Daddy Wore Spurs

* * *

Across the small nursery, Mariah was having all sorts of trouble dragging her gaze away from the rugged Nevada cowboy. A few minutes ago, when she’d opened the door and found herself standing face-to-face with Finn Calhoun, she’d felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet.

She’d expected Finn’s appearance to be a bit more than average, otherwise Aimee would’ve never taken a second glance at him. But this guy was leaps and bounds beyond average.

At least two or three inches over six feet, he towered over her. Broad shoulders sat over a long torso that narrowed down to a lean waist and tall, muscular legs. Yet his hard, wiry body was only a part of his striking appearance, she realized. His face was a composite of tough angles and slopes. A jutting chin, hollow cheekbones and rough-hewn lips were softened by a pair of dazzling blue eyes partially hidden by a thick fringe of copper-colored lashes. Slightly darker hair of the same color curled wildly around his ears and against the back of his neck, while a set of white teeth made a startling contrast against his tanned skin.

Oh, he was a looker all right, Mariah decided. But that didn’t necessarily make him daddy material. Especially if he used those looks to go around seducing women. Still, in all honesty, she didn’t know if this man had done the seducing or if Aimee had been the initiator of their romance. And it hardly mattered now. The only question that should be on her mind was whether he’d actually fathered little Harry.

Reining in her wandering thoughts, Mariah said, “Aimee dated Bryce for over three years and wanted to marry him, but he kept putting her off. He was divorced and wasn’t ready to try marriage again. That’s why—well, Aimee once told me she was tempted to get pregnant so that Bryce would feel obligated to marry her. But she said he was always too careful about such things and she wasn’t sure how she could manage it. I told her she was crazy to even consider such a scheme. Being pregnant wouldn’t necessarily force Bryce into marrying her, anyway.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion and Mariah could see that he was stung by the notion that Aimee might have used him, especially to coerce another man into marrying her.

“That’s one of the most conniving, deceitful things I’ve ever heard. If that’s the way Aimee’s mind worked, then she might’ve had other affairs. Harry’s father might be someone you never heard of!”

The anguished look on his face implied he wanted Harry to be his son. The notion surprised Mariah. Most single guys his age would be running backward at the idea of taking on the responsibility of a baby.

Her gaze continued to roam his rugged face and the big hands gently cradling the baby. “Look, I’m just saying she harbored those ideas. I have no proof she was trying to carry them out with you or any man. For my sister’s sake, I’d like to think Harry was innocently conceived.”

“With me?”

An awkward silence followed his question, and with each second that passed, the more Mariah had to fight to keep from jumping from the rocker and rushing out of the nursery. Something about this man and her sister sharing a passionate weekend together was an image she wanted to push from her mind.

“Well, I’d hate to think she falsely put your name on the birth certificate. And I’d sure hate to think that Harry’s father might always be a question mark.”

He looked down at the baby. “I’d never let that happen to this little guy.”

Feeling like a jumble of raw nerves, she restlessly crossed her legs and began to tap the air with her bare foot. The movement must have caught his attention because she suddenly noticed his gaze slowly slipping from her face and traveling downward, over her leg and onto her foot.

Heat instantly flooded her cheeks and she mentally scolded herself for not slipping on her shoes before she’d answered the door. But it was a warm May afternoon and certainly pleasant enough in the house to go without footwear.

You’re reacting like a foolish teenager, Mariah. Finn doesn’t find anything fascinating about your pink toenails. And he hasn’t come to Stallion Canyon to ogle you in any form or fashion. He’s here because of Harry and no other reason.

Clearing her throat, she blocked out the scolding voice in her head and tried to form a sensible question. “So you’re saying you want Harry to be your son?”

To her relief, his gaze returned to Harry and as he studied the child, she could see something that looked an awfully lot like love move over his features. The sight smacked Mariah right in the middle of her heart. A man was supposed to care that much for his child, she thought. Yet a part of her had been hoping Finn would be the irresponsible type. That he’d gladly hand the responsibility of raising Harry over to her. But it was becoming clear that he had no intention of stepping aside. So where was that going to leave her?

He said, “This wasn’t the way I’d planned on becoming a father. But now that I have Harry in my arms, it feels right and good.”

She folded her hands together atop her lap and tried to keep the confused emotions swirling inside her from showing on her face.

“So you believe he’s actually your son?” she asked guardedly.

“I do. I think you’d have to agree that he takes after me. The red in his hair and dimples in his cheeks.”

“Maybe. But that’s hardly proof.”

Frowning, he moved closer to where she sat, and Mariah instinctively placed a hand on each arm of the rocker and both feet flat on the floor.

“Something in your voice says you’re hoping I won’t be the father,” he said tersely.

A blush scalded her cheeks. “I only want what’s best for Harry.”

He eyed her with cool conviction. “I don’t know what sort of man you think I am, Ms. Montgomery, but—”

“Please, call me Mariah,” she interrupted. “Calling me Ms. Montgomery makes me feel like I’m in the classroom.”

Distracted now, he latched onto her last word. “Classroom? You’re a teacher?”

“High school. History. That surprises you?”

Confusion flitted across his rugged face. “Aimee insinuated that Stallion Canyon was a profitable horse ranch. I just assumed the ranch was your livelihood, too.”

A dead weight sank to the pit of her stomach as she slowly pushed herself out of the rocker. “I’ll explain in the kitchen. It’s time for Harry’s bottle and I’m sure you could do with some coffee or something.”

“Coffee sounds good,” he agreed. “Lead the way.”

* * *

With the baby cuddled safely against his chest, Finn followed Mariah out of the nursery and down a hallway that eventually intersected a small breezeway. Once there, she turned left down another short hallway until they reached a wide arched opening.

“We used to have a cook, but we had to let her go,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Hopefully, you can tolerate my coffee-making.”

They stepped into a rectangle-shaped kitchen with a ceiling opened to the rafters and a floor covered with ceramic tile patterned in dark blues and greens. To the right side of the room a round oak table and chairs were positioned near a group of wide windows covered with sheer blue curtains. To the left, white wooden cabinets with glass doors lined two whole walls, while a large work island also served as a breakfast bar.

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Have a seat at the bar or the table. Wherever you’d like. I’ll get the coffee going, then heat Harry’s bottle.”

Since he was closer to the bar, Finn sank onto one of the padded stools and propped the baby in a comfortable upright position against his left arm. So far the tot seemed to be a good-natured boy. He hadn’t yet let out a cry or even a fussy whine, but living in the same house with Rafe’s two children, Colleen and Austin, had taught Finn that a baby’s demeanor could change in an instant.

“What was wrong with the cook?” he asked curiously. “Burned the food?”

Greta, their family cook back on the Silver Horn Ranch, had been with them for more than thirty years. He couldn’t imagine anyone but her making their meals and ruling the kitchen.

Over at the cabinet counter, Mariah was busy pouring water into a coffeemaker. He was still trying to grasp the fact that she was a teacher. Apparently, being in a classroom full of kids was a more comfortable job to her than sitting atop a horse.

You’re wondering too much about the woman, Finn. It doesn’t matter what she does for a living or for fun. Once you take Harry away from here, you probably won’t see her again. Unless she comes to the Horn to visit Harry from time to time.

Was that the way it was going to be? Finn asked himself. Was it already settled in Finn’s mind that Harry belonged to him? That the baby belonged on the Silver Horn with him?

Mariah’s voice suddenly interrupted the heavy questions pushing through his thoughts.

“Cora was a great cook. She’d worked here for years. But after Dad died, money got tight. We had to start cutting corners.”

There was an embittered tone to her voice. One that shouldn’t belong to someone so young and pretty, he decided. Sure, she’d obviously had to deal with her fair share of raw deals. But that didn’t mean she needed to keep dragging those disappointments behind her.

“Aimee talked about your father passing away,” he told her. “I could see she was still pretty cut up about his death.”

“Aimee and Dad were very close. She was just like him—obsessed with horses. Especially the wild ones,” she added bluntly.