A Baby for the Texas Cowboy

by Sinclair Jayne

  “You got that right,” she said.

  Her heart fluttered. She didn’t want ties. Limits. But she’d need to find something else soon. And she couldn’t live out of a backpack and a small storage facility forever, especially not with a baby.

  But what about Anders?

  Would he think she was trying to get something from him if she stayed in his hometown for a few years?

  That thought was like a slap to her face. She wasn’t going to live her life worrying about what anyone thought—especially a man who’d just made his lack of intentions abundantly clear.

  “I love the open road,” she said slowly to August. “I’ve loved meeting new people. New places. Two years in one small town…” she said to cover up her discomfort.

  “I might let you have a day off now and again,” August said drily.

  She laughed. She probably seemed like the biggest diva, and while she had cultivated a lot of attitude when she’d been pouring shots, that was work and her “Whiskey Go-Go” persona.

  What, if anything, of that girl would she be keeping in the next stage of her life?

  It was then she knew she’d made her decision. Eff Anders Wolf. She was going to Last Stand. She was writing the next chapter of her life without him.

  Tinsley grabbed the pen out of August’s hand, signed her name, and handed it back.

  “When do you want me to start, boss?”

  Chapter Four

  Where was all the goddamn air? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Where the hell had Whiskey gone? Before he could even process anything—including having a bottle of Jack poured on his head—she’d sauntered off, all but middle finger saluting him. And then it was like she’d evaporated. He’d searched the sponsor tent, but it was cleared out. He’d even paced in front of the women’s bathroom toward the front of the arena, thinking she was avoiding him, and then he’d stomped in, startling three primping buckle bunnies who had recovered from the shock of his appearance more quickly than he had.

  “Maybe you should just calm down first,” Kane suggested, not for the first time. “Finding out you’re going to be a daddy is a shock. I know,” he said quietly. “Give it some time to settle and then talk to her.”

  “Time?” He whirled on his friend. “If the kid is mine, she’s months along. It was at my brothers’ double wedding in June. She had to know before this, right?”

  “Not every woman knows right away,” Kane said looking rather evasive.

  “Seems like it would be pretty damn obvious to me.” Anders stalked back into the arena and ran his hand through his wet, sticky hair. He swore. He needed to talk to Whiskey, and he needed a shower. He couldn’t drive home tonight now. He’d be arrested and tossed in jail.

  “Text her,” Kane said probably for the fourth time.

  “This needs to be an in-person thing.” Anders was so aggravated he really wanted to smash his fist through a wall. He was barely hanging on. Pregnant. A baby. He kept repeating the words, but they still sounded impossible. Something that happened to some careless idiot. They’d used a condom every single time. He was always careful. He had a plan, and it didn’t include being a daddy until he’d retired from the tour and moved home to Last Stand.

  “Anders, you’re going to see her next weekend.”

  “No. I’m not. She quit.”

  He’d heard that stunner from the truck driver who’d been loading the last of the booth Whiskey and her crew put together and took apart at every sponsor event.

  “This was her last weekend. Another fact she didn’t tell me.”

  Not that he’d been encouraging any heart-to-hearts. He’d been too focused on avoiding her so he could stop obsessing.

  “You could go visit her wherever she works or lives when she’s not pouring at the sponsor events,” Kane said reasonably.

  “I don’t know where she lives. I need to—”

  Kane grabbed his shoulders. “Settle down. This wasn’t the end. This was her opening.”

  “Pouring whiskey on my head and essentially telling me to fuck off sounded pretty damn final to me.”

  But he’d check the parking lot. She hadn’t been riding with the driver of the truck. She hadn’t flown here on a broom, although it felt that way.

  Okay. Okay. He did have to pull himself together. Kane was right about that.

  He switched directions and went out the back just in time to see Whiskey hand something to his brother, shake his hand, and then slide one of her long legs in painted-on black denim and leathers over her Ducati.

  “Whiskey, hold up.”

  She straddled the bike and kicked on the engine.

  He lunged forward and grabbed the handlebars.

  “Just stop a minute.” He had to shout over the roar of the engine.

  She smoothly put on her helmet, tucking the length of that copper ponytail that bounced with such attitude into her jacket. She lowered the visor so all he saw was black and his pinched and pale reflection. He imagined her eyes were narrowed and shooting fire.

  “I said, hold up.”

  She pulled on her gloves, the movements smooth and practiced and somehow sexy as hell.

  “Just stop.” He set his body like a linebacker and she the quarterback looking for an opening he wasn’t going to give her.

  She gunned the engine again.

  “Are you insane?” August demanded, pulling him away.

  Whiskey didn’t wait. She sped out of the parking lot and into the night.

  “Why the hell did you let her go?” Anders rounded on his brother.

  “What are you trying to do, get slapped with an assault charge?”

  “I just needed to talk to her. Now I don’t even know where the hell she’s going.”

  “That’s her business,” August said with a WTF glare at his younger brother.

  “I’m getting my truck. I can catch her.” Anders spun away.

  “Like hell.” August clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “Anders, you gotta calm down,” Kane, who’d followed him outside, urged.

  “How the hell am I supposed to calm down? She’s pregnant and speeding down the highway to I don’t know where, and she’s pissed so she’s not safe.”

  “Pregnant?” August repeated.

  “Yeah. You’re going to be an uncle, and you just let her floor it out of here with your future niece or nephew.”

  August blew out a long breath.

  “I’m going to be a dad,” Anders whispered.

  “Okay, Daddy.” August grabbed Anders’ truck keys from his hand and spun Anders back toward the arena. “Go take a shower. Pull yourself together then we’ll talk.”

  “Talk? This isn’t a tea party. I need to…”

  “Get out of your lizard brain and think and act like a man. I know where she’s going, but I’m not telling you until tomorrow. You need a shower. Food. Time to get your head on and sleep.”

  August was using his older-brother voice and also somehow channeling their older brother Axel’s tone. Anders swore and stalked off to the showers, every atom in his body screaming for action and resolution. But yeah, he couldn’t go after Whiskey half-cocked. He’d already been a first-class jerk. He needed a plan for round two.

  As the hot water blasted down, he closed his eyes and leaned against the cold tile. He was going to be dad.

  He felt broken inside.

  He’d made a colossal mistake exploding both his life and Whiskey’s, and now there was only one way forward.

  Whiskey had said she didn’t want him. She’d said she didn’t want his money.

  Too bad. She was getting both. And he was going ring shopping.

  Chapter Five

  The wood door was thick and weathered with blackened iron fittings. It looked like it could have been a door that had once protected—at least for a while—those huddled in the Alamo. The door spoke of secrets and time and the strength of the Texians.

  Tinsley took off her helmet, hooked it over the handle a
nd dug out her Coach sunglasses from her messenger bag. She’d ridden her bike last night for a few hours to clear her head before checking in to a hotel.

  This morning she’d gone for a run and then rode around Texas Hill Country to get a feel for it before arriving in Last Stand early afternoon.

  Dang, the Texas mid-September early afternoon heat was still strong. She hopped off her bike and rolled it closer to the sidewalk in front of Verflucht’s tasting room. She stroked her finger along the seat. She loved her bike.

  It was practically her avatar. She’d bought it with money she’d earned from her first bartending gig in Brooklyn. It represented freedom and adventure and the new Tinsley Underhill—a woman who would take a job on a whim because it sounded fun, a woman who pleased herself and no one else, a woman who hit the road and went where the mood took her.

  And now this.

  Trapped.

  Shackled.

  Two years stuck in the same place.

  The now unfortunately familiar bile rose in her throat. It was unfair. And scary. Tinsley had promised herself she wouldn’t do scared anymore, but here she was feeling paralyzed by the future, doubting herself and her abilities, and freaked out by her own body. Even worse, she knew she was not behaving admirably. Her pity party included huge doses of resentment and powerlessness.

  She needed to pick herself up and deal with the future, but the thought that Anders could just go on with his life traveling, riding bulls, laughing it up with his friends, free to do as he pleased, whereas she… Tinsley sucked in a deep breath.

  She had to calm down. She knew enough about the stress hormone cortisol—she’d bathed in it growing up and later with John—to know that repeated exposure had been proven to negatively impact a developing fetus.

  Fetus. A word she’d never planned to use in a personal context.

  Ever.

  But it was not the baby’s fault the condom failed, and her life had imploded.

  It was her fault. And Anders’. But ultimately hers because she’d given in to the temptation of Anders once again. She’d broken her rule and now she had to suck it up and take the consequences and stop feeling sorry for herself.

  She was luckier than many women finding themselves unexpectedly pregnant and with a long-gone partner. She was educated. She had a place to live, a good-paying job and health insurance. And worst-case scenario, she had money to fall back on if she needed—not that she would ever return to her family or access any funds in her trust.

  She may not have burned her bridges with a flame-thrower and grenade launcher, but she had most definitely cut ties. She had her pride, and she’d been free and on her own and living how she wanted for the past five years.

  And now she was about to make a two-year commitment.

  Taking the position made sense. And the job excited her, but two years in a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s secrets could be dangerous. In another couple of months, she wouldn’t be able to hide one of hers.

  Oh, for the relative anonymity of the tour—each weekend another town. Sure, the tour staff and the riders were the same, but she’d thrived on the sense of adventure and discovery each town had offered. And the AEBR tour was as far from Greenwich, Connecticut, and the boardrooms in midtown Manhattan as one could get and still be in America.

  “Time to woman up,” she murmured.

  She walked up to the tasting room and peered through large, open windows. The design looked like they could open all the way. That would be kinda cool—bring the outside in.

  A purple truck pulled up next to her bike. Tinsley could see the scrawled Verflucht—the same unusual font that was on the mounted metal sign that hung from the room—on the truck’s door.

  “Hey.” Catalina, August’s wife, poked her head out the window and waved. “You found it. I’m excited to see you!” Catalina jumped out of the massive truck and strode up to the front door, carrying what looked like a small wicker picnic basket. She wore boots, olive-green pants with lots of pockets and a pale blue T-shirt with a deep V.

  Tinsley blinked. Cat sported a cute baby bump. It was small but fairly obvious. Cat was so petite, it was hard to hide a pregnancy for too long. Tinsley felt fascinated and horrified all at the same time.

  Oh. God. Don’t let me be one of those idiots bonding over pregnancy stories.

  And worse, she’d gotten knocked up at Cat’s wedding, which meant Cat had already been preggers at the wedding. Was that why she and August had married? A shotgun wedding?

  Lord. Keep me out of the 1800s.

  But August seemed so happy. He’d always been good-natured, but now he was deliriously so, and he often referenced his wife and played with his wedding ring and stared at the shiny gold band like it was holy.

  She realized as her mind ran away once again—something that happened more often lately—that she was staring at Catalina’s mid-section.

  Rude.

  “Sorry.” Dismay crashed through her at this glimpse of her not-too-far-away future. People staring at her mid-section instead of her boobs. What if they tried to touch her baby bump? Yuck! She forced a smile. “Congratulations.”

  Was it too soon to comment on another woman’s pregnancy?

  Cat’s smile amped higher, so apparently not.

  “Thank you. August and I are thrilled. Over the moon and all that jazz. We got back together in early April, and even though Verflucht had its first release and then a few months later our first estate harvest—oh, and then the tasting room disaster—August didn’t want to wait to start trying. Nailed it fast.” She laughed and then winked. “I think it’s a Wolf brother trait.”

  “What?” Tinsley nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Would Anders have already spilled the news to his brother?

  He certainly had made no effort to discuss it with her. She wasn’t counting his pitiful appearance fifteen or twenty minutes after she’d dropped the bomb.

  Catalina shrugged. “You’ve met them all—competitive and successful as hell. When they make up their mind to do something, it’s done. Just saying.” She grinned and then pulled out a ring with keys and a glittery cowboy boot keychain. She dangled it from one finger.

  “Texas enough for you?” She smiled. “Party favor from the wedding. My husband’s idea of a vow. I am home in Last Stand for good,” she intoned in a deep, slight drawl. “He keeps trying to prove it.” Her face softened, and one hand drifted to cup her belly.

  Tinsley’s stomach lurched. The life in there freaked her out. Felt like an intruder. She had no desire to touch it.

  She was the worst mother ever.

  Worse than her own mother maybe.

  “You feel okay?” Catalina asked.

  “I’m fine. Excited.”

  Catalina’s unnerving pale green eyes searched her face, her expression kind, almost motherly, although she was only five years or so older than Tinsley’s twenty-seven. Catalina dropped the keys into Tinsley’s palm. “Keys to the castle.”

  Curiosity stirred despite her nerves, reluctance, embarrassing exhaustion and conflicting emotions that churned wildly through her head.

  “I hope you stay and love the job. Verflucht needs you.”

  Tinsley wrinkled her nose. “Thank you, but you barely know me.”

  No one did. And she liked it that way.

  “August has been so struck by your sales instincts and abilities. He admires your work ethic and professionalism and your natural openness that helps to put people at ease and suck them in so they have a good time.” Catalina said it like she was reading a recommendation letter, and Tinsley couldn’t help the rush of pleasure.

  “He implemented all your marketing ideas for the distillery. We can’t wait to see what you do with Verflucht. We are excited to have you on board.”

  “I’m all in,” Tinsley said.

  She wasn’t. Oh, she wanted the job, but the thought of staying in one place for two years where people could really get to know you, form expectations,
still unnerved her.

  And then there was Anders.

  How would he feel about seeing her around town, distended belly reminding him of their birth control eff-up? That might put a crimp in his dating life. He’ll be gone most of the time, she comforted herself. He’d hardly bring his buckle bunny of the week into the tasting room.

  “Okay then. Let’s do this,” she said as if by entering the tasting room, she could escape thoughts of Anders. Still, as she stuck the key in the lock, anticipation tingled along her spine. She turned the key and pushed open the door.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” Tinsley paused on the raised threshold.

  “I thought you might like to explore on your own,” Cat said. “I packed a picnic lunch if you want to spend some time here just feeling the space out. There’s a two-bedroom apartment upstairs. We have furniture for it on the ranch so we were thinking you could ride out later, pick the furniture—some ranch hands can load it up, bring it out, and set it up for you. Then I thought I could take you on a tour around the vineyards and winery. If you’re up for it, you could stay for dinner, and we can talk about the job and taste the wine—spitting, of course—which is what everyone does during work hours.”

  “That sounds good,” Tinsley said.

  Relief washed over Catalina’s features. “Great. Because we want your marketing magic.”

  Tinsley felt the first stirrings of excitement squash the dread that had been building since she’d taken the first pregnancy test a couple of weeks ago.

  “Okay then. I will need directions to the ranch for later.”

  Catalina looked away down the road and then back at Tinsley. Tinsley could have sworn something like guilt crossed her face. “Sure. That’s taken care of.”

  “Huh?”

  Cat handed her the basket. “Have a snack. Take some time to make some notes, check out the apartment and then give me a call. Have fun.” Catalina’s voice rang with enthusiasm, and for the first time, Tinsley was beginning to think that running a tasting room and designing a marketing plan for a new brand of wine wasn’t going to feel like a trap.