Having The Rancher's Baby

Having The Rancher's Baby
Cathy McDavid

SETTLE DOWN, COWBOY!His family’s Arizona cattle ranch is just the place for Cole Dempsey to hang his hat before he heads back to the rodeo circuit. That is, until Violet Hathaway makes Cole think twice about his future when the livestock manager delivers her game-changing news: she’s pregnant!One passionate mistake could cost Vi her job at Dos Estrellas. And whatever growing feelings Cole and Violet have for each other, she knows the professional cowboy hadn’t planned on settling down in Mustang Valley. When he hits the road again, he’ll take her dream of them making a life together. Or is a rancher’s legacy about to come full circle?

“I think of you a lot. And the baby.”

Her curiosity got the best of her. “Do you?”

He faced her and, if it weren’t hot enough already outside, her cheeks instantly heated beneath his intense scrutiny.

“In fact, I think about that night a lot.”

“Hmm. The sex.”

“Not the sex.” He dipped his head. “Though, it was good. Mighty good.”

“Cole, we can’t.” She moved away, putting some much-needed distance between them.

He stopped her with a gentle tug on her elbow. “What I think about is the talking. The holding. The sleeping in each other’s arms and waking up together with you beside me. The smell of your hair and the softness of your skin.”

Vi could feel her resistance slowly melting.

Having the Rancher’s Baby

Cathy McDavid

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Since 2006, New York Times bestselling author CATHY MCDAVID has been happily penning contemporary Westerns for Mills & Boon. Every day, she gets to write about handsome cowboys riding the range or busting a bronc. It’s a tough job, but she’s willing to make the sacrifice. Cathy shares her Arizona home with her own real-life sweetheart and a trio of odd pets. Her grown twins have left to embark on lives of their own, and she couldn’t be prouder of their accomplishments.

To the many caring individuals who work diligently and tirelessly for the benefit of all rescue animals everywhere. Nacho, Ozzie and I thank you.

Contents

Cover (#u69d46a21-237f-50d7-a8a4-a92a813b4a15)

Introduction (#ua49d2960-1994-50dc-8625-fb34534509f1)

Title Page (#u59cc0c39-7749-5312-a5b6-8c5f261fc5ce)

About the Author (#uc88e560e-141b-56a3-87fe-12947b888836)

Dedication (#ud0bf51d4-3890-5782-8a17-36de750310d8)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#u6207a12c-7952-5fe2-a3d5-0b4c0667fd5c)

“Easy does it, Hotshot.”

Cole Dempsey nudged the paint gelding slowly forward. One step, two steps, then wait.

The six steers at the end of the corral shifted nervously and bunched closer together. Several ears twitched impatiently. Every pair of eyes stared unblinkingly. No one, not horse, rider or steer, moved for a full thirty seconds.

“See him?” Cole murmured. “Number 497.”

As if in answer, Hotshot turned his head to the left, something horses did to bring an object into better focus. In this case, it was the steer with the white patch on his chest. The one getting ready to bolt.

Cole was pleased. What the horse lacked in experience he made up for with inherent cow sense. A few more months’ training under his belt, and Hotshot would make a respectable, if not outstanding, cutting horse. Cole might even cross-train the horse for calf roping. Along with cow sense, both required speed, agility and fearlessness.

“Let’s go!” He pushed Hotshot into a quick run at the small herd, which split at the center like pins being scattered by a bowling ball.

Number 497 took off, instinctively heading for the gate. Cole and Hotshot followed, matching the steer’s every twist and turn as if attached by an invisible cord. Within seconds, they separated the steer from the rest of the herd and ran him to the far end of the corral. He reached the corner and turned to face them, awaiting his fate.

Cole pulled Hotshot to a stop. In a real team penning event, they would have herded the steer into a small holding pen, then gone after the next one until the required three were rounded up and contained. Today, they settled for simply boxing him in a corner.

“Good job.” Cole reached down to give Hotshot a pat on the neck.

The horse had hardly broken a sweat, while Cole was drenched in it, his hair plastered beneath the tattered straw cowboy hat he wore. Mid-May, early afternoon, and the temperature was already in the high eighties. Southern Arizona tended to be like that, alternating between an oven and a boiler room six months of the year. Far different from northern California, where Cole grew up.