The Cowboy's Baby Surprise

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Carley gathered up some of Cami’s things. “Would you like to feed her dinner and sit with her while I eat, Rosie?”

The girl nodded as she brushed Cami’s wispy strands into some semblance of order.

“Good. That’ll give me a chance to get to know…”

The roar of an engine blasted through the quiet twilight on the range, completely drowning out Carley’s words. Her body went wire tight as she stepped to the window. Through the trees, Carley caught a glimpse of a man on a motorcycle, spinning circles in the dirt of the barnyard.

To her horror a horse and its rider picked that exact moment to ride into view. When the horse spied the motorcycle, it shied back and tried to turn. The cowboy held on and refused to let the poor, scared animal have its way. Finally the horse reared up, adding its own complaint to the gunning sounds of the motorcycle.

Carley barely had time to fuss over the treatment of the horse when its rider’s hat went flying. She froze. There on the back of a bucking animal bent on destruction was Witt.

My God. “No more physical traumas,” the doctor had said. And Reid had warned her that she was responsible.

For heaven’s sake, get off that horse!

While curtailing the hysterical scream threatening to explode from her throat, Carley threw a couple of choked instructions over her shoulder to Rosie. Flying down the stairs, she pushed through the kitchen door to the yard. Her body’s jangled nerves energized her steps with a desperate need to keep Houston safe.

The screen door slammed open and snapped back, catching her heel. She cussed under her breath but kept on moving past the trees that shaded the house and temporarily obscured her view of the yard.

After clearing the trees, she came to an abrupt halt. There in the center of the open space stood Houston Smith, holding the reins of a quieted horse with one hand while he slapped his hat against the jeans covering his massive thigh with the other. And he was smiling. Smiling and chatting with the fellow clad totally in leather who’d just shut down the powerful engine of his motorcycle.

She picked up her pace again and raced to the middle of the expanse of dirt. The smell of sweaty animal mingled with the pungent odor of motorcycle exhaust made her wish for a fresh breath of air.

Within a few feet of the men, she had to hockey-stop before plowing right into Houston. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Ma’am?”

He turned around, and Carley felt a sucker punch to her gut. His gaze was wary and confused. Not at all the look she was used to getting from her lover. All these lonely, desperate months she’d dreamed of that cocky grin and the sexy inspection he usually bestowed upon her. Now, here he was, only a few feet away, and he practically looked right through her.

“You might have been killed. You shouldn’t be riding a horse.” She sucked in a breath and tried to stem the shakes causing her voice to quiver. “Stick to walking and cars, why don’t you?”

“Ma’am?” His eyes took on a rather quizzical, dancing quality, as if he suddenly found her quite amusing.

She’d be amusing, all right. If he didn’t quit calling her ma’am, she might have to ignore the doctor’s orders and punch him right in that gorgeous, grinning mouth. How was she supposed to explain to him why he had to be careful—why another blow to the head might kill any chance for him to remember his past life—his past love?

“Uh. You were too rough on the horse. He almost threw you. You’re too important to the ranch to be doing anything so dangerous.”

“Ma’am?” This time the tone of his voice was more than casual but less than cordial.

She ground her teeth and stepped closer to him. “Stop saying that. I’m only trying to make you think about being more careful, that’s all.”

A roar of raucous laughter erupted behind her. She spun to face the other man, still seated on the chrome and black motorcycle. His eyes were covered by reflector-type, aviator sunglasses, and he was grinning widely.

“I think that’s a slam aimed at your horsemanship, amigo.” The dark-skinned man removed his glasses and aimed a decidedly sexual ogle in Carley’s direction. He let his gaze wander slowly down her face, across her chest and linger around her hips. “You want to warn me about the dangers of a motorcycle, sugar?”

She sniffed once, raised her chin and turned back to the cowboy with the horse. “Look, I…”

“No, you look…ma’am.” Houston’s eyes glinted the color of iron in the shadows of the setting sun. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, or why you thought it concerned you, but I was definitely not too rough on this horse. And I was not about to be thrown.”

She felt her eyes widen at his sharp tone. Just when she thought she’d better devise some lie to cover her behavior, his eyes softened and his mouth curled up in a semblance of a smile.

“You know much about horses? Ever ridden one?”

“Me? No, but…”

Houston slid the Stetson on his head and pulled down the brim to partially cover his eyes. “Well, now. I’d say that’s an oversight we should do something about. I think a riding lesson might be just what you need to be more comfortable around the ranch.”

“I don’t think so.” She gulped. “In fact, I was about to suggest you start doing your work from the front seat of a truck. They do use trucks on modern ranches, don’t they?”

He chuckled and reached around to pat the nose of his horse. “No call to be afraid of horses. Take Poncho here, for instance.” Houston continued to stroke the horse’s neck. “He’ll work as hard as any man for however long you ask of him, and with barely a sign of complaint.”

“Only if you treat him right.” The man on the motorcycle, with jet-black eyes matching his shoulder-length hair, cut in. “And Houston Smith is better to his animals than any man on earth.”

Carley faced the man still astride his bike.

“There’s no need to concern yourself with Houston’s welfare, miss. The horses respect his authority and his attention. They know he’d die before he’d let anything bad happen to them.”

That’s just what she was afraid of.

Houston cleared his throat with what she sensed was embarrassment. “Uh. Carley, have you met our veterinarian’s assistant, Manny Sanchez?”

Manny Sanchez, the FBI undercover agent.

Carley felt her old dauntlessness returning, and her feet were suddenly back on solid ground. She bestowed a sultry grin on the jaunty, windblown man astride the bike while he showed a typical interest in her sexual overture.

She also delighted in watching his eyes change expression when she purred in her best Southern accent, “Pleased to meet you, Manny. My name’s Carley Mills and I think we have a mutual friend…Reid Sorrels from Houston. You remember him, don’t you, sugar?”

Manny’s shoulders straightened, and he swung his leg over the motorcycle. He practically stood at attention when he faced her. “Carley? You’re Carley Mills?” He flicked a glance between Carley and the man still holding the reins of his horse.

Carley was positively amused at the range of emotions that filtered across Manny’s face before he found his professional mask. “Yeah. Y-yes, certainly,” he stammered. “Reid Sorrels. How is good ol’ Reid, anyway?”