The Maverick's Secret Baby

Avery couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t naive enough to believe Maximilian was just a harmless grandpa. He was a far more complicated man than that. On more than one occasion, she’d heard Finn refer to him as manipulative.

Even so, she had a difficult time reconciling the man standing in front of her—the one who wanted to carve half a dozen jack-o’-lanterns for his new baby granddaughter’s first Halloween—with the backstabbing monster her father had been describing to her for as long as she could remember.

“I think that can be arranged,” she said.

She still planned to tell Finn about the baby today. Of course she did. But what different could a few more hours make?

“I like her,” Maximilian said as he handed the pumpkin over to Finn and slapped him hard on the back. “She seems like a keeper, son.”

What on earth was she doing here?

A keeper.

Nope. No way, no how. She could have a dozen babies with Finn, but she’d never, ever be a Crawford—not if her daddy had anything to do with it.

Avery set down her paring knife and wiped her hands on a dish towel so she could inspect the pumpkin she’d been attempting to carve. Its triangle-shaped eyes were uneven, and its wide, toothy grin was definitely lopsided. Overall, though, it was a decent effort.

Or at least she though it was until she took a closer look at what Finn had managed to produce in the same amount of time.

“Wait a minute.” She frowned at twin jack-o’-lanterns on the table in front of him. “When did you start on the second one?”

He glanced at her pumpkin and stifled a grin. “Somewhere around the time you decided to give yours a square nose.”

She swatted at him with the dish towel. The nose had started out as a triangle—she wasn’t quite sure how it had ended up as a square.

Finn laughed, ducking out of the way. He managed to catch the towel and snatch it away from her before it made contact with his head. His grin was triumphant, but it softened as he met her gaze.

“You’ve got a little something.” He gestured toward the side of his face. “Right there.”

Shocker. Avery wouldn’t have been surprised to discover she was covered head to toe in pumpkin guts. The jack-o’-lantern struggle had been very real.

She wiped her cheek, and Finn shook his head, laughter dancing in his eyes.

“I just made it worse, didn’t I?” she said, looking down at her orange hands.

“Afraid so. Here, let me.” He cupped her face with irritatingly clean fingertips and dabbed at her cheek with the towel.

It was a perfectly innocent gesture. Sweet, really. But Avery’s heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest, and she had the completely inappropriate urge to kiss him as his gaze collided with hers.

She cleared her throat and backed away. She blamed pregnancy hormones…and the insanely gorgeous surroundings. Finn had set up their pumpkin-carving station on one of the log mansion’s covered porches. It had a lovely, unobstructed view of the mountains, plus an enormous outdoor fireplace crafted from stone with a weathered wooden mantel. Any woman would have melted under the circumstances.

Avery kept having to remind herself that half the female population of Rust Creek Falls likely already had.

“You’re shockingly good at this.” She arched a brow at his two perfectly carved pumpkins in an effort to get her thoughts—and sensitive libido—back under control. “Do you have a degree in festive fall decorating I don’t know about?”

“No, but I suppose it’s fair to say there are indeed things you don’t know about me. After all, our interactions have been pretty limited to business gatherings.” Avery waited for Finn to crack a joke about their night together being the exception, but he didn’t.

She wasn’t altogether sure why that made her happy, but it did. “True.”

He seemed different here than he’d been back in Dallas, and it was more than just a switch from tailored business suits to worn jeans and cowboy boots.

“So you like it here in Montana?” she asked.

“I do.” Finn nodded and stared thoughtfully at the horizon, where a mist had gathered at the base of the mountain, creating a swirl of smoky autumn colors. “Life is different here. Richer, somehow. I always liked spending time on our ranch back in Texas, but somehow I never got out there much. I spent more time in boardrooms than I did with the herd. Does that make sense?”

Her face grew warm as he glanced at her. “It does.”

Avery couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to her own family ranch, much less spent any time with the herd. She’d spent more hours with Excel spreadsheets than she ever had with actual cattle.

Finn’s gaze narrowed, and as if he could see straight inside her head, he said, “When was the last time you hand-fed a cow?”

Laughter bubbled up her throat. “Seriously? Never.”

“Never?” He clutched his chest. “You’re killing me, Princess.”

Princess.

She usually hated it when he called her that, but she decided to ignore Finn’s pet name for her for the time being, mainly because it sort of fit, as much as she was loath to admit it.

He stood and offered her his hand. “Come on.”

She placed her hand in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he hauled her to her feet. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He winked, and it seemed to float right through her on butterfly wings. “You trust me, don’t you, Princess?”

That was a loaded question if she’d ever heard one. “Should I?”

He gave her hand a squeeze in lieu of an actual answer, then shot her a lazy grin and tugged her in the direction of the barn.

Right. That’s what I thought.

Of course she couldn’t trust him. He might seem at home here on the farm in a way that made her think there was more to Finn Crawford than met the eye, but just because a man could carve a jack-o’-lantern and went all soft around the edges when he talked about animals didn’t mean he was ready for a family.

Avery slipped her hand from his and crossed her arms. “What about the pumpkins? Won’t coyotes come and devour them if we leave?”

Her mind had snagged on Finn’s casual reference to coyotes earlier, probably because the biggest threat to jack-o’-lanterns in her Dallas neighborhood were mischievous teens.

He glanced over her shoulder toward the porch, where Maximilian had begun cleaning up their mess and hauling the pumpkins inside.

Avery rolled her eyes. “And you call me a princess.”

He flashed a grin. “Touché.”

He took hold of her hand again, and she let him, because his rakish smile and down-home charm were getting to her. And honestly, considering she was pregnant with the man’s baby, it was a little late to be worried about hand-holding.

The barn was cool and sweet-smelling, like hay and sunshine. It reminded Avery of the horseback riding lessons she’d had as a little girl. She’d ridden English, of course. No rodeos or trail rides for the daughter of Oscar Ellington. Her childhood and teen years had been about posh country club horse shows and debutante balls.

Her thoughts snagged briefly on what might be in store for her unborn child. If she raised the baby by herself, in Dallas, she’d be setting her son or daughter up for the same type of upbringing she’d had. Her father would see to it.