The Virgin Cowboy Billionaire's Secret Baby

by Lauren Gallagher

  “Sounds like it.” Matt swallowed. “But it means we have time, right? To figure out…well, whatever we’re going to do next?” He paused. “Don’t most people wait until, what, three months to break the news?”

  Dara nodded. “To be honest, though, I’ve been itching to tell my folks just to get it off my chest. It was…” She sighed. “I just can’t believe how this turned out. We tried for two damned years, and when it finally happened, it should’ve been something to be excited about and shout from the rooftops.” Swiping at her eyes, she muttered, “And now it’s probably going to go over as well as it would’ve if I’d gotten knocked up in high school.”

  “I doubt that,” he said softly. “Even if your folks still don’t like me, it isn’t like you were out sleeping around and got pregnant. You were married, and you thought you were going to stay that way.”

  Dara winced. “Yeah. I mean, we had our problems”—oh, honey, what an understatement—“but I didn’t think…” She deflated, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face. “I didn’t think the baby would fix it, but I thought a lot of the problems would go away once we weren’t so damned stressed about the whole process of getting pregnant in the first place. And now this?”

  “God, I am so sorry to hear things turned out this way.”

  “It is what it is. I just hate the idea of having to cringe when I tell my parents I’m pregnant. I’m thirty-five years old, damn it!”

  Matt nodded. “Well, when you’re ready to tell them, you have my full support.” He paused. “Maybe we should tell my folks first. They’ll take it worse than yours, and I don’t want them catching it through the grapevine.”

  “Yeah, good idea.”

  “Why don’t I set up dinner with them at my place, and we can tell them together?”

  Dara hesitated. “Matt, they can’t stand me.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, and we all know how forgiving your mother is.”

  Matt flinched. “Good point.”

  She had hoped he might insist the woman had changed, but that was wishful thinking at its finest. Mrs. Coolidge had a memory like an elephant and held grudges like a mobster, and the day she’d taken the family’s name, she’d taken on their grudge against the Marleys. Even if she had grandbaby fever now, she wasn’t likely to forget that Dara’s grandfather had once screwed Matt’s grandfather out of some money. Though she had always seemed to conveniently forget that around the same time, Matt’s great aunt had promised to wait for Dara’s great uncle while he went to Germany during the war, only to turn around and marry some lawyer from Goldmount six months later. The wedding announcement had appeared in the newspaper the same day as the great uncle’s obituary, and that had sealed the Coolidge-Marley rivalry. To say there was bad blood between them was like saying the Hatfields and the McCoys had a little misunderstanding.

  Dara shook her head. “You know what? Let’s just tell them. We’re adults, and if they don’t like this, they can fucking suck it.”

  Matt laughed. “Holy shit. Now that’s the Dara I haven’t seen in way too long.”

  She couldn’t help laughing too. “I guess some things don’t change, do they?”

  “No, I guess they don’t.” He smiled, and then he hugged her once more. “And I mean it—it really is good to see you again.”

  Closing her eyes, she held him tight. “It’s good to see you too.”

  Chapter Three

  Matt stood at the kitchen counter, chopping up vegetables. His folks would be here soon. So would Dara. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. For the moment, he focused—tried to focus—on preparing dinner.

  Last night’s migraine still thrummed in the back of his skull and fucked with the edges of his vision, but most of the pain was gone. He figured he’d enjoy that while it lasted—dinner with his parents usually triggered another one, even when he wasn’t breaking the news that Dara Marley was having his baby.

  This wasn’t going to go over well.

  But there was no avoiding it, so they’d start with dinner and figure out where to go from there, and for now, he concentrated as best he could on preparing that dinner. In the year since he’d “retired”, he’d finally taught himself to cook. Like, actually cook—things that required more than one step and an appliance other than a microwave. There’d been a few months of setting off smoke alarms, ruined cookware and meals not fit for human consumption, but with some guidance from his sister, his mother and Google, he’d finally gotten the hang of it. In fact, he enjoyed it. Though he’d never have his own cooking show, he could guarantee his guests a decent meal without fear of giving them all food poisoning.

  When he built his new house, he intended to have a kitchen with more counter space, newer appliances and none of this country-style wallpaper that was slowly starting to curl around the edges. On the bright side, from the thick white paint on the cabinets to the temperamental electric stove that had probably been here for twenty years, this kitchen’s style was the farthest thing imaginable from the top-of-the-line stainless-and-granite setup he’d had in his Chicago penthouse. Sometimes he needed that to remind him that that life—and all its chaos and heartburn—was behind him now.

  This place wasn’t perfect, but it was damn good for decompressing. It seemed kind of silly to be renting a place when he could quite literally buy every structure within fifty miles of Aspen Mill, but it all came back to the reason he’d retired—stress. This was a roof over his head and a kitchen where he could get better at cooking. When he could finally cope with simple decisions like window and appliance configurations without breaking a sweat, then he’d start scoping out properties and talking to contractors and architects.

  In the meantime, this rented house with its modest, ugly little kitchen was fine. Especially for hosting potentially explosive dinners with his parents, the childhood best friend they’d never liked and some news that would make them either ecstatic or furious.

  Matt stopped cutting and exhaled. This was really happening, wasn’t it? As much as he’d tried to distract himself, reality was that the clock was ticking down to go time, and they’d be here soon.

  His stomach was all in knots at the prospect of sitting down with his parents and Dara, but it wasn’t just that. He was all in knots over the idea of Dara being here. In town. In his house. In his life. It hadn’t even fully registered that she was carrying his baby. Or maybe he’d just gotten over any issues he might’ve had about that back when she’d asked him to donate sperm in the first place—he’d known for many, many years that she might one day be pregnant with his kid, so the potential shock had long ago worn off.

  But just thinking about when he’d heard her voice in the barn yesterday, when he’d turned around and looked at her for the first time in a decade…

  His stomach somersaulted. She couldn’t have shocked him more if she’d simply appeared out of the ether. Hell, for all intents and purposes, that was exactly what she’d done. One minute, she was as gone as she’d been for all this time. The next, there she was.

  And she’d come with not just news, but news. And now they needed to break that news to his parents while he was still reeling from the fact that she was suddenly back in his life.

  So much for that stress reduction that had been going so well for the past year.

  Matt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as blasé as he thought about her being pregnant. After all, now she was asking for more than just a DNA contribution this time.

  He rubbed the stiffening muscles in the back of his neck. While his brain played and replayed every possible worst-case outcome for this evening, one quiet but relentless question glowed in his mind like a goddamned check-engine light.

  Is the baby the only reason she came back?

  He wanted to believe it was inevitable, that sooner or later they’d
have found their way back to each other. The fact that the silence had lasted as long as it did still didn’t quite compute, and more than a few of their old classmates had been stunned to learn that Matt and Dara had gone their separate ways. Everyone in high school had been convinced they’d end up married someday. They’d been inseparable since kindergarten, even during the cootie years when all their friends thought it was gross to associate with the opposite sex. Even still during the hormonal hell of adolescence when lives were ruled by gonads.

  Then things had gone to hell.

  And now this.

  And he…and they…

  With both hands, Matt drummed his fingers on the counter. His chest was tightening around his racing heart.

  Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  This wasn’t a panic attack, and he wasn’t going to let it turn into one.

  Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  He definitely needed to talk to his therapist about this. Dara wanted him to be a father to their child, and that meant he needed to get his shit together. He didn’t know much about parenting yet, but he was pretty sure that when the rubber met the road, “Sorry, kiddo—Dad’s freaking out more than you are” wouldn’t cut it.

  Oh God. I can’t even face my own parents. How am I supposed to be one?

  Half an hour later, while the dinner was cooking and some fresh bread was cooling, headlights came in through the kitchen window and arced across the wall.

  Matt glanced outside as his parents’ car stopped in front of the garage.

  And here we go.

  He let them in, poured them some wine and took them into the living room.

  “Whatever you’re making smells wonderful.” Mom smiled. “Is that one of Grandma’s recipes?”

  “Yeah. I tweaked it a little, but it’s her zucchini casserole.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Good.” He glanced at his watch. “It should be done right at seven, so not much longer.” He cleared his throat. “And, um, there’s someone else joining us tonight.”

  His mother’s ears perked up. “A lady friend?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Sort of?” She inclined her head and exchanged wary looks with Dad. “It’s not a gentleman friend, is it?”

  Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Mom. I am not gay.”

  She laughed uncomfortably. “Well, you’re the one who said ‘sort of’, so forgive me if—”

  “Okay. Okay.” He lowered his hand. “That was my bad. I guess what I meant is she’s a friend. Not a girlfriend.”

  Her jaw tightened, and Matt fully expected a comment about how that wasn’t a surprise, given that he had never brought a girlfriend home in his life. The comment didn’t come, though.

  He steeled himself. “Do you remember Dara Marley?”

  Her expression shifted instantaneously, her lips blanching and her eyes narrowing. “You’re having that girl over?”

  “That woman, Mom.” He forced himself to keep his voice calm. “We’re not kids anymore.”

  “She’s still a Marley,” Dad muttered.

  Matt managed not to roll his eyes, though his restraint in that department had more to do with the lingering migraine hangover than his folks. “She had nothing to do with that.”

  Dad grunted. “Apple don’t fall far from the tree, son.”

  Mom sipped her wine, but her lips twisted as if it had gone sour on her tongue. “Even if she wasn’t part of that family, she’s a crass little tramp in her own right.”

  “Mom, she is—”

  “I will be polite this evening because she’s your guest,” Mom said through gritted teeth. “But I hope it’s clear that that woman is not welcome in my house.”

  That was probably as good as it was going to get, so Matt said, “Fair enough.”

  Well. This evening was off to a wonderful start. Big shock. Maybe they hadn’t thought this through.

  No. They had to do this. After all, he was going to be the father that Dara’s baby deserved, and step one was being open and honest with his family about the entire situation. Hopefully that would take the hostile wind out of his parents’ anti-Marley sails—they did want more grandkids, after all.

  The conversation shifted to less volatile topics.

  Then a car pulled into the driveway, and the room was instantly silent.

  Mom eyed him over the rim of her glass. “It sounds like your guest is here,” she spat.

  “Yeah.” Matt got up. “I’ll, uh, be right back.”

  His parents spoke in hushed tones as he headed into the foyer, but he ignored it. Probably nothing he hadn’t heard before.

  He paused at the door, rolled his shoulders to shake off his mother’s venom, and put on a smile that Dara would probably see right through anyway. Then he opened the door.

  She had just stepped onto the porch, and their eyes met under the single overhead bulb. She halted. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her, and rolled his eyes as he shrugged.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Should be. In the event of an emergency, just remember that the nearest exit may be behind you.”

  Dara smothered a laugh and came inside.

  As he closed the door, she asked in a low, conspiratorial voice, “How’s it going so far?”

  “Let’s just say I’m starting to second-guess doing this tonight.”

  “That bad?”

  “Call it a gut feeling.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Well, it isn’t like they can tell us we can’t do this. That ship’s kinda sailed anyway.”

  “Thank God for that. I could just do without the dirty looks and drama.”

  “Yeah. I know the feeling.” She grimaced. “Because the next time we do this, it’ll be with my family.”

  Matt swore under his breath. “Bet they’ll be thrilled too.”

  She shrugged. “It’ll be fine. Besides, the only time people get pissed off about a baby on the way is when the parents are teenagers. And even then, they get over it by the time the baby shows up.”

  Matt laughed and patted her arm. “Oh, Dara. You’ve been in California way too long, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. Probably. But wishful thinking is—”

  “Dara.” Matt’s mother startled both of them as she stepped into the foyer.

  Dara extended her hand. “Mrs. Coolidge.”

  With anyone else in the world, Mom would have assured her that they could call her Judy now that they weren’t kids anymore. Not Dara. All she got was an icy smile and a stiff handshake.

  Look, Mom, he wanted to say. This is the mother of your grandchild.

  Hmm. Maybe not until everyone had some food in them.

  Speaking of which… He checked his watch. “Dinner’s just about ready, if everyone wants to grab a seat.”

  “Do you need a hand?” Dara’s brow pinched. Don’t send me in there alone.

  “Sure. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Mom, Dad, go ahead and—”

  They were already on their way into the dining room.

  Dara smirked. “This is going to be fun.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dara helped Matt carry plates and bowls into the dining room, and they joined his parents at the table. After Dad said grace, everyone started dishing out the zucchini casserole.

  “This turned out very nice,” Mom said. “I’m sure Jana would love the recipe.”

  “I’ll e-mail it to her.” He glanced at Dara. “Adam’s wife.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “You haven’t seen Adam in a few years, have you?” The undertone of Mom’s voice made Matt’s teeth grind. “He has a lovely family now.”

  “I’ve heard.” Dara smiled. “Sounds like he’s quite happ
y.”

  “He is. You know he has three children now?” Her narrowed eyes slid toward Matt.

  “Does he?” Dara muffled a cough. “That’s…great to hear.”

  Mom’s smile was tight-lipped, and Matt took a drink just to stop himself from clenching his jaw. Dara reached for her drink too. If this was uncomfortable for him, he could only imagine how it felt for her.

  “Your mom makes me crazy,” she’d confided in him during their senior year. “She always looks at me like she’s trying to put a hex on me.”

  His mother eyed the glass in Dara’s hand. “No wine for you, dear?”

  Dara swallowed, and coughed again. “No, none for me. I—” A hint of panic flickered across her face, as if she didn’t have a stock answer at the ready.

  “She gets migraines like I do,” Matt cut in. “Wine doesn’t help.”

  Dara nodded. “Yeah. Those headaches are a killer.”

  “Oh?” Mom asked. “You too? I didn’t know you had problems with them.”

  “I didn’t used to. I—” Dara glanced at him again. Help?

  “You know how it is.” Matt shrugged. “Work and stress.”

  Mom tsked. “What is wrong with your generation? Every time I turn around, I hear about one of you kids getting headaches and having heart attacks.” Into her wineglass, she added, “Didn’t used to be like that.”

  Matt looked at his dad, wondering if he might jump in and remind her that thirty years at the packing plant had almost put him into an early grave, but he didn’t say anything. Matt suspected he knew what Mom was really saying—there was something wrong with killing yourself with work if you weren’t doing it to support your family.

  “Well.” Matt cleared his throat. “Dara’s been pretty successful in her field. I’d say that work’s paid off.”

  “Has it?” Mom turned to Dara. “When do you expect to retire?”

  Matt suppressed a groan. Funny how she was only proud of him retiring early when she could smack someone else in the face with it. Slapping a Marley with it must’ve been so satisfying.

  Dara just smiled. “I suppose it depends on how some investments work out. The market’s been a little shaky, but we’ll see how it goes over the next few years.”