A Baby in the Bunkhouse

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.”