Having the Rancher's Baby Page 3

  “Denny was a real sweetheart,” she said. “Our breakup wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t mine, either. We simply weren’t equipped to deal with the...problems we faced.” Her voice cracked. “Some people never are, regardless of their age or how much they love each other.”

  Cole was tempted to take her hand again or run his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. He didn’t, not sure she’d welcome the gesture.

  “I got pregnant and lost the baby. Then it happened twice more.” She sniffled. “Denny tried his best to give me what I needed. Love. Support. Encouragement. But it just wasn’t enough—my grief overwhelmed us both. When I finally recovered, it was too late for us. I’d lost him, too.”

  “That must have been tough.” Cole hoped Vi saw past his lame response and realized how sorry he felt for her and her then-young husband. “No one should have to go through that.”

  “I’m afraid of miscarrying again.” Her teary gaze met his. “Very afraid.”

  Oh, the hell with it, he thought, and reached for her hand. “Who wouldn’t be, in your shoes?”

  She didn’t pull away and, instead, squeezed his fingers. “I’m also afraid of losing what’s important to me again. That was the hardest part.”

  Was she talking about him and their fledgling relationship? Apparently not, for she straightened and gently withdrew her hand from his.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I should know more then.”

  “What time?”

  “After lunch. Why?”

  “Let me drive you.”

  Her eyes widened. “There’s no need.”

  “I’m the baby’s father.”

  “And you didn’t bargain on that. I should have told you I wasn’t using birth control.”

  “I shouldn’t have assumed and taken precautions.”

  “Cole.”

  “Vi, let me go with you.”

  “Because it’s the responsible thing to do?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “People are going to ask questions or make assumptions. Especially Raquel. I’m not ready for that.”

  “We’ll come up with a cover story. Stick with the stomach flu and say you’re too dizzy to drive yourself.”

  After a moment, she relented. “Okay, you win.”

  “This isn’t a contest.”

  “Sorry. I’m still getting used to this, too.”

  He smiled. “That offer to follow you home still holds.”

  “I’m better now,” she insisted. “Why don’t you return those steers to the pasture?”

  He decided to follow her, anyway.

  They left the ranch house by the kitchen door and walked to the horse stables, where Vi had parked her truck.

  Before they parted, he said, “Call or text me later to let me know you’re okay. Humor me,” he added, when she started to object.

  True, Cole was still grappling with impending fatherhood, but he had no doubts of his fondness for Vi or his concern for her well-being. He’d also bet money she harbored a similar fondness for him.

  With luck, it might be enough to get them through the coming months, or possibly years.

  * * *

  VIOLET PASSED THE clipboard holding her completed medical forms over the counter to the receptionist, along with the pen she’d used.

  “Do you have your insurance card?” the woman asked, more efficient than pleasant. She accepted the card Violet gave her and made a copy before returning it.

  “You have a thirty-dollar co-pay,” the receptionist informed her. Once the transaction was complete, she said, “Go ahead and take a seat. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

  Violet didn’t ask how long that might be. She’d been seeing Dr. Medina for eight years, long before her first pregnancy. In all that time, nothing in the office had changed. Not the neutral decor, not the generic furniture and definitely not the long wait times. Even the vase of silk flowers on the reception counter was the same.

  On second thought, there was one big difference, and he sat in the corner, cowboy hat balanced on his lap. Every few seconds, one of the other two noticeably pregnant patients cast him a glance. An admiring one.

  Understandable, Violet supposed. Cole had cleaned up for the appointment, donning what appeared to be a fairly new Western-cut shirt and his best jeans. He looked...handsome. She could admit that. Much the same as he’d looked that night in the Poco Dinero Bar when he’d sauntered over and joined her at the table she shared with her friends, the local grain supply rep and his wife.

  Heaving a sigh, Vi plunked down in the chair beside Cole and propped her purse in front of her. If she was hoping to use it as a shield, she’d need something a lot bigger. A thick panel, maybe. Or simply distance.

  She could quite literally feel him. Violet wasn’t a romantic and, thanks to her parents’ three-decades-long miserable marriage, she didn’t subscribe to the theory of soul mates. But there was something about Cole that caused her to be acutely aware whenever he was in the same room. The sensation intensified when they were close and, she was certain of it, accounted for her weakness that night in the bar.

  He was a competent dancer. Quite good, actually. She hadn’t expected him to smoothly glide her across the crowded dance floor. Neither had she expected her insides to melt when he held her tight during the slow numbers.

  She’d been prepared for nothing more intimate than a good-night hug in the parking lot at the end of the evening, but Cole had had other ideas and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

  An amazing kiss. Surprised at first, she’d quickly surrendered. Apparently, she’d invited him home, because the next thing she knew, they were both in the backseat of her friends’ SUV, the lights of town passing by in a blur.

  It was while she’d driven him to his truck the next morning that they’d talked and mutually agreed to forget what had happened.

  Wait a minute. That wasn’t quite accurate. She’d done all the talking. Cole had gone along with her without adding much to the conversation.

  “Everything okay?” he suddenly asked.

  “Just waiting my turn.”

  “How much was the co-pay? I’ll reimburse you.”

  At least he had the decency to speak in a low voice. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “I’m paying,” he answered, his tone implying there’d be no further discussion.

  She stood up, strode over to the periodical rack and grabbed a magazine on pregnancy. Years ago, she’d subscribed to this same one and had saved the back issues, storing them in a credenza drawer. After the third miscarriage, she’d burned every copy in her backyard fire pit.

  Returning to her chair, she began flipping the magazine pages, barely noticing the ads and articles.

  What had she been thinking, agreeing to let Cole accompany her? She was tired; that must be it. And sick. She’d been in no physical condition to put up a fight. Though today she actually felt pretty good and had managed not to lose her breakfast or her lunch.

  She sneaked a glance at him, certain he had nothing whatsoever to do with her improved health.

  “Would you like me to come with you?” he asked.

  “Into the exam room?” She drew back in alarm. “Absolutely not.”

  He tensed.

  All right, she’d overreacted. But if the doctor delivered bad news, and that was a distinct possibility, Violet didn’t want Cole there to witness her emotional breakdown.

  What if the doctor delivered good news? She was two months along, after all. Well, then she’d relay the information to Cole and they’d continue as they’d previously decided, not telling anyone until she reached her second trimester.

  Even then, she’d insist on informing only close family and friends. Violet refused to take chances. M
ost people, though kind and well-intentioned, didn’t have a clue about what she was going through. Their sympathy when she’d miscarried had worsened her grief rather than relieved it.

  “Perhaps another time,” she offered by way of apology.

  “Next time,” he countered.

  His response thoroughly rattled her.

  A quick check confirmed the one remaining patient was occupied with her phone and not paying them any attention.

  “I thought you said you haven’t figured out what to do yet. But you’re planning to come with me to every appointment?”

  He bent his head close to hers and spoke softly, yet deliberately. “I’m concerned about you and your health.”

  “Pardon me, but I’m confused.”

  “Not to steal your words, but can we talk about this later?”

  “Fine.” She went back to reading the magazine.

  They waited another fifteen minutes when a nurse finally appeared in the doorway leading to the exam rooms. “Ms. Hathaway? This way, please.”

  Violet stood and would have gone if not for a gentle tug on her hand. It was Cole.

  “Good luck.”

  Her insides melted, just as they had on the dance floor. For a moment, she wished he was concerned about more than her health. Enough to reconsider his plans of returning to the rodeo circuit.

  He continued to occupy her thoughts as she walked down the corridor, throughout her weigh-in and blood pressure reading and when the nurse left her alone to change into the paper gown.

  What kind of father would Cole make? He wasn’t always caustic and abrupt. When he wanted, he had the ability to be sweet and tender and so very charming. She’d been the recipient of those qualities before and had basked in them.

  If only their circumstances were different. What then? Dating? Moving in together? Getting married? Violet wasn’t sure she wanted any of that. They really didn’t know each other well.

  Once under way, the exam progressed quickly. Violet found herself watching and listening intently to Dr. Medina for even the tiniest indication that something might be wrong. There was none. The other woman remained chipper throughout the exam, telling Violet that all was well and exactly as it should be.

  “Ready for a peek at your baby?”

  Her words startled Violet, and she almost refused “Yes. I am.”

  “Because your pregnancy is high risk, we’ll be doing a transvaginal ultrasound today.” When the probe was in place, Dr. Medina pointed to the monitor screen at Violet’s right. “There’s your baby.”

  She adjusted the volume, and Violet heard a rapid beat matching the small pulsating heart visible in the middle of the fetus. All at once, she started to cry, unable to stop herself. She hadn’t been far enough along during her other pregnancies to hear or see the heartbeat.

  Dr. Medina smiled sweetly and handed Violet a tissue, her curly silver hair framing her face like a wreath. “Try not to worry too much. It won’t do you or the baby any good.”

  Violet wiped at her tears. “It’s hard not to worry.”

  “I’d like to see you in two weeks.”

  Immediately, Violet feared the worst. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all. Just a precaution.” Dr. Medina returned the probe to its holder. Next, she pressed a series of buttons on the ultrasound machine and printed a picture, which she gave to Violet. “Next month, when the baby’s bigger, I’ll send you to the imaging center for a more comprehensive ultrasound. They’ll make you a CD.”

  Violet clutched the picture to her chest. She liked the sound of “next month.”

  Dr. Medina helped her to a sitting position, her hand remaining on Violet’s shoulder to comfort her. “Call me if you have even the slightest cramping.”

  “All right.” Violet had already programed the doctor’s number into her phone’s speed dial.

  “Remind me again—you work at a cattle ranch, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Outdoors?”

  “Almost always.”

  “And very physical.”

  “Comes with the territory.” There’d been times when the demands of her job had been an escape for Violet. A cure for her various woes. Miscarriages. Failed marriage. Parents always arguing and trying to coerce her into choosing sides.

  “I’m recommending you take it easy,” Dr. Medina said. “Rest every day, and by rest I mean lying down, for at least two to three hours. Absolutely no lifting and no strenuous activities. That includes horseback riding.”

  Violet instinctively pressed a hand to her belly. She’d do nothing that might harm this baby. “I’ll talk to my boss. Bosses. I have some vacation time coming. Maybe I can work something out.”

  “Sitting at a desk is fine, and I encourage you to walk. Exercise is beneficial as long as you don’t go overboard.”

  They talked awhile longer about diet and prenatal vitamins and various dos and don’ts, most of which Violet already knew. Dr. Medina didn’t mention the baby’s father, though she was aware of Violet’s divorce.

  Violet bit back the urge to inquire whether having a different father would improve her chances. They’d never figured out the cause of her miscarriages. Perhaps it had been genetic.

  “See you in two weeks.” Dr. Medina closed the door behind her when she left.

  Violet took a moment to say a quiet prayer of thanks before climbing off the table and getting dressed. Her legs wobbled and her knees shook, as much from relief as nerves. In the waiting room, Cole glanced up when she entered, then stood nearby while she scheduled her next appointment with the receptionist.

  “Do you need a reminder card?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The woman completed the card and handed it to Violet, her eyes on Cole and filled with questions. She’d worked there for years and probably remembered Denny.

  Violet tensed. It wasn’t anyone’s business who came with her to her appointments.

  Cole didn’t bring up her exam until they were on the road. “How did it go?”

  She proceeded to tell him the basic details, but to her horror, started crying again when she got to the part about the ultrasound.

  Cole reached across the console and took her hand. “I bet that was pretty neat to see.”

  Damn. Why did he have to be so nice?

  “I have a picture. I’ll make you a copy.” She felt another sob coming on and countered it with a change in subject. “I need to set up a meeting with you and your brothers. As soon as possible. It’s about my job.”

  Chapter Three

  Cole pressed on the clutch and manually shifted the tractor into second gear. It was a John Deere, circa 1990, and groaned like a grumpy old man before the wheels finally gained traction. Hooked behind the tractor was a flatbed trailer loaded with hay. Cole turned the steering wheel hard to the right and chugged in the direction of the horse stables.

  He was in charge of today’s afternoon feeding. The job normally fell to one of the hands, but they were working with a skeleton crew today, in part because of Vi’s absence. She’d taken off early to rest—something only Cole knew about—and to prepare for their five-thirty meeting.

  She’d requested to speak with all three brothers. Again, Cole alone knew her reasons. She planned to tell them about her pregnancy and then request a modified work week that included fewer hours and light duty.

  The meeting was scheduled for the only time Josh and Gabe were available—right before dinner. Nowadays, the demands on both men were many, and they were frequently gone from the ranch.

  Josh had full custody of his two children while their mother, fresh from a sixty-day stint in drug rehab, proved her ability to remain sober. He and his girlfriend, Cara, were in the market for a new house and went out looking every chance they
got. Cole expected the two of them to announce their engagement any minute, which was fine by him. He liked Cara. She made Josh happy and loved his children.

  Gabe, too, was working his tail off. He divided his days between Dos Estrellas and their nearest neighbors, the Small Change Ranch. There, he helped his fiancée’s Parkinson’s-stricken father manage their large cattle operation. Gabe would be moving to the Small Change soon and assuming even more responsibilities. His marriage to Reese was scheduled to take place this spring, and they were already steeped in preparations.

  Cole did his best to help out, filling in for both brothers when and where he could. Though he was a poor substitute for Raquel, he even babysat his niece and nephew on occasion.

  Speak of the devil!

  Rounding the corner, Cole caught sight of his three-year-old nephew not thirty feet in front of him, and hit the brakes hard. Dirt rose in a cloud as the tires skidded to a stop, and the heavily loaded flatbed trailer lurched, threatening to jackknife.

  “What the...” Cole pushed his hat back and wiped his damp brow.

  The boy walked alone, leading a small horse named Hurry Up. Like Hotshot, the mustang was a rehabilitated rescue from Cara’s sanctuary. Tagging after them was a five-month-old Australian shepherd pup, a recent addition to the Dempsey household.

  Cole cut the tractor engine, climbed down and jogged over to his nephew. “Hey, cowboy. What are you doing?”

  Nathan stopped to gaze up at him. “Hi, Uncle Cole.” He’d recently celebrated a birthday and since then had been talking up a storm, his vocabulary expanding daily. “I walking Hurry Up.”

  The horse and pup dutifully waited, the horse sniffing the dry ground, the pup chewing on a bent stick. Cole and Josh had once owned a horse and pup like these two when they were young. In Cole’s opinion, there were no better playmates.

  Hold on a minute. When did he start having opinions about kids’ playmates? Maybe since he’d found out he might be a parent soon.

  “Where’s your dad?” he asked.

  “Dunno.”

  Cole glanced around, not spotting his brother anywhere. Had Nathan wandered off? It wouldn’t be the first time. The boy was mischievous with a capital M, a quality he definitely inherited from his father’s side of the family. Both Josh and Cole had been notorious troublemakers in their day.