The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue

He regarded her calmly. “To fulfill my moral obligation, and to preserve my reputation and that of the McCabe family, of course.”

* * *

CULLEN COULD SEE it wasn’t the explanation Bridgett wanted. Which was too bad, because the blunt truth was the only reason he was prepared to give. “I’ve got a virtual cattle auction coming up in ten days. My first at the Western Cross ranch. If people think I am unreliable on any level, they’re not going to buy livestock from me. So it’s to my advantage, and yours, to get this resolved as soon as possible. And maybe if we’re all together I’ll be able to more quickly figure out who would have wanted me to be responsible for all this.”

“Makes sense. I guess.”

He continued looking her in the eye. “I also don’t want to embarrass Frank and Rachel or any of the rest of my family.” Thanks to his mom, and the way she had selfishly kept his paternity a secret, for years, so she wouldn’t have to share him, they had already been through enough.

Bridgett went still, for a moment giving him a glimpse of the woman she was, at heart. “You call your parents by their first names?”

His attention drifted to her mouth. “Rachel is my stepmom. And Frank didn’t come into my life until I was sixteen.”

She bit her lip, her gaze glued to him. “That explains the Rachel. But Frank...?”

He shrugged, wishing he could table the urge to take down her hair and run his fingers through the thick, silky waves. “I never got the hang of calling him Dad.”

She moved closer. “Did he want you to call him Dad?”

“We never discussed it,” he said curtly. And he sure wasn’t going to dissect his tumultuous early years with the nosy nurse in front of him. “So,” he said, bringing the conversation back around to the current trouble at hand. “Are you going to take me up on my offer or not?”

She looked down at the baby, who was beginning to stir, and sighed. “I’m not sure if I’ll stay the night or not, but I’ll follow you out there, assess the situation and then figure out what I’m going to do.”

Not exactly a yes. But likely the closest he would get.

He gave her the address to put into her navigation system in case they got separated, and then they took off. Twenty minutes later, they were turning beneath the archway to the Western Cross ranch. Both sets of vehicle headlamps swept over the live oaks lining the drive, the fenced pastures filled with cattle and the cluster of brand-new state-of-the-art barns and stables. Finally, he drew up in front of the ranch house and parked behind the Laramie Animal Clinic van.

His good friend, and recent widow, Sara Anderson stepped out. It was hard to tell whether the pale, drawn hue of her face was due to grief over the sudden loss of her soldier husband or the nausea associated with the first trimester of pregnancy. But he appreciated her willingness to help them out today.

He picked up Riot and met her in the middle of the circular drive. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

The willowy blonde smiled, kind-hearted as always. “No problem.” Sara studied Riot with a clinician’s unerring eye, stroked him beneath the chin. “This the little runaway?”

“It is.” And though it had been years since he had held one, Cullen experienced the lure of a puppy all over again.

Bridgett parked and got out, too, a fussy baby Robby in her arms. Cullen made introductions. “Sara Anderson, Bridgett Monroe. Sara’s a neighboring rancher and the veterinarian who sees to all of my cattle and horses.”

Bridgett nodded. “Sara and I talked at the county’s High School Career Fair last fall. And we also both volunteer at the West Texas Warriors Assistance nonprofit.”

“Ah, then no introduction necessary.” Indeed, the two women looked surprisingly chummy. He hadn’t thought about them being friends. But then, he didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with anyone outside the cattle business.

Sara moved an electronic wand over the pup, between his shoulders and neck and from side to side. Then over the rest of his body.

“Anything?” Cullen asked.

“No.” Sara frowned. “I thought he might be a little too young for a microchip, but I wanted to be certain. There were no tags on his collar?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. I’d like to know more about him.” She opened up the back of her van and pulled out a medium-sized plastic crate with a metal-grill door. “The food, dishes and leash you requested are all in there. You’re also going to need to make sure he gets started on all his vaccinations, ASAP.”

“I’ll make an appointment.”

“Good.” Sara grinned, tossing Cullen a bottle of puppy shampoo. “And you might want to give him a bath while you’re at it.”

Grinning, Cullen caught the bottle with one hand. “Thanks, Sara.”

Sara paused to greet little Robby, who was wide-eyed and squirmy. “Bridgett? Good luck with the baby. I heard about the situation.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I hope you get to keep him.”

Abruptly looking like she might burst into tears at any moment, Bridgett nodded. “I want what’s best for them both,” she said thickly, the strain of the day showing on her pretty face. “And I appreciate your help with Riot.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sara said with a warm smile. “And if you need anything else, just ask.” Then she climbed back into her van, gave a parting wave and took off.

Silence hung heavy between them as they stood there together, cradling puppy and baby.

Bridgett looked up, wordlessly scanning the compact century old farmhouse, whatever she was thinking at that moment as much a mystery to him as the emotion resonating in her dulcet tones.

“So, this is where you live,” she said.

Chapter Three (#u82cf4962-05cf-5fe9-815a-a31ce4b6f28e)

“For the last ten and a half months, it has been,” Cullen admitted as they moved inside.

He hit a button on the keypad by the door, and the place lit up. “And before that?” Bridgett prodded, trying to recall what she’d heard.

He led her through the foyer and shut the door behind them. “Oklahoma, for two years.”

They were standing close. Almost too close. Bridgett swung around to face him, stepping back a pace in the process. She was acutely aware she really didn’t know much about Frank McCabe’s eldest son at all—and she wanted to know more, because of the situation they were in. Noting he looked as inherently masculine as he smelled—like sun and soap and leather—she searched the rugged planes of his face. “And prior to that, where were you?”

The grooves on either side of his sensual lips deepened. “Colorado for eighteen months, Nebraska for four years.”

“Nebraska. Wow, you must have really liked it there.”

He studied her, as if trying to decide how much farther he wanted this discussion to go. “It’s the second-largest cattle-producing state in the country, and I had two different ranches. A small one in the north for about twenty-six months, a larger one in the south, for about the same amount of time.”

“Which you purchased after starting out here, correct?” Her feminine instincts on full alert, she pushed on, curious to hear about the time he’d spent outside of Laramie County. “Somewhere in the Panhandle?”

His gaze roved her upturned face. He looked at her for a long beat. “How do you know that?”

She flushed under his intense scrutiny. “My sister Erin and her husband, Mac, mentioned it when they moved up there for his work.”

He continued holding her gaze for a brief but electrifying moment that swiftly had her tingling all over. “Hmm.”

“Mac said you were a rancher to watch.”

Cullen shifted the exhausted puppy in his arms, cradling it to his broad chest. “I don’t think Wheeler was too fond of me back then,” he pointed out. “I outbid him on a property he wanted for his wind energy turbines.”

Bridgett grinned. “I’m sure Mac forgave you.” If there was one thing her brother-in-law respected, it was business acumen and skill.