by Meg Maxwell
Except he wasn’t offering anything but his good-guy-ness. Jake Morrow wasn’t in love with her. He wasn’t looking for a wife for real. Even if she did let herself follow her feelings, she’d end up nowhere but alone and hurt. She wasn’t starting out motherhood with a broken heart, no sirree. And so she kept her mouth closed and did not ask him to dance, especially when the band began playing her favorite Adele song.
The good news was that word had spread that the new rancher in town, the very handsome eligible bachelor Jake Morrow, was off the market and engaged to his cook. So not one woman had asked Jake to dance. Emma wouldn’t like it one bit to see Jake holding another woman.
“So are we not going to continue our conversation from earlier this afternoon?” Jake asked.
She tilted her head. “About my refusal to shop at BabyCenter with your credit card as though I’m not capable of supporting my own baby?”
“Emma—” He stopped. “No. There should be no ‘Emma, but’ about this. This is your baby and your life and your decision.”
That was unexpected. Just when she thought she had some ammunition for trying to keep herself from falling harder for him, he did just what she needed. Grr.
“Right,” she said, nodding. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
He held her gaze and she could tell what he was thinking. Which was: I’m not sure we do understand each other.
“Let’s hit the refreshment table,” he said after a moment. “They have those little pigs in a blanket I can’t resist. And I see Golden hiding behind a pole next to the punch bowl. And there’s Katie looking all around for him,” he added, upping his chin by the exit sign. “Let’s get those two on the floor.”
Emma smiled. “I like this mission. Operation Romance. I’ve got an idea. You start chatting up Golden. I’ll start chatting up Katie. We inch closer and closer together. Then whammo. They’re dancing.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” he said with a grin.
They headed over, Jake managing to bring Golden to the refreshment table just as Emma and Katie arrived.
“Who can resist these tiny biscuit-covered hot dogs?” Jake asked, popping one in his mouth.
“Would you like one, Katie?” Golden asked, picking up the plate and holding it out to her.
Except the poor guy’s hand was trembling and he dropped the plate. There were only four or five little hot dogs on it and they rolled every which way. Luckily the band was playing so loud the metal platter’s clang onto the floor hardly made a sound.
Golden turned bright red and kneeled down to pick it up just as Katie did. They each had a hand on the plate.
“Now you have to dance with me, Golden,” Katie said. “It’s a rule. If you drop a plate of pigs in a blanket while the band is playing a ballad, you have to dance. Everyone knows that.”
“True,” Emma said. “It’s on the list of rules posted on the door.
Jake nodded. “You’d better get out there.”
Golden smiled and Katie grabbed his hand.
“What’s your real name, anyway?” Katie asked.
“It’s Charlie,” he said.
“Charlie.” Katie smiled. “I know everyone calls you Golden and that lots of cowboys go by nicknames, but I’d like to call you Charlie, if you don’t mind.”
He grinned. “That’s fine by me.” He held out his hand and Katie’s took it, and off they went to the dance floor.
“This is off to a very good start,” Jake whispered to Emma. He turned to look at Golden and Katie. “Come on, Golden,” Jake murmured “Don’t choke, don’t run. Just dance. Be Charlie.”
Emma squeezed Jake’s hand and they both seemed to hold their breaths as Golden froze for a moment, but then he placed a hand on Katie’s shoulder and they started dancing. Yes! They were dancing!
Golden wasn’t choking and fleeing. He was dancing very slowly, but dancing nonetheless.
“We rock!” Jake said, picking up Emma and swinging her around. His gorgeous green eyes widened and he set her down. “I didn’t hurt you or the baby, did I?”
She laughed. “Not in the slightest. And I’m happy for him too. Go, Golden!”
“Have you seen Grizzle?” he asked, glancing around. “I wonder if he’s even coming. I hope so.”
Emma looked around the crowded hall and easily spotted him, his hair as it was at dinner, standing up in every direction like his beard. “There he is,” she said, gesturing by the edge of the stage. She watched Grizzle grimace and looked over at where he was frowning. Michelle was dancing with another man. “Uh-oh.”
Jake followed the direction of her gaze. “Well, I guess Grizzle’s going to have to work this one out for himself. Sometimes you have to change, even if it hurts a little, to make room in your life for someone else. Changing his hair, wearing a suit when it’s called for—that’s not about his late wife’s memory. That’s about Grizzle maybe living in the past. I understand, but it might not be doing him any good.”
“If he wants Michelle in his life,” Emma said.
“If,” Jake agreed.
“Well, sometimes, a person has to stay true to himself. Or herself,” Emma said. “And not let others run roughshod on them. Don’t you agree?”
He looked into her eyes. “Like we’ve both said, I think people can often be their own worst enemies, make thing harder on themselves out of stubbornness or to prove a point.”
“Prove a point to whom?”
“Themselves? Someone else?”
“Like their father?” she said, frowning.
He took her hand and led her away from the crowds to a quiet area where no one could overhear them. “Emma, to be honest, I don’t think you’re trying to prove anything to your dad. I don’t think this is about him at all. I think this is about you. You felt betrayed by Tex—twice, and you shut down. You don’t want to let anyone in and help you. You want to be strong and raise this baby on your own. That’s not about standing on your own two feet. That’s being scared to accept that people do love you, do care about you.”
“Oh, so my father cares about me? That’s why he threatened to sell my mother’s farm? That’s why he tried to arrange a marriage for me? That’s why I’m engaged to you?”
“Your dad thinks he’s doing what’s best. He’s dead wrong, but it’s what he thinks. I think the reason you haven’t spent much time trying to change his mind is that you’ve realized you don’t want to go at life alone.”
“So you think I’m biding my time until you have to marry me?” she asked. “How dare you! You think this is some kind of trick to get you down the aisle, Jake Morrow?”
“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Goodbye!” she said and turned on her heel.
“Emma, stop being so pigheaded for one moment,” Jake said.
Emma turned back and glared at him.
“Wow, Jake is channeling the old me,” Hank said, passing by as he dipped Fern at the edge of the dance floor. “Women do not like to be called pigheaded.”
* * *
Oh hell.
When you started getting advice on women from Hank Timber, you knew you were in big trouble.
Jake watched Emma march to the door and push it open. She sure was angry. He sighed and downed a cup of the too-sweet punch. Chasing after her wasn’t a good idea. He’d meant what he said, which meant he couldn’t apologize—or apologize the way Emma would need him to. He had to let her cool down and give himself a minute to look at this from her point of view.
He shouldn’t have called her pigheaded. Hank was right about that.
Okay, he’d start there. And they’d talk this through.
As Jake weaved his way to the exit, he saw CJ and Stella on the dance floor, Stella’s head on CJ’s chest for a slow pop ballad. They both had
blissful looks on their faces, their eyes closed. Good for them. Golden and Katie were still dancing, and Jake had even seen Golden’s lips moving, which meant all good things for the two of them. Fern and Hank had won first place in the square dancing contest, the ribbon proudly pinned on Fern’s yellow top. Only Grizzle seemed miserable like Jake was, standing with his arms crossed, snacking on the new platter of pigs in a blanket and a big bowl of chips while watching Michelle ask other men to dance.
At least three of the crew were having a good time.
When he arrived home ten minutes later, his head was clearer. He found Emma curled up on the outside sofa, a blanket around her and Redford snoozing at her side. Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked under the moonlight and stars, her golden hair around her shoulders?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you pigheaded. I shouldn’t even be making declarations about your life and your choices.”
She whirled around. “You didn’t have to leave the dance.”
“Dances aren’t my thing. I go for the Rancher Association fund-raising aspect. And besides, you left. Mad at me.”
She smiled. “Well, I’m still mad at you but I appreciate your apology. Though I suppose I can be pigheaded. But only when I know I’m right.”
They both laughed and he sat down across from her. The tension in the air dissipated yet somehow, a second later, a different tension hung between them. He wanted to break through it and scoop her up in his arms and kiss her. But he held back.
He stood up and looked out at the night, at the dark pastures. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted—needed—to explain. About the way he felt. About how much he cared about her, for her. How much he wanted her. He’d never forgotten how he’d felt that first day when she’d come to the ranch looking for her baby’s father—only to have to hear, from him, that he was dead. From that moment he’d been filled with an intense need to take care of Emma, make sure she had everything she wanted, make sure her baby would want for nothing and then some.
But along the way, that sense of responsibility had deepened into something even more intense, something that was beginning to feel a lot like love. Not obligation.
He turned around to face her, hoping the right words would come. “I owe you so much, Emma. You and your baby. Because of Tex—Joshua. A truck backfired and spooked the mare he’d been riding on and it took off and threw Joshua.”
She gasped.
“He was my ranch hand. He died on my land, working for me,” Jake said, his chest seizing up. “Twenty-seven and gone, just like that.” He hung his head, the weight of the loss pressing so heavily he had to suck in a breath.
“So you feel that you owe me because of that,” she said quietly.
Well, yes. He did. Still—it was a hell of a lot more complicated than that. But at least it might help her understand why he was so determined to give BabyCenter his credit card information. Taking care of that baby, starting a trust, a college fund—hell yeah, he was doing all that.
“Emma, look, I—”
She stood up and turned away, then slowly faced him, her arms across her chest. “Jake, I’m going to schedule some time with my dad tomorrow and talk to him, hopefully win him over to my way of thinking. That way, you and I can go back to being on our own.”
He had to stop arguing. He had to let her go and be who she was and do what she wanted. She couldn’t make it any clearer that she didn’t want a real relationship.
“Good luck,” he said. And then he turned around and headed upstairs.
* * *
In bed that night, Emma tossed and turned, unable to sleep, unable to stop thinking about what Jake had said. Why did her heart feel as though it was broken in two?
Duh. Because you love him. And because he just told you why he’s been “Jake Morrow” where you’re concerned. Because he feels guilty. He feels like he owes you for the loss of your baby’s father.
Tears slipped down her cheeks and she wished Redford were beside her to cuddle.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
She stared at her left hand, her mother’s beautiful diamond twinkling in the darkness. Tomorrow she would work on her father—no, not work on him; she would talk to him. She would simply lay out her case, bring her financial documents to show that she could certainly afford to raise her child on her own, that she had a great living-work situation at the Full Circle with a great group of cowboys.
So she was going to convince her father to let go of his stubborn mindset where his daughter as a single mother was concerned, and then what? She’d continue to live one flight above Jake? Work for him? How on earth could she do that? She’d have front and center seats to his life, to watching him with other women, girlfriends, a wife.
She was getting ahead of herself. Right now, well, tomorrow morning, she had to gather her documents and her wits and really think about the important details that highlighted her case—that she was a capable, determined, strong person who could go at parenthood alone.
She wasn’t so sure her father would listen or hear her anyway. But she had to try. Trying was all she had.
Emma closed her eyes, trying to drift off now that she’d settled her mind. But the face of a handsome rancher with gorgeous green eyes and thick dark hair kept floating through her thoughts.
Chapter Ten
Since today was her day off, Emma hadn’t set her alarm and was glad to see she’d slept till seven. She’d needed to catch up on her rest and it had taken her forever to fall asleep last night.
After a hot shower, she dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and went downstairs, hoping she wouldn’t run into Jake. She didn’t want to be reminded of their conversation. But she was starving and craving a bagel with cream cheese and a cup of herbal tea.
As she headed into the kitchen she heard voices coming from the dining room. She could smell pancakes and bacon, though someone had cleaned up the kitchen.
“You didn’t do much dancing last night, Griz-man,” she heard CJ say as she plunked a cinnamon raisin bagel in the toaster.
“Her loss,” Grizzle grumbled.
“Is it?” Golden asked. “I danced to twelve songs last night. All this time I was sitting on the sidelines, it was my loss.”
“Not the same thing,” Grizzle said, frowning. “Katie seems to like you just as you are. Michelle wants me to change. Well, forget it.”
“Grizzle, combing your hair and wearing a suit when the situation calls for it isn’t about changing you. It’s about you making an effort to join the world,” CJ said.
“If y’all keep talking so much I’m gonna eat all the bacon,” Grizzle muttered.
Her bagel toasted and her tea steeped, Emma went into the dining room and sat down next to Grizzle. He did not look happy. She offered a smile around the table at the five cowboys, surprised to see them all here at an off-hour. She felt Jake’s eyes on her as she sipped her tea, forcing herself not to look at him.
I feel like I owe you...
Hank grabbed a few pieces of bacon off the serving dish. “I beat Golden in the number of dances danced. Fern and I cut up the rug to twenty-five songs. It won us the ribbon.”
Emma smiled. “I’m glad you and Fern are so happy.”
“I guess Jake will need some pointers from me,” Hank said, his chest puffing up.
Jake rolled his eyes, but smiled at Hank and sipped his coffee.
“Uh-oh,” Grizzle said, looking from Jake to Emma. “You two fighting already? You’re not even engaged for real.”
“Everything is fine,” Jake said.
“Just fine,” Emma agreed. “Golden, I’m glad you and Katie danced so much. You must have had a great time.”
“I did,” he said. “In fact, guess who has a date tonight at Hurley�
��s Homestyle Kitchen? I called to reserve that little round table that faces the mountain range. Clementine said she herself would wait on us to make sure our date went perfectly.”
“Aww,” Emma said. “I’m thrilled for you.”
Golden whispered something in Grizzle’s ear. Grizzle nodded. “Oh, Emma, we have a surprise for you,” Golden said. “It’s in the workshop behind our quarters.”
“A surprise for me?” Emma said, reaching for a slice of bacon.
Hank stood up. “Come on. We’ll all show you.”
Emma quickly munched her bacon, then looked at Jake and raised an eyebrow, but his expression gave nothing away. She followed the five men to the workshop behind their living quarters.
The moment she walked in, she gasped.
It was a nursery. A complete nursery. A wooden crib, painted a soft yellow with tiny white stars stenciled along the edges. A wooden mobile with tiny colorful toys hanging above it. A white wooden rocking chair with a plush yellow pillow and matching ottoman. A white bookcase with yellow stars and a matching changing table with a pad.
“You made this,” she said to Golden, her mouth hanging open.
“We all did,” Golden said. “Jake and CJ made the crib. Hank and I made the chair and ottoman. And Grizzle made the mobile and bookcase.”
The cowboys smiled at her, Jake hanging back a bit against the wall.
“We tried to figure out how to make a rug,” Golden said. “But it would have taken forever. Something about a latch hook?” He shrugged.
“I’m beyond touched,” Emma said, tears prickling the backs of her eyes. “I’m verklempt as my old neighbor used to say. I can’t even speak.” She looked at the beautiful pieces and shook her head. “You all did this for me?”