The Cowboy's Baby Bargain

Two

Caleb checked the rearview mirror one more time. The little red car still tailed him.

How long would it take for Brooke—if that was her real name—to come to her senses. Ladies like her didn’t waste time on men like him. She was way out of his league. Everything about her—her walk, her talk, her clothes—reeked of culture, class and education. He, on the other hand had none of the above. His ex had made sure he knew it, and he doubted he’d acquired any in the decade since Amanda had left.

He wasn’t one to pick up a woman in a bar, but it sure beat the hell out of his original plan of drinking himself into oblivion.

He’d stopped by the courthouse this afternoon hoping whomever had outbid him on the other half of Crooked Creek ranch wouldn’t show up with the cash by the five o’clock deadline. As second highest bidder he’d then buy the property by default, and his debt to his family would finally be repaid. The clerk had told him he’d missed the new owner by minutes. The deed had been signed, sealed and delivered, killing his chance to regain his family’s land.

He’d already waited ten years. How in the hell long would it take to get this monkey off his back?

He hit his blinker, indicating the restaurant, and pulled into the well-lit gravel lot. The timber building didn’t look like much, but they served the best barbecue in all of McMullen County, Texas, behind those faded gray doors. He ate here whenever he had business in the county seat.

Climbing out of his truck, Caleb shoved his keys into his pocket when common sense told him he should’ve been starting the hour’s drive home. Brooke parked beside him. He circled her tiny car and opened her door. When she swung her legs out his mouth went dry. She wasn’t wearing stockings. He had to tamp down the urge to stroke her from ankle to thigh to see if her skin felt as silky as it looked. He settled for taking her hand and pulling her from the low seat. Her grip was strong, but her palms were soft. The sight of her deep pink nails wrapped around his fingers set off internal alarm bells.

His ex-wife had been big on manicures, although she’d preferred fire-engine red on her talons. She used to do some pretty amazing things to him with her nails. ’Course, that had been before she’d discovered he wasn’t made of clay and that she couldn’t bend him into the man she’d wanted him to become. When she discovered he had a backbone, she’d packed up and left. Her leaving had caused one heck of a lot of problems back home—problems he’d continue wrestling evidently since somebody else still held the deed to his land.

Brooke smiled up at him, reminding him that her legs weren’t her only asset. She was long and lean, but curved in all the right places. Her eyes were as green as the stock pond on a hot summer day and just as deep. A man could fall in and not want to come out. Short blond hair cupped her chin and framed a face pretty enough to be on the cover of a magazine. Her skin was smooth and pale, as if she didn’t spend much time outdoors—another sign they had nothing in common.

It was probably the moonlight making her so beautiful—combined with the fact that he hadn’t had sex in longer than he could remember. He’d learned the hard way not to get involved with locals, and he rarely had the time or money to stray far from Crooked Creek.

He let go of Brooke’s hand and ran a finger under his collar when what he really needed to do was adjust his undershorts. His mind was taking detours and his body seemed happy to follow. Another minute of that trip and his jeans would cut off circulation to some vital parts.

“What a quaint place.” A soft smile curved Brooke’s lips.

He wondered if she was insulting the weathered building, but that didn’t sound like sarcasm coming from her lips. His mind shifted to far better ways of passing the time with a beautiful woman, ways that didn’t involve the width of a table or even a sliver of silk between them. Reining in his stampeding hormones took more effort than it should have.

She’d invited him to dinner. End of story. It was her birthday and she was lonely. He’d decided to accept her invitation because it meant delaying the inevitable of having to look his father and brother in the eye and tell them he’d failed them again. If he’d seen the flare of something more in Brooke’s eyes a time or two it didn’t mean he’d act on it. For crying out loud, he was thirty-eight not eighteen.

Tell that to his shorts.

She tipped her head back, studied the starry sky and inhaled deeply. “What a beautiful night.”

“Yep.” He turned toward the restaurant and tried to deny the desire to taste her soft mouth and feel her slender body beneath his. Having the width of the table between them looked better all the time. As long as he didn’t touch her again he’d be able to corral his urges. He hoped the smell of southern cooking would soon replace the smell of sweet woman in his nostrils.

An exiting couple opened the restaurant door before he and Brooke reached the porch. A blast of music hit him, and Caleb stopped so fast Brooke ran into him. For a split second her soft breasts pressed just below his shoulder blades and her hips nudged his butt. Electricity jolted through each of his cells as if he’d been hit with a cattle prod.

She frowned. “Pardon me. Is something wrong?”

He’d forgotten the restaurant had live bands on Thursday and Friday nights. The lights would be dimmed, and there’d be candles on the tables. The romantic atmosphere was the last thing he needed. Unlocking his jaw, he struggled to pull himself out of this whirlwind of need. “Band’s playing tonight. It’ll be loud. Maybe we’d better try someplace else.”

Excitement sparkled in her eyes. Damn. Next thing you know, she’d want to dance. “The band sounds wonderful.”

The hostess came forward and waved them in. Before he could convince Brooke to leave she’d requested a table for two, and the waitress had led them to a tiny square beside the dance floor.

Caleb’s stomach sank. The woman was already overloading his circuits and his common sense. Close body contact would fry his brain for sure. What he ought to do was go back to the seedy bar and get knee-walking drunk. He could sleep it off in his truck and go home tomorrow as planned.

He sure as hell didn’t need to spend an evening with a woman who had a five-year plan. He’d read that much in Brooke’s notebook before she’d closed it. His ex had made lists, too. He’d do best to remember that women-including the one tapping her toes across the table from him—always had an agenda.

He glanced at Brooke. She stared wistfully at the couples shuffling around the floor. Every muscle in his body tensed—in anticipation, no doubt—because he knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth.

“I wish I knew how to dance like that.”

“Anybody can two-step.” He bit his tongue, wishing the words back.

“I can’t. Would you teach me, Caleb?”

Ah hell. Now look what he’d gone and done, but it was her birthday. How could he refuse? If he had any luck at all the band would take a long break. “Maybe after dinner.”

Right after they gave their orders to the waitress the band left the stage. He hoped his luck would hold, that service would be fast and the band would be slow to return.

“So what do you do, Caleb?”

“Ranch.” She waited with an expectant look for him to elaborate. He was reluctant to do so—not because he didn’t love what he did, but because most women’s eyes glazed over when he started talking about ranch management.

“You?”

She ducked her head and looked at the checkered tablecloth. “I…write.”

“Write what? News stuff, travelogues, romances?”

“Self-help books.” She got a defensive expression on her face, almost as if she expected him to poke fun at her.

He nodded. “That explains it then.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Explains what?”

“All those meaty little phrases you throw out. So who’re you helping down here in McMullen county?”

“Myself.”

Curious as to what kinds of problems a beautiful woman like Brooke could have, he arched a brow and waited for her to continue.

She shifted in her seat and confessed, “I’m trying to define my personal success.”

There she went again, talking that self-help stuff. The words and delivery were stiff and proper, but there was a yearning in her eyes that told him she was anything but detached. It was kind of cute in a schoolteacherish way. Of course he’d never had any teachers who looked this good.

The waitress arrived with their dinners. Brooke waited for her to leave before asking, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to redefine your goals?”

“Can’t say that I have. I always knew I’d be ranching.”

“Why?”

The smells wafting up from his plate made his mouth water, but it looked like his appetite would have to wait. Back home, when the food hit the table everybody shut up and dug in. He didn’t remember many of the manners his momma had tried to teach him before she’d left, but he did remember the one about waiting for the lady at the table to eat first.

“I’m the oldest son of a rancher. Texan born and bred. I’ll take over from my dad.”

“Do your brothers and sisters feel the same way?” She focused all her attention on him, ignoring the trucker-size barbecue sampler platter in front of her. Either she wanted to try every version the restaurant offered or she had a voracious appetite.

Well, there was another thought he didn’t need. Brooke’s appetite for food or anything else was none of his business. He cleared his throat and tried to remember her question.

“Brothers, three of ’em. And no. One’s in medical school, another is—was— a world champion bull rider till this year when he up and got married. Patrick’s the only one still at home.”

“So you had choices, and you chose ranching.”

Caleb traced a finger along the outside seam of his jeans. Growing up it hadn’t felt like he had choices. He’d felt trapped. It wasn’t until Amanda had tried to make him leave Crooked Creek and move to the city that he’d discovered how much he loved the ranch. But how could he explain the love of open spaces and the desire to pit himself against nature to a city gal? His ex hadn’t understood, and she’d grown up on a neighboring property.

“Sweetheart, you’d best dig in while it’s hot.”

Brooke daintily lifted a rib and nibbled on it. Her tongue peeked out to swipe a smear of sauce from her lips. She looked from the coating on her fingers to the fragile paper napkin and back.

“Lick ’em.”

“Excuse me?”

“Lick the sauce from your fingers.”

She hesitated a moment, then glanced around to see that the other patrons were doing the same. Inserting a finger in her mouth, she sucked off the sauce—one finger at a time then moved on to the next rib.

Oh man. Watching the woman eat was an erotic experience. He probably would’ve been better off to let her keep talking. He swallowed hard, amazed that she had him so distracted he could barely taste his food. “What about you? How do you go about redefining yourself? Sounds painful.”

She smiled. “It can be. The journey of self-discovery is always a bumpy road.”

“Not interested in whatever it is your parents do?”

She shuddered. “No. Both are tenured college professors. They write endless theses that no one other than their colleagues can understand. It doesn’t matter how brilliant their work is because so few read it. I want to reach masses of people and help them fulfill their potential.”

He shifted in his seat. That was the same argument his ex had used. She’d wanted him to fulfill his potential by running for office in the county cattlemen’s association, then on the state level. She’d even talked about him being the next Texan president, for crying out loud. All the while she planned to paint her nails, spend his money and play queen of the castle. Problem was Crooked Creek wasn’t any damned castle, and it had taken her less than two years to blow through every dime his family had saved. Not only had his brother Brand lost his college fund, but they’d had to sell a piece of the ranch to keep from losing the whole thing.

“Does most of your family live nearby?” She nibbled and licked. He had to quit watching her and focus on his own dinner if he wanted to be able to string sentences together coherently.

“All but Cort, the youngest. He’s in North Carolina.”

“You have roots.” She sounded envious. “I’m working on that.”

The band returned as the waitress brought Brooke’s dessert.

He hated to see the band come back, but he sure was glad the music made it difficult for her to ask her probing questions. The lead singer warbled out a song about a man falling in love and knowing he’d screw it up because he’d done so with every other relationship in his life. Caleb tried to tune it out. It hit a little too close to home. His own relationships tended to be brief because most women didn’t want to play second fiddle to ten thousand acres of dirt and four-legged critters. It was only a matter of time before he missed some so-called important date because one of his animals got itself in trouble.

Brooke closed her lips around a forkful of some chocolate concoction, closed her eyes and moaned softly. He wasn’t a man prone to imagining things, but his mind immediately connected that sweet sound with sex. Would Brooke look that delirious with a man inside her? Would she close her eyes and tilt back her head, baring her throat to her lover’s mouth the way she did now? His gaze traced the slender line of pale skin, finding the pulse beating steadily at the base. His groin throbbed in tandem. He drained his glass of iced tea, hoping the chilled liquid would cool him off.

Brooke swallowed. The pink tip of her tongue appeared and stole a crumb from the corner of her lips. “You should try this. It’s positively sinful.”

Yep, sin was what he was thinking about—her mouth with something besides that fork in it.

“Sweetheart, a man would be a fool to get between you and your chocolate. You go right ahead and finish every last bite.” And torture him to death doing it.

She scooped up a portion and offered it to him. “Try it. I promise you’ve never tasted anything this good.”

Caleb studied her deep green eyes and wondered if she were making a pass. And if he wanted her to be. It didn’t seem likely. There was nothing overtly flirtatious about her, but he was so out of practice he could be missing the obvious.

It was no skin off his knuckles if the lady wanted to go slumming. He decided to test her and himself. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be tonight. There were worse ways to pass the midnight hours than in the arms of a beautiful woman—especially one only passing through town. No one would be the wiser if they spent a little time together.

He cupped his hand over hers on the fork and guided the dessert toward his mouth without breaking eye contact. The rich flavor exploded on his tongue. He let his gaze drop to her mouth and imagined tasting the chocolate from her tongue instead of her fork.

Brooke’s lips parted on an indrawn breath and her hand trembled within his. When he lifted his gaze to hers again something dark and sultry sparked in her eyes.

His heart—among other things—thudded painfully.

She snatched back the fork, dropped it on the table and looked away. The pulse in her throat fluttered wildly. He didn’t miss the nervous way she wet her lips or perched on the edge of her seat as if she were considering making a run for it.

At least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

“Are they two-stepping?” She nodded toward the shuffling couple closest to them. Her breathless voice was about the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.

He jerked his gaze away from the way her rapid breathing shifted her silk shirt across her breasts and eyed the couple plastered close enough to tangle belt buckles. “Nope.”

“What do you call it then?”

“Vertical sex.”

Brooke’s pink lips dropped open. She blushed and sat back in her chair. She continued watching the other dancers until the color in her cheeks evened out. “Can we dance now?”

“Now’s as good a time as any.” He hoped he could control himself.

Caleb pulled her onto the floor and into his arms. She was the perfect height to tuck her head beneath his chin if he were so inclined, but her body with its soft, sexy curves, had about as much give as a new fence post. “Loosen up. Two quick steps, two slow steps. Backwards. Slide your feet.”

She grimaced. “You’re just saying that so I won’t step on your toes.”

“Planning to?”

“I hope not.” She glanced up at him, frowned, and then looked back at their feet, concentrating so intently you’d think she was doing brain surgery. The second time her head clipped his chin Caleb decided he’d had enough.

“Brooke, look at me and let me lead. I won’t steer you wrong.”

She did as he asked, but the agony in her face told him she wasn’t enjoying it. She mouthed the count: quick, quick, slow, slow. He shifted his hand from her shoulder to her hip to guide her better. About halfway through the second song she caught the rhythm and cut loose with such a blinding smile that he nearly tripped.

“There you go.”

They circled the room a few times. The more she relaxed, the smaller the gap between them became. He didn’t think it was intentional, but the slide of her thighs against his was driving him slam out of his mind. He cleared his throat. “Had enough?”

“I could do this all night.” He barely heard the softly voiced comment over the band, but he didn’t miss the blissful expression on her face.

There were a few things he’d like to do with Brooke that might take all night. Dancing wasn’t one of them. “Brooke.” He waited until she tipped her head up and locked her gaze with his. “I can’t do this all night.”

Something in his eyes must have clued her in to the trail his thoughts had taken because she stumbled against him and met the tangible proof of his statement. Her eyes widened then something flared in their depths. She stopped in the middle of the floor, causing other dancers to fork around them.

“I—I wasn’t trying to lead you on. I mean…Oh my—This is crazy. I’ve never…I don’t even know you and I want—” She tucked her chin and mashed her lips together.

“What is it you want, Brooke?” His blood headed south and his throat closed up. He could barely get the words out.

“Nothing. Never mind. Let’s just finish the song and then we can—” Adorably flustered, she pulled him back into the line of dancers, leading again. He let her because his mind was…elsewhere.

She had to be close to his age, but she still blushed, for crying out loud. Something inside him softened. If she’d been the man-eater he’d originally taken her for back at the bar he’d have probably pushed her away. He’d had enough aggressive women to last him three lifetimes. But this vulnerable, shy side of Brooke reeled him in and turned him on.

He stopped beside their table and bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Know what I want? I want to see if you taste as sweet as that dessert.”

The shocked look on her face made him wonder if he’d have to resuscitate her.

Brooke dropped into her chair. Her legs would no longer support her. She’d thought learning the two-step would help her fit into her new home state. Instead dancing left her with a hunger for the taste of another Texas product—the handsome, slow-talking, rough-around-the-edges cowboy across the table.

Hadn’t she already done enough bad things to her body tonight by sampling the double chocolate raspberry mousse cake and drinking that vile beer? She didn’t need to add a one-night stand to her list of sins.

A one-night stand. The idea rippled through her like waves on a pond. She’d never had one—and of course she wouldn’t tonight—but dear heavens, he tempted her. Her hands shook when she blotted her face with her napkin. She sipped her water and sucked an ice cube in an effort to cool down. Why had ovulating never affected her this way before? Parts of her tingled like they’d never tingled before. She’d heard of the call of the wild, but she’d certainly never experienced it firsthand. Until now.

Caleb wanted her. The knowledge practically made her pant. She saw the need in his coffee-dark eyes, had felt it in the strength of his touch, and in the searing heat of the erection she’d accidentally encountered.

She’d never been so turned on in her entire life—not even by her former lovers. She’d known each of them for years before becoming intimate, and she’d thought she loved each of them. She’d known Caleb less than three hours, and she wanted to tear his clothes off.

The waitress passed and Brooke asked for the bill. Her voice sounded scratchy, and she was amazed the woman understood her. What would she do once she’d paid for their meal?

She had absolutely no idea.

She’d started the evening wanting to explore the way Caleb made her feel. She hadn’t expected the experience to last past dessert. After all, what did she have in common with a man who poked cows—or whatever it was called—for a living?

Did she have the nerve to investigate further? She’d never been sexually adventurous. Repressed is the word one of her lovers had used, and all because she liked to schedule their…encounters weeks in advance. She also had a tendency to tell her partner exactly what she liked, but it wasn’t because she was being bossy or picky. She knew what she wanted in a mate. She did intend to spend the rest of her life with this person after all. She had a right to high expectations both in bed and out.

And look where that had led her.

She had three failed love affairs to her credit and tomorrow she had the appointment in Dallas with a paternity Popsicle. Her stomach tightened, forcing her to dig in her purse for the roll of antacids. The day after being inseminated she’d fly to California to arrange the shipping of all her belongings from her apartment to her new home in southwestern McMullen County. She’d never see Caleb again.