A BABY FOR CHRISTMAS?

Tiffany Lawson promised herself that she would never, ever give her heart to a man again. Now she’s a pregnant former rodeo queen and ex-debutante struggling to support her mother and grandmother. She’s already picked out the perfect adoptive parents, but cowboy Navy SEAL Rowdy Jones isn’t letting anyone take his child.

Rowdy loves the rush that comes from being a Navy SEAL, but finding out he’s about to become a dad? That trumps everything. While he and Tiffany shared only one night, Rowdy’s determined to do right by her and their baby. His next mission—to win Tiffany and keep his son—might be his toughest yet…

How many times had he proposed?

Funny, but accepting Rowdy’s offer of marriage struck Tiffany as a cop-out. They were virtual strangers. Aside from their lone hot night, they had nothing in common. Sure, the baby was half his responsibility, but the last thing she wanted was for him to feel trapped.

Most important, Tiffany deserved more than what would essentially be a marriage of convenience. If she ever married again, it would be forever. Rowdy was sweet, but not exactly a forever kind of guy.

“Need help?”

She looked up to find him kneeling alongside her.

His face was close enough to hers that with minimum effort, she could have leaned forward to press her lips to his. She could have. And it was an undeniable fact that kissing him would feel beyond amazing. Sublime. But what would that solve? There was no denying their physical chemistry.

But that had nothing to do with the kind of love it took to sustain a forever kind of marriage…

The Cowboy Seal’s Jingle Bell Baby

Laura Marie Altom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAURA MARIE ALTOM is a bestselling and award-winning author who has penned nearly fifty books. After college (go, Hogs!), Laura Marie did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boy-girl twins and a bonus son. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.

When not immersed in her next story, Laura plays video games, tackles Mount Laundry and, of course, reads romance!

Laura loves hearing from readers at either PO Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or by email, balipalm@aol.com.

Love winning fun stuff? Check out lauramariealtom.com.

When I asked my daughter who this book should be

dedicated to, she smiled and said, “Duh—me and Yeti.”

Yeti’s her big, doofus black Lab who’s so naughty

that he actually takes time away from my writing.

He doesn’t in any way deserve a book dedication,

but since he’s so cute, I’ll cave… :-)

For Hannah & Yeti

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

’Twas the night before Easter...

“How about letting a cowboy buy you a drink?” Navy SEAL Rowdy Jones slurred his words, but the evening’s libations bolstered his courage. As such, he’d moseyed over to the gorgeous little hottie who’d stolen his last rational thought.

She appraised him as if he were a stud sire up for auction.

“Want me to spin around so you get the full force of my magnetic attraction?” he asked with a grin.

In a dive bar filled with boot-wearing, beer-guzzling cowboys, she sipped a martini. Her white dress clung tight enough to have been painted on. She had the face of an angel, with cherry-red lips and a sleek wave of blond hair his fingertips knew would feel silky.

Instead of speaking, she downed more of her drink, then raised her hand, motioning for him to twirl.

More than a little turned on by her silent take-charge demeanor, he raised his longneck beer high, gyrating his ass in time with George Strait’s “All My Ex’s Live in Texas.”

He didn’t just want this gal; he had to have her—all of her. Down and dirty and every way in between.

In his thirty-odd years, he’d gotten pretty good at sizing up a man’s or woman’s character. The woman’s exterior screamed iceberg dead ahead. But a sadness in her eyes made him wonder if her carefully applied outer persona was eggshell fragile.

“Like what you see?” he asked on the turn around.

Without a trace of a smile, she nodded.

“Wanna get a room?”

She nodded again.

She set her drink on the bar, then held out her hand as if she were a princess and he her loyal subject.

His brain couldn’t quite compute the fact that she was taking him up on his offer, but he wasn’t complaining. He paid their bar tabs, then led her through the maze of Saturday-night heroes, all striving to outshine one another with their tall tales.

Though the next morning would ring in Easter, their miserable portion of North Dakota hadn’t gotten the memo. Earlier that night at the annual rodeo, the temperature had been pleasant enough, but a front must’ve moved in and cold wind whipped his mystery gal’s formerly smooth hair into a wild, sexy tangle.

Given the nasty weather, the bar’s exterior was lonely. Neon beer signs glowed through dusty windows. The parking lot’s one light didn’t do much to show their way to the adjoining motel.

Giddy Up Inn wasn’t fancy, but he’d heard from temporary cowboys hired to move cattle from seasonal ranges that it was clean.

The lobby was plain.

A single red Formica counter held a cash register and a few struggling plants. The air smelled of Lysol and the coffee brewing on a corner stand.

Rowdy paid cash for the room, and the weary-looking clerk handed over an actual key attached to a plastic horseshoe.

Back outside, Rowdy sheltered his dream girl from the worst of the wind. He found room twenty-one and slipped the key into the lock.

The room was cold, so he quickly shut the door and turned on the heat.

The woman stood just inside the door.

She hugged herself and looked on the verge of crying.

“Look,” he said, “if you’d rather call this off, I’d understand.” He hooked his thumbs in his Wranglers’ back pockets. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be disappointed, but my momma raised me to be a gentleman and—”

“You always talk this much?”

She flew at him like a summer wind—wild and hot.

She braced her hands to his stubbled cheeks, slanting her lips across his with what he could describe only as an angry, frenzied need. He met the sweep of her tongue and groaned.

When she reached for his belt buckle, he was all too happy to help her along. She jerked his denim shirt open with enough force to rain buttons onto the carpeted floor. She pressed her small, nimble hands to his chest, kneading his pecs, skimming his abs. She trailed her lips over his bare skin, nipping his left biceps, sucking the hollow at the base of his neck.

Her every action screamed desperation.

The gentleman in him wondered why.

The horny bastard only wanted more.

He spun her around, jerking down the zipper on her dress. It might be white, but her attitude was bad-girl red. He let the garment drop to the floor, and with her back to him, he kissed her neck, cupping his hand to her belly to press her against his obvious need.

Her bra and panties weren’t from around these parts. White lace fine enough for him to rip off her with his teeth yet fancy to the degree he wasn’t ashamed to admit he felt damn near intimidated.

As if her curves weren’t tough enough to handle, there was her scent—once again at odds with her outer ice queen. How could she look so cold, and yet, when he breathed her in, smell like sunshine and lemonade or wildflowers swaying in a gentle breeze.

His physical ache to be inside her had grown to a near-frantic need. A nagging voice told him to at least dig a condom from his wallet. After a few tries in between kisses, he finally managed to roll one on. But too many beers and two hands filled with her ample breasts made him not much interested in anything beyond unlatching her bra and then dragging down the sheer panties.

She dropped his jeans and he was damned glad to have gone commando.

They were kissing again, and he found her hot and ready. Without thinking, he hefted her onto the dresser, then rammed all the way home. She cried out but then dug her fingers into his back, urging him faster and harder.

He didn’t know her name or job or where she could possibly be from, but none of that mattered. She was his every wicked fantasy. His whole world encapsulated in a lemonade-scented dream.

He thrust until he couldn’t think or breathe.

Until raw sensation struck him temporarily blind.

Mere moments after spilling his seed, he had to have her again...

Chapter One

’Twas almost the night before Halloween...

“Just shoot me...” Rowdy stared at his cell phone as if it had bit him.

“What’s wrong?” His roommate and fellow navy SEAL, Logan, slurped from his milkshake.

“What do you think?” He glared at his friend, who was a genius with plastic explosives but apparently couldn’t manage setting up auto-pay for their damn utility bills. “Try dropping your cell down an Afghanistan well, then slogging through six months’ worth of voice mail. I’d delete it all but turns out some of this crap is important—like when the gas company calls with a recorded message explaining our service got turned off for nonpayment.”

“Oops. Yeah, I meant to look into that. No wonder we’ve been stuck with cold showers.” Logan shrugged and took another sip.

Rowdy rolled his eyes and moved on to the next message.

While his friends worked their way around Virginia Beach’s Lynnhaven Mall’s food court, sampling all the fast food they’d missed while overseas, Rowdy had been trapped at his cell phone provider’s store, buying a new phone. He’d bummed Logan’s for occasional chats with his parents, but since he’d been with the only other people he ever called, he figured there was no point in replacing it till now.

Just as Rowdy played the last message, Logan signaled that he was headed to the Corn Dog Factory.

Paul Jameson—nicknamed Duck on account of his giant paddle feet—stood in line at Sbarro.

“Um, hello?” a woman said in a tentative tone. “Hope I have the right man? I’m trying to reach Rowdy? Gosh, I’m sorry. I just realized that though you gave me this number, I don’t even know your last name. You might not remember me, but we shared a, um... Let’s just say we were together—the night before Easter, and... I don’t know any easy way to say this, so here goes. I’m pregnant. You’re the father. But no worries—I’m putting the baby up for adoption, so you’re off the hook. I already found an amazing family, and our son is g-going to lead a g-great life.” Wait, what? His son? Her voice broke up. Was she crying? “Anyway, if I don’t hear back from you soon, I’ll assume this plan works for you, too. Bye.” Click.

Stunned, Rowdy stood in the food court’s center for what felt like an eternity while throngs of shoppers walked around him. How could an accidental pregnancy happen to him twice?

“Dude...” Logan slapped him on the back. “You look like hell. I didn’t forget any other payments, did I?”

Rowdy stumbled into the nearest chair at the nearest table, then cued up the message again on his phone. “Listen.”

Duck wandered up with a slice of pepperoni that was almost as big as his feet. He leaned in.

Logan sat, setting his corn-dog tray with about eighteen mustard packets in front of him. By the time the message had ended, he’d paled, too. “Dude... What the hell? Didn’t you learn back in high school to always wear a raincoat?”

“I always do—did. This has to be another mistake.” His mind flashed on that one brief doubt he’d had about his condom before plunging inside the woman who’d made him care about nothing other than giving her as much pleasure as she was giving him. Was it possible the condom broke?

“Then this chick must be like the other one who tried scamming you?”

“Exactly.” Only that time, Logan knew for a fact his protection had been fully in force.

Duck said, “No wonder Ginny never lets me off my leash to play with you. Rowdy, you’re a freakin’ mess.”

Rowdy glared at his supposed friend. The guy was married with four kids. His leash was a choke chain with links made of emotional steel. Poor guy hardly got out at all. But he seemed happy. Aside from their SEAL team, Duck’s wife and kids were his world.

As for Rowdy? Being a SEAL was his world. Period. End of story. But what if this woman was telling the truth...

He winced.

“When did she call?” Logan asked.

“Six months ago.”

“Damn. So, like, your bun’s almost ready to pop out of the oven?” Logan bit into his first of three corn dogs.

Rowdy pressed the heels of his hands to his throbbing forehead. “What am I going to do? Because one thing’s for sure—there’s no way in hell she’s giving away my son. On the flip side, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not marriage material.”

“Great attitude, man.” Duck smacked the back of Rowdy’s head. He’d have considered popping him back, but Duck outweighed him by fifty pounds of pure muscle. “Get your head out of your ass and get a clue. Family life is great. You, me, Ginny and your new bride can all have cookouts on the beach. My kids will love playing with yours.”

“See?” Logan stole a pepperoni from Duck’s slice. “No worries. Already, we’ve downgraded this situation from a DEFCON 2 paternity emergency down to a nice, steady DEFCON 5 beach barbecue. We’ve got your back. Plus, I’ll make a great uncle.”

Some days Rowdy wished he had better friends.

* * *

EX-RODEO QUEEN, EX-WIFE and ex-debutante Tiffany Lawson was seven months pregnant and determined to squeeze her formerly size-six feet into a pair of her favorite Jimmy Choos. It was a given no clothes in her closet fit, but now her shoes wouldn’t, either?

As for the no-good, rotten dirt clod of a cowboy who’d landed her in this position and hadn’t even had the decency to call? He could go straight to Hades for all she cared. Rowdy was low-life pond scum—lower. She didn’t even know his last name! Which, granted, didn’t say a heckuva lot about her decision-making skills, but still...

The less time spent dwelling on him, the better.

“Honey, no matter how hard you try cramming your toes into those darlings, they’re not going to fit.” Her mother, former Dallas society maven Gigi Hastings-Lawson, didn’t even bother looking up from the same copy of Town & Country she’d been reading for three months. Thanks to Big Daddy Lawson’s slight issues with the law, she couldn’t afford a new one. Since he’d be away for a nice long while and their Dallas mansion had been seized, Tiffany and her mother now lived in the godforsaken speck on the map known as Maple Springs, North Dakota.

Making matters worse—if that were even possible—was the fact that Tiffany didn’t earn enough money in real estate to have her own place. She and her mom lived with her paternal grandmother, Pearl. Since Big Daddy had paid off her house long before his trouble with the law, authorities allowed her to keep it.

“You did hear it’s supposed to snow?” Her mother lounged on the white velvet chaise Tiffany had salvaged from their former home by strapping it to the roof of the secondhand red Jeep Cherokee she’d bought from their former housekeeper.

Mr. Bojangles—her spoiled teacup Chihuahua—slept on her mother’s lap. He wore a black sweater and rhinestone collar. It had become her own special ironic hell that her dog now dressed better than her.

“When is it not supposed to snow?” Tiffany peered out her bedroom window to find another gloomy day in her equally gloomy life.

Blustery wind shook Pearl’s century-old home like a dog with a bone.

For comfort, she cupped her hands to her baby bump, but even that wasn’t satisfying, knowing she’d soon give her son to the Parkers. They were an amazing couple—both attorneys. Jeb Parker was considering a gubernatorial campaign. Susie Parker promised as soon as the baby was born, she’d resign to stay home with their new son.

In her former life, Tiffany had much the same plans, but then her father’s legal woes had been too much for her ex, Crawford, to deal with, and that had been that. He’d filed for a quiet divorce and was now married to one of her best friends—a former Miss Texas. C’est la vie.

Tiffany did learn one valuable lesson from her pain—men were as flighty as trash in the wind. Never to be trusted. They made you love them and then broke your heart. Okay, maybe that was more than one lesson, but bottom line, she would never, ever, ever give her heart to another man.

A twinge of guilt for her infant son made her hug her tummy. You’re excluded, little fella. You’ll be the one man on the planet who’s perfect in every way. I might not be physically with you while you’re growing up, but I’ll be with you every day in spirit.

Tiffany reached for her hot-pink sequined Uggs, cramming them over the navy tights she wore with the only fashionable maternity dress she owned that still fit—she’d change into her navy pumps at the office. Early on in her pregnancy, she’d found cute, cheap dresses at thrift shops, but now that she was huge, secondhand maternity wear was as elusive as late-October real estate sales.

“Maybe you should stay in?” Gigi had moved on to a more current Vanity Fair.

Mr. Bojangles glared at the imposition of waking when she moved.

“Mom, stop.” Tiffany added a pale pink cardigan over the dress, then a floral scarf and pearls. At this point, accessorizing was her only hope of maintaining a businesslike appearance at Hearth and Home Realty, where she worked twice as hard as her coworker Lyle, yet because he was the boss’s nephew, he had a knack for landing the best listings. “We can’t live in Maple Springs forever. Don’t you want to get back to Dallas?”

“Honestly?” Gigi sighed. “I’d rather continue hiding. As long as Big Daddy’s away, I’m not setting foot in polite society.”

To this day—months after her husband’s formal sentencing—Gigi refused to state out loud that her husband was in prison. She much preferred genteel euphemisms that sidestepped the harsh reality that it could be a year before she had a true marriage again.

Tiffany had visited her father only twice but regularly called.

Gigi preferred old-fashioned paper correspondence.

“I’ve got to get to a showing by nine. Try helping Grammy with some housework, okay?” Tiffany kissed her mother’s cheek—already fully made up and smelling of pricey lotion and cream. To show how much she adored her mom, Tiffany picked up sample-sized expensive-brand cosmetics at Bismarck department stores or online at discount wholesalers. There was no need for Gigi to ever learn the true extent of just how bad things were financially.

“I’ll try, dear, but you know how dust makes me sneeze.”

“I know. Just do your best.” Tiffany rubbed Mr. Bojangles between his ears, then made it down the two-story home’s creaky front stairs and almost to the door before getting busted by her grandmother.

“Don’t even think of dashing out of here without a proper breakfast.”

“Grammy, I’m starving and would love to eat but have to meet a client by nine.”

“What if I made you an egg-and-cheese sandwich to go?”

Tiffany’s tummy growled. That did sound awfully tempting.

“See?” Grammy smiled. “Your boy’s already got an appetite.”

“Okay, I’ll eat. But I’m meeting Mr. Jones at the office at nine, so I can’t be late. And, Grammy, you know I can’t keep the baby.”

“Nonsense.” Pearl guided Tiffany into the kitchen and parked her in a comfy chair at the table her ancestors had reportedly hauled west in a covered wagon.

She happily sighed when her grandmother handed her a steaming mug of homemade cocoa with whipped cream on top.

“Mmm... I love you,” Tiffany said.

“I know,” Pearl said.

When the first piece of bacon hit the skillet, Mr. Bojangles scurried into the kitchen. Of course, Grammy fed him part of a still-warm buttermilk biscuit.

The eggs frying in butter in her grandmother’s favorite cast-iron skillet smelled so good that Tiffany didn’t even get too terribly upset when an extra-hard wind gust rattled the paned windows. She just glanced that way to note that it had indeed started to snow.

The flakes were huge—like designer gumballs falling topsy-turvy, covering ugly brown grass with a tidy blanket of white.

Would her son love playing in the snow as much as she used to when visiting her grandmother over the holidays?

Along with the realization that she’d never know, pain knotted the back of her throat. She squashed it.

Giving up her son was the hardest thing she’d ever do, but it was hands down the best decision for him. For his future life. What she wanted didn’t matter. If it did...

Well, she squashed that thought, too.

* * *

ROWDY LOVED STAYING with his folks, but having spent the bulk of the past ten years in warm—if not downright hot—climates, he much preferred the family traveling to Virginia to see him. A few times a year, they packed up his brother, Carl, sister-in-law, Justine, and their two rug rats, six-year-old Ingrid and eight-year-old Isobel, to come to the beach.

Clearly, the last time he’d been in Maple Springs had been a disaster. He’d always had a thing for cowgirls and Tiffany had been as hot as they come.

Last Easter had been unseasonably warm, and after the annual rodeo he’d attended, he and a few friends had headed to the town’s only bar. He’d met Tiffany in one of those twists of fate you might see in movies but think never actually happen.

Rowdy had tried calling her, but the number had been disconnected. He’d next gotten on the phone with his mom and had her make a few discreet inquiries.

Rowdy had been under the impression that Tiffany lived in Dallas, but turned out a very pregnant girl named Tiffany Lawson currently resided with Pearl Lawson, who used to run the town’s only grocery before selling it to the Dewitt brothers—all of which was a roundabout way of explaining why he was now headed down Buckhead Road to meet with Tiffany at her place of business at Hearth and Home Realty. If his mom ever gave up ranch life, she ought to consider signing on with the CIA. No spook Rowdy had met came close to solving a mystery like his mom.

That said, she was currently none too happy with him.

For quite a few years, she’d expected him to marry and give her more grandkids. The news that she might already have a grandson on the way had been far more agreeable to her than him. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been through a similar scenario, and he couldn’t handle that brand of stress again.

Regardless, he had plenty of leave time coming, so he’d let his CO know he’d be gone a few weeks, then hopped the earliest flight to Bismarck. His family had been thrilled to pick him up from there. That had been yesterday.

First on this morning’s agenda was meeting with the mother of his child and hopefully having a rational, adult conversation about a number of topics. First, he needed to be 100 percent sure the baby was his. Second, he’d inform her that she had no right in hell to give his son away to strangers—or anyone else. That said, he wasn’t sure what might happen next, but he was an honorable man.

He and Tiffany would find a mutually amenable arrangement.

His folks felt Rowdy should have at least given the woman a courtesy call that he was in town, but when it came to the topic of signing away his kid, he wasn’t in a courteous mood.

In a businesslike setting, everyone would be on their best behavior.

The twenty-minute drive from the ranch to town gave him too much time to think.

Maple Springs was nice enough in the summer, but once winter set in, the place could best be described as gray. A half-mile, single-sided stretch of old-as-dirt grayish brick buildings housed antiques stores, insurance agents, the drugstore, the diner and café, three clothing stores, and a day care. A few years back, his mom told him the mayor’s wife decreed the windows of each business be fitted with red-striped canvas awnings. In warmer months, they were okay, but the rest of the year, they resembled soggy ice-and snow-crusted circus popcorn boxes.

Judging by how fast the snow was falling, this might be one of the last weeks of the year when both sides of Richard L. Fulmer Avenue were available for parking. The usual snowplow drift grew on the same side of the road as the railroad tracks. That side also happened to not have any businesses—at least not until a good two miles outside town, where the Robert T. Fulmer Tavern had moved into the former feed store’s building. Mayor Richard L. Fulmer was less than pleased about his twin brother serving spirits, which was why the establishment had to be outside city limits.

As long as the beer was cold, nobody in town gave two hoots. As an added bonus, Robert had been kind enough to restore the long-abandoned roadside motel just next door. Much to his brother’s dismay, he’d been voted Maple Springs’ Man of the Year in 1998 for giving free rooms to patrons too tanked to drive.

Rowdy recalled that at the time of his son’s conception, he was awfully thankful for the motel’s close proximity.

He pulled his dad’s truck into an empty space just down from Hearth and Home’s office. When he wasn’t in town, Rowdy stored his truck in one of the ranch’s outbuildings. As his lousy luck would have it, this morning, the damned thing hadn’t started.

In an attempt to hold off winter’s fast-approaching gloom, pumpkin lights hung from the office’s awning. Skeletons danced from gaslight sconces on either side of the mirrored-glass double doors.

Rowdy turned off the engine, then sat a spell to compose his thoughts. He’d made his appointment with Tiffany through her secretary. Would Tiffany even remember who he was? For that matter, was she mistaking him for another man? There was also an off chance this gal wasn’t even the same woman with whom he’d had relations. If she wasn’t, he’d be free to return to his normally kick-ass life.

Forcing a deep breath, he dove from the balmy truck cab to the miserable white mess outside.

Sleet mixed with the snow.

Wind pitched it like darts against his forehead and cheeks. He tugged his battered brown leather cowboy hat lower and raised his long duster coat’s collar higher.

Hell’s bells, what he wouldn’t give to be back in Virginia.

Everyone on the bustling street walked with their heads down. It was a downright miracle there weren’t more pedestrian collisions.

He yanked open the door to find wondrous heat. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of sleet in them. When they did, he found a cozy seating area that had a sofa and two armchairs facing a coffee table and electric fireplace.

“Mr. Jones?” A woman with curly brown hair that was almost as big as her bosom rose from her desk to extend her hand. “Our Tiffany will be glad you made it through this storm. Sometimes newcomers take a while to adjust to our weather, don’tcha know.”

“True. But I grew up here, so I’m used to it.” Her thick accent had him working to hide a smile. When he’d lived in town, he hadn’t noticed, but now that he’d been away, he heard how pronounced it was in some Maple Springs residents.

“You did? Well, why didn’t you say so? Who are your people?”

“Patsy and James Jones. Know them?”

“As I live and breathe. Rowdy?”

“Yes, ma’am. Have we met?”

“Boy—you’re breaking my heart.” She pressed her hand to her impressive rack. “I’m Doris Mills. Well, used to be Doris Patrick, but that was before I went and married Skeeter. I used to be your fourth-, fifth-and sixth-grade Sunday-school teacher. Don’t you remember?”

“Sure. Sorry. It’s been a while.”

“I’ll say.” She looked him up and down, then whistled. “You’ve grown into a cool drink of water. Bet your momma’s pleased as punch ’bout you moving home.”

To avoid getting into the whole messy business of why he was actually in town, Rowdy said, “I, ah, really need to talk with Tiffany and figured having her show me a house or two would be the best way to connect.”

“You two sweet on each other? You always did have the kindest heart. It’s adorable that you don’t mind her being...” she reddened and patted her own robust belly “...you know... By another man.”

Ouch. “Would you mind pointing me to her office?”

“Oh—sure, sure.” She waved toward a short hall. “Two doors down on your left.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

Rowdy stood outside the partially closed office door for a good thirty seconds. He’d have felt more comfortable pulling all-night surveillance in croc-infested waters. This whole thing raised an uncomfortable number of similarities to a not-so-distant situation he’d just as soon forget. Besides, aside from what his brother had told him about the crap he’d gone through with Justine’s cravings, mood swings and general crankiness, Rowdy knew nothing about pregnant women. That said, he did know a fair bit about charming the normal variety of gal and planned on using the same general logic.

“Thank you, Susie. Promise, as soon as I have my next sonogram, I’ll email the pictures.”

Eavesdropping on Tiffany’s call, Rowdy narrowed his gaze.

“Susie, I’m expecting a client any second, but promise, I’ll sign all of your attorney’s documents this afternoon.” There was a long pause. “Please stop worrying. I have no intention of backing out of the adoption. This baby boy will soon be yours.”

“The hell he will.” So much for adult professionalism or laying on the charm. Rowdy stormed Tiffany’s office like an enemy camp—only instead of rescuing hostages or liberating territory, he was claiming his unborn son.

Chapter Two

“Susie, I’ve gotta go.” After hanging up the phone, Tiffany’s eyes widened in shock and maybe even a little horror to find her baby’s daddy standing a mere five feet away. “You...”

The man she hadn’t shared a room with since she could see her own toes closed the door.

“What are you doing here? How did you even find me?” Flustered, she couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. She skimmed her no-doubt-messy hair, then tried crossing her arms, but that didn’t feel quite right, because she’d grown so top-heavy that her arms were practically under her chin—yet one more reason to despise the man standing before her.

“Got your message.” He wagged a silver-toned cell phone.

“Little late, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Been out of town. Unavoidable delay.”

“Uh-huh...” She returned to her email. “Whatever you’ve got to say, you’re not just a little late, but all-the-way late. Adoption plans are already in place.”

“About that...” He stepped forward, bracing his hands on either side of her small desk. In a quiet, downright lethal tone, he said, “There’s no way in hell you’re signing away my son.”

Tiffany gulped. The last time she’d seen him he’d been handsome, but she’d also been wearing martini goggles and in hindsight had figured it was an impossibility for him to look half as good as she remembered. Wrong. He looked even better. He smelled amazing, too—like a day at the beach. Warm sun and sand and a hint of sexy sweat. She sneaked a peek at whisker-stubbled cheeks and eyes green enough to remind her of her former Dallas mansion’s lawn.

Straightening in her chair, she retorted, “As a matter of fact, I am giving him up. We might have discussed the matter had you been courteous enough to call within hours—or even days—of my message. But when you failed to share so much as an opinion after months, what did you expect? As much as I’d love being a mom, I can barely afford being me—which reminds me, I have an appointment for a showing, so you’ll need to leave.”

He not only didn’t leave but set his battered brown leather cowboy hat in one guest chair, then proceeded to help himself to the other. His legs were so long they didn’t fold right given the cramped space, so he stretched them out. Beneath her desk, the toes of his cowboy boots touched the toes of her pumps.

She lurched backward as if she’d been struck by a rattler.

“Let me guess?” he asked with a lopsided, white-toothed grin. “This client is a Mr. Jones?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“I am him.” He chuckled.

“No, no, no...” She massaged her forehead.

“Oh, yes.”

“But I needed that commission.” Her stinging eyes and tight throat might mean she was ready to cry, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Relax. I’ll help you raise the baby. Financially, and you know...” He waved his hands. “With all the other stuff kids need.”

“Great—only you won’t be raising him at all. Susie and Jeb Parker will. They’re amazing people, and both have real jobs—as opposed to you. I’m assuming you’re a low-life seasonal cowboy? Now that you’ve earned enough cash to buy beer through the long, cold winter, you’re back in town to raise a little hell?”

“First, cut the attitude and sass. Second, how about trying to act like a civilized adult. Third, I’m a freaking navy SEAL—it doesn’t get much more real than that, sweetheart.”

“You’re in the navy? In the middle of North Dakota? The night we were together, you told me you were a bull rider. But now I see you meant to say you’re just full of bull.” She primly folded her hands atop her desk. What she wouldn’t give to have one of her father’s former legal team make mincemeat of this loser—although they hadn’t been all that successful with her dad.

“Okay...” He sighed, then leaned back in his chair, opening his long duster coat just enough for her to see how well his brown sweater clung to his broad chest. “I get that the night we met, I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior, but then, neither were you.”

True.

“But here’s the deal. I really am in the navy, and I was in town for the annual rodeo and to visit my family for Easter. They were supposed to join me in Virginia Beach, but Dad tripped during the last big snow and hurt his back. The reason I never got your message is because I was in Afghanistan and dropped my damned phone down a well.”

“Show me pics or it didn’t happen.” What kind of drugs was this guy on? “Oh—but since your phone is at the bottom of a well, guess that won’t happen, either.”

“Ever heard of the cloud?” His expression brightened when he pulled out his phone to start flipping through photos of a guy wearing desert camo, mirrored Ray-Bans and a similar cowboy hat, only with a full beard and shaggy hair. “Here I am with a donkey, and playing soccer with village kids—that’s the phone-eating well in the background...” He pointed. “There’s me driving a tank, and me in a cave—Oh, here I am with a cheetah. You find the damnedest things in terrorist camps.”

“Okay, okay, so you proved you’ve been somewhere in the Middle East, but as for you being a SEAL? Let’s get real. If I had a dollar for every time some guy in a bar told me he was a fighter pilot or spy—or in your case, bull rider—I sure wouldn’t be selling real estate in the middle of nowhere, North Dakota.”

“Case in point.” He stashed his phone in his back pocket, then winked. “You sure didn’t have a problem with my line the night we made our son—if he even is mine.” He said the words, but Logan’s churning stomach recalled that split second of condom doubt. He could deny it all he wanted, but in all probability, this baby was his.

She rolled her eyes.

“Ready to reach an amicable arrangement?”

“No. Because not only do I not believe you’re from Maple Springs, but I think you’re lying about the navy and your rodeo glory days and probably damn near everything else you’ve ever told me.”

“That’s it.” Jaw clenched, he leaped to his feet, planted his hat on his head, then rounded to her side of the desk. Hand on her upper arm, he barked, “Get up. There’s someone you need to meet.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Look...” Even though he’d released her, she could have sworn his each individual fingertip scorched her skin through her dress. He knelt so his gaze landed dead even with hers. He was close enough for his warm, coffee-laced breath to flare her nostrils and raise achingly familiar goose bumps up and down the length of her arms. To compensate for the fact that her lungs forgot how to breathe, she gasped—unfortunately making her sound like a flopping fish. Good God, he was a fine-looking man. “I understand why my showing up like this would catch you off guard, but promise, I have nothing but you and our baby’s best interests at heart. If you want to share custody, I’ll happily pay child support. If you want to go the old-fashioned route and get hitched, I’d hardly say I’m thrilled with the idea, but we could work something out. Come back to Virginia with me. I’m damned good-looking and you’re a stone-cold fox. This baby’s gonna be a heartbreaker. We’ll make things legal. You stay home with the rug rat and I’ll provide you both with a decent living. I get why you might not trust me, but since we already have an appointment, at least come with me to my parents’ ranch. Meet my mom and dad—they’ll vouch for me. Give me a chance to prove I’m a stand-up guy.”

His speech made Tiffany more than a little miffed.

Their looks were irrelevant.

Besides, she had a plan. A good plan. He’d been out of her picture for months. How dare he barge in here and act like he was now in charge?

“What do you say? It’s nasty outside, but Dad’s got a fire going and Mom makes crazy-good hot chocolate. Toss in one of her homemade cinnamon rolls and I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

What if I already am? Not by any of what he’d just proposed, but by the fact that it was far too late to put on the brakes and start over with their relationship. She never would have slept with the guy if something about him hadn’t drawn her in. He was smart-mouthed and cocky and no doubt a pain in the ass to deal with in everyday life. But his green eyes made her feel as warm as if she were back home in Dallas, relaxed and happy, strolling hand in hand barefoot across a sumptuous grass lawn she hadn’t had to mow.

“Tiff?”

“What happened to you thinking I’m lying about you being my baby’s father? Plus, I don’t even know your full name.”

“Sorry. Now that I’ve seen you, I remember how we both went more than a little crazy that night. As for my name, it’s Rowdy Jones. Right there on your appointment sheet.” He nodded to the memo on her desk. Mr. Jones. He hadn’t lied about his name?

“Show me your ID.”

He shook his head at the imposition but did as she asked.

Sure enough, unless he’d spent a fortune on a fake, that was his real name. He stood six-two, weighed 220 and was even an organ donor.

“Now that you know I’m official, ready to meet my folks?”

She lurched when the baby gave an extra-hard shove to her appendix.

“Whoa...” Rowdy stared at her enormous belly. “Was that our little guy?”

She had a spiteful retort on the tip of her tongue about the baby technically no longer belonging to either of them, but Tiffany instead nodded.

“Mind if I...you know...” He hovered his hand above her bump.

“Knock yourself out.”

When he touched her, all sense of logic short-circuited.

His fingers were big and warm and reminded her of that night when they’d both been very naughty, yet that poor behavior had felt so very good. She hadn’t been with another man since.

The sad truth was that she hadn’t wanted to.

This guy—the one she’d been reunited with for all of fifteen minutes—was already making her head swim with all manner of delicious possibilities for a brighter, better life.

But she didn’t have just herself to consider. Even if she did, she had to remember men were the enemy—on all fronts. Her dad had been a ticking time bomb for a decade before exploding her and her mother’s lives. Then there was her ex, Crawford. Just when she’d needed him most, he’d emotionally shredded her heart. He hadn’t even had the cojones to tell her in person that he wanted a divorce. He’d had some random court-appointed suit show up at their Dallas home to serve papers. She’d tried calling him, certain there had been a mistake, but his secretary had told her Crawford was no longer accepting her calls and that the house, the furnishings, her jewelry and a sizable chunk of cash were hers free and clear.

The only stipulation?

Crawford William Ridgemont IV wanted his precious, unsoiled family name back.

Devastated didn’t begin to describe how she’d felt. She’d given him what he wanted, then proceeded to sell the house and everything in it to help pay Big Daddy’s legal fees.

The baby kicked again—jolting her from the past and right back into her confusing present.

“Damn...” Rowdy whistled. “He’s a tough little guy. We’ll need to start thinking of names. My mom’s already got a half dozen, but what would you think about John Wayne—of course, as a tribute to the legend.”

“John Wayne Jones? Really?” Tiffany pushed her wheeled desk chair back so abruptly that Rowdy, who still had his hand pressed to her belly, lost his balance and fell onto his knees.

“Hell, woman.” He rubbed his lower back. “What’s your problem? A little advance notice of your move might’ve been nice.”

“So would returning my call.”

He groaned. “Are we back to that? I already told you about my phone and the well.”

“Look,” she said as she examined her sadly painted pink nails. “There’s much more going on here than you could possibly understand. It’s complicated.” All her life, she’d had a private manicurist, and she still hadn’t mastered the art of doing it herself. But she was trying—just like she was giving all she had to this real estate job. All she’d need was one good commission to build her savings and ensure Gigi and Pearl would be comfortable and warm for at least a few months if that was how long it took for her to make her next sale. “All my life, I’ve depended on men, and they’ve always, always let me down. Now the only person I trust with my well-being is me.” She hugged her belly. “Don’t think for one hot second I wouldn’t love being a stay-at-home mom, but I’ve been down that road and discovered the hard way that it’s a dead end.”

“So you don’t want to get married?” Was it her imagination, or did he look relieved?

“Excuse me?”

“I’m cool with you being a single mom. I mean, I’ll always be there for you whenever I’m in the States and I plan to support my kid whether we marry or not, but it might be best if we don’t tempt fate by—How do I put this in a delicate manner?” There he went again with his maddeningly sexy grin. “Let’s just say it probably wouldn’t be in either of our best interests to go at it quite to that degree again.”

“Get out.” She pointed toward her closed office door.

“Aw, now, don’t go getting your pretty pink panties in a wad—I wasn’t complaining. I just—”

She stood. “I don’t care what you meant. And for the record, Mr. Jones, my panties are black—like a black widow spider. After she mates, she kills.” Tiffany had once heard the line in a movie and thought it made for a great dramatic effect. She tried crossing her arms to further emphasize she meant business, but of course, they landed too high on the baby to be comfortable or sufficiently menacing. Still, no way was she giving in now. “Get out.”

“Miss Tiffany, you are one helluva special snowflake.” After a good long chuckle, he pushed himself to his feet, retrieved his hat, then followed her orders. “Want your door open or closed?”

“Closed.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Only after she was once again alone did Tiffany collapse back into her desk chair. During previous catastrophes, she might have indulged in a nice long cry, then soaked in a bubble bath with plenty of champagne and imported chocolates.

Now? Her only option was to pull out the big guns.

With an extra-hard tug, her bottom desk drawer popped open to reveal one of her favorite wedding gifts—a Baccarat crystal candy dish from Crawford’s Aunt Cookie. Since they’d been married two years before their divorce, Tiffany got to keep all the gifts. She’d sold the vast majority but kept a cherished few. After all, now that she’d reached rock bottom, she needed to remember what awaited her back at the top.

Smiling, she reached into the bowl for one—okay, make that four—fun-sized Snickers.

Rowdy might have temporarily interrupted her day, but she refused to let him permanently bring her down. She had commissions to earn, a mother and grandmother to support, and a healthy baby to raise for the Parkers. Which was why she next ate a snack-sized bag of minicarrots, followed by apple juice and cheddar cheese cubes.

All of which should have filled her but didn’t.

What was she really craving?

One of those cinnamon rolls Rowdy said his mom made.

Covering suddenly flushed cheeks, Tiffany rested her forehead against the cool laminate top of her desk. Given the fact that according to WebMD, the average cost of childbirth in America was $9,600—an uncomplicated C-section was a whopping $15,800—she had no option other than to give her son up for adoption so his new parents could pay. Pearl offered to mortgage her home to keep her great-grandson in the family, but Tiffany could no more let her do that than she could afford health insurance—she knew she’d owe a hefty penalty come tax time for not finding coverage, but she’d worry about that next April.

What Rowdy proposed sounded crazy. Maybe if he’d presented his proposition in a more reasonable manner, she might have considered it.

All she had to do to keep her baby was marry his father, and voilà—her every financial problem would vanish. Only it wouldn’t be quite that easy. Rowdy wasn’t going to make her his bride for nothing, and not to be a drama queen, but she’d already learned the price for marriage was her soul.

Chapter Three

“Uh-oh...”

“That about sums up my morning.” Rowdy shut the back door on nasty blowing snow, wishing he were back on a beach—or, shoot, even a desert would be preferable to this.

“I take it she didn’t accept your proposal? Told you so. You should’ve taken a ring.” Patsy Jones lounged in the kitchen’s usually sun-flooded window seat, wearing the Hello Kitty grown-up footy pj’s his dad had bought her last Christmas. Maybe it was best he hadn’t brought Tiffany today?

“Best as I could tell, her refusal had nothing to do with a ring.” He hung his hat and coat on the rack beside the door, then went straight to the oven, only to find it empty. “Thought you were making cinnamon rolls?”

“I was, but in the book I’m reading, Jack just got chased by a bear and Marcy has his gun.”

Shaking his head, Rowdy settled for heating up a can of SpaghettiOs, then asked, “Where are Dad and Carl?”

“They called a while ago. Found a momma determined to have her calf in this storm. They’re staying out there to make sure she’s okay.”

“Cool.” Only it wasn’t. He was used to having every minute of his days filled with action, and out here, seemed like everyone had something to do but him. He’d planned on having the mother of his child here to at least hash out plans.

He was running out of time. He needed to get back on base, and their baby wasn’t going to wait for Tiffany to make a decision. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Why? Don’t tell me you’re giving up?”

He sighed. “No way, but there’s not a whole lot else I can do today. Since my ambush didn’t work, I need to come up with a better plan of attack.”

“How about if you don’t treat this like one of your military missions but like a man asking a woman to marry him for the sake of their child? Did you tell Tiffany how sweet you can be if you set your mind to it?”

“I told her I was good-looking.”

“Good grief, Rowdy. No wonder she’s confused.”

“More like pissed. From what I can gather, this isn’t her first rodeo, and she’s been burned before.”

His mom paled. “You mean she already has a child?”

“No. I meant her previous relationships went sour, so now she’s one of those man-hater types.”

Frowning, she noted, “I’m not sure what that means.”

“You know—like the last guy she was with was an ass, so now she hates all men.”

“That can’t be true.” She winced at his foul language, then rested her book on the nearest pillow. The kitchen was yellow, and by yellow, Rowdy meant every last thing save for the oak kitchen table and white marble counters was the color of a damned lemon. Her pillowed window seat was no exception. “Did you tell her you’re not like that and wouldn’t hurt her?”

“Sure, but by not contacting her until this late in the game, I pretty much already have hurt her. If only I’d have been here from day one of her pregnancy, you know?”

“That’s a given. But it’s not like you were off with another woman. Did you explain how your phone fell down a well?”

He snorted. “To Tiffany that was the equivalent of telling her my dog ate my homework. She’s not buying it.”

“Want me to talk to her? Vouch for you?” Yes. Initially, that had been exactly what he wanted. But now he wasn’t sure bringing his mom into this mess would help.

“Thanks, but no.” He arched his head back, slicing his fingers through his buzzed hair. “The last thing I want is for you to interfere.”

She waved off his concern and ducked her head back behind her book.

In his room, Rowdy used the remote to click on the TV and flip through channels, but then he realized the TV no longer had a satellite connection—just an ancient VCR and a stack of his mom’s workout and chick-flick tapes.

His desk had been replaced by a treadmill, and against the wall where his bed used to be now sat a sewing/craft station and a brass daybed with a freakin’ yellow floral spread. His formerly blue walls had been painted yellow and his bikini pinups no doubt burned.

Outside, the storm raged on.

He felt restless and in a perfect world would have saddled his paint, Lucky, to go help his dad and brother. But the odds of finding them in this whiteout were slim to none, which landed him stuck in his yellow cage.

Needing a male perspective, he called Logan. The team was off for another week. Knowing his friend, he was either sleeping, playing PS4 or deep into strip beach bingo with some hottie he’d picked up at Tipsea’s, the local SEAL hangout.

“Dude.” Logan answered after the third ring. “I was just on a Yuengling and chip run for a ‘Call of Duty’ marathon—saw a pregnant chick at Food Lion and thought of you. How’s it going?”

“Tiff’s last words to me were Get out.” What Rowdy wouldn’t give for just one of their fave local beers.

“Damn. You’ve always got game. If you’re not getting action with your own baby momma, there’s no hope for the rest of us schmucks.”

“Ha ha.” Rowdy walked to the room’s picture window and pressed his forehead to the cool glass. “What should I do?”

“All women are suckers for presents. I say buy her a bunch of flowers and pickles and ice cream—whatever pregnant chicks like.”

“Have you seen the flower assortment up here? This is North Dakota we’re talking about. There might be a couple wilted red truck-stop roses, but that’s about it.”

“You’re making excuses, man. I’m telling you, buy her something nice. Works every time.”

Rowdy grimaced.

He’d have gotten better advice from his horse.

Should he have called Duck? Nah. Rowdy didn’t need another lecture on the virtues of being a family man. He was a soldier. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

After a few minutes’ more small talk with Logan, he hung up to pace.

In a roundabout way, maybe Logan’s idea wasn’t so bad. Rowdy just needed to take that gifting to the next level.

How many times had Tiffany mentioned that she’d intended to show him houses? He could stay in the navy for only so long and, after retirement, had always planned on returning home. He had money stashed away. What if he went ahead and bought a retirement cabin now? Not only would Tiffany get the commission, but he’d have all that house-hunting time with her to foster goodwill.

Heck, she and his son could even stay in the place when he was deployed. His mom would be close enough to check on her—as would her own mother and grandmother.

From where he was standing, the idea looked like a win-win.

So much so that he headed back downstairs for his hat, coat, boots and keys.

After a little legwork netted him Tiffany’s grandmother’s address, he announced his new plan to his mom. She gave him grief about driving in the storm, but he was a SEAL.

No way would he be stopped by a little snow...

* * *

“OHMYGOSH!” GIGI STEPPED back from the front door to allow space for a snow-covered man to stumble inside Pearl’s foyer. “You must be freezing. Get in here. I’m not accustomed to welcoming strange men into my home, but in this case, it’s the only charitable thing to do.” Once he was inside, she shut the door on a growling north wind and blowing snow. “Tiffany! Mother!”

“I’m right here,” Tiffany said from behind her mom. “There’s no need to shout.” Especially since this man was no stranger, but Rowdy.

“You stupid man.” Tiffany took his hat and coat, hanging them on the brass rack at the base of the stairs. Both of his personal items were snow crusted. “Why are you out in this storm? More importantly, what are you doing here?”

Mr. Bojangles yapped at Rowdy’s boots.

“I—I got a g-great idea.” His teeth chattered so bad he could hardly speak. Ice crystals clung to his stubble and his cheeks had turned an alarming red.

“You know him?” Gigi asked.

“Yes.” Tiffany would have loved telling a little white lie, but apparently Rowdy’s determination outweighed her imagination.

“You never told me you had a suitor.” Gigi beamed as if she’d been handed the keys to the Dallas Galleria Neiman Marcus. “How very nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Gregoria Hastings-Lawson, but my friends call me Gigi.”

“Mom, could you please find some towels.”

“Oh, of course.” She scampered off.

The dog licked from the rapidly forming snow puddle on the entry hall floor.

With her buttinsky mother temporarily out of the way, Tiffany snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Rowdy, sit down and take off your wet boots—then let’s get you in front of the fire.”

He shivered too hard to be of much use, so she pushed him onto a small wood bench, then struggled to remove his icy cowboy boots for him.

“You do know you’re crazy?” she scolded. “I had a tough time getting home after we talked, and that was pushing three hours ago. We’re supposed to get twenty inches by morning.”

“Swell...” His grin raised all manner of havoc in her tummy. For a woman who’d sworn off men, this was not a welcome development. “If we’re snowed in together, we’ll have plenty of time to come up with a game plan for keeping our baby.”

“You’re my future grandson’s father?” Poor Gigi was past due for her Botox. How did Tiffany know? Because her mother’s eyebrows rose an inch! “Why didn’t you say so? But after you answer that, how about telling me where you’ve been. And then get this fool idea out of my daughter’s head about giving my grandson up for adoption. A child doesn’t need money to be loved. Tiffany’s daddy grew up right here in Maple Springs and look how well he turned out—well, aside from his temporary setback. But—”

“Mom, please stay out of this.”

“I will not.”

“What’s all the commotion?” Pearl wandered into the fray. She wore a quilted pink housecoat, slippers and a pink shower cap over her rollers, and her face was white with face cream. “Ooooh, how nice. Last thing I expected was to find a hottie in the house.”

Tiffany closed her eyes, praying when she opened them, she’d find herself awaking from a bad dream. No such luck.

As if knowing he’d just made significant forward momentum in his mission, Rowdy delivered his stupid-handsome grin to all of the ladies, then held out his hand to her grandmother. “You must be Miss Pearl? My momma said she’s never tasted a finer pumpkin pie than the one you made for the garden club’s fall bake sale.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Pearl held his hand way longer than Tiffany deemed necessary. “If you don’t mind my asking, who is your mother?”

“Patsy Jones. I’m her youngest, Rowdy. You’ve probably met my big brother, Carl? He helps my dad with our ranch and is married to a real sweetheart—Justine. She’s a part-time teller down at First Trust Bank.”

“Goodness gracious, what a small world. I’ve had my savings and checking accounts there for going on forty years. Now, since I’m older than dirt but not dumb as a box of rocks, what is this I heard about you being the father of my great-grandson. Is this true?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He had the audacity to meet Tiffany’s stare. “But I swear on my own grandmother’s grave, I only recently heard of your beautiful granddaughter even being pregnant. I’m in the navy and have been overseas. But as soon as I got the news, I caught a flight, and here I am. Just this morning, I proposed to your granddaughter—told her if she wanted, I’d make an honest woman of her, but she flat turned me down.”

Oh—he played dirty.

Pearl and Gigi both stood mooning with their hands pressed to their chests.

“I can’t tell you what a relief that will be.” Gigi freed one hand from her bosom to fan her flushed cheeks. “I don’t consider myself old-fashioned, but nothing would make me happier than to see Tiffany married before the baby comes. Of course, she’s already been married once before, but we don’t speak of that.”

“Mom!” Tiffany gave her a glare before turning back to their uninvited, unwelcome guest. “Rowdy, I’m not sure why you’re here, but pretty sure it’s time for you to go.”

“Nonsense.” Pearl turned for the stairs. “Give me a sec to gussy up, and then I’ll make everyone a nice late lunch. Or would that be an early supper? Either way, we’ll have plenty to discuss, what with a wedding and baby shower to plan.”

“There’s not going to be either, Grandma. We’ve already been over this a dozen times.”

“Sounds good, Miss Pearl. My ride got stuck a ways back, and I worked up a powerful hunger walking through the snow.”

“Oh, dear,” Gigi said. “Sounds like you’ll have to stay on for dinner and maybe even breakfast, too.”

“But I do expect him to take the downstairs guestroom,” Pearl noted. “Just because the rooster got into the henhouse once, doesn’t mean it needs to happen again until I see a ring on our Tiffany’s finger.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rowdy nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.” As if just now noticing Mr. Bojangles, he knelt to scoop up the tiny dog. Had her traitorous mutt been a cat, he’d have purred from the scratching beneath his fussy collar. “Aren’t you a silly little thing? You’re smaller than our baby’s going to be.”

“Correction—the Parkers’ baby.” Before her mind’s eye filled with visions of handsome Rowdy cradling their son in his big, strapping arms, Tiffany snatched her dog, who growled during the transaction. “I already told you, we can’t keep this baby.”

“I told you we’re going to reach a mutually amenable arrangement.”

“Well, that’s settled.” Gigi handed Tiffany the towels. “Darling, how about you help your fiancé dry off and get comfy in front of the fire—then I’ll get his room ready. Maybe after that, we can all play canasta? Rowdy, sugar, what do you think?”

“Sounds like a fine plan,” Pearl said. “Only thing I love more than cards is a wedding.”

The second her mother and grandmother left the entry, Tiffany landed a swift kick to Rowdy’s left shin.

“Ouch,” he complained. “What was that for?”

From his safe perch in the crook of her arm, Mr. Bojangles barked at the commotion.

“What do you think? Those two women mean the world to me, and because of your big fat mouth—” she kicked his right shin, too “—now they both have expectations that there’s no way on God’s green earth we’ll ever be able to fulfill.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but at the moment, God’s earth is white as driven snow.”

She pitched the towels at him. “Dry yourself. I need to sit down.”

“Is everything okay? With the baby, I mean?”

“Our son is fine. As for my rising blood pressure? That’s a whole nother story.”

* * *

“KNOCK, KNOCK.” Quarter past ten that night, after an endless day of trying to make Tiffany remember why she’d been hot enough for him to have even made a baby, Rowdy cracked open her bedroom door and poked his head through. “You decent?”

“No!” Her whispered word was more like a hiss.

Mr. Bojangles woke to go into yapping attack mode at the foot of her bed.

Rowdy entered and shut the door behind him.

“Go away!” She sat up in a big white wrought iron bed, pulling a comfy-looking stack of quilts up to her neck. “I want Mom and Grammy Pearl to at least pretend I’m a virgin.”

He cracked a smile, then grabbed the dog. “Pretty sure that cat’s way out of the bag. The night we met—that trick you did with my... Damn. Woman, you’ve got skills.”

“Stop.” She covered her blazing cheeks with her hands. “Why are you here? And I’m not just talking about being in my bedroom.”

“Why do you think?” Cradling the dog just as sweetly as a baby, he perched on the empty side of the double bed. “I’m here to change your mind about that adoption. Hell, if you don’t want your own son, I’ll raise him myself. This morning, I gave you plenty of acceptable scenarios, and now you need to choose.”

When tears welled in her eyes, she looked away. The sight of him with the dog was all too easy to get tangled up with other images in her mind. Her yappy, spoiled mutt wasn’t the same as a real baby. Mr. Bojangles didn’t need health insurance or diapers. For her family, times were so hard that Pearl had to barter eggs for a neighbor’s bacon. There was no way Tiffany could ever afford to keep her child.

“Look.” He softened his tone. “I get that when I didn’t call you back, you assumed I was some derelict deadbeat, and I’m sorry. But I’m here now, and if you want me to break the news to that couple you made the adoption arrangement with, I’ll do it. For the sake of the baby, if you want to get hitched tomorrow, I’m on board. Whatever decision you make is fine as long as I’m part of the equation.”

“You don’t understand.” She took a roll of toilet paper from her bedside table, then tore off a piece to blow her nose. “The night you and I hooked up, I was out of my mind with grief and trying to mask the pain. My dad had been sent to prison and my husband divorced me right down to the point that he bought back his name. I went from a life of pampered luxury to blowing my nose with toilet paper.” Borderline hysterical while still trying to whisper, she waved the roll around. “It’s not even a good brand, but generic. Every dime to my name went to paying off Daddy’s lawyers and now I’ve gone from my biggest worry being what color to paint my nails or how many calories were in my morning latte to being responsible for an entire household. I hate my ex. And I’m not especially fond of my dad, so forgive me if I don’t buy your whole marriage scenario. We slept together—one night. So how in the world do you think I’m now ready to marry you?”

“Technically, we were together about six times that one night. And I’m not suggesting this is anything other than a solution to keep our baby. Marriage would be a means to a mutually beneficial end. That’s all.”

She pitched a lacy pillow at him, which he easily dodged.

Now her own dog growled at her!

“Sorry. Sounds like you’ve been through a rough patch, but—”

“Rough patch?” She was back to whisper-screeching. “I went through hell. I became that woman in Junior League and in my sorority’s alumni chapter who everyone whispers about being one martini shy of having a nervous breakdown. The men I trusted the most yanked my world out from under me, so forgive me if I’m not feeling warm and fuzzy about a total stranger’s vow to make me a live-in nanny. I don’t know you from Adam. You could be an ax murderer or...or...shoplifter.”

“Yeah.” He nodded with a faint smile. “If I turned out to be one of those creepy guys who stash candy bars and gum in their pants that would be seriously bad news.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He inched close enough to cup his hand over their baby. Even through layers of quilts, she felt a connection to him—to their son. Her every muscle tensed to resist the havoc his simple touch had created. “But here’s the deal. I’m actually a really great guy, and if you’d give me a chance, I’d—”

“Tiff?” Gigi knocked, then opened the door. “Rowdy. I didn’t expect to find you in my daughter’s boudoir.”

“Sorry, ma’am. Your daughter and I needed to talk—in private.”

“About the wedding? Let’s have a holiday theme. It’ll be extra special, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” he said as if more determined than ever to see this crazy thing through.

“In that case...” She treated them to a huge wink. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. I need to start planning.”

“Thank you.” Rowdy smiled.

She smiled back and was gone.

Tiffany, however, was not smiling. If anything, her mood had turned even darker than it had been before.

“Now that I have your mother’s blessing,” he said, “will you at least meet my family before condemning me to the land of evil shoplifters?”

“Joke all you want.” For an instant, she laughed. “But I’m serious. At any time you choose, you can walk away. I don’t have that luxury. I also don’t have the money to pay for our baby’s birth, let alone diapers and college.”

“Are you planning to have the baby at Regional Hospital here in town?”

“Yes.” It was small but had a great reputation.

“If we’re married, my health insurance will cover you.”

“What then? I don’t mean to sound bitchy, but what about everything else our baby boy is going to need—including time to care for him and love him and teach him to be a man? Let’s say you are in the navy, and we marry. What happens if I hate Virginia? Or you?”

“A distinct possibility,” he teased, patting her belly.

“This seems like a game to you—a challenge to win your son—but if you’d for one second be serious and think about the ramifications involved, I think you’d agree adoption is best for us both.”

“Never. I was raised to accept my responsibilities. I was man enough to help create this baby, and I’ll be man enough to raise him.”

“But why? You’ve admitted how much your career means. Having a wife and child will only get in your way. Don’t you get it? This adoption gives you an honorable out. Our baby will no longer be merely a responsibility but a blessing. The Parkers are wonderful, deserving people who will be better parents than you and I ever could.”

“Look, you admitted you’ve had a rough year. Well, you’re not the only one. What I’m about to share with you, even my parents and brother don’t know...”

Chapter Four

Tiffany leaned closer. Did it make her an even more horrible person that one of the simple things she most missed about her former life was gossip? “Well? What could be so horrible?”

“Lord... Where do I even start?” He swallowed hard, rubbing her sleeping, traitorous dog behind his ears. When tears shone in Rowdy’s green eyes, guilt had her offering the toilet paper roll. Whatever he was about to share, it was serious.

“Most people say start at the beginning, but I have a short attention span, so jump right in with the juicy parts.”

He grinned.

She nearly swooned. Baby, your daddy’s a looker...

“Anyone ever told you you’re a little kooky?”

“All the time.” She settled a pillow behind her back. “Now spill.”

“Okay, but don’t think badly of me. Because seriously, no one hates me more than me.”

That didn’t sound good, but who was she to cast stones? “Considering I got knocked up from a one-night stand, this is a judgment-free zone.”

After a deep inhale, then slow exhale, words tumbled too fast, as if he’d been holding them in for far too long. “The night we met? Part of the reason I was so damned drunk was another woman. Back in Virginia, Brandi and I dated on and off—nothing serious. Then she tells me she’s pregnant and the baby’s mine.”

Now Tiffany sucked in a deep breath. “Where’s the infant and his or her momma now?”

“That’s just it...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We hardly had a great love story. It was all about sharing a few Friday-night drinks, then releasing the week’s tensions. But hell, when she told me she was carrying my baby, I was prepared to do right by her and my kid. I bought her a ring, got down on one knee—the whole nine yards.”

She leaned in closer. “Why aren’t you married to her now?”

“Damn, woman, if you’d quit interrupting, I’d tell you.”

“Sorry.” To stop herself from blurting about a dozen more pertinent questions, Tiffany drew her lower lip into her mouth and bit.

“So anyway, I wasn’t exactly proud of how this whole thing was going down, but we got married, and then I got shipped out. Making a long story real short, by the time I got back, she’d had the baby—a boy. I had a son. I’d had a couple hundred sleepless nights to ponder what it was going to be like when I got home—you know, taking on the role of dad and husband to this infant and woman I hardly knew.”

Where in the world was this going?

“Back on base, when I stepped off our C-130 transport, she waited for me on the tarmac with all of the other wives. When I caught my first sight of her with a baby stroller—not gonna lie—I could’ve downed an entire bottle of Pepto. Still, she was my wife, this was my son, and I was determined to be a great dad and partner. All around us, my SEAL buddies were making out with their wives or hugging their kids, so I got into it. Or at least tried. I kissed her cheek, then reached into the stroller for my son. Only when I picked him up for our first hug, I got a helluva shock—there was no way this kid could be mine.”

“What? How could you tell?” Tiffany could deny it all she wanted, but when it came to juicy gossip, she was every bit as bad as her mother. This story was getting good.

“Let’s just say the little guy was cute as a button but looked more like Bruce Lee than me. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any Asians on the family tree. She admitted to having slept with another guy around the same time as me and that she was already back together with him. She pulled a packet of divorce papers from a pouch on the back of the stroller. Told me that once I signed them, our marriage would be officially over, then wished me a nice life. After all those nights I’d spent worrying about how I was going to perform as a father, just like that, the issue was off the table.”

“Whoa...” Out of habit, Tiffany rubbed her baby bump. “You weren’t kidding. That was nuts. But how does what Brandi did make you feel bad about yourself?”

“Because I was an idiot for landing myself in that situation. I’d always worn protection with her, but accidents happen. Now here I am again, facing the same issue with you. But the funny thing is, after another long-ass tour filled with way too much time for thinking, now maybe I am ready to be a dad.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds? After what that woman put you through, I would have figured you felt like she’d given you a get-out-of-jail-free card. I’m now offering you another one.”

“But I want my son.”

Tiffany shook her head. “You only think you want to be a dad. Trust me, I have bouts of suffering from baby fever, too. When those adorable diaper and baby-food ads pop up on TV, the chubby-cheeked close-ups get me teary eyed every time. But those aren’t the realities of raising a child. To do right by him, to put the same time, attention and love into your son as you do being a SEAL, you might have to give up your career and move back to this dead-end town.”

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