The Maverick's Ready-Made Family

Forrest was asking about the work he’d done on the family ranch back in Rust Creek Falls, and Clay nodded. “I miss the physical labor, the satisfaction that comes from getting a job done, and I feel guilty as hell for leaving Dad, Dallas, Braden, Sutter and Collin with all the work.”

“You didn’t have to come to Thunder Canyon to babysit me,” Forrest told him.

“I didn’t come to babysit you,” Clay told him. “I came because I couldn’t stand being the center of attention every time I took Bennett into town. It was as if no one had ever known anyone who was a single father before.”

“Try being the wounded war hero,” Forrest told him. “People tiptoed around me as if my gimp leg was contagious—or maybe it’s the rumors of my PTSD that freaked them out.”

“Not everyone was freaked out,” Clay reminded him. “In fact, Marla James only wanted to show her appreciation for the sacrifice you made for our country.”

Forrest tipped his bottle to his lips, but Clay saw the color rise in his brother’s cheeks.

“I still haven’t decided whether I should thank you or kick your ass for deflecting her attention,” he finally said.

Clay just grinned.

Marla James’s crush on Forrest had been something of a legend in Rust Creek Falls. Her family had moved into town the summer before she started fifth grade, and on the first day of school, she’d set her sights on Forrest Traub and had never looked back. It didn’t matter how many times he brushed her off or how many other girls he dated, she remained adamant that they would one day be together. When Forrest returned from Iraq, she decided that day had finally come.

She stopped by the Traub Ranch at least once a day to check on her injured hero. Forrest—wounded more deeply than the scars on his leg—wasn’t even kind in his dismissal of her efforts, but Marla refused to be dissuaded. Not until Clay, with feigned embarrassment and reluctance, implied that his brother’s injury had affected more than his leg and that he wasn’t able to appreciate what she was offering.

Marla had cried genuine tears over that, but her lifelong love for Forrest clearly was not as strong as her sexual desires.

“You could always call Marla up and tell her you’re all better now,” Clay teased.

“If only that were true,” Forrest said.

And Clay knew his brother’s comment had nothing to do with the fabricated injury. Which was why Ellie was so worried about her son, and why Clay had to do everything he could to keep his promise to his mother.

“Bennett and I are going to take a drive to Billings for a farm auction in the morning to check out a tractor that’s on the block. Did you want to come with us?”

Forrest just shook his head and munched on a handful of popcorn.

“Okay,” Clay said easily. “How about dinner at D.J.’s Friday night?”

His brother looked up at that, his gaze narrowing. “Friday is three days from now,” he noted. “Since when do you plan that far ahead?”

So much for thinking that he could slip anything past Forrest. But instead of answering the question directly, he only shrugged, as if his brother’s response was of no concern to him. “If you’ve got a hot date and don’t want to go, just say so.”

Forrest lifted a brow. “Well, I’ve had so many hot dates recently I’d have to check my calendar to know for sure.”

“You do that,” Clay advised.

His brother mimed thumbing through a little black book. “I have Skinny Ginny penciled in, but I can reschedule. At least at D.J.’s, I’ll get some meat on my ribs.”

“I’m glad to see your sense of humor is still intact,” Clay noted. “Even if it’s deeply buried most days.”

Forrest looked away. “Just ‘cause I said I’d go out with you Friday night doesn’t give you the right to turn this into some touchy-feely moment.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Clay assured him.

“Good.” Forrest tipped the bottle to his lips and shifted his gaze back to the television.

D.J.’s Rib Shack in the Thunder Canyon Resort was usually busy, especially on a Friday night. While Antonia waited for her friend Catherine to arrive, she glanced around the restaurant with its sepia-toned pictures of cowboys and an extensive mural that depicted a visual history of the town. But more than the décor, it was the scent of D.J.’s famous sauce thick in the air that assured the customers packed into the benches and booths that they would enjoy genuine Western barbecue.

Antonia breathed in deeply, inhaling the rich aroma, and the baby kicked in approval—or maybe it was demand. If Antonia was hungry, it was a good bet that her baby was, too.

“I feel like Pavlov’s dog,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “I just walk through the door of this place, and my mouth starts to water.”

Antonia laughed and hugged her friend. “I know what you mean.”

The hostess led them to a booth against the back wall.

When the waitress came, they ordered right away, both familiar enough with the menu to know what they wanted. Fifteen minutes later, they were digging into plates laden with saucy ribs, fresh-cut fries and tart coleslaw. Antonia had considered ordering the daily vegetable option rather than fries, but the baby wanted fries and she’d learned not to ignore the baby’s demands. If she indulged now, she wouldn’t find herself raiding the fridge at three o’clock in the morning.

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” Antonia admitted, popping a fry into her mouth. “Which proves that it’s been way too long.”

“I’m glad you finally hired someone else to serve dinner at the ranch,” Catherine said. “We haven’t had a girls’ night out in far too long.”

“You’ve been even busier than I have. As if getting Real Vintage Cowboy up and running wasn’t enough, you had to go and fall in love with Cody Overton and get married.”

Catherine grinned. “I guess I have been busy.”

Antonia sat back, licking rib sauce off of her fingers, and assessed her friend. Tonight she was wearing a lacy white blouse over a long, flowing skirt with well-worn cowboy boots on her feet. Her long, dark hair hung loose over her shoulders and her chocolate-colored eyes glowed with a happiness that seemed to radiate from deep within her.

“But you look happy, Mrs. Overton. As if married life agrees with you.”

“I am happy,” Catherine agreed.

“And I’m glad that Cody turned out to be the real deal,” Antonia said, and meant it.

She was genuinely thrilled that her friend had everything she’d always wanted—both professional success and personal happiness. But seeing the vibrant glow on Catherine’s face, Antonia couldn’t deny that she felt a twinge of something that might have been envy.

She had no cause for complaint. She was content with her life, grateful that things had started to turn around at the ranch so that their finances weren’t stretched quite as tight as they’d been a few months earlier. But she was also conscious of the fact that, despite living with her father and her brothers and with a baby of her own on the way, she was alone.

“I just wish you could find someone like him,” her friend said. “Someone genuinely wonderful and kind and smart and sexy.”

“I don’t think there is anyone else like Cody.” But even as Antonia said the words, she realized that there was another man who at least came close. A man who doted on his son, who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty in the kitchen, and who had an easy sense of humor and a quick smile. A man whose mere presence made every nerve-ending in her body stand up and take notice.

And then Clayton Traub walked into the restaurant with Bennett in his arms.

Not just Clay, she realized, but his brother, Forrest, too. But Antonia knew there could have been a parade of men, all of them tall and handsome, and it still would have been Clay who drew her attention.

“There’s someone out there for you,” Catherine insisted. And then, aware that her friend’s attention had wandered, she turned her head to see the two men making their way to the private dining room in the back.

“Oh, my,” she said in a reverent whisper. “Or maybe there’s someone in here for you.”

Antonia couldn’t blame Catherine for her reaction. The first time she’d set eyes on Clayton Traub, she’d felt the exact same way. And neither time nor familiarity had done much to dim her reaction. But she had learned to ignore the physiological response—most of the time, anyway.

“I swear, the testosterone level in here just shot through the roof.” Catherine turned back to her friend. “So tell me—which one of those very sexy cowboys caught your eye?”