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One of those cinnamon rolls Rowdy said his mom made.
Covering suddenly flushed cheeks, Tiffany rested her forehead against the cool laminate top of her desk. Given the fact that according to WebMD, the average cost of childbirth in America was $9,600—an uncomplicated C-section was a whopping $15,800—she had no option other than to give her son up for adoption so his new parents could pay. Pearl offered to mortgage her home to keep her great-grandson in the family, but Tiffany could no more let her do that than she could afford health insurance—she knew she’d owe a hefty penalty come tax time for not finding coverage, but she’d worry about that next April.
What Rowdy proposed sounded crazy. Maybe if he’d presented his proposition in a more reasonable manner, she might have considered it.
All she had to do to keep her baby was marry his father, and voilà—her every financial problem would vanish. Only it wouldn’t be quite that easy. Rowdy wasn’t going to make her his bride for nothing, and not to be a drama queen, but she’d already learned the price for marriage was her soul.
Chapter Three (#u1a08596e-a84e-51dd-8cfd-2df7868d8eed)
“Uh-oh...”
“That about sums up my morning.” Rowdy shut the back door on nasty blowing snow, wishing he were back on a beach—or, shoot, even a desert would be preferable to this.
“I take it she didn’t accept your proposal? Told you so. You should’ve taken a ring.” Patsy Jones lounged in the kitchen’s usually sun-flooded window seat, wearing the Hello Kitty grown-up footy pj’s his dad had bought her last Christmas. Maybe it was best he hadn’t brought Tiffany today?
“Best as I could tell, her refusal had nothing to do with a ring.” He hung his hat and coat on the rack beside the door, then went straight to the oven, only to find it empty. “Thought you were making cinnamon rolls?”
“I was, but in the book I’m reading, Jack just got chased by a bear and Marcy has his gun.”
Shaking his head, Rowdy settled for heating up a can of SpaghettiOs, then asked, “Where are Dad and Carl?”
“They called a while ago. Found a momma determined to have her calf in this storm. They’re staying out there to make sure she’s okay.”
“Cool.” Only it wasn’t. He was used to having every minute of his days filled with action, and out here, seemed like everyone had something to do but him. He’d planned on having the mother of his child here to at least hash out plans.
He was running out of time. He needed to get back on base, and their baby wasn’t going to wait for Tiffany to make a decision. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you’re giving up?”
He sighed. “No way, but there’s not a whole lot else I can do today. Since my ambush didn’t work, I need to come up with a better plan of attack.”
“How about if you don’t treat this like one of your military missions but like a man asking a woman to marry him for the sake of their child? Did you tell Tiffany how sweet you can be if you set your mind to it?”
“I told her I was good-looking.”
“Good grief, Rowdy. No wonder she’s confused.”
“More like pissed. From what I can gather, this isn’t her first rodeo, and she’s been burned before.”
His mom paled. “You mean she already has a child?”
“No. I meant her previous relationships went sour, so now she’s one of those man-hater types.”
Frowning, she noted, “I’m not sure what that means.”
“You know—like the last guy she was with was an ass, so now she hates all men.”
“That can’t be true.” She winced at his foul language, then rested her book on the nearest pillow. The kitchen was yellow, and by yellow, Rowdy meant every last thing save for the oak kitchen table and white marble counters was the color of a damned lemon. Her pillowed window seat was no exception. “Did you tell her you’re not like that and wouldn’t hurt her?”
“Sure, but by not contacting her until this late in the game, I pretty much already have hurt her. If only I’d have been here from day one of her pregnancy, you know?”
“That’s a given. But it’s not like you were off with another woman. Did you explain how your phone fell down a well?”
He snorted. “To Tiffany that was the equivalent of telling her my dog ate my homework. She’s not buying it.”
“Want me to talk to her? Vouch for you?” Yes. Initially, that had been exactly what he wanted. But now he wasn’t sure bringing his mom into this mess would help.
“Thanks, but no.” He arched his head back, slicing his fingers through his buzzed hair. “The last thing I want is for you to interfere.”
She waved off his concern and ducked her head back behind her book.
In his room, Rowdy used the remote to click on the TV and flip through channels, but then he realized the TV no longer had a satellite connection—just an ancient VCR and a stack of his mom’s workout and chick-flick tapes.
His desk had been replaced by a treadmill, and against the wall where his bed used to be now sat a sewing/craft station and a brass daybed with a freakin’ yellow floral spread. His formerly blue walls had been painted yellow and his bikini pinups no doubt burned.
Outside, the storm raged on.
He felt restless and in a perfect world would have saddled his paint, Lucky, to go help his dad and brother. But the odds of finding them in this whiteout were slim to none, which landed him stuck in his yellow cage.
Needing a male perspective, he called Logan. The team was off for another week. Knowing his friend, he was either sleeping, playing PS4 or deep into strip beach bingo with some hottie he’d picked up at Tipsea’s, the local SEAL hangout.
“Dude.” Logan answered after the third ring. “I was just on a Yuengling and chip run for a ‘Call of Duty’ marathon—saw a pregnant chick at Food Lion and thought of you. How’s it going?”
“Tiff’s last words to me were Get out.” What Rowdy wouldn’t give for just one of their fave local beers.
“Damn. You’ve always got game. If you’re not getting action with your own baby momma, there’s no hope for the rest of us schmucks.”
“Ha ha.” Rowdy walked to the room’s picture window and pressed his forehead to the cool glass. “What should I do?”
“All women are suckers for presents. I say buy her a bunch of flowers and pickles and ice cream—whatever pregnant chicks like.”
“Have you seen the flower assortment up here? This is North Dakota we’re talking about. There might be a couple wilted red truck-stop roses, but that’s about it.”
“You’re making excuses, man. I’m telling you, buy her something nice. Works every time.”
Rowdy grimaced.
He’d have gotten better advice from his horse.
Should he have called Duck? Nah. Rowdy didn’t need another lecture on the virtues of being a family man. He was a soldier. It was the only thing he knew how to do.
After a few minutes’ more small talk with Logan, he hung up to pace.
In a roundabout way, maybe Logan’s idea wasn’t so bad. Rowdy just needed to take that gifting to the next level.
How many times had Tiffany mentioned that she’d intended to show him houses? He could stay in the navy for only so long and, after retirement, had always planned on returning home. He had money stashed away. What if he went ahead and bought a retirement cabin now? Not only would Tiffany get the commission, but he’d have all that house-hunting time with her to foster goodwill.
Heck, she and his son could even stay in the place when he was deployed. His mom would be close enough to check on her—as would her own mother and grandmother.
From where he was standing, the idea looked like a win-win.
So much so that he headed back downstairs for his hat, coat, boots and keys.
After a little legwork netted him Tiffany’s grandmother’s address, he announced his new plan to his mom. She gave him grief about driving in the storm, but he was a SEAL.
No way would he be stopped by a little snow...
* * *
“OHMYGOSH!” GIGI STEPPED back from the front door to allow space for a snow-covered man to stumble inside Pearl’s foyer. “You must be freezing. Get in here. I’m not accustomed to welcoming strange men into my home, but in this case, it’s the only charitable thing to do.” Once he was inside, she shut the door on a growling north wind and blowing snow. “Tiffany! Mother!”
“I’m right here,” Tiffany said from behind her mom. “There’s no need to shout.” Especially since this man was no stranger, but Rowdy.
“You stupid man.” Tiffany took his hat and coat, hanging them on the brass rack at the base of the stairs. Both of his personal items were snow crusted. “Why are you out in this storm? More importantly, what are you doing here?”
Mr. Bojangles yapped at Rowdy’s boots.
“I—I got a g-great idea.” His teeth chattered so bad he could hardly speak. Ice crystals clung to his stubble and his cheeks had turned an alarming red.
“You know him?” Gigi asked.
“Yes.” Tiffany would have loved telling a little white lie, but apparently Rowdy’s determination outweighed her imagination.
“You never told me you had a suitor.” Gigi beamed as if she’d been handed the keys to the Dallas Galleria Neiman Marcus. “How very nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Gregoria Hastings-Lawson, but my friends call me Gigi.”
“Mom, could you please find some towels.”
“Oh, of course.” She scampered off.
The dog licked from the rapidly forming snow puddle on the entry hall floor.
With her buttinsky mother temporarily out of the way, Tiffany snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Rowdy, sit down and take off your wet boots—then let’s get you in front of the fire.”
He shivered too hard to be of much use, so she pushed him onto a small wood bench, then struggled to remove his icy cowboy boots for him.
“You do know you’re crazy?” she scolded. “I had a tough time getting home after we talked, and that was pushing three hours ago. We’re supposed to get twenty inches by morning.”
“Swell...” His grin raised all manner of havoc in her tummy. For a woman who’d sworn off men, this was not a welcome development. “If we’re snowed in together, we’ll have plenty of time to come up with a game plan for keeping our baby.”
“You’re my future grandson’s father?” Poor Gigi was past due for her Botox. How did Tiffany know? Because her mother’s eyebrows rose an inch! “Why didn’t you say so? But after you answer that, how about telling me where you’ve been. And then get this fool idea out of my daughter’s head about giving my grandson up for adoption. A child doesn’t need money to be loved. Tiffany’s daddy grew up right here in Maple Springs and look how well he turned out—well, aside from his temporary setback. But—”
“Mom, please stay out of this.”
“I will not.”
“What’s all the commotion?” Pearl wandered into the fray. She wore a quilted pink housecoat, slippers and a pink shower cap over her rollers, and her face was white with face cream. “Ooooh, how nice. Last thing I expected was to find a hottie in the house.”
Tiffany closed her eyes, praying when she opened them, she’d find herself awaking from a bad dream. No such luck.
As if knowing he’d just made significant forward momentum in his mission, Rowdy delivered his stupid-handsome grin to all of the ladies, then held out his hand to her grandmother. “You must be Miss Pearl? My momma said she’s never tasted a finer pumpkin pie than the one you made for the garden club’s fall bake sale.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?” Pearl held his hand way longer than Tiffany deemed necessary. “If you don’t mind my asking, who is your mother?”
“Patsy Jones. I’m her youngest, Rowdy. You’ve probably met my big brother, Carl? He helps my dad with our ranch and is married to a real sweetheart—Justine. She’s a part-time teller down at First Trust Bank.”
“Goodness gracious, what a small world. I’ve had my savings and checking accounts there for going on forty years. Now, since I’m older than dirt but not dumb as a box of rocks, what is this I heard about you being the father of my great-grandson. Is this true?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He had the audacity to meet Tiffany’s stare. “But I swear on my own grandmother’s grave, I only recently heard of your beautiful granddaughter even being pregnant. I’m in the navy and have been overseas. But as soon as I got the news, I caught a flight, and here I am. Just this morning, I proposed to your granddaughter—told her if she wanted, I’d make an honest woman of her, but she flat turned me down.”
Oh—he played dirty.
Pearl and Gigi both stood mooning with their hands pressed to their chests.
“I can’t tell you what a relief that will be.” Gigi freed one hand from her bosom to fan her flushed cheeks. “I don’t consider myself old-fashioned, but nothing would make me happier than to see Tiffany married before the baby comes. Of course, she’s already been married once before, but we don’t speak of that.”
“Mom!” Tiffany gave her a glare before turning back to their uninvited, unwelcome guest. “Rowdy, I’m not sure why you’re here, but pretty sure it’s time for you to go.”
“Nonsense.” Pearl turned for the stairs. “Give me a sec to gussy up, and then I’ll make everyone a nice late lunch. Or would that be an early supper? Either way, we’ll have plenty to discuss, what with a wedding and baby shower to plan.”
“There’s not going to be either, Grandma. We’ve already been over this a dozen times.”
“Sounds good, Miss Pearl. My ride got stuck a ways back, and I worked up a powerful hunger walking through the snow.”
“Oh, dear,” Gigi said. “Sounds like you’ll have to stay on for dinner and maybe even breakfast, too.”
“But I do expect him to take the downstairs guestroom,” Pearl noted. “Just because the rooster got into the henhouse once, doesn’t mean it needs to happen again until I see a ring on our Tiffany’s finger.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rowdy nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.” As if just now noticing Mr. Bojangles, he knelt to scoop up the tiny dog. Had her traitorous mutt been a cat, he’d have purred from the scratching beneath his fussy collar. “Aren’t you a silly little thing? You’re smaller than our baby’s going to be.”
“Correction—the Parkers’ baby.” Before her mind’s eye filled with visions of handsome Rowdy cradling their son in his big, strapping arms, Tiffany snatched her dog, who growled during the transaction. “I already told you, we can’t keep this baby.”
“I told you we’re going to reach a mutually amenable arrangement.”
“Well, that’s settled.” Gigi handed Tiffany the towels. “Darling, how about you help your fiancé dry off and get comfy in front of the fire—then I’ll get his room ready. Maybe after that, we can all play canasta? Rowdy, sugar, what do you think?”
“Sounds like a fine plan,” Pearl said. “Only thing I love more than cards is a wedding.”
The second her mother and grandmother left the entry, Tiffany landed a swift kick to Rowdy’s left shin.
“Ouch,” he complained. “What was that for?”
From his safe perch in the crook of her arm, Mr. Bojangles barked at the commotion.
“What do you think? Those two women mean the world to me, and because of your big fat mouth—” she kicked his right shin, too “—now they both have expectations that there’s no way on God’s green earth we’ll ever be able to fulfill.”
“Hate to burst your bubble, but at the moment, God’s earth is white as driven snow.”
She pitched the towels at him. “Dry yourself. I need to sit down.”
