Книга - A Baby in the Bunkhouse

A Baby in the Bunkhouse
Cathy Gillen Thacker








A Baby in the Bunkhouse

Cathy Gillen Thacker





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u7570613f-8725-540b-8916-2bbedb00d765)

Title Page (#uf4b916c0-3c3d-5a55-a040-70cc3f8832b7)

About the Author (#u00c35316-8215-5974-be98-45355c524bc0)

Chapter One (#u1020568f-a781-5105-88e3-5a7b59cf5a27)

Chapter Two (#u598be858-4de4-57ba-b593-c00d4aa8eabc)

Chapter Three (#u2be80e1a-a524-585d-b434-b848561452b2)

Chapter Four (#u170bb94f-e99d-5ee2-ad8c-9d574e8ab740)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Cathy Gillen Thacker is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website at www.cathygillenthacker.com (http://www.cathygillenthacker.com) for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favourite things.




Chapter One


“I figured I’d find you here, burning the midnight oil.”

Rafferty Evans looked up from his computer screen to see his father standing in the doorway of the ranch-house study. At seventy-four, Eli Evans had finally agreed to retire. Which meant he had more time on his hands to stick his nose into his son’s business. Sensing a talk coming on he’d rather avoid, Rafferty grumbled irritably, “Someone’s got to do the books before the fall roundup starts.”

Eli settled into a leather club chair. “The last two days of rain has you chomping at the bit.”

Actually, Rafferty thought, he felt this way every November. Ignoring the flash of lightning outside, he went back to studying the numbers he’d been working on. “A lot to get done over the next six weeks.”

Eli spoke over the deafening rumble of thunder. “Including the job of hiring a new bunkhouse cook.”

“The hands chased away the last three with their incessant complaints. They can fend for themselves while I search for another.”

“You know none of them can cook worth a darn.”

“Then they should be more appreciative of anyone who has even a tiny bit of skill.”

Eli thought about pursuing the matter, then evidently decided against it. “About Christmas…” he continued.

Rafferty stiffened. “I told you. I don’t celebrate the holidays. Not anymore.” Not since the accident.

Eli frowned with the quiet authority befitting a legendary Texas cattleman. “It’s been two years.”

Rafferty pushed back his chair and stood, hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. “I know how long it’s been, Dad.” He strode to the fireplace, picked up the poker and pushed the burning logs to the back of the grate. Sparks crackled from the embers.

“Life goes on,” Eli continued.

“Holidays are for kids.”

Eli fell silent.

Tired of being made to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, Rafferty added another log to the fire, stalked to the window and looked out at the raging storm. Rain drummed on the roof. Another flash of lightning lit the sky—followed closely by a loud clap of thunder. Car headlights gleamed in the dark night and turned into the main gate.

Rafferty frowned and looked at the clock. It was midnight. He turned to his dad. “You expecting anyone?”

Eli shook his head. “Probably another tourist who lost his way.”

Rafferty muttered a string of words not fit for mixed company. The car wasn’t turning around. It was just sitting there, inside the ranch entrance, engine running.

His father came to stand beside him. “You want me to go out there, set ’em straight?”

Rafferty clapped a companionable hand on his dad’s shoulder, and tried not to notice how frail it felt. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost his dad, too. He pushed aside the troubling thought. “I’ll do it,” he said. Then ordered gently, “You go on to bed.”

“Sure?”

Rafferty knew this kind of damp cold was hard on his father’s arthritis. He shook his head. “I’m sure they’re just turned around. I’ll make sure they get back to the main road.”

“The news said the river’s rising,” Eli warned.

Rafferty grabbed his slicker and hat from the coatrack in the hall. Shrugging on both, he swung open the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The chill air and the fresh green scent of rain were invigorating. “I won’t waste any time making sure they get on their way.”

OF ALL THE THINGS Jacey Lambert had expected to happen to her today, coming to the end of the road was not one of them. But after miles of traversing an increasingly rough and narrow highway that had dead-ended into the entrance of the Lost Mountain Ranch, that was exactly where she was.

She had gotten completely turned around.

She was tired and hungry. Her car was low on fuel.

Worst of all, her cell phone hadn’t worked for miles.

Would it be rude to knock on the door of the sprawling adobe ranch house just ahead?

Before she could formulate an answer, she heard the sound of an engine starting.

She looked up to see a pickup truck headed her way. It stopped just short of her Volvo station wagon.

A cowboy in a black hat and a yellow rain slicker climbed out of the cab, strode purposefully over to the driver’s side.

As he neared her, Jacey’s mouth went dry.

It wasn’t so much the size of him that caught her off guard. Although she guessed he was six foot three or so—with broad shoulders and the long-legged, impressively muscled physique of a man who made his living roping calves…or whatever it was cowboys did.

It was the face beneath the brim of that hat that truly made her catch her breath. Ruggedly handsome, with even features, a straight nose, arresting blue eyes and walnut-brown hair peeking out from under his cowboy hat. He was clean-shaven, a plus in her estimation. Jacey hated a man with a scraggly beard.

And she was digressing.

He’d obviously said something as she was sliding down her window, and he was waiting for her to answer. Which would have been okay if she’d known the question.

She swallowed to add moisture to her parched throat. “What did you say?” she asked.

“This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he repeated, clearly not all that happy about being pulled out in the torrential rain to deal with an interloper.

So much for the renowned West Texas hospitality, she thought on a sigh.

She indicated the highway map she had spread across her steering wheel—the one that covered her unusual girth. “I’m lost.”

His eyes narrowed. “I figured.”

“I’m trying to find Indian Lodge at Davis Mountains State Park.”

He angled a thumb in the opposite direction. Then growled, “You’re at least sixty miles of back roads from there.”

Which might as well have been six hundred, given how low visibility was in this pouring rain and thick mist. Even in good conditions, the speed limit on these winding mountain roads was barely thirty-five miles per hour.

These weren’t good conditions.

Plus, her back was aching, and all she wanted was a good bed and a soft pillow.

So much for her plan to do a little leisurely sightseeing on the way to her sister’s place in El Paso. “How far to the nearest hotel then?” Jacey asked, more than ready to be en route again.

“About the same,” he told her grimly.

She suppressed a groan. “Can you give me directions?”

He shook his head. “Too difficult to follow, even without the bad weather. I’ll lead you back to the main highway, point you in the right direction, and you can take it from there.”

Telling herself she could make it another hour or two if she had to, Jacey smiled with gratitude. “Thanks.”

She put her road map aside while the sexy cowboy in the yellow rain slicker stalked back to his pickup. He motioned for her to back out of the gate, then climbed into the cab of his truck. She did as directed and he took the lead.

Body still aching all over from way more hours in the car than she’d expected, Jacey turned her windshield wipers on high and followed the large pickup in front of her. They’d gone roughly two miles down the paved lane, when he started down a hill, then braked so abruptly she almost slid right into him. Wondering what the holdup was, she waited as the rain came down even harder.

She didn’t have long to wait. He put his truck in Park, hopped out and strode back to the driver side of her station wagon once again. “There’s water on the bridge,” he shouted through the window.

Jacey’s view of the low stone bridge was obscured. “How much?” she shouted back.

He grimaced. “About a foot.”

Jacey swore heatedly. If she drove across the low-water crossing, she’d be swept off the concrete bridge and into the current of the river. She looked at him, heart pounding. “Now what?”

“There’s a ditch on either side of the lane, and no room to turn around. You’re going to have to back up the hill.”

Jacey was not good at backing up. Never mind in these conditions. “Can’t I just—”

“Just do it,” he said abruptly. “And stay off the berm.”

“Easier said than done,” Jacey muttered as she took her car out of Park and put it in Reverse.

For one thing, she didn’t have headlights behind her, which meant she was essentially backing up in the dark. For another, the road wasn’t a perfectly straight line. In addition, she couldn’t recall exactly where the curve at the top of the steep hill began. And last but not least she wasn’t as physically agile these days as she normally was. Which made turning around to look over her shoulder while still steering with one hand very technically difficult, if not damn near impossible.

So it was really no surprise when she felt the station-wagon wheels on the right side slip as she inadvertently left the paved surface and hit the gravel along the edge. Slowing even more, she turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction in an effort to get back up on the road.

To no avail. The heavy rains, combined with the mud, had the wheels on the right side of the car sinking even lower. Jacey stopped what she was doing, not sure how to proceed.

The cowboy got out of his truck.

He stalked back, took a look and muttered a string of words she was just as happy not to catch.

“You’re not stuck. Yet,” he said.

Thank heaven for small miracles. Jacey flashed a weak smile.

“Just give it a little bit of gas and keep backing up slowly,” he instructed.

Jacey put her foot on the accelerator, pressed ever so lightly. The car didn’t move—at all.

He frowned. “More than that.”

Jacey pressed down harder. The wheels spun and the right side of her car sunk. She was stuck. Stuck in the mud on a lonely country road in Texas with a disgruntled cowpuncher staring at her as if he wanted to be anywhere else on earth.

She knew exactly how he felt.

Exhaling ferociously, he strode back to her side, while lightning flashed overhead. He stomped around to further examine the wheels on her tilting car then came back. “We’re not going to be able to get your vehicle out until morning,” he said as another clap of thunder split the air.

Jacey had been afraid of that.

“We can put you up in the bunkhouse.”

She blinked. This whole night was getting more and more bizarre. “With…cowboys?” she echoed incredulously.

“The cook’s quarters are unoccupied right now,” he told her curtly. “And they’re private.”

Jacey faltered. Asking someone she didn’t know for directions was one thing, accepting lodging another. “I don’t know…”

The cowboy seemed to have no such reservations. “What choice do you have? Besides sleeping in the car?”

And they could both see, with the most necessary belongings of her life taking up every available inch of space in the car, there was definitely no room for that.

It was only as Jacey was grabbing her purse and the small overnight bag she had planned to take with her into the lodge that she realized he hadn’t told her his name.

As soon as she got her bearings after working her way out of the car, she thrust out her hand. “I’m Jacey Lambert,” she said with a smile.

He reached out to swallow her palm in a warm, strong grip, and his gaze fell to her rounded belly. His polite but remote smile faded. “You’re pregnant.”

“You just now noticed?” Jacey was approximately two weeks away from actually delivering her baby. She felt large as a cow.

Irritation tautened his lips. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Guess not.”

They stared at each other in the pouring rain.

He had a rain slicker on. She did not. And the water pouring down from the heavens was quickly drenching her hair and clothing.

Evidently realizing that, at long last, he put an arm around her shoulders and hustled her toward his truck.

“I hope you’re better at backing up a vehicle than I was,” she joked as he shifted his large capable hands to her waist and lifted her into the cab.

He shot her a level look, a grimness that seemed to go soul deep in his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll have any problem,” he said as he climbed behind the wheel.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Jacey said after he successfully steered the truck past her car, and they proceeded rapidly toward the entrance of Lost Mountain Ranch.

“Rafferty Evans.”

“Nice to meet you, Rafferty.”

Her greeting was met with silence.

His mood was even more remote as he parked at a group of sprawling adobe buildings. They got out and walked the short distance across the pavement in the pouring rain—this time beneath a wide umbrella he’d plucked from behind the driver’s seat. When they reached the portal of the bunkhouse, he shook the umbrella out, closed it and set it just beside the door.

Looking over at her, he said, “The hired hands are asleep. So if you could be as quiet as possible…”

She nodded, incredibly grateful now that safety was upon her. She didn’t care if this handsome stranger had wanted to rescue her and her unborn child or not—he had.

“No problem,” she told him just as quietly.

The bunkhouse was a large, square building, built in the same pueblo style as the main ranch house.

He held the front door for her and motioned her inside. She walked into a spacious great room, with a long wooden table and chairs on one side, a huge stone hearth in the middle—with a dying fire—and a grouping of overstuffed chairs, sofa and large-screen television on the other side. There were three closed doors on each side of the large gathering room that looked like the entrance to private bedrooms or quarters. All was dark and quiet.

“Kitchen’s to the rear if you need anything. Help yourself,” Rafferty Evans leaned down to whisper in her ear.

Taking her by the elbow, he guided her toward a door. Just as she had suspected, it opened onto a nice-size bedroom, with dresser, chair and private bath. A stack of clean linens sat on the end of the unmade bed.

“I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning,” he said.

Then he turned on his heel and left.

ELI WAS WAITING for Rafferty when he walked back in the ranch house. “Get everything all taken care of?”

Rafferty exhaled, not surprised his dad had not gone on to bed, as directed.

He hung his wet hat and slicker on one of the hooks on the wall and stalked into the kitchen. “Not exactly.” He got a beer out of the fridge, twisted off the cap and flipped it into the trash.

He took a long pull of the golden brew before continuing, “The bridge is underwater—which, thanks to the fog, we weren’t able to see until we got right up on it. When we were backing up, the woman got her car stuck in the mud, so we’ll have that to look forward to in the morning.”

Eli paused to take this all in. “Where is she?” he asked eventually, brows furrowing.

As far away from me as possible under the circumstances.

Rafferty took another pull on his beer, trying not to think how incredibly beautiful the woman was. “Cook’s quarters in the bunkhouse.”

Eli did a double take and surveyed his son with a critical eye. “You put a lady in the bunkhouse?”

Worse than that, Rafferty thought, he put a pregnant lady in there.

Figuring his father didn’t need to know that part of the equation yet, Rafferty shrugged and ambled back to the fridge. He rummaged around for something to eat, trying hard not to think of Jacey Lambert’s ripe madonna-like figure and drenched state.

The bunkhouse was plenty warm. She had two blankets, a stack of sheets and towels, a warm shower if she wanted it and an overnight case that undoubtedly held dry clothing. There was no reason for him to worry. She’d be fine. If she wasn’t, well, he had no doubt she was just as capable at calling for help and waking all the cowboys up as she had been backing her car into the ditch. They’d let him know. In the meantime, he needed to put her and everything else he still preferred not to think about, out of his mind.

“She seemed okay with it,” Rafferty said. Deciding he needed some food in his stomach, too, he grabbed a slice of precut cheddar.

“That’s not how we do things around here,” Eli reprimanded in his low, gravelly voice.

Didn’t he know it. Rafferty downed his snack, and another quarter of his beverage. Avoiding his dad’s look, he walked over to the recycling bin. “Look. She was dead tired—she’s probably already asleep.” He dropped the empty bottle into the plastic bin. “Which is what I plan to do.” Go to bed. Forget everything.

“We’re going to talk about this in the morning,” Eli warned.

Rafferty imagined they would. But not now. Not when he had so many unwanted memories trying to crowd their way back in.

“’Night, Dad.” Rafferty gave his dad a brief, one-armed hug and headed down the hall that ran the length of the seven-thousand-square-foot ranch house.

It was only when he reached his room that the loss hit him like a fist in the center of his chest.

But instead of the image of his own family in his mind’s eye, as he stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers and went to brush his teeth, he saw the trespasser he had encountered in the pouring rain.

She had glossy brown hair, a shade or two darker than his, that framed her face with sexy bangs and fell around her slender shoulders like a dark silky cloud. If only her allure had ended there, he thought resentfully. It hadn’t. He’d been held captive by a lively gaze, framed with thick lashes and dark expressive brows.

Everything about the woman, from the feisty set of her chin and the fact she was stranded late at night, pregnant and alone, to the way she carried herself, said she was independent past the point of all common sense.

Thank God she’d be leaving in the morning, as soon as he could get her station wagon out of the muck, Rafferty thought as he got into bed.

The sooner she left, the sooner he could stop thinking about Jacey Lambert’s merry smile and soft green eyes.

Now all it had to do was stop raining.




Chapter Two


Jacey woke at dawn, her body aching the way it always did when she’d spent too long behind the wheel of a car, her stomach rumbling with hunger.

She opened her eyes, and for a second as she looked around the rustically appointed room, she had trouble recalling where she was.

Then she remembered the rain—which was still pounding torrentially on the roof overhead—the jagged slash of lightning across the dark night sky, thunder so loud it shook the ground beneath her. And a man in a black hat and a long yellow rain slicker coming to her rescue.

Jacey closed her eyes against the image of that ruggedly handsome face and tall, muscular frame.

She didn’t know what it was about Rafferty Evans. She’d seen plenty of men with soft, touchable brown hair and stunning blue eyes. Taken item by item, there’d been nothing all that remarkable about his straight nose and even features. So what if every inch of him had been unerringly masculine and he’d been six foot three inches of strength and confidence? Just because his shoulders and chest had looked broad enough to shelter her from even the fiercest storm was no reason to tingle all over just remembering the sight of him, or the gentle, deferential way he’d helped her out of her car.

But she was. And that, Jacey decided, was not good.

She had a Volvo station wagon that was still stuck in the mud. And a baby inside her needing nourishment.

Padding barefoot to the private bathroom where she’d taken a warm shower the evening before, she slipped inside and began to dress in the long, pine-green maternity skirt and cream-colored sweater. Needing to feel a lot more put together than she had the evening before, she took the time to apply makeup and sweep her hair into a bouncy ponytail high on the back of her head.

She slipped her feet back into a pair of soft brown leather stack-heeled shoes that were going to be woefully inadequate for the conditions and repacked her overnight case. Leaving it on the bed for the moment, she opened the door to the main cabin of the bunkhouse and stared at what she saw.

Five genuine cowpunchers of varying sizes and ages, all staring at her. Waiting, it seemed. “Hi. I’m Jacey Lambert.” Awkwardly, she held out her hand.

The beanpole-thin cowpoke who was nearly seven feet tall was first to clasp her hand. “Stretch.”

Jacey could see why he was named that.

“I’m Curly.” A mid-twentyish man with golden curls and bedroom eyes was second in line.

Obviously, Jacey thought, as they clasped palms a bit too long, he was the self-proclaimed lady-killer of the bunch.

“Everyone calls me Red,” said a third.

The youngest cowhand couldn’t have been more than nineteen, Jacey figured, and had bright red hair and freckles.

“I’m Hoss,” said a big fellow with a round belly and a receding hairline.

So named because of his striking resemblance, Jacey figured, to a character on the old Bonanza television show that still played on cable in Texas.

“And I’m Gabby,” said the last.

Jacey estimated the forty-something man’s scraggly beard to be at least five days old, if not more.

“We are so glad to see you,” Gabby continued, pumping Jacey’s hand enthusiastically.

“Yeah, after what happened with Biscuits, we didn’t think we were going to get anyone else in here, but we’re starving.”

“Actually,” Jacey said, not sure what they were talking about, “so am I.”

“We, uh, know you just got here,” Stretch said, patting his concave belly, “but could you take mercy on us and cook us some breakfast?”

Jacey blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” The group shrugged in consensus. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Jacey figured she had to repay the ranch’s hospitality somehow. “Sure.” She smiled. “I’d be glad to.”

HOPING AGAINST WHAT he knew the situation likely to be, Rafferty nixed a visit to the bunkhouse—where their unexpected guest was likely still sleeping the morning away—and drove down to the river. Or as close as he could get to the low water crossing; the concrete bridge was now buried under several feet of fast-moving water. With the rain still pouring down there was no way it would recede. Not until the precipitation stopped, and even then, probably not for another twenty-four to thirty-six hours.

Realizing what this meant, Rafferty stomped back to his pickup. En route back to the ranch he passed the red station wagon. It was still half off the berm of the lonely dead-end road that led to the ranch, its right wheels buried up past the hubcaps in the muddy ditch.

Worse, it looked as if it was packed to the gills with everything from clothes to kitchenware to what appeared to be a baby stroller and infant car seat. They’d have an easier time getting the vehicle out of the mud if it weren’t so weighted down with belongings, but the thought of having to unpack all those belongings, only to repack them again made him scowl all the more.

He and the men couldn’t start the fall roundup until the rain stopped.

Knowing however there were some things that could be done—like getting that car out of the mud so their uninvited visitor could be out of their way as soon as possible—Rafferty drove toward the bunkhouse.

He was pleased to see the lights on, the men up.

Pausing only long enough to shake the water off his slicker, he strode on in, then stopped in his tracks. Stretch was setting the table. Curly was pouring coffee. Red, Gabby and Hoss were carrying platters of food. Steaming-hot, delicious-smelling, food. The likes of which they hadn’t been blessed with since he couldn’t remember when.

In the middle of it all was Jacey Lambert.

Impossibly, she looked even prettier than she had the night before, her cheeks all flushed—whether from the heat of the stove or the thoroughly smitten glances of the men all around her—he couldn’t tell.

“Hey, boss,” Stretch said.

“I’ll get you a plate.” Red rushed to comply.

“Man, this stuff smells good.” Hoss moved to hold out a chair for Jacey at the head of the table.

Flushing all the more, she murmured her thanks and slipped into the seat with as much grace as the baby bump on her slender frame would allow.

Rafferty felt a stirring inside him. He pushed it away.

“We didn’t think we were going to get someone to cook for us again until, well, heck, who knows when,” Curly said, helping himself to a generous serving of scrambled eggs laced with tortilla strips, peppers and cheddar cheese.

Curly handed the bowl of migas to Jacey, while the others ladled fried potatoes, biscuits and cooked cinnamon apples onto their plates.

Gabby paused long enough to say grace. Then the eating commenced in earnest.

To Rafferty’s chagrin, the food was every bit as delicious as it looked, and then some. From his position at the opposite end of the table, he gazed curiously at Jacey. “You’re a chef by profession?”

Her vibrant green eyes locked with his and she shook her head. “Property manager. Er…I was.” She lifted a staying hand, correcting, “I’m not now. Although I like to cook…”

“I can see why,” Gabby interjected cheerfully. “You’re dang good at it.”

“Thank you.”

“Which is why we’re so glad you’re here,” Stretch added.

Rafferty could tell by the relaxed smile on her face that Jacey Lambert had no idea what the men were talking about. He, however, did. Which left him to deliver the bad news. “She’s not our cook,” he said.

Uncomprehending expressions all around.

He swore silently and tried again. “I haven’t hired her. She’s not working here.”

“Then what’s she doing sleeping in our bunkhouse?” Hoss demanded, upset.

“My station wagon got stuck in the mud last night,” Jacey said. She leaned back in her chair slightly, rubbing a gentle, protective hand across her belly.

Turning his attention away from her pregnancy and the unwanted memories it evoked, Rafferty looked at the men. “She’ll be on her way to wherever she was headed—”

“Indian Lodge, in the Davis Mountains State Park and then El Paso,” Jacey informed them with a smile.

“—as soon as the river goes down.”

“Then let’s hope it never goes down,” Curly joshed with a seductive wink aimed her way.

Everyone laughed—including Jacey—everyone except Rafferty. Finished with his breakfast, he stood. He was about to start issuing orders, when Jacey let out a soft, anguished cry.

All eyes went to her.

She blew out a quick, jerky breath. The color drained from her face, then flooded right back in.

“You okay?” every man there asked in unison.

Jacey pushed back her chair, got clumsily to her feet. Trembling, she looked down at the puddle on the seat of her chair. Eyes wide, she whispered, “I think my water just broke!”

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! Jacey thought as the door to the bunkhouse opened once again and a silver-haired, older man who bore the same rugged features Rafferty Evans sported walked in. Eyes immediately going to her, he swept off his rain-drenched hat and held it against his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked with the quiet authority of someone who had long owned the place.

Jacey braced herself with a hand to the table. “I think…I’m having my baby,” she said as a hard pain gripped her, causing her to double over in pain.

The ache spreading across her middle was so hard and intense, she couldn’t help but moan.

Her knees began to buckle.

The next thing she knew, Rafferty was at her side. One hand around her spine, the other beneath her knees, her swept her up off her feet and carried her the short distance to the bed where she’d spent the night.

He laid her down gently.

Jacey shut her eyes against the continuing vise across her middle.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” Rafferty said gruffly.

Another pain gripped her, worse than the first. She grabbed Rafferty Evans’s arm and held on tight, increasing her hold as the knifelike intensity built. The combination of panic and pain built; hot tears gathered behind her eyes. Oh, God. “I don’t think I can wait for an ambulance.” Glad she was lying down—she surely would have collapsed had she been on her feet—she blew out another burst of quick, jerky breaths.

This was not something Rafferty wanted to hear. He stared down at her, willing her to stop the labor, as surely as he had rescued her the night before. “Yes. You can.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She shook her head and tightened her hold on him before he could exit the cook’s quarters. “I can feel the baby coming!”

“It’s still going to take a while.”

Was it? She blew out more air, beginning to feel even more frantic now. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another two weeks!

The group of cowhands pushed their way in. Along with them was the elder rancher. “I just called the hospital,” he reported grimly. “The Medevac chopper can’t take off until the fog lifts, which won’t be for at least another half hour. And with the bridge out…If this baby’s in a hurry, we may have to deliver it ourselves.”

Jacey couldn’t help it—she uttered an anguished cry as another excruciating pain circled her waist, pushing downward.

Vaguely she was aware of Rafferty swearing.

“Don’t look at us!” the group of cowboys said, already backing up, palms raised in surrender. “None of us know anything about birthing babies.”

The elder rancher looked at Rafferty. “Looks like you’re on, son.”

Rafferty did a double take that was no more encouraging. “Why me?” he demanded.

“Because you’re the only one of us who’s had any veterinary training!” Stretch said.

Veterinary training! Jacey thought.

Rafferty looked as unimpressed by his education as Jacey. “One semester,” he stated plainly, glaring at the hired hands who circled the bed. “That hardly qualifies me to work as an obstetrician.”

“Maybe not,” Hoss drawled, “but right now, boss, you’re all we got.”

Besieged with another contraction, Jacey grabbed the blanket she was lying on with both fists. This was going to be some story. First, she got hopelessly lost, something she never did. Then she drove her car into a ditch, spent the night in a bunkhouse, was unwittingly mistaken for the new cook, whipped up breakfast to great acclaim…and then went into hard, fast labor. Next thing she knew…She moaned out loud as the pain increased unbearably. “I can’t believe I’m talking about having my baby delivered by a vet-school dropout!”

“Now, now. He’s got to know something,” Curly soothed with a wink.

“Yeah, he delivers all the horses and cows on the ranch,” Red added helpfully. “The ones that need help birthing anyway.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Rafferty protested grimly.

“Not even close,” Jacey agreed in the same humorless tone.

“Close enough,” the older man countered sagely, stepping in with that cool air of authority once again. “Emergency Medical Services said the docs over at the Summit Hospital E.R. will answer any questions you have and talk you through it until they can get here—just give ’em a call.” He pushed the phone into Rafferty’s hand, then extended his palm to Jacey. “I’m Eli Evans by the way,” he said warmly, reassuring her with a glance that all would be well. “My son and I own this place.”

Eli seemed like a nice guy. Hospitable and ready to lend a hand, unlike his son, who seemed to be offering aid with as much reluctance as Jacey felt receiving it.

Another contraction wrapped around her middle. It was all Jacey could do not to whimper as the pain increased. Recalling her labor coach’s advice to relax and distract herself from the discomfort as much as possible during the early stage of labor, Jacey puffed, “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Her know-it-all sister had been right—Jacey shouldn’t have taken her sweet old time getting to El Paso for the birth.

Jacey forced a determined smile and kept her attention on Eli. “And thanks for the lodging last night.”

“You’re welcome.” Eli squeezed her hand reassuringly, before releasing it. “Although, for the record,” he said mildly, “I would have put you up in the ranch house.”

“My room was fine.” She’d slept well. Which was good, considering what she had ahead of her.

“You ought to taste the breakfast she cooked us,” Stretch remarked.

Eli’s craggy brow lifted in surprise. “You cooked?”

Jacey shrugged as perspiration beaded her entire body. “It seemed a fair trade. Besides, we were all hungry.”

Unable to help herself as the pain increased to defcon levels, she let out a low, keening moan.

Every cowboy in the room—except Rafferty—stepped away from the bed she was lying on. As if it would somehow help to give her space.

And maybe it would, Jacey thought as sweat dampened her hair and heat pushed up her neck into her face. Despite the fact she was now once again diligently doing her Lamaze breathing, she felt as if she would never be able to get enough air.

Father and son exchanged concerned glances she wished she hadn’t seen. “Let us know if you need anything.” Eli directed the cowboys out, and the door shut behind them.

Jacey and Rafferty were alone, and Rafferty looked about as happy with the situation as she was.

He punched in a number, stated he was going to be the one delivering the baby, then listened intently. “This your first baby?” he asked Jacey.

“Yes.”

“Then we’re probably going to have plenty of time.”

Rafferty went back to talking on the phone, absorbed what sounded like a slew of in-case-things-do-get-out-of-hand instructions. Promising to call back if he needed further instructions, he hung up and opened the bedroom door. “Get me a stack of clean towels and something to wrap the baby in!” he called.

The cowboys milling nervously about jumped to attention. Mere seconds later clean linens were shoved into Rafferty’s arms.

“Boil a pair of scissors and some string. I want ’em sterile,” he barked before shutting the door and striding back to the narrow twin bed. Despite his lack of experience, he carried himself with a gunslinger’s confidence, which, oddly enough, made her want to kick him in the shin. Perverse as it might be, she wanted him to feel as panicked and out of control as she did. She wanted them to be on a level playing field.

A glint of humor in his blue eyes, he surveyed her mussed hair and flushed cheeks. “Want a bullet to bite on?”

“Very funny,” she panted.

“Whiskey to kill the pain?”

“You’re a laugh riot.” Tears streamed down her face. “All those wonderful delivery-room drugs would probably help just about now.”

“I’m sure they’ll give you a shot of whatever as soon as the EMS gets here. Meanwhile—” he dragged the ladderback chair over to the end of the bed “—we’re going to have to get you better situated.” He patted the end of the mattress. “So you’re going to have to scoot down to the end.”

With her whole body wrapped in a vise? Suddenly, she was trembling from head to toe. “I don’t th-th-think I c-can.”

“I’ll help you.” Gentle, reassuring now, he put his warm, strong hands beneath her, then shifted her bottom to the end of the mattress. He slipped onto the seat of the chair, positioning her legs so her knees were raised, her feet flat on the mattress. He lifted her again, held her there with one hand and spread two clean towels out beneath her.

Another wave of intense pressure rocked Jacey’s frame. Was it her imagination or could she literally feel the baby bump moving lower…? “I know it doesn’t seem possible…but I r-r-really think I f-f-f-eel the head.”

“Only one way to find out.” He was so calm and matter-of-fact they might have been talking about the weather. “We’ll take a look, see how far your cervix is dilated.”

“Guess those veterinary classes are coming in handy.”

“Now who’s the smart-ass?”

Grinning, she had a feeling he’d be a fun guy to spar with. Under other circumstances…She sucked in a breath as another contraction gripped her.

The look on his face as he checked out the situation confirmed her worst suspicions and the reason for her distress.

“You need to call for help again?”

All business, Rafferty shook his head. “No time.”

No time?

“Hang in there, Jacey.” His voice was as warm as his touch. “We can do this.”

Suddenly, with him by her side…she felt as if they could.

He remained focused on the task ahead. “I’m going to have to touch you.” He applied a very gentle counterpressure to her perineum that made her feel as though things were getting back into control, however slightly. “And you’re going to need to pant or blow through the contractions. Just don’t push. Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”

Marshaling every bit of self-control she had, she fought through the excruciating pain and did as instructed.

“I can see the head. It’s coming out…nice and slow…which is good. We don’t want to rush anything. Wait! I’ve got to unhook this loop of umbilical cord from around the baby’s neck.”

Jacey sucked in a breath and went as still as possible, not even daring to breathe.

“Easy does it,” he murmured as he gently worked the cord over the baby’s head. “Okay, we’re good to go,” he said with a smile. She felt the backs of Rafferty’s hands brush against her spread thighs as he took the baby’s head in both his palms. “Now push! We’ve got a shoulder…an upper arm…! Another shoulder and…a baby!” he declared triumphantly.

Jacey felt a whoosh as the infant slipped completely free of her body. Another rush of fluid. Incredibly happy and at peace, she watched as Rafferty cleared the mouth of mucus and held the squirming, squalling baby aloft so she could see.

A LUMP CLOGGED Rafferty’s throat as the baby let out one lusty cry after another. A cheer went up on the other side of the door that paired nicely with Jacey’s exultant cry as she met her infant daughter for the first time. “Hello, Caitlin, my sweet baby girl,” she whispered, happy tears streaming down her face.

“Congratulations,” he said gruffly, pushing aside memories of another place, another time and life that had been cruelly taken away.

He wrapped the pink, squalling baby in a towel and handed Caitlin to her mother.

Too overwhelmed to do more than nod, tears of joy streaming down her face, Jacey cradled the newborn close to her chest. Forcing himself to rein in the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, too, Rafferty returned to the end of the bed and concentrated on the task still at hand. Tears pricked the back of his eyes. Determinedly, he willed them away. “Anyone you want to call?” he asked in the most impersonal tone he could manage.

Abruptly, Jacey went very still. “If you’re asking about a…husband…”

He was.

As reluctant as he was to imagine her with any other guy, he didn’t want her to be alone, either.

“I don’t have one.”

Rafferty should have figured that would be the case, given how independent she was. He checked, saw the afterbirth still attached to the umbilical cord, well on its way.

He went to the door. Got the sterilized scissors and string from the cowboys on the other side. Shut it again. “Baby daddy then,” he prompted.

Blissfully entranced with the quieting bundle in her arms, Jacey shook her head, replied softly, “Don’t have one of those either.”

Rafferty checked out her left hand. Sure enough, it bore no wedding ring.

Which meant what? The baby’s father had abandoned her? Died? Was around but chose not to be involved? Her expression gave no clue. And in fact, she seemed defiantly determined not to discuss it with him.

He figured that was her right. He didn’t want to talk about his personal life, either. Still, there had to be somebody who cared, someone to notify.

“Family then,” he insisted matter-of-factly. With the placenta out, Rafferty was free to tie off and then cut the umbilical cord. Finished, he tucked the towel in around the baby once again, keeping the newborn warm.

“I’ve got a sister in El Paso whow as supposed to be my labor-and-delivery coach. I’ll call her after we get to the hospital.”

Without warning, there was a thump thump thump of an approaching chopper.

“Sounds like the Medevac team is here,” Rafferty said.

Given the heart-wrenching memories that this experience had conjured up, it wasn’t a moment too soon.




Chapter Three


“Heard you and the baby were about to be released.” Eli Evans stood in the doorway of Jacey’s hospital room two days later. Hat held against his chest, he asked, “Mind if I come in?”

Jacey smiled. “Please do. I owe you and your son and everyone at the ranch so much.” For the food and lodging, getting her car out of the mud, and most especially, for delivering her baby.

Not that she’d seen or heard a word from the vet-school dropout who’d done the honors since the EMS had rushed into the bunkhouse and taken over.

The sexy rancher hadn’t called. Hadn’t come by. Or sent flowers.

And while technically she knew there was no reason Rafferty Evans should have, she’d privately hoped she would see him again. She thought they’d bonded during Caitlin’s birth, the way strangers who lived through an unexpected trauma together did.

Obviously not.

Rafferty wasn’t going to be around to see her through the transition into motherhood. He wasn’t going to help her ward off her overbearing older sister, Mindy, or be there to lean on in the days ahead. Even though for one brief, fanciful moment, Jacey had wished that were the case…

Oblivious to her thoughts, Eli set a glass vase of flowers down on the table beside her hospital bed.

“As far as the men are concerned, it’s the other way around,” Eli told her. “They haven’t stopped talking about that breakfast you made them.”

Happy to be drawn back to reality, Jacey waved off the praise. “It was no big deal.”

“To a bunch of hired hands who haven’t had a decent meal in months, it is. Which is why I’m here.” Eli paused to gently touch Caitlin’s cheek in the same way a loving grandfather might, then dropped his weather-beaten hand and stepped back. “I promised ’em I’d at least ask if you wanted a job as ranch cook.”

Jacey blinked. Talk about providence! Loving the soft, sweet smell of baby, she held Caitlin closer to her chest. “You’re kidding.”

Eli sobered. “No, Ms. Lambert, I surely am not. We’ve got fall roundup going on out there for the next five or six weeks. And seven men in need of three square meals a day. I understand you just had a baby and have got to have some time to recuperate. That you probably have a job elsewhere.”

So he’d heard she had no husband to support her. That meant Rafferty had told him. Did Rafferty and his father also guess her options at the moment were severely limited, thanks to the unexpected loss of her job in San Antonio the previous week?

No matter. Without warning, she’d found herself in need of new employment and a new apartment, since her previous place had come with the job. Unless she wanted to impose on her sister indefinitely. And Jacey really didn’t, given the unending stream of advice the terminally overprotective Mindy would no doubt be handing out on a daily, hourly basis. She had no other options at the moment. But this.

“Actually,” Jacey cut in cheerfully, “I’m looking for employment as well as a place to live—temporarily anyway.” She couldn’t say she’d want to live in such isolation indefinitely. But right now it wouldn’t be a bad place to be while she figured out her options and looked for another position in her regular line of work.

Eli worked the brim of his Stetson hat in his age-spotted hands. “Any way you could do this for us? We’d make it worth your while.”

To Jacey’s shock, Eli named a salary on par with what she had been earning with the management company.

Joy bubbled up inside her. “I could keep Caitlin with me at all times?”

“Absolutely. We’d see you had everything the two of you need.”

We. Abruptly remembering the Lost Mountain Ranch was jointly owned and operated, Jacey bit her lower lip. “What about your son? How is Rafferty going to feel about this?” Initially, he hadn’t wanted her on their property at all.

Eli regarded Jacey with a look that told the new mom that her instincts were right—her presence as ranch cook wasn’t something Rafferty would desire.

“You leave that to me,” Eli said.

“I DON’T CARE how providential it seems. Taking the job as the Lost Mountain Ranch bunkhouse cook is a mistake,” Mindy told Jacey as she dressed her baby girl in her pink-and white going-home-from-the hospital outfit. “Because you know exactly what’s going to happen.”

Jacey wrapped Caitlin in a matching baby blanket. “I’ll save money for a fresh start?”

Mindy swept a hand through her cropped brown hair and turned her laser-sharp brown eyes to Jacey. “You’ll get too comfortable. Before you know it, you’ll be settling for what’s convenient and easy again, rather than holding out for what you really want.”

Jacey handed Caitlin over to her older sister. As always, Mindy was nicely dressed, in an elegantly tailored shirt and slacks. “Look, I know you love me…” she began.

Mindy cuddled her niece with familial love and tenderness. “And Caitlin, too.”

“And want only the best for me,” Jacey continued, wishing her big sis were a lot less protective, now that they were both grown-up and headed down different paths.

Mindy exhaled, exasperated. “I’m just telling you what Mom would have said if she were here.”

Their late mother, Jacey was fairly certain, would have understood. After all, Karol Lambert had made her own share of sacrifices as she struggled to support herself and two small daughters after her husband died.

But figuring it would do no good to say that to Mindy—who had reacted to their beloved mother’s death, when Mindy was nineteen and Jacey was eighteen, by focusing solely on setting goals and achieving them—Jacey kept quiet. Instead, she slipped into the adjoining bath to put on the gray and pink warm-ups she intended to wear.

“You need to call Cash, tell him you and the baby are in trouble,” Mindy said.

Eager for the time she’d actually be able to go out and run again, Jacey put on her socks and athletic shoes. Finished, she marched back out to confront her sister. “First of all, I’m thirty-one years old. I can make my own decisions. Second, I don’t have a clue where Cash is. And third, you know very well that he doesn’t want to be involved.”

Mindy frowned. “Caitlin is his baby!”

Jacey exhaled slowly and counted backward from ten. “Not in any way that counts,” she argued.

Mindy’s jaw dropped.

Wondering why her sister was so flummoxed—certainly not from the same old disagreement they’d been over countless times in the last nine months—Jacey pivoted in the direction of Mindy’s gaze. Suddenly, she understood. Rafferty Evans was standing in the doorway, bigger than life. Her eyes drifted over him as shock set in. She thought he had looked good rescuing her and delivering her baby. It was nothing compared to the way he looked this afternoon in a dark brown leather jacket, light blue shirt and jeans. His thick brown hair had been cut since she’d seen him last. The clean, rumpled strands were an inch and a half in length, slightly wavy.

“Well, this explains part of it anyway,” Mindy drawled.

Figuring it would do no good to tell her sister the situation wasn’t what it seemed, Jacey turned her attention to Rafferty.

Reassuring herself she was immune to his studly presence, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

His mesmerizing eyes kept more private than they revealed. “I heard you needed a ride back to the ranch.”

Her heart beat rapidly for no particular reason. “Your father said he was going to do it.”

He sauntered in, the fragrance of soap and man clinging to his clean-shaven jaw. “That was when your projected release time was this morning.” Steering well clear of Mindy and the baby, he lounged against the wall and shrugged his broad shoulders. “When it turned out to be later, I got tapped. He had an appointment with his rheumatologist in Fort Stockton this afternoon, although he’ll probably be back at the ranch by the time we get there.”

“Oh.”

Mindy handed Caitlin back to Jacey. As soon as the transfer was accomplished, she made a beeline for Rafferty and shook his hand with the intimidating air Jacey loathed. “I’m Dr. Mindy Lambert, Jacey’s sister.”

“She’s currently finishing up her residency in El Paso,” Jacey put in.

“I’m studying psychiatry,” Mindy stated.

“Fortunately, I don’t let her practice on me,” Jacey said.

Rafferty laughed.

It was, Jacey decided, a beautiful sound.

“I’d advise you to do the same,” she continued dryly.

Rafferty nodded, not the least bit intimidated. “So noted.” He looked around. “Listen. If you’re not done with your visit…”

Mindy held up a hand. “Actually, I’ve got to get back to El Paso. I was trying to convince Jacey to come home with me, as originally planned. But since she’s refused, I’ll just have to keep tabs on her and Caitlin another way.”

Jacey rolled her eyes. “You really need to work on that overprotectiveness. You should probably see someone.”

“Ha-ha.” Mindy watched as Jacey settled Caitlin in the Plexiglas nursery bed.

“Seriously, thanks for coming over.” Jacey embraced her sister. Despite their differences, they loved each other dearly. “I know how hard it is for you to get away.”

Mindy returned the embrace warmly. “I’d do anything for you. You know that.” Mindy drew back to look into her eyes. “You call me as often as you can and let me know how you’re doing. Promise?”

Jacey nodded, her throat thick with emotion. “Promise,” she said huskily.

Mindy bent and kissed her niece goodbye, then headed out. Jacey was so busy watching her sister go, she forgot for a moment they weren’t alone.

“So, who’s Cash?” a low male voice asked from behind her.

Jacey turned. Rafferty was standing next to the window, one shoulder braced against the glass, his arms folded in front of him. He looked sexy and indomitable. “You heard that?”

“Couldn’t help it.” Undisguised interest lit his handsome face. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Jacey began gathering up the rest of her things. She folded them neatly and put them in her overnight bag. “He’s a friend of mine, who donated the sperm for my baby.”

Rafferty narrowed his eyes. “You talking literally?”

“It was done in a doctor’s office, if that’s what you’re asking.” She could tell by the way Rafferty was looking at her that he was thinking back to the conversation they’d had during her delivery, about the baby’s daddy—or lack thereof. “Cash and I agreed from the outset that he would not be responsible for this child.” There were, in fact, legal documents verifying this.

Rafferty stepped closer. Arms still folded in front of him, he looked down at the sweetly sleeping Caitlin. “So he’s never even going to see this baby?” He looked stunned.

Jacey inhaled. “I’m sure he will at some point.”

“But you’ve got no plans—”

“To call him? I don’t even know where he is right now. Last I heard he was headed for the wilds of Alaska to do some dogsledding.”

Rafferty regarded her, an increasingly inscrutable expression on his face.

The unexpected intimacy of the conversation left her feeling off kilter. Heart pounding, Jacey picked up her baby and held her close to her chest. “Let me guess. You don’t approve.” If so, he wasn’t the first, and she was sure, he wouldn’t be the last.

Ignoring the baby, Rafferty looked her square in the eye. “If you think it’s going to be that simple,” he concluded gruffly, “you’re fooling yourself.”

“WHAT’D YOU SAY to tick her off?” Eli asked an hour and a half later.

Rafferty noted his dad’s arthritis had eased up, along with the rain. He was moving around a lot more comfortably. But then, that was the way the disease worked. One day his dad would be chipper and spry and ready to saddle up with the rest of them, the next Eli’d be so stiff and sore he’d barely be able to get around. There was just no predicting. Which was why he’d had to retire—and do physical ranch work only sporadically.

However, his dad’s intellect, his ability to take in everything around him down to the smallest detail, remained intact.

Bracing himself for a possible lecture, Rafferty rocked back in his desk chair. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the look on Jacey’s face when she came in the front door. This should be a very joyous day for her. She was happy when I spoke with her at the hospital yesterday. Now she looks like she wants to punch something. Namely you.”

Rafferty went through the day’s mail, tossing the junk and stacking the rest. “She told me she had her baby via sperm donor.”

Eli sat down. “How in the world did that come up?”

Not easily, Rafferty thought. “I sort of asked her.”

“Sort of?”

“Okay, I asked her.”

Eli exhaled loudly, his frustration apparent. “Since when are you curious about other people’s personal lives?”

Never, Rafferty knew. “I was just making conversation,” he fibbed. When, in actuality, he’d had to know the truth. Why, he wasn’t sure. It shouldn’t matter to him who Caitlin’s daddy was, or what that guy might or might not mean to Jacey.

“You need to go apologize,” Eli reprimanded.

Rafferty didn’t see why. “She didn’t have to tell me what she did,” he pointed out calmly.

“But she did.” Eli thumped the arm of the chair with the flat of his hand. “And as long as she’s working here and living in this house—”

“Which is the second bad idea you’ve had,” Rafferty interrupted.

Eli scowled, prompting, “The first being…?”

“Hiring her,” Rafferty retorted. He would have had a hard enough time forgetting Jacey Lambert as it was. Now, how the hell was he supposed to pretend she was just the new ranch cook since he had shared one of the most intimate emotional experiences of her life when he’d delivered her baby girl into the world?

“She’s an excellent cook. The men love her. We’re lucky to have her. As far as where she bunks—” Eli’s finger stabbed the air emphatically “—there’s no way I’m having a woman and her baby in the bunkhouse. Period. So you need to get used to that.”

He was going to have to get used to a lot of things, Rafferty decided. The foremost of which was the way his father was suddenly taking over the domestic front, while still letting Rafferty do whatever he wanted with the cattle business.

His father had a point about one thing. For all their sakes, he did need to steer clear of Ms. Jacey Lambert. Rafferty grunted. “Fine. I’ll go tell her I’m sorry I offended her.”

And that, he promised himself, was the last thing he would have to do with the dark-haired beauty in quite a while.

Thankful that at least his dad had possessed the good sense to put Jacey and her baby in the opposite wing of bedrooms than the one he and his dad stayed in, Rafferty strode through the ranch house to the bedroom where Jacey would be sleeping.

The door was shut.

Hoping she was already asleep and wouldn’t respond, Rafferty rapped lightly.

“Come in. The door’s unlocked,” she said.

Reluctantly, Rafferty pushed open the door…and practically sunk through the floor at what he saw.

Jacey was seated in a rocking chair, her feet propped up on the footstool in front of her. The zip front of the city-chic pink-and-gray sweats she wore was open. The clinging T-shirt beneath pushed up above her ribs, revealing an expanse of luminous, creamy-soft skin. And although she had a pink baby blanket draped across her shoulder, obscuring all but the baby’s feet from view, it was easy to see that Jacey was nursing.

“Sorry.” Rafferty told himself to back out of the room—now—but his feet seemed glued to the floor. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s okay.” Curious now, she said, “What did you want?”

Seriously? Rafferty thought. You. And that shocked him, too. He hadn’t wanted a woman this way in a very long time. If ever.

He swallowed. “I just wanted to apologize if I offended you.”

Her smile was soft, contented. Due entirely, he was sure, to the snuggling baby in her arms.

A baby that, previous viewings had confirmed, was every bit as beautiful and feminine, soft and sweet, as she was. A baby, perversely, he longed to hold. Which again was weird since he had decided two years ago that having a family was just not in the cards for him.

Jacey studied him across the expanse of the bedroom. Bathed in the softness of the lamplight, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, she looked incredibly maternal.

She lifted a hand, as cheerful and easygoing as she had been the first night they’d met. “It’s okay,” she told him with that kind, understanding smile he found so appealing. “You’re entitled to your opinion. And I’m entitled to my hormones.” Her lips curved ruefully as she admitted with a blush, “I think I’m a little moody. My doc said it will pass as soon as my body adjusts to not being pregnant.”

She’d made a lovely pregnant woman, Rafferty thought.

The kind who loved motherhood with every fiber of her being. The kind of woman who should be married and have a dozen kids. Not doing it on her own, with a sperm donor who—to hear her tell it anyway—didn’t give a damn.

But again, it was none of his business.

“Hang on a minute.” She eased the baby from beneath the blanket. He had a glimpse of the bottom curve of her breast, and then her knit T fell down over her ribs, obscuring all that creamy skin from view.

Immune to the lusty nature of his thoughts, Jacey came toward him, the drowsy Caitlin in her arms. Before he could realize what she was about to do, she had transferred the sleeping baby to his arms, so the infant’s face was pressed against his shoulder. “Would you burp her while I wash up?” Jacey asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Too stunned to resist, Rafferty cradled the incredibly small and lightweight newborn to his chest.

Resisting the urge to bury his face in the downy-soft dark brown hair feathering the top of the infant’s head, he called out as Jacey disappeared into the adjacent bath. “I don’t know how to…do that…”

It was embarrassing to admit, but he’d never even held a newborn baby before, if one discounted the actual birth three days before. The few kids he’d had the occasion to hold had always been a lot older.

Jacey opened the door a crack and stuck her head out. “Just pat her on the back and walk around a bit.”

He heard the sound of water running.

“And be sure you support the back of her neck and head with your hand. She can’t hold it up by herself.”

Obviously, Rafferty thought.

Trying not to like this too much—he saw now how people got used to it—there was something satisfying about holding a life so delicate and new, so warm and cuddly, in your arms. It made you realize how precious life was. Rafferty frowned as the small eyes closed. “Uh…I think she’s going to sleep.”

“Keep patting her on the back. She should burp in a minute.”

Through the opening in the door, he could see Jacey moving about at the sink, hear the soft sound of soap being rubbed between her hands, on her breasts…? Turning away abruptly, he continued to pace around.

The water was shut off.

“You about done in there?” he said.

“Just need to put some cream on.”

Deciding he didn’t even want to know what that meant, Rafferty pushed the image of any lotion being applied out of his head and kept walking, back turned away from the bathroom door.

His persistence was rewarded. Caitlin let out a loud burp, more suitable for a carousing college student than a tiny baby.

Laughing, Jacey came out to join them. “Let me just put her down and then I’ll be right back,” she said.

Her hands brushed his chest as she eased the baby from his arms. Rafferty caught a hint of lavender and baby powder, and then Jacey was gone. He was left standing there, his arms empty, feeling oddly bereft.

IT WAS DISCONCERTING having this big, sexy rancher in her bedroom when she was nursing, but Jacey figured she’d better get used to it since she—and Caitlin—were the only females on Lost Mountain Ranch.

“The bassinet and the rocking chair and footstool are really nice by the way.”

Rafferty studied her as if that was hard to believe.

Jacey wondered what he found unacceptable about the nursery items—the fact that they were antiques, or that they were a little on the frilly side, with lacy white overlay linens on the bassinet and pastel needlepoint cushions on the chair and cushion. “The bassinet is even on wheels, with a locking mechanism on the bottom, so I can move it around as I need to.” She paused as the next idea hit. “You’re not upset that I’m using Evans family heirlooms, are you?”

He gave her the kind of enigmatic look that held her at arm’s length once again. “Why would I care about that?” he asked finally.

Wondering if she would ever understand Rafferty Evans and what drove him, she expressed her gratitude. “In any case, it was sweet of your dad to get it out of storage and wash the linens in baby detergent and have it all set up for me.”

Rafferty nodded. “He can be very helpful.”

As well as annoying in some ways, Jacey guessed. Deciding she and Rafferty may as well be straight with each other, as long as they were going to be residing under the same roof, she continued, “Although…just so you know…I told your father it probably wasn’t a good idea to have me here.”

He went very still. His expression was as maddeningly inscrutable as his posture. “So you’re leaving the job?”

Jacey couldn’t say why, but it hurt her feelings that Rafferty was not as pleased as everyone else to have her on the ranch. Not that he didn’t have reason to be irritated with her. She had caused him some trouble. Brought him out in a driving rain. Got her car stuck in a muddy ditch. Gone into labor and forced him—by process of elimination—to deliver a baby on ranch property.

She had also fixed breakfast for the men. And was about to prepare hot meals for them three times a day, through the holidays, as a ranch employee. She would have thought he’d be relieved not to have to worry about feeding the cowboys.

Instead, he kept looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost. And not a particularly nice one at that.

“Would you prefer it if I didn’t take the job and left the ranch?” she asked, determined to remain unintimidated by his brusqueness.

He waved her inquiry away with an impatient hand. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“It matters to me,” Jacey countered stubbornly.

Rafferty frowned, his gaze probing her. “Why?” he asked, indifferently.

“Because! I’m trying to figure out who you are—Mr. I Couldn’t Remember My Manners If a Snake Jumped Up and Bit Me.”

“Snakes don’t jump,” he said, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

She stepped closer, as if she hadn’t noticed how impatient he was becoming. “Or are you ‘The Really Nice Guy’ who helped deliver my baby? The skill with which you dispense rudeness and inhospitality says it’s the first. But the gentleness you exhibited when Caitlin and I needed you, or the way you were holding my baby just now, says that kindness isn’t entirely foreign to your nature.”

He regarded her with a slow, devastating smile. “I thought your sister was the psychiatrist.”

Jacey shrugged. “Her constant analyzing is rubbing off on me.”

He came closer, too, daring her with a look. His eyebrow went up. “And what does your analyzing say about me?” he asked softly.

A ribbon of desire swept through her. She had the sense that she was getting too close for comfort, yet could not turn away. “I think you protest too much. That you kind of like the idea of having me here, even if it’s only going to be through the holidays.” After that, she’d told Eli she would try to find something in her field.

Rafferty rolled his eyes. “Now you are off in la-la land.”

“Look,” Jacey said, “I may not have trained professionally, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I am a great cook.”

Rafferty blew out a contemptuous breath. “Your skill at the stove has nothing to do with how I feel about this arrangement.”

“Then what does?” Jacey demanded, stepping closer still.

“This,” he told her gruffly, pulling her into his arms for a steamy, all-bets-off kiss.

It had been way too long since Jacey had been embraced this way. Unable to withdraw from the evocative pressure of his mouth moving over hers, she surrendered to the taste and feel of him. It felt so good to be surrounded by such strength and warmth, to lose herself in a kiss that was so sensual and searing it took her breath away.

She had been kissed before. But never like this, in a way that sent emotions swirling through her at breakneck speed. Never in a way that brought forth such a soul-deep yearning.

Rafferty had figured she’d slap him across the face before their lips ever touched. Instead, logic and feelings had fled. Feelings, need, had taken over. She had wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately. So passionately, in fact, he didn’t ever want to let her go. Their lips had just begun to fuse, and already he wanted another kiss that was deeper and hotter and more intimate than the last. And damn her, he thought, as she curved her body into his, if she didn’t want it too…

Which was why it had to stop. Now. Before it went any further. He let her go. “Now do you see why it’s a bad idea for you to be here?” he asked.

“Maybe for you,” she retorted, blushing furiously. “Since you can’t control your lust or your tongue.”

She swore, realizing too late the way he was taking what she had just said.

“I meant your mouth,” she corrected over his chuckling.

His rogue amusement only deepened.

All the more frustrated, she swept her hands through her hair. “I meant your words. Manners. Deeds,” she finished flatly.

Rafferty agreed—he shouldn’t have kissed her, and she sure as heck shouldn’t have kissed him back. But they had and now the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface was out there. Hotter than a fire burning in the grate on Christmas Eve.

“I do have a way of upsetting women.”

“That’s an understatement and a half.”

“That being the case—” he sauntered lazily toward the door “—maybe you should leave.”




Chapter Four


“Man, it smells good in here,” Stretch said.

“Anything we can do to help?” Curly asked with his lothario smile.

Jacey gave the gravy on the stove another stir, then checked the oven to see that the traditional corn-bread stuffing was almost done. The five hired hands had been hanging around the bunkhouse all morning, taking turns holding Caitlin, and sampling the various Thanksgiving dishes as she prepared them. “You-all can set the table.”

“For seven?” Red asked.

Jacey did a quick calculation. Five cowboys, Eli and Rafferty and herself. That made…“Eight.”

“You including Rafferty?”

“Yes. Why?” Just because Rafferty had been avoiding her entirely for the last four weeks—she had not seen him once—did not mean he would not grace them with his presence for the ranch’s traditional turkey dinner.

“Um…” Hoss hemmed and hawed. “Rafferty doesn’t do holidays anymore.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t do holidays?” Jacey slid the yeast rolls in to bake, alongside the sweet-potato and green-bean casseroles.

Gabby spoke for the group reluctantly. “Well, not since…you know, the thing with Angelica.”

“What thing with Angelica?”

Stretch looked uncomfortable. “Fellas, I don’t think we should say any more.”

Gabby nodded. “It’s really none of our business.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble with the boss,” Curly said.

“Me, neither,” Red agreed.

“Sorry, Jacey,” Hoss said gently. He gave her a look that was equivalent to a pat on the shoulder. “We just didn’t want you to be disappointed when the boss didn’t show up.”

She had passed disappointment weeks ago, when he’d kissed her, and then made sure she didn’t so much as lay eyes on him again. Not easy to do, when they were both residing under the same roof, albeit in different wings. “Where is Rafferty?”

“Out working,” Curly said.

Red nodded. “He was going to burn the spires off the prickly pear on the south side of the mountain.”

“That had to be done today?”

The men shrugged, apparently seeing nothing wrong with it.

IT WAS NEARLY FOUR-THIRTY when the Lost Mountain Ranch pickup his father usually drove bumped along the gravel road that connected the pastures on the property. Wondering what was up, Rafferty put down his propane torch. He shoved the brim of his hat back, waiting. It wasn’t long before the driver came into view. Seeing who was behind the wheel, he released a string of swear words not fit for mixed company. And he was still muttering when Jacey parked in the middle of the lane, left the cab and marched toward him.

She was dressed ridiculously, in a black knee-length skirt that revealed just how much of her baby weight she had already lost, some sort of thin, cream-colored sweater with a lacy collar and a row of fancy buttons up the front, just begging to be undone, and sexy black suede heels definitely not meant for traipsing through the brush.

Noting she didn’t look scared or worried, just mad, which meant there was no real emergency, he leaned against a recently sheared prickly pear, crossed one boot-clad foot across the other, folded his arms in front of his chest and simply waited.

When she got close enough for them to converse normally, she demanded, “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m supposed to be working in the pasture. You’re the one who’s lost.” He hooked his thumb in the direction she’d come. “The kitchen is thataway.”

Her soft lips formed an irritated line. “You’re a laugh a minute, Rafferty Evans.”

He settled in against the cactus. “I think so.”

Sparks radiated from her green eyes. “You’re also unbearably rude.”

Here it came. The lecture he’d heard at least half a dozen times before. Although never from her. He picked up his propane torch, turned around and headed through waist-high brush. “Go away. I’ve got work to do.”

As he half suspected, she stormed after him, giving a little cry when her skirt caught on the spires of a cactus he hadn’t yet had time to trim back.

Concerned, he turned around to see her delicately extricating the fabric from the pointed end of the spire. Luckily, she didn’t appear to be hurt. “Need some help?”

Another glare. “What I need is for you to talk to me. Why did you skip Thanksgiving dinner this afternoon?”

He let his gaze drift over her lazily. “Shouldn’t you be doing dishes or nursing the baby?”

She ignored his rudeness. “The men are doing the dishes for me—they insisted, since the dinner you missed was so fantastically delicious. And Caitlin just nursed and went down for a nap, so they’re watching over her, too. They’ll call me on the truck radio if I’m needed, which I don’t expect to be, since the baby was awake all morning while they fawned over her.”

Sounded cozy. “What does any of that have to do with me?” he snapped.

Her eyes moist, she stepped closer. “You hurt your father’s feelings.”

“I did not.”

“Yes,” she enunciated plainly. “You did.”

Rafferty tensed. “He said that?”

Ignoring the damage it was doing to her shoes and clothes, she waded through waist-high brush. “He didn’t have to. I saw his disappointment when you didn’t show up and your place at the table went empty.”

“First of all—” Rafferty set the torch down once again “—a place for me should never have been set. The men should have told you that.”

She tilted her face up. “They did.”

He scowled at her. “Then why did you set one?”

Color blushed her cheeks. “Because I figured you wouldn’t be that much of a jerk. But then…I didn’t know about Angelica.”

Once again, Rafferty was caught off guard. Once again, he put his emotions in a box. “No one told you about that. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Really. Then how do I know her name?”

Good question.

Jacey stepped closer yet. “I get that she broke your heart.”

Rafferty’s gut twisted. Once again, he found himself defending the indefensible. “My wife didn’t get thrown from a horse and lose our baby on purpose.”

“You were married?” Jacey interrupted, stunned.

“What’s so odd about that? Yes. I was married,” Rafferty growled. “And furthermore, I thought you knew all about Angelica.” Damn it. She’d been bluffing. And he’d fallen for it.

“I gathered she meant a lot to you, that she was your girlfriend. No one said anything about you actually being married.”

“Well. I was.” For better or worse, and mostly, worse.

Jacey made a face that indicated she was struggling to understand. “And she was horseback riding when she was pregnant?” Jacey spoke as if that was the dumbest thing on this earth.

And it had been.

As well as the saddest.

Figuring he might as well answer a few questions—otherwise he’d never hear the end of it—Rafferty said, “She wasn’t supposed to be. But Angelica was not the kind of woman who liked to be told no.”

“Even when she was carrying your baby?” Jacey said, aghast.

Rafferty shrugged, weary of trying to make sense of the insensible himself. “She thought it’d be okay. She was a natural athlete, an accomplished equestrian, and she’d done it before early in the pregnancy, snuck out to ride, and nothing had happened. So even though the doctor told her not to do it, and I forbid it, she kept saddling up every time no one else was around. And that happened from time to time.”





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