forever.”

  “No peeking.”

  “I was just scratching my nose.” Claire lowered her hand from the silk scarf covering her eyes. “I wish you’d tell me what this is all about.”

  “You’ll see.”

  Jake sounded like an excited little boy on his way to Disney World—which worried her. He usually acted this way when he’d bought her something expensive.

  “I thought we were going out to lunch,” she complained.

  “We are, to a very special place.”

  “Why are you being so secretive?”

  “Almost there.”

  Two minutes later he pulled into what felt like a driveway and killed the engine. “Ready?”

  “I’ve been ready ever since we left the office....” Her voice trailed away as he pulled the scarf from her eyes.

  They were sitting in a driveway. A two-story brick house with an endless number of gables loomed before her. The lack of landscaping told her construction wasn’t quite finished. The For Sale sign in the yard had a big Sold banner across it.

  Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

  “Do you like it?” he asked eagerly.

  “You bought it?” she somehow asked around the lump in her throat. Surely not. Surely he would tell her he hadn’t actually signed a contract.

  “Three days ago. Come on. I want to show you inside.” Jake came around and opened her door.

  She didn’t take the hand he held out. “Why?”

  “We can’t live at the penthouse with children. The railing on the terrace is entirely too dangerous.”

  “Yes, but—” During the three days they’d been back in Denver, they’d gotten along better than they ever had. They worked well together at the office, and they still made fantastic love every night—even though she was already pregnant. She’d just begun to trust him, just begun to think he might actually care for her. Then he went and did something like this.

  She cleared her throat. “You didn’t talk to me about buying a house. Don’t you think I’d want a say in where we live?”

  He looked genuinely confused. “We did talk about it, the second night we were back. I told you I was going to look for a house because you were so busy and sick. You told me to go ahead.”

  She thought back and vaguely remembered him saying something right after they’d made love. “I was half asleep. I thought you meant you’d find a few, and we’d make the decision together.”

  Suddenly he looked worried, as if he’d just realized what he’d done. “I probably would’ve, but I had to move quickly. There were other buyers interested. It’s perfect, Claire. It’s only ten minutes from the office, and though there’s not a huge backyard, it’s big enough for kids to play in.” He paused. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  She swallowed hard. “Congratulations. You succeeded.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you—” His eyes bleak, he ran a hand back through his hair. “Do you want me to cancel the contract?”

  She frowned. “That would probably cost a lot, wouldn’t it?”

  “A few thousand dollars. No problem.” He waved away the paltry sum. “But why don’t you look at it first? I think you’ll like it. When I walked in, it felt like you.”

  For the sake of a few thousand dollars, she certainly would take a look, and so swung down from the Jeep.

  Claire loved the house the minute she walked in the door. Though the rooms were large, they had a casual feel which was very different from the cold formality of the expensively decorated penthouse. The walls were painted in warm earth colors, and the carpet being laid was deep enough to sink into and never be heard from again. It was the kind of house she could see kids running around in.

  Jake trailed after her as she silently made her way through the rooms downstairs. He watched her as she looked around, but didn’t say anything until they reached the dining room. On the carpet was spread a white brocade tablecloth. A sumptuous lunch, complete with candelabra and silver serving pieces, waited for them. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver ice bucket.

  “It’s nonalcoholic,” he told her, breaking the silence. “I thought we’d celebrate...” He shrugged.

  She turned away. “Let’s look upstairs.”

  With a grim face, he led her up the carpeted stairs. “I’ve got a surprise. I had a room decorated. That’s one reason I didn’t tell you before now.”

  “Let me guess. You’ve already got a king-size bed in the master bedroom so we can ‘christen’ the house.”

  He kissed her quickly when they reached a wide hallway, as if afraid she’d pull away. “Actually, I planned to do that on the tablecloth downstairs. No, this is—” he flung open a door “—the nursery.”

  Claire froze. Blue. He’d had it decorated in a soft, baby blue.

  She took a few steps in and looked around, her eyes wide, her heart beating dully. A white wooden crib dominated the room that also sported a changing station complete with a sink big enough to bathe the baby, and a cozy corner with a cushioned rocking chair alongside shelves lined with children’s books. Everything was swathed in the same fabric lining the walls.

  The kicker, however, was the motif. Baby cowboys dressed only in hats, diapers and boots rode their trusty rocking horse mounts around the waist-high border. They also rode across pillows, comforters and the bumper pad. They even dangled from a mobile above the crib.

  Claire wound up the mobile. It played “Happy Trails.”

  Finally she turned back to Jake.

  He leaned against the doorjamb, but his stance was anything but casual. “So? What do you think?”

  Think? She was trying her hardest not to. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clenched her hands at her sides. “You’ve done a very thorough job, haven’t you?”

  “Well, I had a little help. Luckily I found a decorator willing to work around the clock to—”

  “Not only have you decided where we’ll live, you’ve decided what sex our baby’s going to be.”

  Her cold tone brought a wary look to his dark eyes. “What?”

  She swept an arm around the room. “It’s blue, Jake. Blue means a boy.”

  “It does?”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone knows that.”

  “I didn’t. Why should I? I’ve never been around babies, or even people having babies. I never paid any attention to what color you put them in. What did people do back before there was the possibility of knowing beforehand?”

  Was it possible he didn’t know? “They decorated in a color other than blue or pink. You must’ve given the decorator some indication, or they would’ve done it in yellow or green or something else.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Now that you mention it, he did ask what color I wanted it. When I said blue, he congratulated me. He was a little weird anyway, I just thought...”

  “Can’t you see what you’ve done?” Claire’s voice was shaky, but she went on. “You’ve put us back on square one.”

  He strode across the nursery and took her hands in his. “Don’t say that. I swear I thought I was helping.”

  “I thought you understood I don’t want to be left out of any decision that affects me. But after all we’ve been through, you don’t know anything about me, do you? You haven’t learned a damn thing.”

  “Please let me explain. You’ve been working so hard learning the ropes at Pawnee. You’re sick in the morning and tired at night. I feel helpless because I can’t do anything fo
r you. This was something that needed to be done, something I could do. So I did—I thought with your blessing.” He slid his hands up to her shoulders, his eyes desperate. “Say you forgive me, Claire. Say you’ll let me do the things I can to help you. You can’t do everything. You’re damn terrific, but you’re not Super Woman.”

  Claire studied his earnest face. He seemed sincere, and she wanted to believe him more than she wanted the sun to rise tomorrow.

  Another piece of her independence slipping away.

  Then she reminded herself of the vow she’d made their first day at the Bar Hanging Seven. She’d sworn not to push him away like his father had, not to accuse him of trying to control her every movement. She wasn’t doing a very good job keeping her promise, was she?

  She still didn’t trust him not to hurt her. How could she when she loved him so much, and he didn’t love her?

  But she wanted him to love her, to need her, so it was up to her to teach him what love was. Patience was the key. Patience, and an abiding hope that someday he’d understand.

  Sliding her arms around his waist, she leaned into him. “You’ve done a very bad thing.”

  His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression you knew what I was doing.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m not walking out of here right now.”

  He lifted her chin. “So you forgive me? You want to keep the house?”

  “I shouldn’t give in on this. It’s just rewarding bad behavior.”

  “Will it help if I swear I won’t buy any more houses without asking your permission?”

  “No. What will help is if you promise to include me in any future decisions that concern me or the baby.”

  “I will. I swear.” He gathered her close and kissed her.

  She sighed when he pulled away. “This might sound contradictory, but I do want you to help me, Jake. I need your help, and I need you.”

  A month ago the intensity on his face would’ve frightened her. “I need you, too, angel. I need you to need me.”

  “Do you need me, Jake? Do you really?”

  “More than birds need wings to fly.”

  As they sealed their declaration with another kiss, a tear escaped Claire’s tightly closed eyes.

  She believed him. Progress—at last.

  At half past six two days later, Jake pushed open the door to Claire’s outside office. “Mrs. Hamby. You’re still here.”

  The plump, middle-aged lady with dyed black hair shushed him. She pointed to Claire’s door. “She’s asleep.”

  Alarm bells went off in Jake’s head. “What’s wrong? Is she sick?”

  “Bless me, no.” The secretary smiled fondly. “This is normal for some women expecting little ones. When I had my first, I wanted to sleep all day and all night for the first four months.”

  Jake quietly opened Claire’s door. Her arms were crossed on the desk with her head laid on top. “You should’ve called me.”

  “She’s only been out about ten minutes.”

  Jake nodded. “You can go home, Mrs. Hamby. I’ll take care of her.”

  The secretary gave him a wide smile as she rose and started gathering her things. “I know you will.”

  Jake entered Claire’s office and touched her shoulder.

  “Five more minutes,” she murmured.

  Damn it. She was doing too much. She needed help, both at work and at home. He was going to have a talk with Jim Gordon. Surely the man could take some of the load off his wife. But what about at home?

  They were going to need a nanny for the baby eventually, since Claire was determined to work full-time. His baby certainly wasn’t going to one of the germ factories they called day care centers. Why not go ahead and hire one now? She could help Claire prepare for the baby, give her some rest.

  Yes, it was the perfect solution, but somehow he knew Claire would object strenuously. His Super Woman wanted to do everything herself.

  He shook his head. Too bad. She needed time to rest. She’d asked him to help her, so that’s what he was going to do. He’d hire a nanny and present it as a fait accompli.

  He felt a twinge of doubt when he recalled her reaction at the house he’d bought without consulting her.

  So, he wouldn’t actually hire anyone until she gave the okay. He’d interview several, pick out one or two of the best ones, then let her decide. He’d be following her rules to the letter— taking some of her load off but letting her make the final decision.

  She should be satisfied with that.

  The figures swam before Claire’s eyes, and for the hundredth time since lunch she closed her eyes. She couldn’t keep her mind on Pawnee’s accounts, and it was more than fatigue from being pregnant.

  The numbers on the screen didn’t mean anything because they weren’t attached to people: She kept wondering how Mrs. McDonald was doing with her pet shop, and if Mr. Chase had figured out how to tell the difference between state and federal taxes for his grocery store. She was going to miss the crumb cake his wife made her every Christmas.

  Standing, Claire stretched as she walked over to the window to enjoy the view of the Rockies. For several days now, she’d been wanting to talk to Jake about her job. What would he say if she told him she wanted to quit? She wanted to go back to Whitaker’s where she made a difference in the lives of real people.

  She didn’t need this job. Since she was already pregnant, she didn’t need money for in vitro fertilization. And since she was married to Jake, she certainly didn’t need money for anything else. She hadn’t touched her bank account since they’d been married, except to pay the rent on her apartment.

  It wasn’t that she couldn’t do the job. Actually, she didn’t find it nearly as daunting as she’d thought she would when he offered it to her. She just didn’t want it.

  She’d learned during the past month that independence didn’t necessarily mean a big paycheck. It meant having the freedom to do the job you loved. By marrying her, Jake had given her that independence.

  The thought startled her. She hadn’t thought about their relationship that way. The realization made her love him even more.

  It wasn’t as if she’d be leaving Jake in the lurch. Jim Gordon was more than capable of taking over this deparment. In fact, he should’ve been offered the job in the first place.

  No, Jake didn’t need her in this job, but that didn’t matter. He needed her in other, much more personal ways.

  She smiled as she remembered his need just that morning. Ever since they found out she was pregnant, it seemed he needed her more, not less. There’d been a few slips—like when he bought the house. But he was a man, after all, and according to Alex they needed special allowances. She said even Hank slipped up now and then. Overall, Claire was very pleased with her husband. She loved him, needed him more every day.

  Need. She’d used that word a lot lately. She always thought she wanted independence, but now she knew that wasn’t true. What she wanted was to be needed.

  She realized that all the times she’d blown up because Jake made a decision without her, it wasn’t because she wanted independence, but because she wanted him to need her in order to make the decision. She wanted him to need her as much as Hank needed Alex. Being included in decisions was just an outward sign of being needed, of being loved.

  With a sigh, Claire glanced back at the computer waiting patiently for her to review this year’s tax records. Why waste the time? Jim had already assured her everything was in line, and she’d yet to catch a single mistake made by one of her employees.

  They didn’t need her here—but the clients at Whitaker’s needed her.

  So why not talk to Jake? There were more advantages to going back than just having a job she loved. She could probably talk Mr. Whitaker into letting her take only as many clients as she did or didn’t want, so she’d have more time to spend with their baby. Jake should approve of that.

  And since they wouldn’t be working together, she’d at le
ast have the illusion of independence. Having her husband for a boss was all right for now, but what about when their marriage started rocking over shaky ground, as all marriages do?

  No, going back to work for Whitaker would be best all around. Now she just had to see if Mr. Whitaker would be willing to take her back, after she’d left without giving notice.

  Stepping back to her desk, Claire reached for the phone, then changed her mind. It’d be better to pay her old boss a visit instead.

  She grabbed her coat and purse and headed out the door. “Mrs. Hamby, I’m taking the afternoon off.”

  The secretary looked surprised, then she smiled. “Good for you, Mrs. Anderson. You go home and get some rest. We’ll still be here tomorrow.”

  Claire smiled knowing she might not be. “When my husband comes to pick me up this afternoon, please tell him I took a cab home.”

  “You don’t want me to call him now?”

  “No, he’d just worry. Tell him I’m fine and I’ll meet him at home for supper.” With a wave, she walked out the door.

  Claire yawned as she fit her key into the penthouse door. She’d had a wonderful visit with Mr. Whitaker. He’d all but begged her to come back, and even suggested—with a wink—that she not give her husband any notice.

  Claire wasn’t going to go that far. She’d stay as long as Jake needed her, but it shouldn’t be long. Jim Gordon could take over tomorrow with no more trouble than replacing the nameplate on her desk.

  She pushed open the heavy panel and reached down to pick up her shopping bag. She’d even had time to buy some maternity clothes. She didn’t need them now. She’d just been in the mood. The best thing about them was—they weren’t suits.

  As she headed for the bedroom, Mrs. Sanchez hurried out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Anderson. I thought I’d left the door open and another one of the ladies just walked in.”