Colt Granger walked in carrying his hat in his hands.

His sun-kissed hair surrounded that beautiful face of his. His crystal-blue eyes sparkled as a sheepish grin spread across his kissable lips. The man looked sexier than a cowboy had a right to. Helen desperately wished she’d worn something less comfortable. She tried to straighten out the collar on her pajamas.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You look beautiful,” he said.

Sincerity crossed his face, making her uncomfortable.

“There’s room on this sofa if you want to join me.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Colt sat on the opposite end of the couch. Helen was dying to ask him all sorts of questions about how he was feeling about her news. She wanted to tell him she understood that her announcement must have come as a complete shock to him.

But most of all, she wanted to let him know she forgave him for walking away.

She wanted to share all of these things with him and more.

Aiming for

the Cowboy

Mary Leo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARY LEO grew up in South Chicago in the tangle of a big Italian family. She’s worked in Hollywood, Las Vegas and in Silicon Valley. Currently she lives in San Diego with her husband, author Terry Watkins, and their sweet kitty, Sophie.

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For Indie-Elise, the absolute sweetest grandbaby I could ever hope for. And to her loving and dedicated parents, Jocelyn and Paul, who are simply the best mom and dad ever!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

The hoots and whistles from the crowd in the stands at Horsemen’s Arena in Las Vegas should have been enough to give Helen Shaw the adrenaline rush she needed to jack up her excitement for the coming event. But it wasn’t.

As she and her horse, Tater—a honey-colored Nokota she had purchased from Colt Granger two years ago—made their way out to the main arena, Helen’s stomach brutally pitched, reminding her that something was definitely off this evening.

“Shoot ’em dead,” her teammate Sarah Hunter yelled as Helen passed her. Sarah’s ride would be coming up after two more riders competed.

“You, too!” Helen yelled back to her. They were on the same team, but they competed individually, which was the reason why Helen liked the sport so much. Even though they were competitors, everyone in the equine sport acted as if they were all part of one big extended family, which was something Helen needed at the moment, a friendly reminder that she would be all right.

Instead of focusing in on her game, Helen was busy gulping down deep breaths of rich animal-scented air, trying to calm her overactive stomach. The familiar smells of horse stalls usually quieted any nerves she might have, so she didn’t understand the growing nausea.

What could she have eaten to cause such a reaction in her stomach? Yes, she was nervous, but she’d checked and rechecked everything: the braided rein felt steady in her hands; her two single-shot Cimarron .45s were loaded with black powder and secure in their double front rig; her royal-blue cattleman-type hat sat snug on her head; the custom-made, matching blue leather chaps hung easy on her legs; and the lapis lazuli flower pendant her friend Colt had given her for good luck felt a little like his warm kisses around her neck.

She was ready to take on this moment. If she won, she would move on to the next regional championship event for cowboy mounted shooting in the fall. Something she’d been working toward for the past three years.

Tater slowed to an easy canter as they made their way through the metal gate. Helen could hear the pop-pop-pop from the male competitor in front of her as he fired at the target balloons from his mount. An announcer rattled on about the cowboy’s time and his abilities in the usual jumble of garbled words that large arenas’ PA systems seemed to produce.

Then, in an instant, the crowd whistled and cheered as Helen and the cowboy passed each other, nodding recognition as she and Tater finally reached their starting point.

The announcer mumbled something about Tater then focused on there being a lady in the house, which he did every time a woman rode out. Cowboy mounted shooting was one of the few events where women and men competed against each other, and because of this, most of the announcers seemed to overcompensate with political correctness to let the audience know a “lady” had approached the main arena.

Helen eased Tater into a faster canter, making tight circles in front of the short course. The buzzer sounded and without much thought, Helen drew her first weapon, leaned forward in the saddle, and Tater took off for the semicircle of five white balloons. In one swift movement Helen took aim, clicked back the rough hammer, pulled the trigger and popped the first balloon, then the second, third, fourth and fifth. She quickly holstered her gun and drew the second firearm, all the while guiding Tater around the red barrel at the far end of the course, his hooves pounding dirt, his breathing hard and heavy. Tater felt like the wind guiding her toward each target. The constant hammering of his strong legs and the sharp angle of his muscled body as they rounded the barrel added to Helen’s supreme confidence and focus. She took aim once again and popped each of the five remaining red balloons on the run down as she and Tater raced straight to the end of the course. Holstering her second gun, totally in sync with her horse, totally in tune with the power of the event, Helen knew she’d broken a record.

The crowd cheered. The announcer did his “woo-hoo” bit, and continued his warble about how “this cowgirl can ride!” Then he gave the audience her overall ranking stats as everyone waited for her score.

When the clatter died down, Helen and Tater eased up to a more effortless gait, and she noticed the five-foot-tall digital clock gave her a winning time.

“We did it, boy.”

Helen beamed, and just as she patted her approval on Tater’s hindquarters, the nausea overtook her with a vengeance. This time Helen couldn’t control it and she vomited down the side of her lovely blue chaps, causing what could only be described as an overreaction by the handlers, who immediately called in medical.

Suspecting the flu, her team leader insisted she see a doctor, and before Helen could get herself together enough to object to all the fuss, she was transported to an urgent care facility, where an overly sympathetic nurse and stoic female doctor hit her with a barrage of questions. When Helen admitted this wasn’t the first time she’d vomited in the past few weeks, the doctor recommended a complete physical, which included a urine sample and enough vials of blood to satisfy a vampire.

“The good news is you don’t have the flu,” Doctor Joyce said as she slipped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the small silver trash can. “You can sit up.”

Helen slid her feet out of the stirrups and quickly pushed herself upright, holding the front of her paper gown closed, ready for anything the doctor threw at her.

“That sounds as if there’s some bad news coming. Give it to me straight, Doc. I can handle it.” Helen let out a heavy sigh as anxiety gripped her body. She’d been feeling sick for weeks, and suspected the absolute worse, but was hoping it would pass.

It hadn’t.

She knew all about cancer and heart disease, both of which had claimed the lives of several family members. She only hoped if it was something horrible, she had time to do a few of the things on her bucket list.

She sighed. “How much time do I have?”

“About seven months,” Doctor Joyce told her in a calm voice.

Helen figured that’s how these things went. The doctor remained composed while the patient freaked out.

Helen was not the freak-out type. She prided herself on remaining cool under any circumstance. “Will I suffer?”

“That depends.”

Despite her strong inner convictions, Helen’s eyes welled up as hot tears stung her face. She wiped them away with the tissue Doctor Joyce offered her. “I always knew it would be like this, but I thought I’d have more time. There’s so much I want to do. So many things I want to see. But mostly, I want to win the world championship of cowboy mounted shooting. I’m so close I can taste it.”

Doctor Joyce wrote something down in Helen’s file then sat on a black stool. “You’ll still get to do those things, just not this year. You can even ride until the baby makes you feel unbalanced, if you take it easy.”

Helen stopped crying, hiccuped and drew in a rough breath. “Baby? What do babies have to do with the fact that I’m dying?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You said I have only months to live.”

Doctor Joyce chuckled, at least Helen thought it was a chuckle. Her somber expression never completely changed. “You can look at it that way if you want to, but that’s not what I meant. You’re pregnant and your baby is due in about seven months. Because you’re not sure of the date of your last period, you’ll need an ultrasound to get a more accurate date. Your gynecologist at home can order that, but from my initial exam, you’re approximately seven to eight weeks pregnant.”

Acid swirled inside Helen’s stomach. Her chest tightened. Her hands felt clammy. If she wasn’t half-naked, she’d run out of the tiny office screaming. “Pregnant! Me? No. Not possible. It must be a tumor or a deadly wart.”

“Trust me. It’s a fetus.”

“You don’t understand. That’s completely impossible.”

“If you have intercourse with a man, it’s completely possible.”

Helen drew in a deep, calming breath. The doctor had to be wrong. Everyone knew Vegas doctors were less than great, and this one was just plain dumb.

“He’s had a vasectomy,” Helen spit out.

“It’s rare, but there’s a one percent chance of pregnancy during the first five years after a vasectomy.”

“So it can’t happen.”

“It already did.”

“But we only had sex one time. We’re friends, not lovers. Colt won’t want—” She stopped talking. News traveled like a wildfire during these championships. “Who else knows about this?”

“You, me and soon your team leader.”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“He’ll want to know if you’re fit to ride, which you are not. At least not in competition.”

Helen didn’t want to dwell on that last statement at the moment. She had other, more pressing concerns. “Can’t you make up something? I don’t want anyone to know I’m—” The word caught in her throat.

“Pregnant?”

Helen nodded, desperately trying to come to terms with the whole idea of having an actual baby growing inside her. An actual child. A dependent. A munchkin she never thought would come out of her body. Babies were for her friends, her relatives, people who wanted to reproduce.

She wasn’t one of them.

“If that’s how you want it, I won’t tell anyone, but you shouldn’t ride competitively while you’re pregnant. If you’re thrown, you could lose the baby.”

“I’ve never been thrown from a horse, and I’ve been riding for over twenty years.”

“It’s a precaution. In the meantime, eat ginger for your nausea, get plenty of rest and increase your calorie intake. You might want to consider eating smaller meals. Sometimes that helps. Start taking prenatal vitamins—you can get them just about anywhere—and try to add plenty of calcium to your diet. Make an appointment with an ob-gyn when you get home.”

“This is happening too fast. It changes everything. I don’t like change. It throws off my equilibrium.”

The doctor hesitated for a beat. “There are other options if you don’t want this baby.”

Her words hit Helen like a shock wave, taking her breath away.

When she was able to breathe again, she protested, “Who said anything about options? Of course I want this baby. I’d be crazy not to...wouldn’t I?” She paused as the thought of other options settled in her mind.

She shook her head. “I’m pregnant, and I’m staying that way, at least for the next seven months anyway.” Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m pregnant!”

The enormity of her condition began to sink in. The idea of motherhood scared her silly. Yes, she loved kids, as long as they belonged to someone else, and yes, she sometimes liked Colt’s boys, when they weren’t dropping frogs in her drink or using the latticework in her backyard as target practice with her spring fruit. She didn’t have to discipline them or worry if they were eating their veggies or tormenting their teachers. But most of all, she didn’t have to be responsible for anyone but herself.

She’d always prided herself on her freedom. Her independence. She could join the rodeo circuit and be gone for months at a time. Pursue her dreams. Be a free spirit. Make love with no strings attached.

Suddenly that flimsy string had turned into a rope, a thick rope that tied her to Colt Granger, a rope made out of ten-gauge steel that could never be cut.

Never, no matter what.

She shivered at the thought, or was it simply cold in the office? Truth be told, she didn’t know much of anything at the moment. Her brain was in a state of shock. Thinking was not part of its current function.

“Great. Then congratulations, Helen Shaw. You’re going to be a mom.” A warm smile spread across the doctor’s face as a tsunami of nausea drenched Helen in warm sweat.

“I’m glad somebody thinks so,” Helen mumbled while trying to get control over her roiling stomach.

Now all she had to do was figure out a way to tell Colt, a man who most certainly did not want another child. A man who could barely handle the kids he already had, let alone one more. A man she’d tried her best to steer clear of, knowing full well he represented everything she didn’t want. She had known better not to sleep with him.

They were merely friends.

Nothing more.

But she’d done it anyway.

Now what?

“Cheer up. At least you’re not dying,” the doctor said on her way out the door.

Helen nodded, smiled and decided dying might have been the better option.

And as if the universe was angry at her for thinking such a horrible thought, nausea overtook her and she vomited in the tiny trash can right on top of Doctor Joyce’s latex gloves.

* * *

FOUR-YEAR-OLD JOEY GRANGER sat up on the edge of the red slate roof of the two-story barn swinging his legs, looking as happy as a fly on a honey pie. It was his birthday, and Dodge, his gramps, had invited half the town of Briggs, Idaho, for the annual spring barbecue on the Granger family ranch, a sprawling homestead that encompassed enough land for a sizable commercial potato crop, a hundred head of cattle, three ranch houses, a couple stables, several outbuildings and enough open range for deer and elk to call it home. The ranch landscape included grassy hills and valleys, acres of flat land and an assortment of towering trees. Dodge lived in the main house, along with Colt’s brother Doc Blake, a pediatric dentist who had transformed half of the house into his dental office, his young daughter, Scout, and his wife, Maggie. The house had a view of the Teton mountain range to the east, and a sky that wouldn’t quit to the west.

Travis, the youngest of the three brothers, had built his own house as soon as he was old enough to live on his own on the northeast corner of the land, closer to the town of Briggs itself, about a fifteen minute drive from the main house. Then there was Colt’s place, which he built on a bend in the Snake River, which ran through the property. Colt figured it to be the perfect location for raising three spirited boys, Joey being his youngest.

Unfortunately for Colt, most of the townsfolk and their kids had decided to attend the birthday celebration, including Jenny Pickens, Colt’s latest match-up courtesy of his brother Travis, who had assured him this girl would be the perfect fit. A fine gesture if he was at all interested in another woman, but ever since he’d slept with Helen Shaw the search had come to a grinding halt. Problem was he knew darn well that capturing Helen’s heart seemed as probable as his trying to catch a raindrop in a thunderstorm. The girl had already planned out her life, and it didn’t include raising three strong-willed boys on a potato ranch in Briggs, Idaho.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

The heck if he hadn’t struggled to get her out of his head. But she lingered on him like the scent of cherry blossoms in spring. It should never have happened. They were good friends and he had aimed to keep it that way, hadn’t meant for it to go any further, never planned to take the friendship to the bedroom. But he’d given her that dang necklace as a going-away present, which seemed to warrant a goodbye kiss at her front door, and before he knew what hit him, that innocent kiss exploded into a night of pure firehouse passion.

Not that he would go back and change anything, he wouldn’t. He simply needed to stop thinking about it and comparing Helen to other women.

Like, say for instance, Jenny Pickens, who could talk a rutting bull to sleep. Which accounted for why Colt hadn’t seen his boys move the trampoline closer to the barn and why when he eventually spotted Joey up on the roof through the kitchen window, after listening to Jenny drone on about her bunion removal ordeal, he near about died right there over Joey’s strawberries and cream birthday cake.

“What the—” Colt said as he ran out the back door, past Jenny, who yammered on about the causes of bunions.

Joey’s two older brothers, Buddy, who was going on eight years old, and Gavin, who’d recently turned six, along with several other children on the ground goaded him to jump down onto the large trampoline they’d managed to move closer to the barn. Colt didn’t share their enthusiasm for the jump and did a record-breaking sprint toward the barn to try and stop what was sure to be a horrible miscalculation of a kid’s innocent prank.

“Don’t you dare!” Colt yelled as he came closer. “Joseph Dodge Granger, you better not jump or there’ll be hell to pay!”

But Joey apparently couldn’t hear him and instead prepared himself for the leap of faith.

He twisted himself around and stood on the edge of the roof, ignoring his father’s plea.

Colt screamed louder this time. “Don’t do it, son!”

Other parents, who up until that moment had been busy partying, took notice of the unfolding events and were also yelling for Joey not to jump. But if Colt knew his son, nothing would deter him from going through with something he started. Joey was even more pigheaded than Colt, and that said a lot.

Just as Joey turned toward his dad with that sly little smirk he got whenever he was about to do something he knew he shouldn’t, and Colt’s heart stopped beating, Travis, Colt’s younger brother, suddenly appeared behind Joey. He reached out, grabbed the boy in midair and the two of them tumbled down onto the trampoline below.

Colt held his breath as they floated down and landed in the center of the trampoline, bouncing in a tangle of limbs, boots and cowboy hats.

No one spoke as Joey and Travis continued to bounce at least three more times.

Then, in what seemed like an entire lifetime, both Joey and Travis were upright, reaching for the sky, while the other kids and party guests cheered and squealed with delight.

“Dumb trampoline,” Colt mumbled as he sat down hard on the grass. He moved his black felt hat back on his head, wiped the sweat off his brow with his arm and waited for his heart to stop banging against his rib cage.

Just then, Jenny Pickens sat herself down next to him. “You look as though you could use this.” She handed him a bottle of root beer, then proceeded to tell him all about when she’d climbed up an oak tree in a school yard in Boise, her childhood hometown.

First of all, Colt would have preferred a regular beer, and second of all, he was in no mood to listen to her tale. Being too polite to interrupt, he smiled and said, “Thanks. You sure know how to comfort a man.”

“That’s what everybody says.” Then she snorted out her laugh and Colt considered strangling both his brothers.

After a few moments of her yammering, Colt tuned her out and watched as his two other sons joined Joey on the trampoline. Travis had gotten off and was busy supervising the fun.

“Could’a been worse, son,” Colt’s father, Dodge, said as he knelt on one knee on Colt’s other side. Dodge, who towered over most folks at six foot four, sported a thick head of silky white hair, had a walk like John Wayne, a temperament like a slow-moving train and a way of seeing things that generally made a person listen.

Jenny had sprawled herself back on the grass alongside Colt, still talking, apparently not seeing that Dodge had taken root next to Colt. “Wasn’t nothing like when you jumped off, thinking you could fly. As I recall, you landed in a heap of horse manure out back. Took a spell to get the scent of horse dung outta your hair.”

The memory came rushing back and it wasn’t a pleasant one. “Different time. I was older and knew what I was doing. Joey’s too young. Could’ve missed that trampoline completely.”

“Your brother made sure he didn’t. And thinkin’ about it, seems to me you was no bigger than Joey when you jumped. The way I had it figured, landing on that there getup is cleaner. ’Sides, Joey’s more like you than you realize. Got a stubborn streak a mile long. I knew it was only a matter of time fore he got up on that there roof. Thought we should be prepared.”

Colt stared up at his dad, the noonday sun causing him to squint. Dodge seemed to know what was coming before it came and how to handle it when it arrived. The man always was downright wearisome.

“If you’re expecting me to say thank you, I won’t. If you hadn’t bought that darn thing in the first place, maybe Joey wouldn’t have thought to jump.”

Dodge chewed on that for a minute. His attention momentarily landed on Jenny, who was busy with the details of a fireman climbing up the oak tree to get to her, branch by branch. Dodge whispered, “She your brothers’ doing?”

Colt gave him a little nod.

“They never did have no sense.” Then he said, “The way I see it, when dealin’ with young bucks, there either is or there ain’t. Maybe won’t never do you no good at all.”

Colt wanted to argue, needed to argue to blow off the steam that was tearing up his insides, but he spotted Helen Shaw ambling right for him and in an instant, just the sight of her melted away all his anger. Her ruby-colored hair surrounded her beautiful face and covered her shoulders as she made her way closer to him, looking better than ever in her tight black jeans, brown boots and a tan T-shirt featuring a cowgirl on horseback. To say that Colt had it bad for this woman would have been an understatement. To say that he could think of nothing but wicked bedroom thoughts as she approached was more to the point.

Still, now was not the time. It was his son’s birthday and said son had pitched himself off the barn roof. The boy needed scolding in the worst way.

Nonetheless, as Helen walked in closer, he knew reprimanding Joey would have to take a backseat for the moment. Dodge was right, as he always was. Joey’s descent off the roof had been inevitable. Colt was just happy Dodge had prepared for it.

“Now, there’s a mighty fine woman.” Dodge patted Colt on the shoulder, and walked away. Colt stood.

Jenny stopped talking and also stood, moving next to Colt.

When Helen finally came within earshot, Colt said, “You left the tour just for Joey’s birthday party? We’re honored.”

He stepped away from Jenny, wanting to take Helen in his arms and never let go, but instead he felt awkward with Jenny once again at his elbow.

Helen stopped a couple feet in front of him. Her deep green eyes sparkled as she gazed over at encroaching Jenny, who had her hand out before Helen could respond to Colt.

“Hi, I’m Jenny Pickens.” She rested her other hand on Colt’s arm, familiar, as if they were a couple. His instinct was to flick it off like an annoying bug, but he didn’t want to be rude. She continued, “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met. You served me drinks a couple times at Belly Up. Don’t you still work there? What tour? Are you in a band? I always wanted to be in a band.”

Helen worked at Belly Up Saloon as a waitress and part-time bartender whenever she wasn’t on the road. At one point or another she’d probably served half the town a drink of some sort. Everyone seemed to end up at Belly Up for one occasion or another. It was the only real tavern for miles.

She gave Jenny a quick handshake, then let go. No smile. Her reaction to Jenny was as cold as ice on a frozen lake. “Nice to meet you.” She turned to Colt with a concerned look on her face. “Can we talk?”

But Jenny answered. “Sure. Why don’t we sit down on one of the benches on the front porch. It’s nice and shady there.”

Colt moved away from Jenny’s grip on his arm. “If you’ll excuse me, Jenny. This is between Helen and me.”

Jenny tilted her head, smiled sweetly and said, “Sure. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. Just fine. I’ll wait for you on the porch.”

She walked away, leaving an awkward silence between Colt and Helen. They both started talking at once. Colt trying to tell her that he just met Jenny today, but his words seemed garbled as he attempted to speak over Helen, who was asking if Jenny was his new girlfriend, a concept that stunned Colt.

Finally they both stopped.

“You first,” Colt said.

Helen hesitated for a moment, then said, “That’s one brave little boy you have there.”

“More like ornery and pigheaded if you ask me.”

“Like his father.”

“And his father before him. What brings you back to Briggs? Shouldn’t you be in Vegas, competing?”

“Actually, Tater’s still there. I’m having him transported in a couple days. Something’s happened and I’m on my way to Jackson to stay with my parents for a while, but I wanted to stop here first and...”

His stomach pitched as he took a step closer and reached out for her. She stepped back, away from his touch. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Something wrong with your parents?”

She completely befuddled him. His mind raced with scenarios. None of them good.

“Nothing like that.” She glanced over at Jenny, now seated on the front porch. “Is there someplace private?”

He chuckled. “Sure, we can try, but at the moment—” he nodded toward Joey and his boys charging straight for them “—that doesn’t look too promising.”

Joey ran right for him at full speed, calling his name, looking all proud of himself. “Papa! Papa! Did you see me?” He ran smack into Colt as he swooped up his boy in his arms, giving him a tight squeeze, thankful there were no broken bones.

“You had me scared as a jackrabbit with a fox on its trail. Never do that again. You hear me, son? Never.”

Joey’s face went all serious. His blue eyes instantly lost their sparkle. “But, Papa, it’s my fourth birthday and Gramps said you jumped off the roof when you were four. Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?”

“Sounds about right to me,” Helen said as Colt’s other two boys grabbed hold of her with tight hugs. Colt knew how much his boys liked Helen, but he also knew they were a handful when they tackled her like they were doing now.

“Boys, give her some breathing room.”

They let go and tackled Colt instead, knocking him to the ground, where they wrestled and tickled him. “Wait!” Colt yelled over their laughter and squeals. “You boys almost gave me a heart attack. What the heck were you thinking?”

They stopped attacking Colt and Joey got all serious. “Did you have a heart attack, Papa? Should I call nine-one-one?”

“No, I’m fine, but that’s beside the point.”

“You didn’t have a heart attack and I jumped off the roof. That makes me happy. Are you happy?”

Colt sat up and looked Joey in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll never, ever do that again.”

“Why would I do it again? I could hurt myself.”

Helen let out a little laugh. Colt shot her a look. “This is serious.” He turned back to his boy. “That’s right, son. You could break some bones or worse.”

“Of course he could, that’s why we moved the trampoline over,” Buddy, his oldest, said.

“We’re not stupid, Daddy,” Gavin chimed in.

“Yeah, Daddy,” Helen added.

Colt tried to keep a straight face, but was having a difficult time of it.

“I didn’t want to jump into the manure pile like you did,” Joey said. “That stinks and I might have missed and landed on the ground. I could crack my head open and die on my birthday. I don’t want to die on my birthday. That’s no fun. I’d miss out on all the presents and cake. Can we cut my cake now?”

Colt grinned at Joey, unable to stay angry at his youngest for more than five seconds. “Yes. Cake sounds like a good idea.” He stood, and his boys stood, as well. “You run and tell your aunt Maggie it’s time. She made the cake especially for you.”

“It’s a real cake, right? She didn’t let Aunt Kitty make it out of broccoli or anything healthy, did she? I won’t have to pretend I like it, will I?”

Kitty, Maggie’s sister, was an honorary aunt who tended to overdo “green.”

“Nope, your aunt Maggie told me it’s pure sugar and flour.”

“Yay!” Joey yelled and the three boys took off to look for their aunt Maggie, while Colt shook off any lingering tension that had encompassed his body.

“How the heck do parents do it with a whole houseful of kids? Three boys are enough to keep me up all night worrying about what crazy shenanigans they might come up with next. I never even considered a planned jump off the barn roof. If I had any more kids, I’d probably go insane.”

He felt thankful he’d had the wherewithal to take care of that possibility years ago.

Besides, when his beautiful wife died in childbirth with Joey, he’d decided then and there he never, ever wanted to be responsible for another pregnancy as long as he lived.

He turned to Helen. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Chapter Two

It had taken Helen three days to drive to Briggs, Idaho, from Vegas, and on the way she’d taken four home pregnancy tests, gone through three boxes of tissue and arrived on the Granger ranch puffy-eyed, solidly pregnant and homeless. She had leased out her little house for six months to a family of four, who had happily settled in.

The drive had been grueling due to all the stops she’d made not only to pee a million times, but because she could barely see the road through her tears. She had cried almost the entire drive back, not so much over the pregnancy itself but more about the stifling fear she felt over being someone’s mom. Heck, even though she had recently turned twenty-eight years old, she could barely take care of herself, let alone a whole other person.

Helen decided that telling Colt he had fathered baby number four after he about had a coronary when his youngest jumped off the barn roof might have been the wrong moment to break the news. Then there was always his date, a woman totally wrong for Colt, who seemed a tad bit overly protective, and clingy.

Not exactly the optimum time to tell a cowboy who had taken the radical step to ensure he would never father another child that he had indeed impregnated another woman.

So instead, Helen made her excuses and abruptly left the party right after Jenny Pickens sashayed back to Colt and draped her scrawny little arm around his shoulder.

That was more than four months ago.

Since that day, Helen had secured Tater at M & M Riding School in Briggs, where she had boarded him for the past couple of years when she wasn’t on the road, then driven to her parents’ house in Jackson, Wyoming, less than an hour away. She’d spent the majority of her time allowing her friends and family to shamelessly dote on her every whim while she adjusted to her new life.

Apparently she’d needed all that doting, because only in the past few weeks had she finally reached the total-acceptance stage. She was good with her pregnancy now, had gone through the five stages of mourning over her old, carefully planned life and was looking forward to all that motherhood had to offer...at least on her good days.

Her sweet and affectionate stepmom, Janet, had provided her with an e-reader and loaded it up with every conceivable book related to pregnancy and the baby’s first year. Some of it soothed Helen’s concerns, while others she’d read, especially details of the delivery, gave her night sweats. She dreaded getting a tooth filled; how on earth was she ever going to push out an entire baby?

The concept crippled her. So instead, she put the e-reader in a drawer and told herself she’d deal with it later.

Her logical electronic engineer dad had helped get her finances in order, and had generously contributed to her dwindling bank account so she no longer had to worry about funds. Her cousins, aunts, uncles and benevolent friends had all rallied around her with support and nonstop love. Helen felt truly blessed.

Now all she had to do was tell Colt Granger he was the father, a fact that everyone in her circle kept nudging her to do, but she kept resisting. Each time she had screwed up enough courage to tell him, she found a hundred reasons why she couldn’t make the phone call or drive that long hour to Briggs. Add to that an element that he might not believe her, and it was everything Helen could do to even think about how she would broach the subject.

What finally forced her to have to cowgirl up and face him was an official phone call from Mrs. Milton, one of the owners from the riding school. After thirty years in business, the school, land and private home was up for sale. The owners had decided to retire, a fact that saddened Helen more than she thought possible. The M & M Riding School had been her summer home for most of her teen years and the arena at the school had served as her main training ground ever since she’d taken cowboy mounted shooting seriously.

She was informed that Tater was one of only three horses still left that needed to be moved. “We kept him as long as we could, honey, hoping that we’d get a quick sale and you could board him with the new owners. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case, so you’ll have to move him in the next few days. Sorry to put you under such pressure, but our new house in town is ready and we want to get settled in before the holidays.”

“Not a problem,” Helen told her, thinking she’d move him over to her cousin Milo’s place in Briggs until she could find him a more permanent home. She knew he wouldn’t mind. He’d boarded Tater before and loved him almost as much as Helen did.

The call required immediate action, and so did her growing condition.

It was time she took charge, moved her horse and told Colt the truth despite her apprehensions.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she told Mrs. Milton. She disconnected, walked out onto her parents’ back porch, gazed out at the bright blue sky, the surrounding mountains and contemplated Colt Granger.

She hadn’t seen or heard anything about Colt since Joey’s birthday. He’d called a couple times, but she hadn’t returned his calls. She’d been thrown into a lifelong responsibility with a man who was dating other women, Jenny Pickens just to name one. Now that he’d started dating again, who knew how many more women were chomping at the bit to be in his little black book. For all she knew, practically every single woman in the entire county had made the cut. It was only a matter of time until he found Ms. Right, and it certainly wouldn’t be her.

Helen was more in the Ms. All Wrong category, and for now, that suited her just fine. They’d made love exactly once. Okay, so it was powerful and more passionate than what she’d ever experienced with any other man, but that didn’t mean they could ever have a viable relationship. For starters, he had three sons, three ornery, unmanageable sons. She had fears and apprehensions about one child, let alone three more.

Her baby moved and kicked as she sat back rubbing her tummy, grateful that she could trust her family with her secret until she was ready to tell Colt. She decided to spend a few days with her cousin Milo Gump in Briggs. Everyone in the family had an open invitation to stay on Milo’s ranch. He liked the company, especially now that his parents had retired to a smaller place in Oregon, and his sister had moved to Austin, Texas, with her new husband.

Her thirty-year-old cousin was a man who was generous to a fault, and the one person in the entire world she could trust with a secret.

* * *

“YOU TOLD MAGGIE GRANGER, Colt’s sister-in-law, that I’m pregnant?” Helen couldn’t believe Milo could betray her after she’d told him several times not to tell anyone until she personally broke the news to Colt.

“You can’t exactly hide it,” Milo said, staring at her prominent belly. She wore a stretchy green top that caressed her baby bump, boot-cut maternity jeans and her favorite tan-colored cowgirl boots.

“That’s not the point. I drove straight here. No one in this gossip-centered town has seen me yet.”

“Jackson is only a hop-skip away. It ain’t exactly out of drivin’ range. Anyone from Briggs could’ve seen you.”

“If someone had seen me, I would know about it.”

“Calm down,” Milo said, a look of guilt on his chubby face. “I merely told her you’d been taking it easy for a while, staying with your parents in Jackson until the baby came. I didn’t say a word about Colt being its daddy.”

Helen stared up at Milo from the brown leather sofa in his Western-style living room. She had finally gotten somewhat comfortable after having spent the past hour getting her stomach to settle down long enough so she could eat a bowl of vegetable soup he’d prepared for her that was now getting cold on his coffee table.

She’d driven in the previous night, and ever since she’d arrived her already sensitive stomach seemed to be in a continual state of agitation.

Sort of like her nerves.

“How could you think this information wouldn’t get back to Colt?”

Milo plopped down in his recliner across from her, the chair groaning under his weight. He was one of those big guys, not really fat, just big-boned, with a six-foot-five height that would intimidate almost anyone who came his way. He had a sweet face that told anyone who came near him that he was a teddy bear, until you got him riled. Then he was a force to be reckoned with.

Still, Milo was a gentle giant, and Helen loved him to pieces...until this very moment.

“She’s the one who asked me why you wasn’t at the fair. You know it’s Spud Week and everybody’s down to the fairgrounds for the fair. It’s obvious that you’ve been missing. ’Specially since you didn’t participate in the Spud Tug this year. Our team won, by the way.”

The Spud Tug was a tug-of-war over a pit of mashed potatoes instead of mud. Helen usually participated on Milo’s team.

“Your team always wins.”

“I know,” he chided and Helen gazed over at his latest Spudphy, a six inch high golden-colored russet potato man wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots on his tiny legs and a belt around his wide midsection. There were at least ten Spudphys perched on Milo’s bookshelf, along with many other potato-oriented awards.

Next to Christmas, Spud Week in Briggs was the biggest celebration going. Schools closed, businesses shut down early and everyone headed out to the fairgrounds in honor of the almighty potato.

“You could have told her that I took a fall and injured myself. That I’m suddenly allergic to potatoes. I don’t know. Anything would’ve been better than telling her the truth. Did she say anything after you told her?”

“All she said was, I understand. And then she walked off to meet up with her sister, Kitty.”

“She said, I understand.”

“Yeah, that’s good, right?” His face lit up, and he looked like a little boy eager to please with his curly dark hair falling over his ears, and down his collar.

Helen stood, anxious to get to the fair to find Colt. She knew he’d be there all day with his boys. There were always a lot of games for kids to participate in and she knew from previous years that his boys liked to join in as many as they could.

“No, that’s very bad. I’ve got to get to Colt before rumors start to fly.”

“Well, I told you to tell him when you visited months ago.” He slid into a reclining position and turned on his favorite TV show on the food channel, its glamorous host, who he would run away with in a heartbeat, popped up on the screen. Today she would be cooking up a backyard picnic and Milo had every intention of sitting and watching the entire show with his notepad and pen at the ready.

“I know, but the timing wasn’t right. Joey had just nearly killed himself.”

The opening shots of the chef’s Texas ranch came up on the sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Milo increased the volume. He loved her Italian theme song.

“She’s chopping pineapples and cabbage today for coleslaw, and I love to watch her chop things. Best part of the show.”

“That’s a little sick.”

“No, it ain’t. Not the way you think anyway. I’m a horrible chopper. She’s a master.”

The theme song ended and the host stood in her kitchen, picked up her chopping knife and began chopping away.

“Look at the way she handles that cabbage, and that big knife. She’s got a real talent for chopping. It’s an art.”

Helen stared at Milo in disbelief.

“Since when do you care about slicing vegetables?”

“Since I entered the show’s contest. If I win, I get to fly to Texas to her ranch for a full two days of cooking lessons, then dinner with her out on her private veranda. That would be heaven.”

“You only eat hot dogs, burgers, spuds and an occasional steak.”

“Yeah, but a man can dream, can’t he?” He closed his eyes as the show went to a commercial. After a second or two, a wide smile creased his lips. “Besides, I’m learning how to cook because of her.”

She stuck a hand to her hip. “Be careful what you wish for, big cousin.”

“As careful as you are, little cousin.” He opened his eyes and turned to her. “Now get yourself over to that there fair and tell your man you’re carryin’ his child. Then let him do the right thing and everybody’ll be happy.”

“That’s not why I’m telling him.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow went up.

“He has a right to know, is all.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve had a crush on Colt Granger since you was kids.”

“Yes, and it’s still a crush.”

He turned, looked down at her belly and grinned. “Seriously?”

“It was just one crazy night. Nothing more.”

“Looks like a lot more to me.”

Helen sighed, turned on her heels, grabbed her purse off the coffee table and headed for the door. Sometimes her cousin could be so dang frustrating.

* * *

IT WAS A PERFECT Teton Valley fall day, a clear blue sky, a cool breeze skipping down from the surrounding mountains and the tall grasses elegantly bending with each breeze. The air smelled sweet, and the sun tried its best to warm Colt, but there was a deep freeze that clung to his heart. His sister-in-law, Maggie, had mentioned that Helen was pregnant. If it was true, he figured the father had to be some no-account cowpoke from the circuit, or why else would she be living with her folks?

But Colt knew Helen fairly well so he absolutely refused to believe it, and wouldn’t believe it until he heard it from Helen herself. Colt knew enough about town rumors to know they were only half-truths, but with this bit of gossip he was hopeful the entire tale was a fabrication. And until he heard otherwise, he intended to try to enjoy the piglet races with his boys, who were somewhat behaved on this fine evening.

Colt and Buddy, his oldest, who had to tell everyone he would soon be eight and a half, sat side by side in the third row on the metal bleachers. Colt’s other two sons, Joey and six-year-old Gavin, sat on the other side of Buddy. Normally, Colt would sit in the middle with his boys flanking his sides, but ever since the roof incident, and Colt’s stern warning before he tucked them into bed each night, his boys seemed to be more agreeable than pups in a basket.

The piglet races were one of the highlights of the fair, and the crowded stands were testament to that fact. Black-and-white silks adorned the small oval track. Wood shavings encircled the floor of the track that couldn’t be more than a hundred and fifty feet around. With five rows of metal bleachers on three sides, it would soon be standing room only.

Four baby oinkers adorned in various colors of brown, green, pink and black, with their big ears flapping, were hand-carried out onto the track from a colorful thirty-foot trailer, introduced to the excited audience, then placed in separate cages that sat on the starting line. Colt, his boys and the audience cheered, clapped and whistled as the Swinemaster, a rugged-looking cowboy sporting a handlebar mustache and a large white classic cowboy hat, announced the upcoming race.

“Racing as piglet number one we have Bob Beboar. Number two is our darling Josephine Hoglarson, number three is Stephanie Porkman and finally number four is the lovely Olive Oinkly.”

The crowd reacted with hoots and whistles just as Colt spotted Helen heading right for him. She looked about as pretty as the first spring rose. She wore her favorite straw cowboy hat and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could make out the necklace he’d given her around her pretty neck.

His heart raced.

His palms were clammy.

Suddenly all he could think of was her naked body lying under him as he kissed her. The scent of her. The feel of her silky skin. Her warm touch on his—

The crowd parted and he spotted her prominent baby bump.

His breath hitched.

“Hey, good-lookin’,” Lana Thomson said as she made her way toward Colt. He’d forgotten that Travis had set him up with Lana for the festival. It suddenly dawned on him that he was supposed to have met her near the front entrance to the wine booths a good twenty minutes ago, but with everything else going on around him at the fair, he’d completely forgotten.

“Lana, hi!” he said, jumping up to greet her as he desperately tried to think up an excuse for why meeting her had completely slipped his mind. He wished his brothers would stop trying to pair him with every available girl in town. Of all people, Lana Thomson, who was about as right for him as a Vegas showgirl.

“Good thing I ran into your dad or I would’ve thought you stood me up. I know I was a little late getting here, but that couldn’t be helped. A girl has to look her best on her first date with a Granger. The competition is steep, sweetie, but from what I hear, the rewards are just this side of heaven.” She gave him a slow once-over, lingering a little too long on body parts she shouldn’t be staring at in a public place, especially with his boys sitting next to him.

Once again, because of his brothers’ incessant meddling, he found himself in a troublesome situation.

“I need four volunteers from the stands,” the Swinemaster bellowed. “One from each section!”

“Colt Granger, we need to talk,” Helen said as she approached. She spoke with such force Colt near about hopped forward as if he were on a spring.

“Sure,” Colt answered as he tried to move around Lana. “Will you excuse me?”

He couldn’t really get to Helen because of all the kids who were now standing around him, cheering and laughing in anticipation of the race.

“You, sir, come on down to the front,” he heard the Swinemaster say.

Colt’s son Buddy nudged him, giggling. “He wants you, Dad.”

All three of his boys were hysterical with laughter.

“He wants you to come down and pick a piggy for the race,” Gavin told him.

“Pick number one, Papa, Bob Beboar. He’s the biggest,” Joey ordered, then burst out laughing again.

But Colt couldn’t seem to move. Way too many things were going on at the same time.

“Daddy, hurry up. You’re holding up the race,” Gavin ordered.

“What? No. This is a kid’s race,” Colt mumbled, feeling like a first-class fool.

“Come on down, sir. Come get your snout on,” the Swinemaster shouted, holding up a rubber pig snout attached to a white stretchy band. Then the Swinemaster proceeded to pick three other volunteers, kids well under the age of ten.

Feeling completely discomfited, Colt made his way down the metal stairs with everyone cheering him on as they made a path for him to get by.

When he passed Helen, he said, “I didn’t think it was true.”

“That’s why we need to talk,” she said over the hoots coming from the crowd. “If you can tear yourself away from Lana Thomson long enough for a private conversation.”

“What? No. You have the wrong idea. We’re not—”

“It seems one of our team captains is holding up the race,” the Swinemaster bellowed. “Sir, we need you to pick out your favorite piggy.”

Everyone in Colt’s section began hooting and yelling for him to get down to the front.

“Don’t leave,” he told Helen, hoping she wouldn’t lose interest in talking to him because of Lana.

“I’ll be here,” she said, but she didn’t look happy.

He walked off toward the Swinemaster and the piglet cages at the start line. It seemed as if everyone in the entire arena was cheering for him. Of all the confounded situations for him to find himself in, this certainly was not one he had anticipated when he left the ranch that morning.

The Swinemaster handed Colt and the three children, two boys and a girl, their rubber snouts. Colt stared at it for a moment, as if there was no way he was slipping the silly thing on his face, until the other kids started poking him to put it on. He really had little choice in the matter. He slipped off his cowboy hat, and snapped the contraption around his head, making sure his snout was securely in place over his nose.

“Of all the crazy things...”

The audience seemed to love the entire spectacle and continued to cheer and laugh. Whatever friends he had in the audience called out his name, then whistled. He wondered if he would ever be able to live it down.

“And what’s your name, sonny?” the Swinemaster asked Colt, thrusting the microphone in front of his face, obviously milking the situation.

“Colt.”

“And how old are you, Colt?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. How old are you?”

“Too old.”

“Apparently you’re not too old to wear a snout.”

Colt could feel himself blush as he adjusted his snout. “Apparently.”

The crowd roared with laughter as Colt decided to roll with it.

“And seeing as how you’re the tallest, we’ll give you first pick.”

“My boys told me to pick Bob Beboar.”

His section clapped and cheered as the Swinemaster’s male helper secured a large number one on either side of the baby swine.

Then the other kids were asked the same questions while Colt watched as Helen was offered a seat in the first row. Soon his three boys had made their way down to where Helen sat and squeezed in around her, with Joey sitting on her lap. His boys seemed to enjoy being around Helen, and he felt the feeling was mutual on her part. She could always get them to laugh and they loved hearing her stories from being on the circuit. If it wasn’t for her gypsy soul, he probably would’ve considered seriously dating her a long time ago.

Lana now sat alone up in the stands, straining to get his attention. He caught her waving out of the corner of his eye. When he finally glanced her way, she threw him a kiss, keeping her cherry-colored lips puckered while she pretended to blow the kiss his way. Colt didn’t exactly know what to do with that, so he grinned and nodded, not wanting to seem rude. She instantly feigned a demure pose and blinked her eyes several times.

To Colt’s complete dismay he realized she thought he was flirting with her. And to compound matters, it was at that exact moment when Helen glanced back at Lana, then back at Colt. He caught the snide look on her face just before she said something to his boys, stood and scooted Joey into her seat, then headed for the exit.

Colt didn’t want her to go, not without talking to her about her baby. Plus, he really didn’t want her to think there was anything between him and Lana but air.

“No! Helen, wait!” he shouted, and that was all it took for his boys to go tearing after her at the exact moment the piglets took off on the track.

What happened next was something the townsfolk would talk about for years to come.

In Joey’s enthusiasm to catch up with Helen, he jumped the barrier to try to stop her. His foot must have gotten tangled up on the piglet-size metal fence, and just as Bob Beboar, who happened to be in the lead, along with Stephanie Porkman on his tail, rounded the turn, the barrier flopped down and all four piglets ran off in different directions into the stunned crowd.

Soon piglet mayhem erupted while Colt tried to catch his boys. The entire throng of people went completely hog wild, with adults, kids, pigs and the Swinemaster trying their darnedest to catch the little critters before they disrupted the entire festival.

Within minutes, Colt managed to grab a hold of Bob Beboar in one arm and catch Joey around the waist in his other arm. He couldn’t tell which squirmed more, the piggy or his son, both equally angry for the sudden loss of freedom. Gavin and Buddy were too slippery for him, and disappeared chasing down the piglets with Helen in hot pursuit.

“I’ll catch the boys,” she yelled back at Colt.

Lana, on the other hand, managed to remain unruffled, that is until Colt walked up to her as she stood chatting with one of the pig wranglers who’d stayed behind, undoubtedly, to collect the returned piglets and to protect the other sixteen swine from escaping in the confusion.

“Thanks,” the wrangler said, tipping his black hat in Colt’s direction then grabbing hold of the wiggling piglet with both hands.

Soon Olive Oinkly was returned, along with Josephine Hoglarson, and the pandemonium seemed to be dying down in their immediate area. But Colt could hear screams and roars coming from the booths where the crafts and various vintners displayed their finest.

With judicious hesitation, Colt put Joey down, but held on to the back of his cotton tee.

“Let me go, Papa. I want to help catch the last piggy.”

“You’ll stay right here with me, son. You’ve done more than your share of hell-raising for one day. Besides, don’t you think you owe this man an apology for letting his pigs get away?”

Joey looked up at Colt, sincerity shining on his cherub face. “I didn’t mean to let them get away, Papa. Honest, I didn’t. My foot got caught.”

The wrangler, a big guy in his early twenties, his blond curly hair popping out in various angles from under his hat, stooped down to Joey’s level. “You’re more of a handful than these baby pigs. Don’t you know better than to jump on the track when the piglets are running? They could get hurt.”

“Yes, sir,” Joey said, not looking at the wrangler, who had already carefully placed Bob Beboar back in his cage.

Colt gave Joey a little nudge.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt those little piggies for anything.” Big tears streamed down Joey’s cheeks. He wiped them away with the backs of his hands. It near about broke Colt’s heart, but he knew his son had to learn these lessons the hard way.

“Tell you what,” the wrangler said. “I so appreciate you telling me that you’re sorry that you can help me make sure all the cages are locked tight. That is, if your dad says it’s okay.”

Joey looked up at Colt, the last of his tears still glistening on his rosy cheeks. “Go on, son, but you mind him.”

“I will, Papa. I promise.”

They didn’t go far, only a few feet in front of Colt, when Lana stepped into his view.

“Colt, honey, as much as I’d like to get to know you better—” she stepped in closer “—and I’d really like to get to know you—” she slid her hands up his chest and leaned in even closer “—it couldn’t possibly work between us, sweetheart. I don’t do children well, and I especially couldn’t do your children. Unless, of course, you agree to send them off to school somewhere. I’d be good with that, especially if you wore that nose to bed. It could be kind of kinky.”

She moaned sensually, and Colt coughed loudly. He gently removed her hands from his chest. “As much as your offer intrigues me, I’m a package deal.”

“Shame, we could’ve had so much fun!”

She stepped away as Helen walked up with Buddy and Gavin in tow. Buddy carried a complaining, wiggly Stephanie Porkman, as Lana’s eyes lit up on Helen’s round stomach.

AS IF HELEN hadn’t juggled enough of her emotions dealing with Jenny Pickens, now she had to accept Lana Thomson, of all people. Not only was Lana the biggest flirt in the county, and possibly the entire state, it was a well-known fact that Lana had a zero tolerance for children. But there she was stroking Colt’s chest while she laid it on as thick as molasses.

The boys went off with the wrangler, leaving Helen alone with Colt and Lana. Not a good situation. Helen wanted out of there.

Now.

“So the rumors were true,” Lana told her as she took a step away from Colt. “That’s why you didn’t stay on the circuit. Shame. From what I hear you were close this time. But I understand.” She tried her best to feign a mask of compassion, but Helen knew it was all a show for Colt’s sake. “Heaven knows it’s a tough and lonely road. It takes stamina and grit to be a champion like me. Two attributes not many women share.”

She stuck her thumb behind her gold championship buckle, in case Helen missed the large trophy holding up her designer jeans. Lana had won it for women’s barrel racing a few years ago, and ever since then she took great joy in rubbing Helen’s nose in it every time they met.

She and Helen had both started out as barrel racers when they were kids. They even attended the M & M Riding School together, but once Helen saw her first female mounted shooter she was smitten and left barrel racing to pursue her real passion, cowboy mounted shooting. Lana had tried to convince her to stay, telling her cowboy mounted shooting was too tough to ever master, but once Helen made up her mind on something, there was no turning back. Even the Miltons, the couple who owned the riding school, had tried to convince her not to do it, but as time went on, they both came around and gave her the training she needed to succeed.

Problem was, now that she was having a baby, that cowboy mounted shooting trophy buckle seemed next to impossible to ever win, which played right into Lana’s nasty little one-upmanship.

“The only thing you share with other women is their men. Now if you two will excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my cousin’s ranch.”

Helen made a move to leave but Colt stopped her. “Wait. Please don’t go. Lana was just leaving. Weren’t you, Lana?”

Lana shrugged. “I guess so, but Colt, honey, if you ever change your mind, my offer still stands.”

And she sashayed off to talk to the Swinemaster, who had since returned.

“Can we try this again?” Colt said to Helen.

Helen knew better than to tell him she was carrying baby number four in a public place. “I don’t think this is the right time.”

“How about we meet for dinner sometime? Just you and me? Someplace quiet and refined. I’ll get Dodge to watch my boys.”

He looked so sexy Helen wanted to melt into his arms, until Gavin came running up to him. “Daddy! Daddy! You gotta come quick. Joey climbed into one of the cages with a piggy and got stuck. They’re gonna call the fire department to come get him out, but I said you could do it. Daddy, you have to hurry. He’s crying.”

“Of all the...” Colt turned to Helen. “I’m sorry. Friday night at seven?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Daddy, come on. Joey’s real scared.” Gavin yanked on his father’s hand.

“You better go,” Helen told him.

“I’ll pick you up at Milo’s.”

“But how did you know...”

Unfortunately, before she could ask him her silly question, he was sprinting toward the piglet cages with Gavin leading the way.

Of course Colt knew she was staying with Milo, just like he probably had already known she was pregnant. The one question still to be answered could only be: Who was the father?

She could imagine the rampant speculation on that one.

The good thing in all of this was she and Colt now had an actual date, a date without his boys, set in a more sedate environment. Somewhere where she would have plenty of opportunity to slowly spill the truth in such a way that Colt could accept it, perhaps maybe even embrace it.

The reality of the undeniable facts hit her hard as she looked on to see a fire engine arrive to free Joey from the piglet cage. Undoubtedly, her baby was another boy, even though she held on to the unlikely notion that it might be a girl. She hadn’t wanted to officially know the sex of her baby when the doctor had offered to tell her during an ultrasound. Instead, reason told her it was a boy. That Colt only made boys, but wishful thinking conjured up a sweet baby girl.

Now watching Colt and his boys caught up in another tangle of male orneriness only increased her longing for a temperate little girl.

She saw Colt offer to help the two firemen release Joey. One of the firemen spoke to Colt and he took a few steps back while keeping his other two sons away from the piglet cage. A small crowd had gathered to watch as Colt shifted his weight from one foot to the other waiting for Joey to be cut free. Red lights twirled, kids whistled, swine oinked as Buddy and Gavin strained to get at their brother.

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to regain some shred of composure, trying to hold back her growing fear, but most of all trying once again to come to terms with the reality: she was going to be mother to Colt’s child.

The crowd cheered as Joey was released from the cage. Colt picked up his boy, who hugged his dad. Then Colt, pig snout still dangling around his neck, and his sons walked off in the opposite direction.

It was in that instant she wondered if telling Colt about his fourth baby was actually necessary.

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