The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue

“Maximum?”

He shrugged. “Frank has fifty thousand acres on the Bar M.”

“You’d like to equal your family’s ranch?”

He nodded, solemn now. “Yeah, I would.”

There was something oddly sentimental about following in his father’s footsteps that way. Especially coming from such an unsentimental man. She looked out at the fenced acres, all of them spring-green and lush after plentiful March rains. “How many acres do you have here?”

Noting Riot had finished his business, Cullen praised him and patted him on the head. “Four thousand.”

“So you have a way to go.” She watched the puppy and man amble back onto the patio.

“I’ll get there,” he said confidently.

She’d bet he would.

In fact, she’d bet he would get just about anything he wanted. Good thing it wasn’t her.

* * *

BRIDGETT AND CULLEN had dinner together and got the baby and puppy settled, then Cullen excused himself to go check on one of his prize bulls. Bridgett used the momentary quiet to hit the shower and change into a pair of light gray yoga pants and a long-sleeved light blue T-shirt.

That done, she settled on her bed and began making a to-do list for the following day, including all the notifications she had to take care of that very evening. Two and a half hours later, she was still working on the last and most important one. Aware Robby would be waking again soon, and would need to be fed when he did, she headed back down to the kitchen.

Cullen was seated at the kitchen table, laptop in front of him and what appeared to be business materials all around him. To her surprise, he appeared to have had a shower, too. But he had put on jeans and a black body-hugging T-shirt that let her know just how taut and muscular his body was. Clearly, he didn’t sleep in jeans. Those were for her benefit, just like her yoga pants, instead of pj bottoms, were for his. She wondered if he slept in that shirt or went bare chested. Not that she should be conjuring up a mental image of him in boxers or briefs in the first place.

Her pulse kicking up a notch, Bridgett remained in the portal. Her face bare of all makeup, her freshly shampooed hair spilling about her shoulders in damp waves, she felt oddly defenseless. The situation suddenly way too intimate.

“Okay if I come in long enough to warm up a bottle?” she asked lightly.

He glanced up from the laptop in front of him, his gaze raking lightly over her from head to toe. Sensual lips curved into a ghost of a smile, he encouraged her to come in with a tilt of his handsome head. “Mi casa is you-all’s casa...”

Temporarily, Bridgett reminded herself. Very temporarily.

She could not share close quarters with a man she found this attractive. Not for long, anyway. Not without something ridiculously sexy and impulsive happening.

“Not for much longer if the solution I have been working on all evening comes to fruition.”

Was that disappointment she saw etched on his handsome face?

He got up, suddenly. Went to the fridge, got a bottle of water, then held the door open for her so she could help herself, too. “How are things going up there?” His voice was low, polite.

She moved past to retrieve a premade bottle of formula, being careful not to touch him. She inhaled the clean, soapy scent of him. The minty smell of toothpaste. He hadn’t shaved and the evening beard shadowing his face gave him an even more ruggedly masculine air.

Aware she hadn’t answered his question yet, she smiled. “Both little fellas are still sleeping, but Robby should be waking up soon for another feeding, so I figured I would get ahead of the game and warm the bottle.”

He tilted his head, his gaze drifting over her lazily, creating little sparks of awareness. “Before all hell breaks loose,” he guessed.

Because she had no bottle warmer—yet—she filled a bowl with hot water and set the bottle in it. “I haven’t noticed anything being out of control this evening.” She adapted a militant stance. “If you discount the tiff with my landlord.”

He flashed a teasing grin. “That’s because, for the most part, there’s been two of us and two of them.”

It was so true she didn’t want to think—or was it worry?—about that. Adopting the confident, cheerful air she usually used to tackle the problems in life, she asked, “What time do you usually get up and out of here in the morning?”

“Before dawn, usually, but tomorrow I’m planning to hang around here and do office work, at least initially.” Seeing her unease, he murmured, “I also usually grab breakfast with the guys at the bunkhouse, but I could cook you breakfast.” He shrugged. “If that will help you out.”

There was a limit to how far she wanted his gallant involvement to extend. The vibe between them was far too personal already. “Or we could each cook our own,” she said pleasantly. Another spark of tension flickered between them, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Independent, hmm?”

She swallowed hard, then shot back firmly, “Like you’re not.”

He chuckled, a deep rumbling low in his throat. Then he slowly ravished her with his gaze, as if he found her completely irresistible. “Is that why you wanted to adopt a baby on your own?”

Trying not to think how physically attracted she was to him, too, Bridgett checked the formula on the inside of her wrist. Still cool. She added more hot water to the bowl and set the bottle back inside.

“I never said that solo adopting was my first choice.”

Intimacy shimmered between them as he took up a station opposite her. The brooding look was back on his face. “But you’re doing it?”

She leaned back against the counter, her hands braced on either side of her, not sure why his opinion mattered so much.

She sighed, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to confide this much. “Only because I stupidly gave up the one shot I had at a happy family life.”

His brow quirked and he shifted closer.

Which didn’t mean she had to explain further. But, for reasons she couldn’t understand, she wanted him to know. “I was in love with a fourth-year medical student while I was in nursing school. He was headed back to Utah, where he was from, to do his residency, and he wanted us to get married before he left, start having kids right away. I still had another two semesters to go and I wasn’t ready. But Aaron saw no reason to wait if we loved each other. So he gave me an ultimatum.” Refusing the crazy urge to take refuge in Cullen’s strong arms and rest her head against his broad chest, she continued. “Thinking he would become more reasonable over time, I refused.”

Dark gaze skimming hers intently, he moved closer still. “Didn’t work out?”

Her heartbeat quickened at the unexpected compassion in his low tone. “He married someone else within a few months of our breakup.”

“Still married?”

Bridgett nodded. “Happily. They have six kids and another on the way.” Six kids who could have been hers.

His brow knotted. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell between them.

“Still wishing it was you?”

Not the way he thought.

“Not really,” she replied honestly. “I wouldn’t want to leave my family, be that far away from Texas.” She locked eyes with Cullen, not ashamed to admit it. “But I do regret giving up my one shot at marriage, especially knowing it might never come again.”

His expression guarded, he said, “You’re selling yourself short.”

Finding his low, grumbling voice a bit too determined—and too full of sexual promise for comfort—she returned, “How do you know?” Who was he to give her advice on her love life or lack thereof? “Especially since you’re not known to be the most sentimental guy around!”

Ooh, she should not have said that. But he was goading her. Making her feel foolish in the way he kept looking at her.

He came close and, if she was not mistaken, looked very much like he wanted to make love with her then and there. A wicked grin deepened the crinkles around his navy eyes.

She felt as if she’d just waved a red flag in front of a bull.

“You think not?” he prodded.

Bridgett huffed. “I do.” Knowing it was a dangerous proposition to have him that close to her—because she did desire him more than anyone who had come before—she moved away. Feeling hot color flush her cheeks, she enunciated as clearly as possible, “I also know that, unlike you, I believe very strongly in destiny or fate or whatever you want to call it. And that destiny brought Riot and Robby—”

He prowled toward her. “And me.”

Ignoring the fierce sense that he was about to put the moves on her, she stubbornly finished her sentence. “Into my life. So if this is what’s meant to be for me, I’ll take it.”

In one smooth motion, he took her all the way into his arms. Pressed her against him in a way that left her reeling and lowered his lips to hers. “So will I,” he said.

* * *

IN INVITING HER to stay, Cullen hadn’t meant to do anything but clear his own reputation and help Bridgett out. He hadn’t figured what it would be like to have her, and the baby and puppy, in his home. Or how much he would quickly come to admire her fierce desire to help others, even as she shortchanged herself.

Was it possible she really had no idea how beautiful and desirable she was? How worthy of having?

It seemed so. And that was something he couldn’t let stand unchallenged, as all thoughts of being a gentleman fled. She had to know how captivating she was. So he did what he’d been wanting to do since they had first caught sight of each other; he kissed her. Kissed her to discover how soft and supple and sweet-tasting her lips were. Kissed her to fulfill a yearning deep inside him that he hadn’t known existed.

And, most of all, he kissed her to show her that they could simply enjoy each other without the false illusion of love or emotional promises that would most likely end up being short-term.

But he was the one who was surprised. Because this kiss, holding her like this, didn’t feel like any normal clinch. It felt different. Unique. Amazingly unique, as it turned out.

And who was the naive fool now?

* * *

BRIDGETT HAD KNOWN from the moment that she walked into the kitchen, hours after dinner, that a kiss, a touch, an embrace, something might be coming. It was in the way he looked at her. The way she felt when she looked at him.

It was in the leftover adrenaline still sizzling nonstop in her veins. In the building emotions and aftereffects of this crazy, crazy day. Of having her dreams start to come true, but not. Of realizing she still wanted it all. Maybe could have it all. If only she could find the right man.

She never would have imagined it could be Cullen Reid McCabe. But then, she had never really imagined kissing him. Now that she had, well, suffice it to say her whole world had turned upside down.

Which was why it was a very good thing when a short, loud, high-pitched cry split the silence of the ranch house. Followed by a single urgent bark.

Destiny once again, Bridgett thought, pulling away from the sexy cowboy who held her in his arms. But this time it was telling her not to go down this particular path.

Chapter Four

“So, he kissed you?” Bess asked the next morning at Bridgett’s apartment.

“Shh!” She cast a look over her shoulder at the guys helping her move out. “Yes.”

Her sister grinned. “Did you kiss him back?”

“What does that matter?” she whispered, flushing. Unfortunately, yes, she had kissed him back! For way too long a time! “It was obviously a mistake.”

Bess grinned again. “Sure about that? From what I’ve seen, he’s very sexy. Well regarded in the community. Single and obviously interested in you. And the baby.” She taped shut another box. “And where is Riot, anyway?”

“With Cullen. He took him to work in his truck.” Bridgett selected the clothes she needed to take with her when she left versus those that were going into storage. “Well, the puppy couldn’t be here, obviously, after what happened yesterday with the landlord, and quit looking at me like that!”

Bess chuckled. “What is it they say? Life happens while you were making other plans. Well, while you were trying, rather unsuccessfully, I might add, to adopt a child on your own, a baby and a puppy and a kind, great-looking cowboy all drop in your lap!”

Bridgett thought about what a great and gallant thing it was that Cullen was doing. Not just inviting her to stay with him at his ranch but helping her out with both infant and puppy, too. She looked at her sister. “It’s almost crazy spooky, isn’t it?”

“Fated is the word you’re looking for.”

Bridgett paused. “It may seem that way.”

“I’m telling you...it most definitely is.” Bess pointed at the well-dressed Realtor coming up the walk. “Oh, and speaking of fate...”

Bridgett met Jeanne Phipps at the door. “Did you get the answer from the sellers?”

“Yes.” Jeanne flashed a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, Bridgett, it’s not the one you want to hear.”

* * *

“WHAT’S WRONG?” CULLEN ASKED, coming through the ranch house door at five that evening.

Bridgett eased the sleeping Robby into the carrier sitting on the kitchen island, strapped him in and brought him into the adjacent family room. “What do you mean?” She knelt down to greet an equally tuckered-out Riot.

He nuzzled her palm, licked it once and then went into the back of his crate and promptly fell asleep.

“You look like you just lost your best friend.” Cullen strode over to the kitchen sink, rolled up his sleeves and washed his arms up to the elbows.

She waited until he’d grabbed a towel and then moved in to wash up, too. “Not exactly,” she murmured.

“Then what, exactly?”

She drew a deep breath. “My plan to be out of here—maybe as soon as this evening—fizzled. At least temporarily.”

He kept his eyes locked with hers.

“The house I have put an offer on is currently empty. I was hoping the owners would allow me to rent it from them until I can close on the property. They told my Realtor, Jeanne Phipps, they would consider it, but only after all the inspections are done and my mortgage application is approved.”

“How long do you think that will take?”

“Three, four weeks minimum. Which means I have to come up with a new plan to get us out of here.”

“Maybe not,” he corrected with a smile.

She regarded him quizzically.

“You could continue to stay here.”

She pressed a hand against her trembling lips and drew a deep, bolstering breath. “After what happened last night?”

He leaned close enough for her to inhale the brisk fragrance of sun and man. “What happened last night?”

She gave him a droll look. He gave her one back.

Ignoring the warmth of his body so close to hers, she reminded wryly, “You kissed me.”

His mouth quirked in masculine satisfaction. “And you kissed me back.”

Boy, had she ever. In fact, she had spent the night dreaming about it. She scowled in renewed embarrassment. “We can’t do that.”

He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave them a companionable hug. “Why not?”

Tingling everywhere he touched and everywhere he didn’t, she averted her glance. “My life is complicated enough as it is.”

He tucked a hand beneath her chin and guided her face back to his. “News flash, Bridgett. It’s always going to be complicated.” His deep voice sent another thrill soaring through her. “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

“Is that what we were doing?” Her throat was thick with emotion. “Simply enjoying ourselves?” Because to her it felt as if they had been on the brink of much, much more.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, then dropped his hand at the sound of a car coming up the drive. He went to window, looked out. Swore.

Her pulse jumped again. “Who is it?”

“My folks.” He grimaced.

“Want me to make myself scarce?”

He caught her wrist before she could escape. “Nope. There’s a chance—a remote one—your being here will help them censor their remarks.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scared of them, Cullen Reid McCabe.”

He shoved his hands through his hair. “In awe, maybe. And you’d be damned right.” He swung open the front door before they had a chance to ring the bell and wake the little ones. “Hey. Frank. Rachel. You-all know Bridgett?”

As always, the handsome couple radiated warmth and good cheer. The petite blonde Rachel smiled. In a cardigan set, skirt and heels, a strand of pearls around her neck, she looked as if she had come straight from her work as a tax attorney. Frank’s jeans, shirt and vest indicated he had left his work on the ranch. “Actually, we know her entire family,” Rachel said. A long, awkward pause followed.

Cullen nodded at the picnic hamper in his dad’s hand and the long wicker basket stuffed with baby things in his stepmother’s. “What do you have there?”

“We heard about what happened,” Rachel said gently, “and we brought by some dinner and a few baby items to help out in the interim.”

It was a nice gesture. Or would have been, Bridgett thought, if Cullen obviously didn’t resent the interference.

Frank frowned as Cullen ushered them inside. “We were disappointed you didn’t call us to tell us about the situation yourself.”

With a sober nod, he relieved his father of the basket of food and carried it back to the kitchen. “How’d you hear?”

His dad glanced into the family room where baby and puppy were sleeping. “I think the question is who didn’t call to let us know about the note left with the baby.”

Ouch, Bridgett thought as she took the Moses basket from Rachel with a grateful smile.

“Can we see the baby?” Rachel asked eagerly.

Cullen tensed. “If you promise not to wake either of them.”

Who was sounding like a daddy now? Bridgett wondered.

Everyone tiptoed toward the baby carrier.

Robby was sound asleep. He’d worked one arm out of the swaddling—it rested on the center of his chest. A blue knit cap covered most of his dark curly hair. His cheeks were slightly pink, his bow-shaped lips pursed. He was the epitome of sweetness and innocence.

On the floor opposite the Pack ’n Play, Riot was curled up in his crate, eyes closed, chin resting on a stuffed toy. He, too, was slumbering away.

“Adorable,” Rachel whispered approvingly.

For Frank, the emotions seemed more complex.

They trooped back out of the family room. Cullen grabbed four bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and ushered everyone out onto the screened-in back porch, leaving the door to the kitchen open so they could hear.

Everyone sat.

He waited.

“I’m just going to be blunt,” Frank said, looking at his eldest son. “Rachel and I both understand why you might have felt awkward about coming to us with this. It had to have been a shock, finding out about Robby the way you did. But surely you’d know that I would understand, better than anyone, what it’s like to get news like this after the fact.”

Cullen held up a staying hand. “Before you continue, you both should know, he’s not mine.”

Frank and Rachel exchanged concerned looks.

Finally, his stepmom cleared her throat and said kindly, “What we’re trying to tell you, Cullen, is that it would be okay, if he was. A McCabe is a McCabe. Part of our family, no matter how they come into it. Whether it’s by marriage.”

“Or illegitimacy?” Cullen challenged.

Frank leveled Cullen with a disappointed look.

Silence fell once again, more awkward and fraught with emotion than ever.

Finally, Cullen bit out, “Have you talked to Dan?”

Frank nodded. “He said attempts are being made to find the mother, but without her DNA, the child’s true parentage may never be known. And that would be a shame, son. For everyone.”

His words hung in the air, simultaneously an indictment and a plea to come clean.

Uncomfortable, Bridgett rose. “I really don’t think I should be here for this.”

Cullen put a hand on her shoulder. “This concerns you, too.”

Not wanting to contribute to what increasingly felt like an emotional melee, Bridgett eased back into the chair.

Cullen turned back to Frank and Rachel. “I am not dissembling when I tell you and everyone else the child could not possibly be mine. Obviously, I’ve been tapped to be the responsible party. Why, I have no clue. Yet. But I will figure this out. And when I do—” he turned back to his parents and finished heavily “—you-all will be the first to know.”

* * *

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Bridgett asked, short minutes later, after his father and stepmother had left.

His broad shoulders flexed against the soft chambray of his shirt. Exasperation colored his low tone, resentment his eyes. “What do you think?”

Knowing that he needed her support, whether he realized it or not, she ignored his curt reply. “You really don’t have any idea who did this, do you?”

An awkward silence fell. “You’re just now figuring this out?”

Hating the fact he thought she had betrayed him in some way, she gave in to impulse and caught his arm before he could turn away. “I can see why the accusation—never mind an anonymous one—would be upsetting, Cullen.” The hard curve of his biceps warmed beneath her fingertips. “But I can also see it goes much deeper than that.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Let me guess,” he muttered. “You want to talk about my illegitimacy, too.”

She blinked, taken aback. Dropped her grasp and moved away. “Were you born illegitimately?”

“You don’t know?”

“How would I?” When he’d been a junior in high school, she’d been in sixth grade. Way too young to hear that kind of talk.

His dark brow furrowed. “I thought everyone in the county knew.”

“Obviously they don’t,” she returned, equally blunt, “or I would have heard about it.”

A skeptical silence fell.

She folded her arms in front of her. “All I do know is that you’re Frank’s son, conceived several years before he married Rachel, and you came to live with him after your mother died when you were a teenager. That you were here for almost two years, went off to college, lived elsewhere for most of the last decade and then came back.”

His eyes held hers for a long, discomfiting moment.

Ignoring the fluttering in her middle, she trod even closer. “I had no idea your mother and father were not married when you were born, but really, Cullen, in this day and age, is that such a big deal?” After all, she was attempting to adopt as a single parent! There were plenty of families where the parents were divorced, too.

Jaw set, he spun away and strode toward the front of the house where his office was. “It is a huge deal, even in this day and age to have ‘unknown father’ on your birth certificate.”

Okay, she thought, reeling at the implications. Maybe that was a little different. She watched him check the security screens, find nothing amiss. “Are you saying your mom didn’t know who sired you?”

Cullen dropped down into his desk chair, deep frown lines bracketing his mouth. “No. She knew. She just didn’t want anyone else to know that she had a child by one of the Texas McCabes.”

Bridgett leaned against the front of his desk, facing him, and took a moment to absorb that. Her denim-clad thigh almost touching his, she peered at him closely. “So, what did she tell you then?”

He rocked back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking sexy as all get-out. “Nothing—except that it wasn’t important who my biological father was. She was parent enough.”

“And that was a problem because...?”

“She refused to accept the shame in the continued public perception that she ‘had no idea’ who her baby daddy was, and instead, cast herself as the lead in some romantic, ongoing stage play of life.” He shook his head in obvious regret. “Raising me on her own was all part of the drama and the angst.”