His Texas Baby

by Stella Bagwell

  He looked totally humbled and Kitty’s heart suddenly swelled with love and forgiveness.

  “I’m amazed you can feel that way after all the horrible threats I made.”

  Scooting closer, she laid her hand on his arm. “Look, I still love Dad even though that will of his has put me through hell. And I still love you in spite of all those ugly words. I said a few to you, too. So we’ll consider them canceled and forgotten.”

  “I think I need to take you to the doctor,” he said with a grin. “You’re obviously suffering from an enlarged heart.”

  Smiling through her tears, she held her arms out to him. “Come here.”

  Brother and sister were hugging just as Vanessa entered the room carrying a tray with coffee and thick slices of cake.

  “Looks like I’m just in time to celebrate,” she announced.

  Kitty eased back from him and laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  *

  Later that night the house was full of family and friends. Piles of delicious food hastily purchased from a nearby deli were being consumed, while happy toasts were being made with glasses of chilled champagne. The American Oaks was now history and Black Dahlia’s name would be written next to the great fillies that had won the prestigious race for the past sixty-seven years before her.

  Seeing her fly across the finish line nearly two lengths ahead of her nearest competitor seemed almost surreal after the mounting pressure Kitty had been living under these past few months. For a few seconds she’d simply stared in shock at the image on the television screen, even as the track announcer was shouting Dahlia’s name with wild excitement. And then Kitty began to cry and laugh at the same time. She’d won. She’d won! Not only the race, but she’d won her husband’s love and her brother’s respect. And she’d been monumentally blessed with a child. The joy of it all had almost been too much for her to bear.

  Now, hours later, with the party still going full force, she’d taken the baby to the bedroom and lay down to catch a few minutes of rest.

  She had Corey Arthur snuggled to her side and was gazing wondrously at his sleeping face when Liam entered the room. As he sat on the edge of the bed only inches away from her and the baby, she smiled up at him.

  “The party still going on?” she asked.

  “I’m beginning to think it might last all night. But don’t worry, I’ll make them hold down the noise or kick them out and send them to the nearest bar,” he joked.

  “Oh, Liam, I don’t think I could be any happier than I am right now.”

  His expression turned serious as he leaned over and kissed her lips. “And I have never been happier, either, Kitty. We make a great team, don’t we?”

  She cupped her palm against the side of his face. “The best.”

  He kissed her again then glanced down at his son. “My little Texas baby is sleeping peacefully, but I’d love to hold him.”

  “I’m sure he’d love to feel his daddy’s strong arms around him,” Kitty assured him.

  Smiling now, Liam carefully scooped up the sleeping baby. “Come here, little Jock, and let me tell you what it’s like to train thoroughbred racehorses.”

  “Liam!” she laughingly scolded again. “That’s not our son’s name!”

  His fingers gently smoothed over the baby’s dark brown hair. “No. But that’s the name that comes to me whenever I look at him.”

  “If you hang that nickname on him now he’ll have it for the rest of his life,” she warned him.

  Liam chuckled. “Look at his hands. He’s going to be a big guy like your father was. If he doesn’t want to be called Jock, he’ll get the point over. We’ll let him make the choice as to what name he wants to go by.”

  “Mmm. Choices. I wonder if Dad can see that I made the right choice in marrying you?”

  Liam’s gaze was full of love as he looked at his wife. “He’d probably say you can prove that to me in fifty years.”

  Kitty rested her cheek against his strong shoulder. “In fifty years I’ll still be able to say I made the right choice.”

  *

  Nearly six months later snow was falling on a cold Christmas Eve. Inside the massive Diamond D ranch house, the staff was bustling with party preparations and the females in the family were already dressing for the event. The children, those who were old enough to understand that Santa Claus was soon coming, repeatedly peered out the windows in hopes they’d spot a sleigh flying across the snowy sky.

  Liam and Kitty, along with their son, had driven over from Desert End, to join in the merrymaking with the whole Donovan gang. And to Kitty’s utter surprise, Owen had accepted an invitation to join them. He’d even managed to manipulate his work schedule in order to spend Christmas Day with his family.

  Since the day of the Oaks, Kitty’s life had changed and each day that passed was like a new and bright adventure. Jock, as he was now called by everyone, was thriving with two new teeth, a crawl that would rival Black Dahlia’s speed, along with a boisterous personality, so it was apparent the nickname fit him.

  With the success of the Diamond D stables on the West Coast, Conall and Liam had decided to ship even more contenders to California training barns. This meant that she and Liam were often shuffling to and fro between Desert End and Westchester. But that was a part of the job. And now that Conall and Vanessa would be joining them on the West Coast throughout the summer, she was looking ever more forward to gearing up for a new racing season.

  Presently, Kitty was still hard at work, training her own horses and for the most part, she and Liam took Jock along with them to the barns every day. When occasions arose that she needed to remain at home with the baby, Clayton stepped in and carried the brunt of the workload for her.

  Being a wife, mother and trainer was a balancing act for Kitty; just as it was for every woman who cherished having a family and career. But it was worth the harried moments and she wouldn’t change a thing in her life.

  “Kitty! Where are you?”

  From the second-floor landing, Liam’s voice filtered into their bedroom and she twisted around on the vanity seat to call to him through the partially open door.

  “In here, Liam. I’m trying to do my hair for tonight. But Jock keeps crawling off, searching for something to get into. I’ve already caught him chewing on one of your boots. We might as well get him a rawhide bone to cut his teeth on,” she joked.

  Laughing, Liam scooped up his son and began to tickle the child’s belly. From her seat in front of the dressing table, Kitty watched the playful exchange between father and son. And then she spotted the large envelope jammed beneath one arm.

  “What’s that? The health papers on the chestnut colt? If they don’t come soon we won’t be able to ship him.”

  “The health papers have already arrived. But this is something else. A courier delivered this for you about five minutes ago. I thought you might want to open it right away.”

  Shuffling the baby over to one arm, he handed Kitty the large envelope. “The return address is your lawyer in El Paso.”

  “Hmm. I can’t think of any reason he’d be writing and sending it rush delivery.” Faintly alarmed, Kitty quickly put aside her hairbrush and ripped into the correspondence.

  “Oh, my,” she said as she quickly scanned the first few sentences. “It’s from Dad.”

  “Willard? What is it? An old letter the lawyer thought you might like to keep?”

  “Let me see. It was written several months before he died.” Her gaze momentarily left the letter to look thoughtfully at her husband. “I wonder if he sensed that death was drawing near?”

  “Hard to say. He never mentioned any concerns to me. Perhaps you’ll know more about that when you read it,” Liam suggested.

  Swallowing hard, Kitty turned her attention back to her father’s bold handwriting and began to read aloud.

  My dear Kitty,

  Since I ordered this letter to be given to you on the first Christmas after my death, then I can no lo
nger be with you in the flesh. But make no mistake; I will always be with you in spirit.

  I suspect the trial I put you through over the past few months has left you wondering why I could ever contemplate separating you from Desert End and its horses. It’s time that you learned the truth. There was never any danger of the ranch going to Owen or anyone else. A codicil was added to my initial will to make certain that Desert End would remain in your hands.

  As to my reasons, I understood that upon the event of my death, a giant responsibility would fall on your shoulders and I wanted you to be certain that being a horse trainer was really the life you wanted. God knows, it’s an unpredictable job with high pressures and long hours. But the rewards are immeasurable. I trust that my challenge to you has proved all of that and more. And I hope you are moving into the future with a steady hand on the reins of Desert End and all of its holdings.

  This trial was not only for you, my daughter, but also for your brother, Owen. Would he step up and support his sister’s efforts? Or would he choose wealth over family and his childhood home? It’s my deepest wish that, during the time leading up to the Oaks, he has also learned what is most important to him and his life.

  I’ve been a far from perfect father and you and I clashed many times down through the years. But always remember that my motives were based on love. So with all of this, my beautiful daughter, I wish you a Merry Christmas. And whenever you stand at the edge of the track and hear the thunder of pounding hooves, know that I’m always beside you, my ears listening to the same music.

  Tears of amazement glazed Kitty’s eyes as she lifted her gaze from the letter. “Oh, Liam—my father did truly love me.”

  A tender smile touched her husband’s lips. “He’s given you an incredible gift, my darling. One that will stay with you forever.”

  Rising to her feet, she went to him and circled her arms around him and the baby. “That’s right,” she said in a husky voice. “He’s the reason that you and I met and fell in love. So in a roundabout way, he’s given me you and our son. And that’s the greatest gift of all.”

  *

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  Chapter One

  So this was what all the secrecy, giggling and whispers had been about.

  Micah Muldare sat on the sofa, looking at the gift his sons had quite literally surprised him with. A gift he wasn’t expecting, commemorating a day that he’d never thought applied to him. He’d just unwrapped the gift and it was now sitting on the coffee table, a source of mystification, at least for him.

  His boys, four-year-old Greg and five-year-old Gary, sat—or more accurately perched—on either side of him like energized bookends, unable to remain still for more than several seconds at a time. Blond, blue-eyed and small boned, his sons looked like little carbon copies of each other.

  They looked like Ella.

  Micah shut the thought away. It had been two years, but his heart still wasn’t ready for that kind of comparison.

  Maybe someday, just not yet.

  “Do you like it, Daddy?” Gary, the more animated of the two, asked eagerly. The boy was fairly beaming as he put the question to him. His bright blue eyes took in every tiny movement.

  Micah eyed at the mug on the coffee table. “I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Micah told his son. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything at all today.”

  It was Mother’s Day. Granted he’d been doing double duty for the past two years, being both mother and father to his two sons, but he hadn’t expected any sort of acknowledgment from the boys on Mother’s Day. On Father’s Day, yes, but definitely not on this holiday.

  The mug had been wrapped in what seemed like an entire roll of wrapping paper. Gary had proclaimed proudly that he had done most of the wrapping.

  “But I put the tape on,” Greg was quick to tell him.

  Micah praised their teamwork.

  The mug had World’s Greatest Mom written on it in pink-and-yellow ceramic flowers. Looking at it now, Micah could only grin and shake his head. Well, at least their hearts were in the right place.

  “Um, I think you guys are a little confused about the concept,” he confided.

  Gary’s face scrunched up in apparent confusion. “What’s a concept?”

  “It’s an idea, a way of—”

  Micah abruptly stopped himself. As a reliability engineer who worked in the top secret missile defense systems department of Donovan Defense, a large national company, he had a tendency to get rather involved in his explanations. Given his sons’ tender ages, he decided that a brief and simple explanation was the best way to go.

  So he tried again. “It’s a way of understanding something. The point is, I’m very touched, guys, but you do understand that I’m not your mom, right? I’m your dad.” He looked from Gary to Greg to see if they had any lingering questions or doubts.

  “We know that,” Gary told him as if he thought it was silly to ever confuse the two roles. “But sometimes you do mom things,” he reminded his father.

  “Yeah, like make cookies when I’m sick,” Greg piped up.

  Which was more often than he was happy about, Micah couldn’t help thinking. Greg, smaller for his age than even Gary, was his little survivor. Born prematurely, his younger son had had a number of complicating conditions that had him in and out of hospitals until he was almost two years old.

  Because of all the different medications he’d been forced to take, the little boy’s immune system was somewhat compromised. As an unfortunate by-product of that, Greg was more prone to getting sick than his brother.

  And every time he did get sick, Micah watched him carefully, afraid the boy would come down with another bout of pneumonia. The last time, a year and a half ago, Greg had almost died. The thought haunted him for months.

  Clearing his throat, Micah squared his shoulders. His late mother, Diane, had taught him to accept all gifts gracefully.

  “Well, then, thank you very much,” he told his sons with a wide smile that was instantly mirrored by each of the boys.

  “Aunt Sheila helped us,” Gary told him, knowing that he couldn’t accept all of the credit for the gift.

  “Yeah, she drove us to the store,” Greg chimed in. “But me and Gary picked it out. And we used our own money, too,” he added as a postscript.

  “‘Gary and I,’” Micah automatically corrected Greg.

  The little boy shook his head so hard, his straight blond hair appeared airborne for a moment, flying to and fro about his head.

  “No, not you, Daddy, me,” Greg insisted. “Me and Gary.”

  There was time enough to correct his grammar when he was a little older, Micah thought fondly.

  Out loud he marveled, “Imagine that,” for his sons’ benefit. A touch of melancholy drifted over him. “You two are growing up way too fast,” he told them. “Before you know it, you’re going to be getting married and starting families of your own.”

  “Married?” Greg echoed, frowning as deeply as if his father had just told him that he was having liver for dinner for the next year.

  “To a girl?” Gary asked incredulously, very obviously horrified by the mere suggestion that he be forced to marry a female. Everyone knew girls were icky—except for Aunt Sheila, of course, bu
t she didn’t count.

  “That’s more or less what I had in mind, yes,” Micah told his sons, doing his very best not to laugh at their facial expressions.

  Covering his face, Gary declared, “Yuck!” with a great deal of feeling.

  “Yeah,” Greg cried, mimicking his brother, “double yuck!”

  Micah slipped an arm around each little boy’s very slim shoulders and pulled them to him. He would miss this when the boys were older, miss these moments when his sons made him feel as if he was the center of their universe.

  “Come back and tell me that in another, oh, ten, fifteen years,” he teased.

  “Okay,” Gary promised very solemnly. “We will, Daddy.”

  “Yeah, we will!” Greg echoed, not to be outdone.

  Micah’s aunt, Sheila Barrett, stood in the living room doorway, observing the scene between her nephew and her grandnephews. Her mouth curved in a wide smile. While she lived not too far from Micah, it felt as if this was more her home than the place where she received her mail. She took care of the boys when her nephew was at work, which, unless one of his sons was sick, was most of the time.

  “They picked that mug out themselves,” she told Micah, in case he thought that this was her idea. “They absolutely refused to look at anything else after they saw that mug. They thought it was perfect for you.”

  “And of course you tried to talk them out of it,” Micah said, tongue in cheek. His amusement was there, in his eyes.

  Sheila shrugged nonchalantly. “The way I see it, Micah, little men in the making should be as free to exercise their shopping gene as their little female counterparts.”

  “Very democratic of you,” Micah commented, the corners of his mouth curving. Aunt Sheila had always had a bit of an unorthodox streak. He learned to think outside the box because of her. He sincerely doubted that he would be where he was today if not for her. “Well, just for that, I’m taking all of you out for lunch.”

  “Aunt Sheila, too?” Greg asked, not wanting to exclude her.