Having The Rancher's Baby

“Are you going home?” Cole asked.

Honestly, could he be any harder to shake loose? “Yes. See you tomorrow.” Her truck was only a few feet away.

He kept pace with her, and she groaned softly. Apparently, she needed to be blunt. Tell him straight out to beat it.

“I can follow you home,” he said. “In case you feel dizzy again.”

She stuffed her hand in her side pocket, searching for her keys. Finding them, she wiped her damp brow. Sweet heaven, it was warm today. “No, you need to put Hotshot away and return those steers to the pasture.”

“Is that an order?” A hint of amusement colored his voice.

If her stomach wasn’t busy trying to empty itself, she might have found his remark funny. As it was, she desperately needed to get away before she lost whatever small amount of her lunch remained.

“Now that you mention it.” She tried to smile. All she accomplished was a trembling of her lower lip.

“Vi, let me help you.”

He sounded sincere and well-intentioned. If only he weren’t waiting for the day when he could hit the road.

“I’m fine.”

She might have maintained her composure if he hadn’t reached for her hand and linked their fingers. She’d always been a sucker for a man who held hands. It was so intimate and personal. Her grandparents had been like that, holding hands until the day Papa Hathaway passed away.

A soft sob broke free, and Violet pressed a fist to her mouth. Besides being sick every waking hour, she was also fast becoming an emotional wreck, crying at the least little thing.

Hormones, she reminded herself. Manufacturing lots of them was another sign that her pregnancy was progressing. Still, hormones were nothing but trouble when facing her baby’s father and not wanting to tell him in case the worst happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his startling blue eyes filled with concern.

She’d lost herself in those eyes before.

“I’m just tired.” It was true. She slept more than ever, yet struggled to stay awake during the day. “Think I’ll go home and take a nap.”

When she would have opened her truck door, he held fast to her hand, waylaying her. “Don’t take this the wrong way...”

Uh-oh. She suddenly tensed, not liking his tone. “Cole, please. Let me go.” When he didn’t, every nerve in her body went on high alert. “Please,” she repeated.

He hesitated, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, then blurted, “Vi, are you by any chance...pregnant?”

No! He couldn’t have guessed. How could he? Men weren’t that astute. Especially single, childless ones.

Panicking, she brushed him aside. “Why would you even think that?”

“I bunked with a friend and his wife for a few months last summer. She was pregnant. Had a lot of the same stuff wrong with her that you do. Tired. Throwing up. Dizzy. Moody.”

“Moody!”

He outright laughed. “It wasn’t an insult.”

“Glad you find me so funny.” She concentrated on trying to hold down the contents of her stomach. “And, in answer to your accusation, don’t be silly.”

“No reason to get defensive.” He released her hand, only to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was gentle and, there was no mistaking it, affectionate. “If you were pregnant, we’d need to make some decisions.”

He assumed he was the father. She didn’t know whether to be appalled at his arrogance or flattered that he took for granted she didn’t go to bed with just anyone and at the drop of a hat.

“It’s hot.” Sweat pooled between her breasts. “I need to get out of the sun.”

“Let’s go to the ranch house. No one’s home till suppertime.”

She shook her head, which only exacerbated her nausea. “We have nothing to talk about.” Yet.

He stepped closer. “You’re saying there’s no chance you’re pregnant?”

Her reply was to double over and throw up on his boots.

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

Cole set a paper plate with a slice of dry toast in front of Vi. “Here you go.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

She watched him intently as he slid in beside her at the kitchen table. Despite her earlier protests, he’d convinced her to accompany him to the ranch house.

“Eat up before it gets cold.”

She did as he told her, delicately nibbling on a corner of the toast and following it with a sip of herbal tea.

“Have you decided what to do?” The question was foremost on his mind. Her answer would dictate the course of their conversation and, possibly, impact the rest of their lives.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“Not asking if I was sure the baby’s yours.”

“We’ve worked together awhile now. I know you’re a person of integrity and would tell me if I wasn’t the father.”

She nodded, examining the toast before taking another bite.

“Too done for you?” he asked.

“It’s perfect.”

“I pride myself on my toast. That and heating canned soup are my specialties.” He offered her a grin.

She sighed. So much for his stab at humor.

“Fortunately for me,” he continued, “Raquel’s a wizard in the kitchen. If not, I’d starve.”