Friend. Baby wrangler. Family man?

A McCabe comes to the rescue!

Ex-soldier turned rancher Matt McCabe wants to help his recently widowed friend and veterinarian, Sara Anderson. She would like him to join her in training service dogs for veterans—oddly, something Matt is averse to. Instead he volunteers to take care of her adorable eight-month-old son, Charley! This “favor” feels more like family every day...though their troubled pasts threaten a happy future. Are their growing love and shared experiences enough to keep them together?

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

Also by Cathy Gillen Thacker

The Texas Cowboy’s QuadrupletsThe Texas Cowboy’s TripletsThe Texas Cowboy’s Baby RescueA Texas Soldier’s FamilyA Texas Cowboy’s ChristmasThe Texas Valentine Twins

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

His Baby Bargain

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09098-8

HIS BABY BARGAIN

© 2019 Cathy Gillen Thacker

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Dylan, my favourite chocolate Labrador retriever

and the newest member of the Thacker clan.

Her puppy antics and gentle, intelligent nature

were the inspiration for Champ,

the black Lab puppy in this book.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“I told you. I’m not doing it.”

Sara Anderson stared at the ex-soldier standing on the other side of the half-demolished pasture fence. Matt McCabe had come back from his tour in the Middle East eighteen months ago and, despite the efforts of family and friends to draw him out, had seemed to go deeper into his self-imposed solitude every day.

This kind of moody isolation wasn’t good, even for a newly minted Laramie County rancher.

Hadn’t she learned that the hard way?

Heaven knew she wasn’t going to willingly allow another similar tragedy to happen again. And especially not to someone she’d once been close to, growing up. Not if she could possibly help it, anyway. And she was determined that she could.

Shivering a little in the cool March air, Sara stepped around the heaps of old metal posts and rusting barbed wire strewn across the empty pasture. She plastered an engaging smile on her face while taking in his handsome profile and tall, muscular physique. With his square jaw and gorgeously chiseled features, Matt had always been mesmerizing. Even when, like now, he did not put much effort into his appearance. His clothes were old, clean and rumpled. Boots scuffed and coated with mud.

The dark brown hair peeking out from under the brim of his black Resistol was a little on the long side, curling across his brow and over his ears, down the nape of his neck. And though he had clearly showered that morning, he hadn’t shaved in days. All of which, combined, gave him a hopelessly rugged, masculine look.

The kind that set her heart racing.

And shouldn’t have.

Given the fact she had definitely not come here to flirt or see where the age-old attraction between them would lead. An attraction they hadn’t ever dared to explore, even in their reckless high school days.

Sara drew a breath. Tried again. Picking up the conversation where they’d left off.

“And I told you—” with effort, she held his stormy gray-blue eyes “—I’m not giving up.” She was determined to enlist his help...and save him along the way.

With a scoff, Matt swaggered away from her, his strides long and lazy. He bent to pick up the pieces of a wood fence post scattered across the field, then tossed them into the bed of his battered Silver Creek Ranch pickup truck. “Well, you should retreat,” he advised over one broad, chambray-clad shoulder. His dark brow lifted in a warning that set her pulse racing all the more. “’Cause I’m not changing my mind.”

Like heck he wasn’t!

Sara put on her most persuasive smile and stalked through the knee-high grass and the Texas wildflowers getting ready to bloom. “Never say never,” she warned cheerfully. Especially when she had set her mind to something this important.

Matt pushed back the brim of his hat with his index finger. Brazenly looked her up and down in a way that heated her flesh, head to toe. “And why is that?” he challenged softly.

Sara focused on the nonprofit organization and the ex-soldiers she was helping. Her actions every bit as deliberate as his, she moved closer still. “Because if you ever deign to meet him, you just might fall in love with Champ, the remaining black Lab puppy from the latest West Texas Warriors Association’s litter.” She certainly had. Not that she was signing up to train a service dog. Not when she would soon be going back to work as a large-animal veterinarian and had a six-month-old son to raise.

Matt folded his arms across his muscular chest and let out a sigh that reverberated through his entire six-foot-three-inch frame. “Good thing I’m not planning on visiting the puppy, then.”

Time to play the guilt card, and appeal to the legendary McCabe chivalry. “You’re seriously opposed to helping out other returning military veterans in need of a therapy dog?”

Irritation darkened his eyes and he pressed his sensual lips into a thin, hard line. “Of course not.” He gestured offhandedly. “Just tell me where to send the check and...”

She held up a staying palm. “We’ve got money, Matt.” At least for the needs of the current litters. “What we need are more hands-on trainers to help socialize the puppies.”

His expression grew even more impatient. “Well, that’s not me,” he countered curtly. “Haven’t you heard? I’m not exactly a dog person these days.”

Actually, she had learned he’d become mysteriously averse to pets. Which was strange. When they’d grown up together, there hadn’t been an animal who didn’t automatically gravitate to the personable cowboy with the exquisitely gentle touch.

Deciding to call him out on this—and anything else that needed to be challenged—she scoffed, “Oh yeah. Since when?” What had happened to him in the time he’d been away from Laramie County? That had made him decide to clear a two thousand acre ranch, all on his own?

Their eyes met, held. For a moment, the years of near estrangement faded and she thought he might answer, but the opportunity passed, with nary a word.

Matt squinted right back at her. Shrugged. “I’ve got a question, too, darlin’.” Deliberately, he stepped into her personal space. “When did you get so darned pesky?”

* * *

The endearment, coupled with the insult, worked just as Matt hoped.

Sara’s slender shoulders stiffened and she drew herself up to her full five feet, nine inches. She glared at him resentfully. “I’ve always been extremely helpful and forthright!”

He grunted and reached for the metal cutters. Walking along the fence, he snipped through the lengths of rusting barbed wire. Irritated to find she was still fast on his heels.

“Is that what they’re calling your do-gooding these days?” He slanted a glance at her, and noted the way the breeze was plastering the soft knit of her sweater against her delectable breasts. Ignoring the hardening of his body, he turned his gaze back to her face. “And here I was thinking you were just bossy and interfering.”

She dug her boots into the hard ground beneath them and propped both her hands on her denim-clad hips. “I go where I’m needed, Matt.”

The fact she, like so many others close to him, apparently saw him as a charity case rankled. Gathering up the wire, he walked back to toss it into the bed of his pickup truck alongside the stack of weathered metal posts. “I don’t remember calling for a large-animal vet.”

She continued shadowing him, getting close enough he could inhale the lilac of her perfume. “Then I guess it’s your lucky day,” she announced. “Me, showing up here—”

“Uninvited,” he turned to point out.

She held her ground. “—and all.”

This ornery woman had no idea who she was playing with. “Uh-huh.” Matt moved closer, drinking in her fair skin and sun-blushed cheeks. Damn, she was pretty, standing there in the spring sunlight. Her cloud of golden-blond hair drifting across her shoulders and framing the delicate features of her face.

In an effort to further repel her, he let his gaze move lower, to the lithe build of her body. From her dainty feet and long sexy legs, to her slender waist and the lush fullness of her breasts, she was all woman.

Still enjoying the view immensely, he returned his focus to the elegance of her lips, cheeks and nose. The jade depths of her eyes. “Sure you’re in the right place? Talking to the right ex-soldier?”

“Definitely.” She trod even closer and tilted her chin up to his. “And believe it or not, I’m strong enough to handle you, cowboy.”

“Sure about that?” Matt asked gruffly, wishing he hadn’t noticed how feminine and perfect she was. All over.

“Yes,” she repeated.

Funny. She hadn’t seemed strong when she’d lost her husband a little over a year before. She’d seemed vulnerable. Achingly so.

To the point, every time he’d run into her, he’d been tempted to take her in his arms and hold her close. Not as the platonic friends they’d once been in their high school days. But as an ex-soldier comforting another ex-soldier’s wife.

There were several problems with that. First, he’d already gone down that route before—and learned the hard way that any relationship based on rebound emotions was a huge mistake.

And second, she was so damn pretty and accomplished these days, he knew he’d never be able to leave it at that. Holding Sara close would make him want things he couldn’t have and had no business wanting.

Because, thanks to the mistakes he’d made and the guilt he still harbored, having a wife or a family of his own was no longer in the cards for him.

Clearly misunderstanding the reason behind his long pause, Sara pleated her brow. She looked at him more closely, then queried cautiously, “Really, Matt? You seriously doubt my inner strength?”

“No,” he conceded honestly. “You’re as feisty as they come.”

“Feisty,” she said, repeating the term distastefully. “Really.”

He grinned, thrilled to be getting under her skin.

It was that friction that would help keep them apart.

Watching the color come into her high, sculpted cheeks, he removed his hat and let it fall idly against his thigh. “Don’t like the term?”

Her pretty green eyes narrowing, she watched him run his fingers through his hair. “It’s condescending!”

He settled his Resistol squarely back on his head. “Yeah?” he retorted sardonically. “In what way?” Because she was feisty and then some. Always had been.

Oblivious to how much he liked her spirit, Sara let out a lengthy sigh. “In the sense that feisty is an adjective usually attached to a female or small animal one would not expect to defend itself.”

He rolled his eyes at her deliberately haughty tone. “Spoken like a veterinarian,” he said. Then seeing a way to needle her further, added, “A woman veterinarian.”

Now she was spitting mad. She planted her hands on her hips again. “You just keep digging yourself in deeper, don’t you, cowboy?”

He shrugged in a way designed to rankle her even more. “Hey. If it annoys you, maybe you should leave.” He went back to pull up some more aging fence posts.

“Not until you at least agree to come to my ranch and see the puppy.”

He turned so suddenly she nearly slammed into him. He inhaled another whiff of her lilac perfume. “Why me?” he asked as his gaze drifted over her fitted suede jacket and dark, figure-hugging jeans. “Instead of someone else a hell of a lot more amenable?”

Sara sighed and folded her arms beneath her breasts, her action plumping them up all the more. “Because we need more veterans actively involved in helping other returning military personnel,” she stated softly, her breasts rising and falling with each agitated breath.

He rocked back on the heels of his worn leather work boots. “Isn’t that the mission of the West Texas Warriors Association?” Of which, he knew, there were hundreds of members.

Her expression turned even more serious. “We need everyone, Matt.”

He rejected her attempt to make him feel guilty for not wanting to dive back into the world of his nightmares. “I don’t think so.”

She glowered at him. “Why not?”

“I like my solitude.”

She made a face and then, to his mounting frustration, tried again. “Listen to me, Matt,” she beseeched, hands outstretched. Her gentle eyes filled with compassion. “I know how hard it was for Anthony to really reconnect after he came back to civilian life...”

So, the rumors about her late husband’s unhappiness...and maybe hers, too...were true.

He scowled, not sure why the comparison bothered him so much. “I’m not your late husband, Sara.”

She acknowledged that with a nod, then pushed on despite his gruff, unwelcoming tone. “Working with dogs can help alleviate PTSD-related depression and anxiety.”

Now what is she trying to infer? “Do tell,” he prodded.

She tilted her head to one side and offered a tantalizing smile. “Who knows?” Another shrug. “It might help right your temperamental attitude, too.”

Not sure whether he wanted to haul her close and kiss her, or demand she leave now, he sent her a censuring look. “Thanks, but I’ve got my bad moods covered, Sara.”

She huffed, her eyes narrowing all the more. “Spending all your time alone?”

“Making the Silver Creek Ranch a cash-generating enterprise,” he corrected.

Sara seemed unimpressed. “By tearing down tons of trees and ripping down sections of old fence?”

He went back to snipping barbed wire. “First of all, the fence is so old it’s a hazard. Second, Texas barbecue restaurants need either oak or mesquite. And I’ve got plenty of both.”

Sara tapped one boot-clad foot impatiently. “And then what? When you clear-cut all this land?”

She sounded like his folks. Constantly complaining that whatever he was doing wasn’t enough.

He yanked out a rusting metal post and added it to the pile on the ground. “I’m going to plow the weeds and sow some grass. Put up new pasture fence and lease out the land to my brother Cullen so he can run some of his cattle here.”

Giving him room to work, she took a moment to consider that. Probably finally realizing he did indeed have a business plan.

“Not planning to buy any of your own?” she asked eventually.

He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for another living thing—person or animal. “Did enough cattle herding growing up.”

That, she did seem to understand. It didn’t mean she let up. Her gorgeous honey-blond hair blowing in the spring breeze, she followed him down the fence line. “You know, you could do all this a lot faster if you hired some help. Or even enlisted some of your family members and friends.”

Her unsolicited advice irked him. He turned and studied the guileless look in her eyes. “Don’t want me to be alone, huh, darlin’?”

She pursed her lips in a worried frown. “I don’t think it’s healthy and neither does your family, Matt.”

So now they were finally getting down to it, he thought wearily.

She stepped closer, once again invading his space.

Her soft, feminine voice took on a persuasive lilt. “Your mom came to see me. She thought maybe I could talk you into rejoining the community again.”

Matt shook his head at Sara’s naïveté. His mom hoped for a lot more than occasionally getting him off the Silver Creek spread. “She only did that because...”

Sara beamed, turning on the full wattage of her neighborly charm. “What?”

He edged closer. “She knows I’m attracted to you.”

She laughed in disbelief, the ambivalent sound filling the air between them. Her lower lip took on a kissable pout. “You’re just saying that to get me to leave.”

He surveyed her indignant expression. Leaned in closer. “Is it working?”

The look in her eyes grew turbulent. “No.”

He dropped his head. “Then how about this?” he taunted softly, taking her in his arms.

Rather than step away, she put her hand on the center of his chest, and gave him a small, purposeful shove.

That sent him exactly nowhere.

“No.” She glared at him heatedly. “But nice try, cowboy.”

He reluctantly let her go and stepped back, his own temper flaring. “Then maybe you should rethink this plan you and my mom cooked up. Because I’m not the guy who’s going to treat you with kid gloves, darlin’.” And he was pretty sure, at the end of the day, that was what Sara wanted.

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t want you to treat me with kid gloves.”

He came back to her, took her in his arms again and lowered his lips, just above hers.

Damn, if she didn’t make him feel ornery.

He smiled as she caught her breath. “Sure about that?” He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip.

Her brows furrowed as she began to see where this standoff between them was likely headed. “Yes,” she said, stubborn as ever, trembling even as she held her ground.

Loving the delicate feel of her body so close to his, he asked, “Really sure?”

“Completely sure,” she taunted right back. “In fact, cowboy,” she went on to dare in spunky delight, “you could kiss me and—”

The gauntlet had been thrown down between them.

Matt never gave her a chance to blurt out the rest.

His mouth touched hers, laying claim to every sweet soft inch. Only, the indignant slap he expected—the one that would have heralded his immediate gentlemanly release of her, and her quick, fiery exit—never came.

* * *

Sara told herself to resist the sensual feel of his lips moving over hers. But her body refused to listen to the wary dictates of her heart. She had been numb inside for so long. Responsive only to the needs of her adorable infant son.

Now, suddenly, she was alive in a way she had never expected to be again. The yearning to be touched, held, appreciated for the woman she was came roaring back. Made her tingle all over. Opening her lips to his, she pressed closer to the unyielding hardness of his chest, and, lower still, felt his undeniable heat and building desire. With a low moan of surrender, she went up on tiptoe, wreathed her arms about his neck and tilted her head to give him deeper access. He uttered a low moan of approval. His tongue twined with hers. He brought her nearer still, delivering a kiss that scored her soul. Left her limp with longing and trembling with acquiescence. Her middle fluttering, she melted against him. And then all was lost, as she experienced the masculine force that was Matt. For the first time in her life, she was with a man who didn’t hesitate to give her the complete physicality she craved and had always longed to explore. Excitement roaring through her, she reveled in the thrill of his commanding embrace. The hard, insistent pressure of his kiss, and the tantalizing sweep of his tongue; for the very first time in her life, she experienced the temptation to surrender herself completely. Forget her worries about the future. Live only in the moment she was in.

Had her life not already been so complicated—full of the grief and guilt she still felt for not doing as much as she could have, or should have, when she’d still had the chance—and had she not intuited that Matt’s own private world was much the same as hers and her husband’s had once been, who knew what might have happened had their make-out session continued on this brisk and sunny spring day?

But they did both harbor secrets and heartache.

And combining the two would only risk further hurt. For her, for him, for her baby boy.

So she did what she should have done all along, and finally put her hand on the center of his chest and tore her lips from his.

Just that quickly, Matt let her go.

They stared at each other, breathing hard. To her surprise, he looked every bit as shaken as she felt.

Compelled to save them both and downplay this, however, she took another step back. Gave a hapless shrug, looked into his eyes and said, “Just so you know, cowboy, you’re not the first man who’s made a move on me since Anthony died.”

He was the first one who’d made her feel something, though. Too much, actually. Way too much.

Emotion warred with the skepticism in his eyes. “Trying to make me feel competitive?”

No! Heck, no! Sara thought, chagrined. “I’m just saying,” she returned as calmly as possible, “I wasn’t interested then. And I’m not interested now.”

The corners of his lips turned up as his gaze raked her luxuriantly, head to toe. “Your kisses just said otherwise, darlin’.”

Once again, she shook her head. Embarrassed. Humiliated. And worst of all, still wildy turned on. Swallowing around the ache in her throat, she held his eyes deliberately and corrected him. “My kisses said I’m human, Matt.” Human and oh so lonely, deep down. So ready to get out of my own misery and help someone else in need. Like you, Matt. And how crazy is that?

She waited a moment to let her words sink in. Then said, “As are we all.”

It didn’t mean she had to be a fool for a second time.

And especially not with the far too irresistible Matt McCabe.

Chapter Two

“Is this a good time?” Matt asked, from the porch of Sara’s Blue Vista Ranch house the following Saturday afternoon.

For you, Matt McCabe, Sara thought, still reeling from the hot, audacious kisses he had delivered the last time they’d seen each other, there will never be a good time. Not ever again.

But not about to let him know how much he had affected her, or how often and passionately she’d thought of him over the last week, she merely looked him up and down.

The reality was, he was the last person she had expected to see standing on her doorstep, given how acrimoniously they had last parted.

But here he was, as mouthwateringly handsome as ever. Looking mighty fine in a blue button-down shirt that made the most of his brawny shoulders and rock-solid abs. New jeans that did equally appetizing things to his long, muscular legs and hips, and shiny brown boots. He’d shaved and showered, too, although his thick, wavy dark brown hair was just as unruly as she’d come to expect. His dark gray-blue eyes just as wryly challenging.

“Depends on why you’re here,” she replied tartly, wishing she were clad in something other than a peach tunic and white yoga pants stained with drool and baby formula. She looked down her nose at him, pausing to make sure he knew just how unwelcome he was. “If it’s to pick up where we left off last week...”

His sensual lips lifted into a tantalizing smile. Excitement lit his eyes. “Kissing you?”

She flushed at the memory of his delicious body pressed against hers, his lips stirring up needs best forgotten. She was a widow, after all. Determined to never make the mistake of turning her heart over to a man again.

Never mind the strong, silent, stubborn type.

“Arguing.”

He chuckled and ran a hand across his jaw. A wicked grin deepened the crinkles around his eyes. “Is that what we were doing?” he drawled, tilting his head.

So she wasn’t the only one who’d been remembering! Huffing in aggravation, Sara folded her arms tightly in front of her. “Let’s just say our discussion made me realize you and I will never be on the same page, McCabe.” And she refused to chase after lost causes, so...

An infant wail went up from somewhere behind her. Sara tensed in distress and lifted a staying hand.

Saved by the baby.

“Hang on a minute.” She rushed off to gather up her son and returned with the red-faced infant in her arms, ready to direct Matt on his way. Instead, she found him looking down at her little boy with surprising interest.

“This Charley?” Matt asked tenderly, taking in her son’s sturdy little body, cherubic features and shock of fine blond hair. The long-lashed eyes that had started out blue and were now more dark green.

Surprised, Sara asked, “You know his name?”

Matt shrugged as he and Charley locked gazes and the infant momentarily stopped crying, then ever so slowly began to smile. “I know a lot of things,” he murmured.

Charley reached for Matt, and when Matt offered his hand, the baby latched on tight to the tall cowboy’s pinky.

In the same soothing tone that would have done a baby wrangler proud, Matt continued, “Including the fact you’ve told everyone to give up on ever getting me involved in the West Texas Warrior Association’s therapy-puppy raising program.”

Sara had indeed put out the word.

Figuring there was no reason to stand in the doorway while they talked, she ushered him in. He shut the door dutifully behind them. “And that bothers you because...?”

Sara perched on the edge of the living room sofa, a little embarrassed by the mess around them. She settled Charley on her lap, while Matt—who still had his hand linked in Charley’s little fist—settled next to them.

Exhaling, the handsome cowboy looked deep into her eyes. “Since you talked to my mom, every member of my family has come out to the Silver Creek to see me.”

Glad to see the indomitable Matt off-kilter for once, Sara grinned. “What’s the matter, cowboy?” she teased, knowing there wasn’t a finer group than Rachel and Frank McCabe and their offspring. “Don’t like family?”

Appearing more besotted than ever of the tall rugged man with the deep, soothing voice, Charley reached up to hold on to Matt with both of his little hands.

Matt grinned down at her son, looking happier than Sara could recall in a long, long time.

Apparently realizing he hadn’t answered her question, Matt let out a long exhalation of breath, then turned his attention back to her once again. “I love ’em,” he said, before adding, “when they’re minding their own business.”

Sara regarded him pensively. She understood that. She had two college-professor parents and five older brothers who’d been in her business for years. Fortunately, all of them were now scattered across the country, busy living their own lives. And though she could have relocated next to any of them after Anthony died, she had chosen to stay on the small ranch where they had hoped to bring up Charley.

Part of that had been because she still considered the rural Texas county where she had grown up home, and hadn’t wanted the stress of finding another job at another veterinary practice and another place to live.

The rest had to do with her not wanting to clue any of them in on the private misery she’d been unable to share with anyone. Least of all those who might have judged her for not being the kind of wife she should have been.

But her own heartache had nothing to do with Matt’s problems now. She settled Charley a little more comfortably on her lap and drew a breath. “I get you have a problem, McCabe, but I don’t see where I come in.”

Charley finally let go of Matt’s finger.

Matt got up and paced over to the fireplace, stood with his back to it, admitting gruffly, “The problem is they’re not going to give up on what they want for me.”

Sara saw where that would be a problem for a man who professed to only want to be left alone. She bit her lip, acutely aware that things were getting way too intimate between them again, way too fast. “What? Can’t kiss them to make them go away?” she quipped.

He let out a belly laugh.

At the low masculine sound, so foreign in Sara’s small cottage-style bungalow, Charley’s brows knit together. He began to cry again, so heartrendingly this time it was all Sara could do to swallow the lump in her throat.

First she had failed as a wife. And now, this...

Matt frowned in alarm.

Sara’s lack of sleep made her own eyes well, too. She stood and began to walk the floor with Charley, jostling him a little as she moved in the hopes that the slight, swaying motion would soothe him. It did not.

“What’s wrong with him?” Matt asked.

That was the bitter irony. “I don’t know.” And as his mother, she certainly should have. She rocked him back and forth.

Matt strode closer, his handsome features etched with tenderness. He lifted his hand to Charley. This time, the baby howled all the louder and batted Matt’s palm away.

“Then why is he so fussy?” Matt had to speak up to be heard over the wailing.

Sara arched a brow, irritated to have him constantly finding ways to make her feel off balance, not to mention seeming more inept than she already was. “If I knew that, do you really think he’d still be crying?” she demanded.

Ignoring her pique, Matt gently touched her son’s cheek, as if checking for fever. Again, Charley batted his hand away.

Taking the cue, Matt backed off. “Is he sick?”

Glad to have someone to share her concern with, Sara shifted Charley to her other shoulder. She continued gently soothing him, as best she could. Looking over his blond head at Matt, she admitted, “I thought he might be since he’s so cranky and doesn’t want to eat, but he doesn’t have any fever. He’s not pulling at his ears the way he did when he had an ear infection, either.”

“Is his throat red?” Matt asked, while Charley warmed to the audience and wailed even louder.

Was this what it would be like to have someone big and strong and male to share the parenting duties with? Telling herself she was really losing it, Sara pushed the ridiculous notion away. “I can’t answer that, either. I haven’t been able to get a good look.” And in fact, she had been considering going into the emergency pediatric clinic in town, if this went on much longer.

Matt pointed out, “His mouth is open now.”

Figuring as long as she had help she might as well use it, she retrieved the flashlight she kept on the kitchen counter. Then turned back to Matt. “You want to hold him?”

For the first time, Matt hesitated.

“Listen, cowboy, either be part of the solution or leave. Because I don’t need any more problems today.”

From the pen in the corner of the living room, Champ, the nine-week-old black Labrador puppy Sara had been trying to get Matt to help socialize, lifted his head and began to jump up against the three-foot wooden sides of the whelping pen, in rhythm to Charley’s wails.

Matt turned in the direction of the noise. He locked eyes on the puppy.

And in that instant, Sara knew.

Matt wasn’t a dog person.

Not in the slightest.

Not anymore.

* * *

Matt swore silently to himself as he clamped down on the memories he worked so hard to quash.

When he’d set out for Sara’s ranch, he’d figured he would see her baby. He’d even been sort of looking forward to it. Why, he couldn’t exactly say.

He hadn’t figured she’d have one of the pups from the litter there. But she did and as the puppy continued whimpering with excitement and trying to climb over the sides, it was all he could do not to break out into an ice-cold sweat.

Over a harmless little black Lab pup, of all things.

“Matt?” Sara’s hand was on his arm. Her tone as gentle as it was inquiring.

“Sorry,” he rasped, turning his back to the rambunctious retriever. “I’ll hold Charley while you try and get a look at your son’s throat.”

Ignoring the stuff of his nightmares, Matt held out his arms. Sara shifted her son over. Oblivious to Matt’s private grief come to life, Charley wailed even louder.

Whatever questions she had—and she seemed to have plenty—could wait.

On task once again, Sara cupped her son’s chin in her hand and shined the flashlight in that direction. While the puppy gave up trying to escape, opting instead to pick up a squeaky toy and then roll happily around with it in the pen, Charley twisted his head to the side, buried his head in Matt’s chest and firmly clamped his lips shut.

Sara seemed even more nonplussed.

“Why don’t you hold him? I’ll look,” Matt said.

Nodding in frustration, Sara set the flashlight down and took Charley back in her arms. The moment she had him, he glared at her, as if he blamed her for whatever was bothering him, and began to howl again, even more vociferously.

Matt hunched so he was at eye level with Charley—and trained the light low, so it only hit the lower half of her son’s face. He surveyed the back of his throat. “Looks fine,” Matt said in surprise. The way Charley was carrying on, he’d expected to find it beet red. “A healthy normal pink.”

“No spots? Even on the roof of his mouth? Red or white?”

Matt looked again, as Charley began to cry in earnest once again. “Not a one.”

“Oh, Charley, honey, what’s wrong?” Sara said, swaying her little boy back and forth.

Noting the puppy was now drinking water, and vastly relieved his own unexpected memories were now subsiding, Matt whipped out his phone. “How old is Charley?”

Sara shifted her son onto her shoulder and walked over to the puppy pen. She reached down to give Champ another toy to occupy him. Turning back to face Matt, said, “He turned six months old ten days ago.”

Figuring the sooner he was able to get out of there, the better, he punched in a number.

Sara came closer, a still-whimpering Charley cradled in her arms. As she attempted to see what he was doing, her shoulder bumped up against the center of his chest. “Who are you calling?”

“Cullen’s wife, Bridgett.”

His brother’s wife was a neonatal nurse at Laramie Community Hospital, and a mother to a one-year-old boy, with another child on the way. Luckily, she answered right away. “Hey,” he said. “I’m at Sara Anderson’s ranch, and we’ve got a little problem...”

While Matt described what was going on, Sara carried Charley into the kitchen and got a bottle of apple juice out of the fridge. She offered it to the baby. Still sniffling, he took it in his chubby little hands, put it in his mouth and started to sip, then let out another wail and pushed it away.

Matt came back. He hated to pry, but Bridgett needed to know if she was to help. “Are you still nursing?”

As he spoke, his eyes slid to her breasts. Although it was a natural reaction on his part, Sara flushed self-consciously.

“I switched him to formula when I had the flu last month.”

Averting his glance, Matt relayed that, too.

By the time he’d turned back to her, Sara had composed herself once again. “Bridgett said to check his gums to see if they are red or swollen or if there is any sign of a tooth pushing through. She said sometimes they can teethe for a few days or weeks before the tooth actually shows.”

Sara ventured a look, but Charley pressed his lips shut again. With maternal resolve, she eased the tip of her index fingertip along the seam of his lips, trying to gently persuade him to open up. Eventually he did. Just enough so she could get her finger between his gums.

With a scowl, Charley clamped down tight.

“Ouch!” Sara winced in surprise.

“Feel a tooth?”

“No.” She shifted Charley a little higher in her arms, so they were face-to-face. Now that he’d bitten her, he was beginning to look a little more content. Satisfied he’d gotten his point across, maybe? Matt wondered.

“But,” she mused as she pulled his lower lip down, “his gum does look a tiny bit swollen here on the bottom. Right here in the middle.”

Matt relayed the information then said, “Bridgett wants to talk to you.” He set his cell phone aside while he eased Charley from her arms. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that,” Sara told his sister-in-law.

He walked the little boy back and forth, while the two women talked. Eventually, Sara hung up. She walked into the kitchen and took a children’s medical kit from the cupboard. “Bridgett said their son Robby’s first tooth caught them by surprise, too.”

“I remember.”

“She said to try numbing medicine.”

“Hear that, little guy? Your mommy is going to fix you right up.”

Charley lounged against his broad chest. Tears still gleaming damply on his cheeks, he gazed up at Matt adoringly. Sara turned back to Matt as she worked the protective seal off the numbing cream. “You’re good with little ones,” she remarked.

He shrugged, aware that was a talent he came by naturally. “You know the McCabes. Lots of little ones around. Seems like someone is always putting a baby in my arms.”

Sara regarded him skeptically. “You could say no,” she pointed out wryly.

Lately, he usually did. Trying not to wonder why he hadn’t in this particular case, Matt shrugged again and turned his attention to sparring with his old friend. “Actually, darlin’,” he drawled, “I believe I do refuse things every now and again.” He lifted his brow, reminding. “Like your repeated requests to recruit me for the therapy-puppy training program?”

She came close enough to rub a little medicine on Charley’s gum. Her son wrinkled his nose, too surprised to protest. As the moment drew out, Charley’s jaw relaxed and his little shoulders slumped in relief.

So his mouth had been hurting, Matt thought. Poor little fella.

Without warning, Charley held out his arms to his mommy. Reluctantly, Matt transferred the little boy, surprised to find how bereft he felt when he was no longer holding him.

Wordlessly, he watched Sara cuddle her baby boy. They were the picture of bliss. Enough to make him want, just for one ill-advised second, a wife and child of his own to love and care for...

Sara tossed him a wry glance. “Speaking of the WTWA therapy-puppy raising program...if you gave yourself half a chance, I bet you would be really good with our puppies, too.”

Just like that, his genial mood faded. “No,” he said firmly. “I won’t.”

* * *

Once again, Matt noted, he had disappointed Sara. Deeply.

Seeing the puppy circling in the pen, Sara handed Charley back to Matt and rushed to pick up the sleek little black Lab. She carried him outside to the grass next to her ranch house.

“Then why are you here, if not to volunteer to train a puppy as I asked?”

Matt positioned Charley so he could see outward, and then held him against his chest, one of his forearms acting as the seat for the baby’s diaper-clad bottom, the other serving as a safety harness across his tiny chest.

He shrugged. “I wanted to give money. You said you needed more volunteers, especially military. I want to fund an effort to recruit and train more puppy handlers.”

He expected her to immediately jump at his offer. She didn’t.

“For someone who has been adamantly opposed to becoming involved in any way with the therapy and service dog program, this is quite the turnaround,” Sara stated, looking him up and down with the same savvy she’d exhibited in years past. “What’s the catch?”

Of course she would figure out he had an ulterior motive. Matt proposed, “You let my family know that I’ve become ‘involved’ so they’ll stop haranguing me.”

Sara sent a glance heavenward. “I’m not sure they’ll consider writing a check involved, cowboy.” She mimicked his deadpan tone. “But you do have a good idea. Especially if we were to combine the recruiting efforts with the first annual WTWA service-dog reunion picnic we’re hosting in a few weeks.”

Aware that sounded like more than he could handle, without triggering a whole new slew of nightmares, Matt lifted his hand. “Listen, I’ll help out with anything that needs to be done organizationally...”

Her eyes glittering with disappointed, Sara seemed to guess where this was going. “But you still don’t want to help in the hands-on socialization of Champ.”

“No.” Aware the pup had finished peeing and was hopping around his feet, begging to be picked up, Matt steadfastly ignored him. “Not my thing.”

Sara picked up a ball and threw it, then watched Champ bound off to retrieve it. “What’s happened to you? I don’t remember you having an aversion to animals growing up.”

The truth was he hadn’t.

“Did you get bit or attacked by a dog or something?”

Once again she knew him too well. Despite the time that had elapsed since they’d been friends.

“No.”

She peered at him in concern. “Lose one you cared about so deeply that you can’t bear to be around another?”

Comforted by the feel of Charley snuggled up against him, Matt pushed away the unwanted emotions welling up inside of him. “I told you. I don’t have the patience to train a puppy.”

“Really?” she echoed skeptically. “Because you seem to have a lot of patience with my son.” Her gaze drifted over him and Charley before she tossed the ball again.

He turned his attention to the close fit of her white yoga pants over her spectacular legs, and felt his body harden. “It’s different.”

She continued to study him as Champ raced off.

His gaze drifted up to her peach knit tunic top. The fit was looser, but it still did a nice job of showing off her luscious breasts and trim midriff. He liked the half-moon necklace and matching earrings she wore, too.

In fact, liked everything about her. Maybe too much.

“Something’s going on with you,” she persisted.

He cut her off brusquely. Not about to go down that path. “I don’t have PTSD, if that’s what you’re inferring.”

She regarded him with steely intent. “Sure about that? I heard your last tour was pure hell. That’s why you quit the army when your commitment was up.”

He shrugged. “I came back. I’m alive.”

Another telling lift of her delicate brow.

“Maybe the question, then, is,” she countered softly, “who didn’t?”

Again, right on point.

Silence fell.

Wondering if it would always be like this between them—her challenging, him resisting—he said nothing more.

The puppy came over, panting. Sara gathered him in her arms. “Time to eat, buddy.”

Matt followed her inside. Figuring it was his turn to question her on her choices, he said, “I’m surprised you took on a puppy when you already have your hands full with Charley.”

She filled a food bowl and set it back inside the whelping pen, next to the water bowl and the puppy. “I didn’t plan to, but Alyssa Barnes, the soldier who was going to raise Champ and help with his training, had a setback.” She straightened and went to the sink to wash her hands, then came back to him and took Charley in her arms.

“She’s going to be in the hospital another week, and then a rehab facility here in Laramie for about twenty-one days after that,” she explained. “But she still wants to do it, and I’m not about to take that away from her, when this is all she’s been looking forward to. And since you wouldn’t even consider helping me, cowboy, even on a short-term basis, I volunteered myself.”

Guilt flooded Matt. Along with the surprising need to have her understand where he was coming from. He trod closer, appreciating the sight of Charley nestled contentedly against her breasts. Noting how sweet they looked, he spread his hands wide. “Look, it’s not that I’m selfish or heartless.” He drew a deep breath and confessed what he had yet to admit to anyone else. “I just don’t want to be around dogs, okay?” Even one as technically cute and lively as little Champ.

She settled Charley in his high chair, persistent as ever. “And again I have to ask... Why is that, Matt? What’s changed?”

Annoyed, he watched her snap a bib around Charley’s neck. Wishing he didn’t want to haul her against him and kiss her again. Never more so than when they sparred.

Working to keep his emotional distance, he let his glance sift over her in a way he knew annoyed her, then challenged, “Why do you care?”

Especially after she’d already told everyone she was giving up on him. And walking away...

A fact that had somehow irked him.

“I don’t know.” She plucked a banana from the bunch. Looked over at him and sighed. “Maybe it’s because I feel disrespected by you.”

Disrespected! “In what sense?” He’d come here to extend the olive branch. Not drive her away with bad behavior the way he had a week ago. And yet here they were, bringing out the worst in each other...again...

Setting the peeled banana on a plate, she frowned and said, “In the sense that people tend to not tell me sad or upsetting stories since Anthony died.” She raked a hand through her hair, pushing it off her face. “It’s as if they’re afraid that I’m so fragile, if they say or do the wrong thing, they’ll push me over the edge.”

He lounged against the counter, opposite Charley. He empathized with her. “I’m familiar with the walking-on-eggshells part.”

She wheeled her son’s high chair closer to the breakfast table, sat down and began to mash the fruit with a fork. “Then you can also understand my frustration at having apparently been tasked with getting your help and yet simultaneously been cut out of the loop. Because there is clearly something more going on here than what I’d been told.”

He could see she felt blindsided, when all she’d been trying to do was help. The wounded vet, Alyssa Barnes. Him. Champ. And in that sense, he did owe her. So...he drew up a chair on the other side of Charley, sat down and said, “You want to know what happened?”

She nodded, expression tense.

Matt gulped. “I saw a dog get blown up right in front of me.” And worse... “His death was my fault.”

Chapter Three

Sara stared at Matt, hardly able to comprehend what he had just said. “And your family knows you were a part of such a terrible tragedy?” she asked, aghast. Or more horrifying still, that he felt personally responsible?

His expression closed and inscrutable, Matt watched her begin to feed her son. “I’m not really sure what they know.”

Sara spooned up a bit of mashed banana from Charley’s chin. “But you haven’t told them,” she ascertained quietly.

As he exhaled, his broad shoulders tensed, then relaxed. “It would freak my mom and dad out to know how close I came to dying. So no, I didn’t give them any specifics other than what was reported in the news. That our base was hit by suicide bombers in the middle of the night. And there were no injuries or fatalities among our soldiers.”

Thank heaven for that, she thought. Resisting the urge to jump up and hug him fiercely only because she thought such a move would be rejected, she asked, “Was it a bomb-sniffing dog who saved you?”

“No,” Matt said hoarsely. “Mutt was one of a half dozen strays we picked up over there and took in.”

Sara caught the note of raw emotion in his voice. She slanted Matt another empathetic glance, then rose and got two bottles of water from the fridge. “The army lets you do that?”

He tilted his head. “It depends on the commanding officer and the situation.” Matt relaxed when Charley turned and grinned at him. He stuck out his hand, and Charley latched on to his palm, banging it up and down on the tray. “Our CO thought having dogs around was good for morale. Reminded us of home. Gave us something other than the war to think about.”

Sara could see that. Relieved that he was finally confiding in her, she walked back to join Matt and her son at the breakfast table.

“So he let us keep them and train them, but no one person was allowed to adopt any one dog. The deal was the pets belonged to the unit, and we had to rotate their care,” Matt related. “Anyone who was interested could sign up, and on the day and night you were assigned, you fed and walked a dog, and got to sleep with that particular dog next to your bunk.”

Sara knew full well the healing power of animals. “Sounds nice.” Their fingers brushed when she handed him his water.

For the briefest of seconds, Matt leaned into her touch. “It was.”

Still tingling from the casual contact, Sara uncapped her water, took a sip, then resumed feeding Charley. She needed to hear the rest of the story, as much as Matt needed to tell it. “So what happened to make you feel responsible for Mutt’s death?”

Matt gently extricated his palm from Charley’s fingers. He looked away a heartrending moment, then took a long drink. “You really want to hear this?” he finally asked.

Her heart went out to him, and again, it was all she could do not to stand up and hug him. “I really do,” she answered softly. It was the only way she’d begin to understand him and what he’d been through. The only way he’d begin to heal, too.

Wearily, Matt scrubbed a hand down his face. He seemed reluctant, but began to relate: “I had Mutt that night. He woke up around two in the morning, and he was nosing my hand, signaling he needed to go out.”

Made sense.

“It seemed urgent, and I thought it was a routine potty break, so I stumbled out of bed and opened the door to our barracks. Then all hell broke loose.”

Sara’s heart lurched as she pictured the scene.

Matt shook his head, unable to completely camouflage his grief. “Mutt picked up the scent of whatever he’d heard and bolted away from me at top speed, barking his head off. Woke everyone and all the other dogs up.”

Sara could imagine that, too.

Matt jerked in a shuddering breath. “Turned out we had a dozen suicide bombers in the compound, ready to kill us all.” His voice caught at the unbearable pain of that memory. “Mutt attacked the closest one, and the guy blew himself up. And Mutt along with him.” Briefly, he couldn’t go on. His eyes glistened. “Just like that, they were both dead. And a minute or so later, thanks to the swift action of our soldiers,” he said hoarsely, “so were all the other enemy combatants.”

This time she couldn’t resist. Sara reached over to touch his arm, her fingers curving around the hard, thick muscles. “Oh, Matt...” she said, aware it was all she could do not to burst into tears herself.

Her attempt to comfort him, even a little, failed.

His forearm remained stiff, resisting. He shook his head, a faraway look in his eyes. In abject misery, he confessed, “The hell of it is, if I had just been a little more alert, or wary... If I would have had my gun, I would have taken out the bomber before Mutt got to him. But I didn’t.” He swallowed hard.

Aware her initial instincts not to touch Matt had been on point, Sara dropped her hand and went back to feeding a now sleepy-looking Charley the last of his mashed fruit. At least Matt was talking; she held on to that.

“What about the other dogs?” she asked softly, wanting him to get the rest of the story out, to have that much-needed catharsis. “You said there were no troop injuries...”

His glance still averted, Matt released a breath. “There were some injuries. Shrapnel. None of the other dogs were killed.” Hands knotting, he shook his head. “But it could have very easily gone another way,” he admitted rawly.

With multiple fatalities of soldiers and canines, Sara thought.

Matt drained the rest of his water. “That incident made me realize my time to be effective was gone.” Regret tautening his masculine features, he slanted her a look. “I’d already notified the Army I would be resigning my commission and heading back to the USA when my tour was up. And so, that’s what I did.”

Sara offered Charley a sippy cup of milk.

“And your family...?” Did the McCabes know even part of what he’d just told her?

Apparently not, from his reaction.

Matt’s brows lowered like thunderclouds over his gray-blue eyes. “They know I don’t talk about what happened over there.”

“Except you just did.”

He frowned. “Only because I want you to know. So you’ll stop asking me if I can be hands-on with Champ or any other puppy, because I just can’t. I don’t want that kind of responsibility.” His grimace deepened. “Not ever again.”

Talk about a textbook case of PTSD. Sighing, she got a washcloth and cleaned Charley’s face and hands. Removed his bib.

Matt came closer. His mood shifting, now that his heart-wrenching confession had been made, he gazed gently down at Charley, who was now slamming both his palms happily on the high chair tray. “So I’ll gladly write a check. But as for the rest,” he gritted out, “there is just no way, Sara.”

Sara understood guilt, unwanted memories and unbearable pain. More than he would ever know.

Matt exhaled. Then moved so she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “And I would appreciate it,” he said, as their gazes locked, held, “if you didn’t talk to anyone else about what I’ve just told you.”

Even if it would help him eventually? Sara wondered, conflicted. Still, she knew a confidence deserved to be kept. So she did what she knew in her heart was right for their friendship, which miraculously seemed to be resuming.

“Okay,” she said, letting out a long breath, and lounging against the counter, too. “I won’t tell anyone what you went through over there. But if you do want to talk to someone...someday...”

He moved away again, his manner as gruff as his low voice. “No. All I want to do is put it behind me.”

Easier said than done, she thought.

But she understood.

Sometimes the only way to get past pain that immense was to stop reliving it and move on. Survive and advance. Hour by hour...day by day.

He removed a checkbook and pen from his shirt pocket.

“So, what do you think it will take to fund a drive for volunteer puppy raisers? Will a thousand dollars be okay to start?” He squinted at the hesitation he saw on her face. “What?”

Noticing Charley was beginning to look very sleepy, she lifted him out of his high chair, walked into the living room and sat down in the rocker glider. She brushed her lips across the top of his head, then positioned him so his chest was cuddled against hers, his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder.

Aware Matt was watching her closely, appearing to feel the same tenderness for her son that she did, she returned. “New ideas, and the money to fund them, are always appreciated.”

He followed and settled on the ottoman opposite her. Knees spread, hands clasped in front of him. “But?” he asked quietly.

She smiled ruefully, as Charley sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ll be blunt. I don’t think this is going to solve your problem with your family.”

Matt frowned. “Why not?”

Since Charley was drowsy enough to put down, she rose and carried him over to the Pack ’n Play in the corner of the breakfast nook. When she’d settled him, she turned back to Matt and said, “Because I know your sister, Lulu, and your mother, and they’re going to see any extroverted action by you, no matter how small, as a much-needed breakdown of the walls you’ve put up around you since you came back from the Middle East. And they are going to want to expand on that.”

Matt frowned. “So their nagging will increase, not decrease. Is that it?”

“Pretty much.” She went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

Arms folded in front of him, Matt lounged against the counter again. “So what do you suggest?”

She shrugged, wishing he didn’t fit into her household quite so easily. “It’s your family.”

He watched her measure coffee into the paper filter. With a wry half smile, he pointed out, “You come from a large family, too, darlin’.”

As always, the endearment melted her heart and made her way too aware of him. Physically, and in other ways, too. She poured water into the reservoir.

“Yes, but mine are spread out all over the country now. So their ability to badger me in person is limited mostly to phone calls and texts. They generally don’t just show up on my doorstep. Well,” she amended hastily at his skeptical expression, “my parents have come to see us a few times, and hinted that I should start looking for a job close to the university where they live and teach in Colorado Springs. But for now at least they’ve accepted that I want to raise Charley in the community where Anthony and I grew up.”

His glance drifted over her. “Think you will ever change your mind?”

Good question, one she was still wrestling with. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I like my job at Healing Meadow Veterinary Hospital. They’ve been really good about extending my maternity leave past the terms I initially thought I wanted.”

Although it had been rough, going through the last six months of her pregnancy alone, after her husband’s death. She’d had the support of her work colleagues and other single moms that she knew. Plus, her parents had come to Texas for Charley’s birth, and helped her for a few weeks after that, but since then, she had been mostly on her own, with help from friends whenever she needed and or wanted it. Of course, it wasn’t the same as going through a pregnancy with a loving husband at her side, sharing every moment of Charley’s growth and development with his daddy. Having Matt around today had shown her that. Made her long for an intact nuclear family, and the kind of hope-filled future a situation like that would bring.

Luckily, Matt had no way of knowing how emotional she was feeling, deep down inside.

Still, his attention deepened in a way that warmed her from the inside out. In deference to her sleeping son, he moved slightly closer and kept his voice low. “What terms did you want from your employer?”

She swallowed and tried not to flush. She may have had an unrequited crush on Matt once—when they were teens—but they were destined to be nothing more than friends now.

“Six months.”

Turning away, she forced herself to ignore the intense yearning for closeness, and the flutter of desire that swept through her. “But now that Charley is six months old, I can see I’m not quite ready to go back full-time.”

Ignoring the masculine warmth and strength emanating from his tall body, she busied herself wiping down the high chair. “So I’m going to stay on leave another three months, and then ease into work by taking emergency calls every other weekend, and seeing patients one day a week.”

Matt observed, “And you’re taking on Champ, too.”

Who, Sara noted, was curled up in a ball in his indoor puppy pen, fast asleep.

“For just a month or so.” She hoped, anyway. “But yeah, I really am going to have to find someone to help me with that.”

She got out the cream and sugar and set them on the island, along with a plate of oatmeal-cranberry-pecan cookies.

Matt watched her fill two mugs. “What about Charley?”

Their fingers touched as she handed him his mug. Aware she was tingling more now than she had been before, Sara furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were going to need help to work with Champ and watch your son simultaneously.”

Sara stirred in cream and sugar. “Right.”

Matt drank his black. “Would you consider letting me assist you with your son?”

Sara paused. Was this guilt talking—or something else? She looked him up and down. “Let me get this straight. You...Mr. Lonesome...want to be Charley’s baby wrangler?”

Matt’s broad shoulders lifted in an affable shrug. “Why not? He likes hanging out with me. I like hanging out with him.” He paused. “Don’t trust me?”

Sara blushed. Yet another obstacle to her going back to work. “Actually,” she admitted with chagrin, “I don’t really trust anyone except for Bess Monroe, and your sister, Lulu, with Charley—if Bess is around to supervise, and I only have confidence in Bess because she’s a registered nurse.” Which was, on the face of it, pretty neurotic, she knew.

“Ah.” Matt dunked the edge of his cookie in his coffee. “New-mom anxiety.”

Heat rose in the center of her chest as she waved off her worry. “I know it’s silly...”

“But it’s the way you feel, darlin’. No shame in that.”

Pleased to find him honoring her feelings instead of making fun of them, Sara nodded. “Exactly,” she said softly. “Plus, I really don’t want to be away from Charley for all the time it’s going to take to socialize Champ because then I’d end up feeling I was neglecting him. So it’s a real conundrum.”

Matt finished off his cookie, understanding again. “How do you formally socialize a puppy, anyway?”

“By introducing him to as many different people and places as possible over the next month. So he’ll be comfortable no matter where he is.”

“Sounds...interesting.”

Sara smiled, suddenly aware how cozy this all felt. With the two of them there, chatting, and the puppy and baby sleeping nearby.

Matt was going to make a wonderful husband and father someday.

Trying not to think about the toe-curling kisses they’d already shared, she admitted, “The outings would be good for Charley, too. He’s spent way too much time at home with just me, thus far. But—” Sara took another sip from her mug “—I can’t handle both Champ and Charley out in public by myself.” Which meant some sort of accommodations would have to be made.

Again, Matt understood. Practical as always, he asked, “So why don’t we do it together, then?”

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