WHAT A COWGIRL’S GOTTA DO...

A wedding of convenience isn’t exactly cowgirl Olympia James’s dream—she wants the rodeo, not a husband. But marrying Arizona lawyer Spencer MacCormack will make a lot of other dreams come true. Spence needs a stable home to win custody of his little boy, and with Spence’s help, Olympia can send her sister to school.

But while the marriage is supposed to be just on paper, their chemistry is volatile...and the night they spent together weeks ago leads to a surprise: Olympia is pregnant. Soon the ranch is home to a baby, Spence’s sweet cowboy son, and feelings Olympia and Spence can’t deny. This fake relationship is quickly getting all too real. Maybe it’s more than just business.

Olympia knew better than most women that happily-ever-after and men sticking around to be a daddy just didn’t happen, except in fairy tales.

“I’ve dreamed about the rodeo, about leaving Arizona, since I was a little girl,” she insisted...to Spence...to herself. “I’ve faced down plenty of reality.”

“Oh, honey,” he said softly as she curled into his side, her face fitting perfectly against his shoulder. Those broad, strong shoulders could stand straight against anything. “You’re amazing, to have lived through all of that and come out not only a brave cowgirl but having raised your sisters, too.”

“Maybe the rodeo was just a little girl’s dream and now I’m a woman?”

“That you are,” he said, giving her butt a squeeze.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or moan, whether to be offended or excited. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping on the floor?”

“I will.” He didn’t move his hand.

His kisses and soft touches caused everything to fade away. She snuggled into him.

He whispered, “What do you need, cowgirl?”

“You.”

Dear Reader,

I’m back in Arizona revisiting the Leigh and MacCormack families in my second book about cowgirls and the men they love. This time attorney and father Spencer MacCormack gets tangled up with Olympia James, a footloose cowgirl from the wrong side of the trailer park. Next I mixed in a marriage of convenience, an unexpected pregnancy and a javelina (an Arizona-style pig), making The Convenient Cowboy just as much fun to write as my first book.

Most of my story ideas start with a scene that I see clearly in my head. For this book, it was Spence’s quickie wedding in Las Vegas (or Lost Wages, as my uncle called it). His bride took longer to see, then there she was. A young woman who’d vowed that she was going to be a rodeo star and no babies or husband were going to stand in her way. Boy, did that give them a few “challenges.” But no matter what I threw at them, they just couldn’t stay out of each other’s arms.

With the MacCormack brothers’ stories told, my brain (and my fingers) have been itching to write about the other two Leigh siblings...or maybe there’s another cowgirl out there who will show up in my imagination.

If you want to know more about my inspirations and musings or drop me a note, check out my website and blog at heidihormel.net, where you also can sign up for my newsletter; or connect with me at facebook.com/authorheidihormel, twitter.com/heidihormel or pinterest.com/hhormel.

Yee-haw,

Heidi Hormel

The

Convenient

Cowboy

Heidi Hormel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With stints as an innkeeper, radio talk show host and craft store manager, HEIDI HORMEL settled into her true calling as a writer. She spent years as a reporter (covering the story of the rampaging elephants Debbie and Tina) and as a PR flunky (staying calm in the face of Cookiegate) before settling into penning romances with a wink and a wiggle.

A small-town girl from a place that’s been called the Snack Food Capital of the World, Heidi has trotted over a good portion of the globe, from Volcano National Park in Hawaii to Loch Ness in Scotland to the depths of Death Valley. She has also spent large chunks of time in Arizona, where she fell in love with the desert and fry bread, and in Great Britain, where she developed an unnatural obsession with jacket potatoes and toasties.

Heidi is on the web at heidihormel.net as well as socially out there at facebook.com/authorheidihormel, twitter.com/heidihormel and pinterest.com/hhormel.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“I now pronounce you man and wife. Thank you. Thank you very much,” announced the standard-issue Elvis minister at the Little Chapel of the Strip in Vegas.

Not exactly how Olympia had pictured her wedding, but then she’d never planned to get married at all. So the $29.99 ceremony would do just fine.

“Thanks,” her new husband, Spencer MacCormack, said as he shook Elvis’s beringed hand. He used his aw-shucks-ma’am smile, which hid his sharky lawyer brain.

Olympia shook the minister’s hand, too, ignoring his raised eyebrows. He was clearly wondering why they hadn’t kissed. Simple answer. The marriage had been contracted, signed, sealed and delivered. No lovin’. No touchin’. No squeezin’. She’d get the cash she needed for her sister. Being a husband would get Spence full custody of his son. When they each had what they wanted, they’d go on their merry ways, just like they’d done after that night in Phoenix.

“Do you want to eat before we head back?” Spence asked as he opened the door into the desert heat, waving for her to go first. Another one of those cowboy gestures that was as fake as a three-dollar bill. She knew that Spence had grown up in suburban Phoenix—on a golf course—and had never ridden a horse and never wanted to. Even without the Stetson and drawl, his all-American good looks—the disordered blond hair, the dusty-blue eyes and the barely there dimple—probably got him what he wanted in the courtroom and in the bedroom. She blamed falling into bed with him three months ago on his looks. But that was ancient history. Over. Done.

“I just want to get back to Tucson,” Olympia said. The knots in her stomach stayed firmly tied, as they had for months, ever since her youngest sister had announced that—in a stroke of James-family bad luck—her four-year college scholarship had dried up, and she’d have to drop out of school before she’d even started. When Spence had approached Olympia with the “marriage” proposal out of the blue, she’d hoped that she’d finally been cut a break.

“If traffic is good, we should be home by four,” Spence said as the oversize, fuel-guzzling, dual-pipe pickup with the king cab roared to life. “If you need me to stop for a pee-pee break, just holler.”

“Really? I’m not two.”

“Sorry. Old habit from when I hauled my son around as a toddler.” He pulled out of the parking lot.

Nausea added to her misery. When they’d been getting hitched, she’d been able to forget that Spence had a seven-year-old son who would not be living with them or even visiting. Thank the Lord. The former in-laws had his custody all tied up in court, and Spence could see his son at only neutral locations. He’d talked about that when they’d met at her friend’s wedding. She’d felt bad for him. Even though they’d connected and he’d charmed her with a smile she’d found attractive at the time, she’d never imagined that they’d be involved beyond that one night. That was the kind of curveball life always threw at her, so here she and Spence were—married, with a one-hundred-page prenup contract. The document outlined a lot of how they would carry on before and after the marriage and stipulated he’d reside at her house. She’d been the one to explain that the ranch would help show he had a stable home life—no pun intended. But the overly legal agreement didn’t get into the nitty-gritty of the everyday. Like, who cooked? Not her. Who cleaned the toilet? Not her.

The number one unwritten ground rule, though, had to be that she and Spence would not repeat what had happened in Phoenix after the wedding of Jessie, her friend, to Payson, Spence’s brother. Olympia had no room in her life for romance or wannabe cowboys. She swallowed hard, bile creeping up the back of her throat, then picked up her purse and rooted for the TUMS, which had become a staple of her diet the past three weeks.

They had hours before they’d get to the foothills of the Catalina Mountains outside Tucson. She’d inherited a small ranch there from her deadbeat father. Her daddy—though she usually thought of him as The Sperm Donor—hadn’t paid child support or done any of the other things a father should do. Then three years ago, he’d died and left her the ranch. Of course, the taxes hadn’t been paid, the house hadn’t been lived in for years and the barn, which could house only six horses, had needed major repairs. By stretching her finances beyond the breaking point, she’d made it livable...just. The ranch wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited. According to Mama, Olympia looked more like her daddy with her dark hair and slanted eyes. The only thing James about her was her breasts—large and high—and her short pinkie fingers.

Get it over with, cowgirl, Olympia told herself. “We need to clear up the house rules. You know, like I don’t do laundry, cook meals, make beds—”

“I get it,” Spence said. “You’re not June Cleaver. But let me remind you that I may need to show the courts that I have an appropriate home life, in case of an official visit.”

Olympia gulped down the tension that had lodged in her throat. She plucked three lint-covered TUMS from the bottom of her bag and chewed. “As long as you’re clear about me not being the wifely type. I’m not a slob, but I don’t clean up after anyone but me.” The idea of being tied down to a man made her want to howl and chew off her leg like a coyote caught in a trap. She had this one final thing to do for her youngest sister. Then her responsibility to her family was over and done with. James women looked after themselves—only—just like her mama had said again and again.

“You don’t have to be anything,” Spence said, his eyes never leaving the road as he raced down the highway. “You can act, can’t you?”

“Act like a damned Stepford wife from the sounds of it.”

“No swearing. You’re the mother—stepmother—of an impressionable young boy.”

“What the hell? I won’t be seeing him. He’s not coming to the ranch. How much can I corrupt him?” The temporary marriage would barely register for the boy. She should know. She’d had at least six “daddies.” And what did she remember about any of them, even her own? Next to nothing.

“We need to be prepared for the possibility of a court examiner coming to the house. That person will expect a home where there isn’t swearing or yelling, and there are snacks and sit-down meals.”

The antacids hadn’t touched the nausea or the burning in her stomach. “That’s not what we agreed to. I’ve got a life, you know.”

“Obviously,” he said, glancing at her, “the judge will need to see a report clearly showing that, unlike my ex, I can provide a stable, loving home.”

“There isn’t anything in the prenup about not swearing.”

“In section four, paragraph six, I included a morality clause.”

“A what?”

“Morality clause. You know, no messing around with other men, no drinking—”

“Well, slap me stupid, I didn’t know I’d hitched my wagon to a preacher’s.”

“This is my son.”

She’d seen a picture of the pale, frail little boy, wearing plaid pants and a sweater vest—nerdy anywhere, but in Arizona, his clothes were a billboard that said Kick Me. “Fine. No swearing. I’ll try, if the examiner ever comes.”

“Get into the habit now.”

“Whatever,” she said, sticking out her chin to show him that he couldn’t intimidate her. She swallowed hard. She never got carsick. Must be the air-conditioning blowing his unwelcome, but familiar, scent of leather, desert and black licorice into her face.

* * *

SPENCE GLANCED OVER, wondering where the sexy cowgirl he’d met at Payson’s wedding had gone. Today she looked rode hard and put away wet. They hadn’t married for keeps, but couldn’t she have pretended she cared that it was her wedding? Maybe the cowgirl-hobo look was a thing? On the other hand, he didn’t want to remember taking off the silky dress she’d worn to Payson’s wedding, revealing the lacy bra and panties... Nope...shouldn’t think about that night in her Phoenix motel room.

Sleeping together wasn’t part of what they’d agreed to, no matter what had happened when they’d met. He wouldn’t tell his son about the Vegas wedding or about Olympia, unless he had to. Right now, Calvin was in his former in-laws’ custody. On the plus side—as if there could even be a plus side—Calvin could stay in the dark about having a stepmom. If his grandparents said anything, Spence would come up with a story that he hoped would hold up under Calvin’s questioning, which had become nearly as sharp as Spence’s own. It was hard not to feel proud of his son’s intelligence, even while it could be a huge pain in Spence’s butt.

He pushed his son to the back of his mind because he had to deal with Olympia first by making her understand the importance of the marriage. Or maybe reiterate the importance. The one-hundred-page prenuptial contract explained the details, but he had the feeling that he needed to appeal to her emotions again. When they’d talked at his brother’s wedding, she’d been sympathetic. She’d hinted that her own childhood had been less than ideal, but she’d spoken of her youngest sister with a lot of affection and pride, telling him how the girl had gotten a full-ride scholarship, which had disappeared just a month later. Clearly, at times, her family exasperated her, but she loved them and felt responsible for their welfare. So when he’d come up with the crazy idea of a marriage to gain custody of Calvin, she’d immediately sprung to mind. He figured that she’d agree to all this for her sister. No matter what she said now about not wanting to meet Calvin or get too involved, she understood sacrifice and love for family.

Spence looked at the passing sign. Hours to her ranch, where they’d live—a negotiating point she’d refused to give on. His brother, Payson, would have a good laugh at Spence living on a working ranch, not a prettily landscaped one like those their friends’ families had owned when they were growing up. Spence wore the trappings of a cowboy and drove an oversize truck because it was what his clients expected. Everyone assumed a native Arizonan like him was a cowboy, but he was a city boy through and through.

He pulled in a deep breath, catching her oddly erotic scent of Granny Smith apples and smoky chipotle, before he put on his lawyer face. “You’ve laid out your expectations, but there are some points that will need further discussion. When we met, it was clear to me that you were committed to your family, your sisters. And I believe when I ‘proposed’ you said, ‘I’ll do anything to help my sister and keep my ranch afloat.’” Sounding like such a jerk might be the reason for all the lawyer jokes. On the other hand, he’d do whatever he had to do to keep his son.

“I did not say that.”

“It was implied.” He glanced over and saw her tabby cat–brown eyes narrow. She pushed back a strand of dark hair that had fallen from her stubby ponytail. Did she cut her hair herself?

“I married you. That doesn’t automatically make me—”

“I don’t make this request without reason, and it could easily be covered under the contingency clause in section ten, subsection D.”

“I don’t like the sound of contingency clause.”

“I told you to have an attorney look over the document.”

“As if I have the money for that. The whole reason I even signed the da...darned thing was for the money.”

“You did sign it, and there is a contingency clause.” Spence changed lanes and floored the truck, hoping to outrace this sinking feeling. He’d known that the marriage, the prenup contract and moving to the ranch had been desperation on his part... Hers, too. It wasn’t just the marriage that he needed. He hadn’t really made that clear during the negotiations. A lawyer tactic. He hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t asked, so... “As I said, we may have to submit to the court sending someone into our home to determine its suitability. My lawyer and I are also fighting for Calvin to have a chance to visit me while we negotiate for custody—”

“Excuse me, but that was not in the agreement or in anything we discussed.”

“The contingency clause—”

“My a—” He glared at her. “Aunt Fanny. You told me that Calvin didn’t live with you. That was the whole reason for the wedding.”

“Right. To get custody of my son. Didn’t you ever hear that possession is nine-tenths of the law, darlin’?”

She clamped her mouth closed, barely moving her lips when she said, “I married you for the money. You said this wouldn’t be a real marriage. I’m holding you to that, lawyer boy.”

He tightened his hands on the wheel and glared hard at the white SUV in front of them to stop himself from blurting out something he’d have to apologize for later. Why was he so annoyed that she didn’t want to be near his child? That was what he wanted. He didn’t want Calvin to think of her as a new mommy.

“If,” he emphasized, “I’m granted a visit, maybe you could go stay with your family. You and he wouldn’t need to meet.” Had he overplayed his hand? He glanced sideways to gauge her annoyance, noticing the sharpness of her jaw. Had she lost weight? What words was she holding back? How the hell had things gotten so complicated? For maybe the first time in his life, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I told you I don’t have the mothering gene.” She sucked in a breath, her face paling. “It is my ranch, so why do I have to leave?”

The way she talked about her sister, he was pretty sure she did have a mothering gene. But that didn’t matter now, because he was stuck. He’d let the lease go on his apartment—his crappy apartment—and he wouldn’t have the funds to pay for her sister’s tuition and the apartment anyway. He also had to pay his attorney. Spence had represented himself before, and it’d been a disaster. The case was too emotional. His attorney had let him slide on his bills before, but that had come to an end last month.

He knew how to negotiate. He’d drop the argument, change the subject and let her think that she’d won for now, then come back later and work on her. “I got us a room at the Ritz-Carlton at Dove Mountain, outside Tucson. The honeymoon suite.”

“Excuse me?” she asked in a tone that suggested that she wanted to eviscerate him.

“I don’t want anyone to think this marriage isn’t real. They might understand that we can’t immediately go on a big honeymoon, but we have to take at least one night. I’ll have the receipts.”

“Great. You can stay at the hotel. I’ve got animals to see to.”

“Someone is going out to the ranch to care for the stock tonight, too.”

“You have a stranger at my place, without my permission?”

“It’s my ranch, too.”

She made a sound that could have come from an arched-backed, bushy-tailed cat. Once again, his mouth had worked faster than his brain.

“Do you want me to divorce you before this farce starts? I can do it. Nonconsummation.”

Any other woman would have been thrilled that he’d taken care of everything. “I apologize,” he said, with little feeling. He felt her glare. “Even you have to admit that it’d look weird if we didn’t have one night to celebrate. We told everybody that we were so in love that we done run off and got married.” He could feel her anger, her annoyance... He wasn’t sure what. Being the good ol’ boy usually relaxed his clients.

“Cut the crap. You’re not a cowboy.” She paused for a moment, and with a smoother tone asked, “You really think someone is going to ask for receipts?”

“My ex’s lawyers will. I would, if she was my client.”

She snorted. “Convenient that you know what a lawyer would do.”

“The reservations are made.”

“You got two beds, right?”

Obviously, she saw the logic of his argument. “I doubt it. It’s the honeymoon suite, but I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Damn right, you will,” she said. “We’ve got to stop at the ranch, no matter what. I don’t have anything with me for an overnight stay.”

“There’s a bag in the back—”

“You went through my stuff?” she said, her voice rising.

“I stopped at the drugstore and picked up what I thought you’d need. You’d be amazed what they have.”

He glanced over and noted her stiff posture, along with the small frown line between her dark brows that made the tilt of her eyes even more catlike.

“You can order anything you like from room service,” he wheedled, using the voice that he’d perfected while married to Missy, the one that calmed cranky women. He resented having to placate her, but that was where he was if he wanted this balancing act to net him custody of his son.

“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “I will do this tonight because it’ll make this marriage—” she spit out the word “—appear real. You pull crap like this again, and I’ll invoke the you-need-me-as-much-as-I-need-you clause.” She stared at him hard before she went on, “I’m an adult woman and expect to be consulted when you make decisions. This is not a dictatorship. I might not have a degree or a fancy address, but I know when I’m being played.”

“Duly noted,” he said, his grip relaxing just a fraction. How was he going to get through this marriage? The same way he’d made it through the first four years of Calvin’s life, protecting him from his increasingly addicted mother—one day at a time and using every trick he’d learned in the courtroom.

“Also, make a note to yourself to stay out of my personal life.”

“It won’t be so bad, darlin’.” He tried his hearty, cajoling voice again. “You know there are people who think I’m plumb charmin’.”

“Yeah, well, people said the same thing about Hannibal Lecter.”

Her last words came out as a gulping sound, the kind Calvin made just before he hurled. He turned to her. “You okay?”

“It’s your crappy cologne. It’s enough to make anyone want to toss her cookies.”

“Did you eat anything today? Maybe we should stop.”

“Pull over.”

“I didn’t mean now.”

“Pull over, or I’m puking all over your pretty truck. Right now.” She swallowed again, and he saw the sheen of sweat on her forehead. He swerved to the far right, ignoring the horns, skidding onto the gravel. Olympia pushed open the door before the truck came to a full stop and vomited into the dust at the side of the road.

He got out and raced to her. It might not be a real marriage, but she was a human being. She dry heaved for a moment and moaned in misery. He pulled open the door to the king cab and rooted for a bottle of water.

“Drink this.”

“I’ll just throw up again.”

“Rinse out your mouth.” He didn’t let her refuse. She took a long swig and handed him the bottle. He went back into the cab for paper towels, wet one and put it on her neck. “Do you think it’s the flu or something?”

She shook her head and leaned over, eyes squeezed shut. “It must have been something I ate.”

“You didn’t eat anything this morning.”

“That’s probably it.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m so dizzy. This is the fourth day in a row.”

“Fourth day?” Spence asked, his quick lawyer’s mind putting together the facts into a new pattern.

“Yeah,” she said, pursing her lips as a breath gusted out.

“Oh, Christ.” He sagged a little against the door. No. No way. “When was your last period?”

“None of your damned business,” she said and then leaned over again, although there was nothing left in her stomach.

He had to be wrong. It was the flu. It was the dreaded Hantavirus. It was... Dear Lord, three months ago in a Phoenix motel room, there’d been that broken condom.

“Olympia,” he started, cleared his throat and tried again before all his words dried up. “Could you be pregnant?”

Chapter Two

Olympia’s hand shook as she tried to pee on the stick for the superfast pregnancy results, which had to be negative. She could not be pregnant. She would not be pregnant. She had plans that didn’t include kids, because babies led to living in a trailer hand-to-mouth like her mama and grammy. She’d worked hard to make sure she and her sisters wouldn’t end up there, too. Agreeing to the proposal had gotten her youngest sister, Rickie, set for college. That meant that it was Olympia’s turn to do what she wanted without worrying about someone else first...like a baby. How many more seconds? Too many.

She wanted to throw up again. Her stomach flipped just below her breastbone. That couldn’t be morning sickness because it had passed noon hours ago.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Spence said through the door. He’d almost carried her to the honeymoon suite after a quick stop at the drugstore. She’d made him go in and buy the stupid test that would prove she wasn’t pregnant. She had her life mapped out. She’d go on the road with the rodeo, working with stock until she had enough money for the kind of horse that could be a star barrel racer, unlike the two horses at her ranch—rescues no one else wanted.

She didn’t answer Spence. What a coward she was. Not very cowgirl of her. Pony up and read the damned stick.

Spence said louder, “What’s going on? Did you pass out?”

“I... It’s a few more minutes.”

“I told you to drink more.”

She wanted to moan in embarrassment and frustration. Not normally squeamish or girlie, talking with a near stranger about her bodily functions made her want to squirm. “Drinking a bunch of water after puking is not a good idea.”

“I told you that I’d get you ginger ale.”

She didn’t think the ginger ale would stay down any better. “Go stand somewhere else.”

“When Missy was pregnant with Calvin, she was only sick until the end of her fourth month, then she was fine.”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“The condom broke, Olympia.”

“So? Do you know what the chances are of getting pregnant?”

“Really good when the condom breaks.”

Didn’t he get it? Being pregnant would be a disaster. James women were born without maternal instinct but with a knack for picking men who made even worse fathers. Olympia, named for the beer her mother blamed her conception on—as if any kid wanted that kind of detail about their making—had barely known her father. The only good thing he’d done for her had been leaving her the ranch. Broken-down and not much more than scrub and sand, but it was still hers—if she could deal with the back taxes, the current taxes and all the other bills.

Like her mama, who she’d vowed she’d never be like, Olympia now stood in a bathroom, waiting to find out if another James baby was on the way, this one to a pretend cowboy with a kid and a crazy ex. The kind of country-and-western song she didn’t want her life to be. Olympia’s eyes burned with tears. She wanted to sob and wail, but she couldn’t do any of that because she had to hold it together. A stranger stood on the other side of that door. A man she’d met at a friend’s wedding and who should have been a pleasant memory. Maybe when she was ninety and needed help getting things from the high shelf, she’d want to be tied down to a man. Until then, she’d follow the rodeo.

“It’s way past time.”

Olympia started, and the stick skittered across the bathroom tile.

“You okay?”

She crawled on the floor. The doorknob rattled. Her head swam. She stopped all movement, not sure whether she was going to pass out, throw up or just die of fear.

“Olympia, open the damned door.”

A giggle burst from her, the sound echoing in the gigantic bathroom, which would fit two of her bathrooms at the ranch.

“I’m going to break down the door if you don’t stop laughing.”

“Drama queen...wait...guess that’s drama king.” Her hysterical giggles escalated. The door handle jiggled violently. She sat against the vanity, ignoring the stick half a bathroom away. If she didn’t look, then it would go away. Even as that thought flashed through her head, she knew it was infantile, but her brain just wouldn’t accept that she could be pregnant. Not after all her vows and precautions and all the times she’d told her mama that she’d never have kids.

Thud. “Damn,” muttered Spence. He really was going to break down the door. Afraid to stand on her noodly legs, Olympia crawled to the door, then just stared at the handle as it forcefully shook.

“Open the door, Olympia,” Spence said in a new voice, neither authoritative nor wheedling. “We’ll take care of this.”

He said that now, but... She reached up and unlocked the door, catching a glimpse of the stick. In that moment her whole life passed before her eyes. Who was the drama queen now? She scooted away and sat again with her back pressed into the vanity, her head on her knees, gulping down the nausea and dizziness. Was this how Mama had felt the first time she’d gotten pregnant? Sick, scared and, crazily enough, hungry for animal crackers with hot sauce? Olympia stifled another moan of misery and embarrassment.

* * *

SPENCE OPENED THE door slowly, not sure what he’d find in the bathroom. He hadn’t heard anything that sounded like Olympia tearing up the room, but his ex-wife, Missy, had taught him destruction could take place in complete silence.

“Did you look?” he asked softly, kneeling beside her. She gulped hard. He didn’t move, trying to decide what the sound meant, then he saw the stick on the floor beyond her. Three feet away. He could reach out and touch it. Not that he really needed to see it. He knew. He heard a mouse-quiet “No, no, no” coming from Olympia. He stood, took a breath and reached for the stick. Pregnant. Written as clear as day, as clear as the type on their prenuptial contract. Olympia was going to have his baby.

The caveman part of his brain did a fist pump. This woman was carrying his baby. Wait. They’d been together one night. Who knew what had happened in the months since then? He remembered again the broken condom, and his sister-in-law, Jessie, telling him that she’d been surprised to see Olympia and him paired up. Jessie’d told him how her friend was nearly a nun, usually too busy with siblings and scraping together money. That didn’t mean that Olympia hadn’t done the two-step with another cowboy, though.

“Olympia,” he said, laying his hand gently on her back, like he would Calvin after a bad dream. “It’s positive.”

She shook her head.

“Now, I’ve got to ask. Is the baby mine?”

He never saw the punch that came at him sideways and smacked into his throat.

“I’m not a slut,” Olympia said low and fiercely.

He swallowed hard around the pain. “It’s a reasonable question. I only met you at the wedding, and you slept with me.”

Her head snapped up from where she’d let it drop onto her knees. Her slanted eyes narrowed further, the tabby-brown darkening to near black. “So I’m the slut, and you’re what, just a stud? How do I know you’re not a serial impregnator? You said the broken condom was an accident, but was it?”

“‘Serial impregnator’? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Maybe you get some kind of sick thrill out of being a baby daddy and abandoning your children. Men are like that.”

Now she was starting to piss him off. “I have one child. I guess now I’ll have two. That’s it. And the reason I’m with you is because I want custody of my son.”

“Probably for the child support,” she muttered.

Hostile witness. Think of her as a hostile witness. He took a deep mental breath and worked on moving his features into a friendly smile, something that crossed good old boy with beta male. “Come on, darlin’, the floor in here is cold, and we’ve got some heavy-duty jawin’ to do. Let’s go sit on the couch so we can figure all this out.”

She pulled away from the fingers he’d laid on her shoulder. “That really works on people?” She clasped her hands together until her knuckles went white. “The test could be wrong. It says so in the fine print...”

“Darlin’—”

“Don’t call me that. I am not your darlin’, and you are not a cowpoke or whatever the hell you’re pretending to be.” Her chin came up, matching the flat annoyance in her eyes.

New tactic. He dropped the drawl and went for reasonable attorney. “Do you really think you’re not pregnant? You’ve been throwing up. You haven’t had your period, right? And the condom broke. How likely is it that the test is wrong?”

“It’s possible.”

“Take another one,” he said, holding on to his reasonable tone by the last thread of his patience. “I got three different ones.”

He hesitated a moment, then moved out of the bathroom to give her time for the news to sink in. He needed a few minutes, too. As an attorney, he knew how to look calm, cool and collected, even when he wasn’t. He went to the bucket with its celebratory bottle of champagne. No. He hated the stuff, plus this called for something stronger. Cracking open the minibar, he got out the two tiny bottles of whiskey and gulped down the liquor in the first one without bothering to find a glass. He enjoyed the warmth as it hit his stomach and spread out from there, thawing the cold ball of dread...and excitement...that had lodged in his gut. For the second bottle, he found a glass and left the room quietly for ice.

“Oh, my God,” he said to himself as he walked the corridor. A wife and a baby. That had not been how he’d imagined this day ending. Actually, his hope had been to convince her that there was no reason they shouldn’t enjoy each other again. They were married, after all, and had proved that night they were compatible sexually—more than once. The night, apparently. He stopped in the middle of the hall with the ice bucket, trying to take in the fact that he was going to be a father again. Maybe a little girl this time?

When he got back to their room, she’d closed the bathroom door again. He poured his whiskey on the rocks, went to the window and stared out over the golf course below them. Lifting his glass to take a drink, he stopped when he saw his reflection in the window, a silly grin splitting his face. Maybe this wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted things to go, but having another child, making a family would never be a bad thing.

They needed dinner—an amazing dinner with a spectacular dessert to celebrate. It was their honeymoon, and they were going to have a baby.

“Olympia, I’m ordering room service. Steak, beans, salad, with something decadent and chocolate for dessert. Is there anything you want?” He stepped back surprised when the door opened.

“That’ll be fine,” she said.

He looked her over. Other than the pale face, she appeared composed, her usual competent, cowgirl self. Actually, she looked better than when they’d said, “I do” this morning. Had it only been this morning? He waited for her to say more, but she just walked past him and sat on the couch. He called in the order and worked hard to wipe the stupid, sappy grin off his face before sitting down with Olympia. She’d turned on the TV, putting it on mute.

“The food should be here in fifteen, twenty minutes.” He paused, letting his brain sort through possible ways to get them on better footing. “You know Jessie from some rodeo camp you went to as kids, right?”

Olympia nodded, her eyes not meeting his. “Is there something to drink?”

“I can go to the soda machine. What would you like?”

She sat for a moment, her face blank. Then she shook herself and said, “An orange soda?”

“Sure thing. If room service comes, just put it on the room tab.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and gave her a twenty. “Here’s a tip, too.”

He hurried from the room. Olympia’s blank eyes were disturbing. He needed to remember that she’d never gone through this before—the delight and fear of pregnancy.

* * *

HE SMELLED THE FOOD as soon as he stepped back into the room with four cans of soda, none of them orange. He’d even tried different floors, hoping that the machines had different offerings. But no orange, so he’d gotten a variety that excluded caffeine—not good for the baby, not that any of the other ingredients were exactly healthy.

The room-service table sat by the window, covered with silver-lidded dishes. Olympia stood by it, looking out at the peaceful desert, just as he’d done.

“Why don’t we eat? You’ll feel better. It’ll help with the nausea,” he said. Her shoulders went up around her ears. “Come on. I know you’re hungry. I’m starved. Plus we need to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” she whirled around, her mouth contorted in rage, pain or maybe terror.

“Sure. A baby and a wedding.”

“A fake wedding and a baby that neither of us wants.”

“Well, at least you’re admitting you’re pregnant.”

She barked out a laugh. “Three pee sticks don’t lie. I’m a James. Of course I’m pregnant. It’s what we do. Hook up with some random guy, get pregnant, hope that it’ll last, then when it doesn’t, look for the next guy willing to—”

“Whoa. Hold on. I won’t abandon—”

“You’re all puffed up and proud because your swimmers won, but it doesn’t last. It never lasts.” Her words devolved into a sob.

Spence took one small, slow step closer, wanting to comfort and reassure her. He picked up her hand and held it. She didn’t pull back. “I’m fighting for custody of my son. I won’t walk away from another child.” His heart flopped again as he thought about another baby in his life.

“No,” she said, pulling away. “You’re not going to negotiate or talk me into this.”

“I’m not talking you into anything.”

“I know we’re married, but it’s fake. We’re not a forever kind of thing.”

“Maybe, but—”

She cut him off again. Her face lightened two shades, and her mouth clamped into a firm line. “I’m giving the baby up for adoption.”

“What? This is my child. You can’t do that.”

“No. It’s mine.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Who’s the one who’s pregnant? Huh? Plus, we’ll be divorced before I have the baby.” Her chin thrust out again.

“Whether we’re divorced or not, the baby is mine, too, just like Calvin. A real man doesn’t walk out on his family. My God, the whole reason we’re married is because I want my son in my life. Why do you think this baby will be any different? You can’t give the baby up for adoption without my consent.”

“What if I run away? I bet they wouldn’t care in Mexico.”

His hands went clammy, and the collar on his shirt suddenly felt too tight. Would she really do that? Or was it just fear talking? He stared at her hard, assessing her as he would an opponent across the negotiating table. Her lips trembled just a little. She wasn’t an opponent. She was the mother of his baby and, for now, his wife. “You’re not runnin’ away, darlin’. We’ll work this out,” he said in his most reasonable voice.

“You can’t stop me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We have a contract, and I know the law.” He let that hang there because she was right. He couldn’t force her to have the baby or to stay in Arizona, but by the time she figured out all that, he’d have her sign an addendum to their contract. He waited for her to say something. He hated to lie to her, but this was about his baby. He’d do whatever it took to save his child.

Chapter Three

Olympia sat down suddenly. Her head whirled; the room wavered. She couldn’t think about keeping a baby, even if he told her he’d stick around. A big lump settled midway up her throat. Throw up or pass out—those were her options. Her vision started to darken around the edges. She swallowed hard.

“For God’s sake,” Spence said, firmly grasping her by the neck and pushing down her head.

She tried to suck in a deep breath, but her insides were being crushed. Was that what happened? She remembered Mama waddling around, pregnant with her sister Rickie. She couldn’t train for the rodeo while she was pregnant, could she? What would she do? She’d waited so long to get on the circuit. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she moaned. A garbage can appeared under her nose. She batted at it. She wasn’t going to be sick, and the dark spots were disappearing. She sat up and stopped moving abruptly when the room whirled again.

“Here,” Spence said, thrusting a doughy white roll at her. “You said that you haven’t had any food, and even if you did, you left it out there along the 10.”

She cautiously took the roll. Regardless of her state of knocked-up-ness, not eating would make anyone sick. She nibbled at the bread while he lifted the silver covers from the plates and put them back. After a deep breath, he smiled at her. She guessed it was the smile he used in court to win over the ladies on the jury.

“Looks good,” he said, his dimple deepening.

She continued to munch on the bread, which seemed to settle just fine. Spence didn’t sit down but watched her as though he’d taken up guard duty.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked after finishing the roll and thinking that the steak and cowboy beans—even cooled—smelled good.

He gave her another for-the-jury smile. “No, ma’am. Not right now. Maybe later.”

Great. He was back to pretending he was a cowboy. Annoyance flooded her, and bile threatened to choke her. The food was no longer tempting. “So you have me trapped in this room. What are we going to do?” she asked, not caring that she sounded belligerent.

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m going to finish my drink here, then mosey on down to the bar.”

“I thought you were proving to anyone who cared that we’d actually gone on a honeymoon.”

“The receipts will be enough. There isn’t a PI tracking us.”

“Whatever.” She lifted the cover on the food again, just to give her something to do, because she was not going to eat it. Maybe a milk shake would be okay. She’d call room service once he left.

“I’ll see you later. Make sure you lock the door. I have my key. By the way, I’m sure I can see the lobby from the bar,” Spence said.

She heard the implied threat. Still, after he’d gone, she almost missed his hint of licorice and leather. For the first time since Spence had pulled off the road for her to be sick, Olympia took a deep breath. She pushed the cart away. After calling for a triple-thick vanilla shake, she went to look through the bag of things he’d bought for their overnight stay. Thank goodness there was a T-shirt and sweatpants. At least she wouldn’t have to sleep in her clothes.

She got as comfy as she could while ignoring the reality of her situation. She turned on the TV, loud, and forced herself to enjoy her extralarge milk shake.

* * *

“WHY ARE YOU sleeping here?” Spence asked later, appearing over her nest of pillows on the couch.

“This is more comfortable.” The king-size bed in the other room intimidated her.

“This is where I’m sleeping. I’m not going to let a pregnant woman sleep on a couch when there’s a perfectly good bed.”

Fully awake now, she felt her gorge rising again at the word pregnant. Why had he said that? She swallowed.

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No.” She shook her head but stopped quickly. Maybe the overly rich shake hadn’t been such a good idea after not eating all day. She didn’t move and closed her eyes again, turning her head away and slowly rolling so her back was to him. She didn’t care what Spence thought or wanted. She was staying right here.

His hand, with its smooth—but not girlie—palm, rested against her forehead as she tried to move farther away.

“No fever,” he grunted.

“You woke me out of a sound sleep.”

“I wouldn’t have woken you if you’d been in the bed.”

“I was comfortable here.”

“I’ll help you to bed.”

“You will not. I’m staying here.”

“Olympia, I’m not letting you sleep here. Come on.” She turned enough to see him towering over the couch, his arms crossed over his chest—his broad chest, where she’d laid her cheek after they’d made love.

“Go away.” She squinched her eyes closed against him and the memories of that night. Dear Lord, the night she’d gotten pregnant. Her stomach heaved, and she fought her way out of her nest of pillows.

When she finally came out of the bathroom, she didn’t fight Spence as he helped her to the bed. Exhausted, she just wanted to lie down and have her head stop spinning. Spence held up the covers for her, and she carefully slid in. She lay there in the middle of the huge empty bed, listening to him in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and doing all those domestic things that she’d imagined in her silly girlhood would mean that she finally belonged somewhere and to someone. Now here she was, married to a man she didn’t like most hours of the day, pregnant—there, she’d thought it without hyperventilating—and alone on her wedding night.

Tears tracked down her cheeks. She wiped at them and buried her face farther into the pillow. She hated crying but couldn’t stop the sob that bubbled up and out. She tightened her jaw to keep the next one in. Her chest hurt from holding back her gasping breaths. Her eyes burned from the tears, then the sob parted her lips and she couldn’t stop. What the hell was she crying about? The bed dipped. She popped up, wrestling with the blankets and sheets.

“Everything’s okay,” Spence whispered, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Lie down.” He pulled her toward him, bringing her cheek to rest on that solid chest, where she could hear the thud of his heart. His hand rubbed her back. She wanted to tell him to get away from her. Instead, she lay there, clutching his shirt and blubbering. Damn it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who cried. She’d always prided herself on that.

Hours passed. It had to be hours. Her tears left tight, salty trails on her cheeks. Her eyelids rasped across her eyes. She tried to push herself away from Spence, but he just tightened his hold.

“Relax. Go to sleep. Morning will be here before we know it.”

Even those inane words made her feel better as she drifted into sleep, thinking that this would be something to tell their children. She jerked awake. She wasn’t keeping the baby, and she wasn’t keeping Spence. None of that was in the life she had planned. James women made horrible wives and even worse mothers.

* * *

THE COMBINATION OF a vibrating pocket and deliciously round female butt against his crotch brought Spence slowly and pleasantly from sleep as an imaginary Olympia asked him, “Is that your phone? Or are you just happy to feel me?”

The vibration paused for five breaths as he gathered himself to figure out where he was and why his mouth tasted as if he’d eaten dead coyote for dinner. He rolled slowly away from Olympia. His wife. Had he really married her? Had they really gotten pregnant? Was that the sun coming in through the curtains?

He sat up slowly, making sure he didn’t jar his head. He knew that once he really woke up, the hangover he deserved would pierce his brain. “Hello,” he whispered hoarsely into the phone.

“Daddy,” Calvin said. “You forgot to call.”

Spence stood quickly and hustled from the bed to the window. Crap. The sun was bright and way up in the sky. Then the spike-through-the-head hangover hit. Why had he sucked down four whiskeys? Whiskey always gave him a bad hangover. “Calvin...” Spence started, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, buddy. I got busy.”

“You’re always busy. When are you going to come and get me? I don’t want to live here anymore.”

Spence choked on his response. Calvin actually sounded cranky, like a normal little boy. Not the quiet and older-than-his-years boy who’d learned tough lessons from his years of illness. His son’s idea of defiance was not putting his LEGOs away. “We’ve got to talk to the judge—”

“He’s a poopy head.”

Spence stifled a laugh to stop the tears. He wanted Calvin with him now. Not months from now when the legal system figured out that Spence was the boy’s father and the person who had the “greatest concern for his physical and emotional well-being.” He dug deep for his calm, firm dad voice. “That’s not nice. He’s the judge, and we’ve got to listen to what he says. It won’t be long.”

“Uh-oh.” Calvin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Grandma...Mimi is in the hall. Bye, Daddy.”

Spence’s knuckles turned white as he fought the urge to hurl the phone across the room. Just the sound of Calvin’s grandma in the hall was enough to send the boy running. He didn’t know how Calvin had found a phone to use, but his son clearly needed to talk with him. When he calmed down, he’d call and ask to speak with the little boy. Hopefully, Eugenia and Stuart Smythe-Ferris—the pretentious last name Missy was back to using—would be open to a brief conversation, despite being sticklers for following every comma of the custody agreement.

He glanced over at Olympia, who’d scooted into the divot made by his body. She didn’t look close to waking up. Wasn’t she a cowgirl? Weren’t they up at the crack of dawn? The only other cowgirl he knew was his sister-in-law, Jessie, and she was out in the barn before the sun rose most days.

He moved to the in-room coffeepot to brew something to combat the headache. They needed to get on the road because he had to be at the office by noon. He’d given some crap-ass excuse to get the time off. No one at the office knew about his marriage, except HR.

“Olympia,” he said more sharply than he’d meant to. She jerked.

“Wha—?” she mumbled, her head coming up, then falling back down with a thump.

“It’s nearly checkout time, and I’ve got to get to the office.”

Olympia squeezed her eyes shut and moaned.

Crap. She was going to be sick. Sympathy jabbed at his conscience. After all, it was his baby making her so ill. He said calmly, “There’s soda there for your stomach.”

She climbed out of the bed and slammed into the bathroom. He heard retching. He refocused on the coffeepot, watching with extreme concentration the drip of the magical brew. His head pounded, but the first slug of coffee would help.

“Olympia,” he called through the closed door. “Are you okay? I need to use the bathroom, and we’ve got to get going.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to die.” She groaned.

“Try the soda.” He cared about how she felt, really he did, but work was waiting and so was convincing his ex in-laws that he had to talk with Calvin today. The anxious tone of his son’s voice played again in his mind.

“Maybe ginger ale?”

“I’m going downstairs to get one.”

How had his simple plan spiraled so out of control? he asked himself as he searched through the overpriced convenience store in the lobby for ginger ale. He could feel the time ticking away. Finally, he paid the three dollars for a bottle and made his way back upstairs in the world’s slowest elevator.

“Got the ginger ale,” he said as he opened the door. The room was quiet. He walked through and saw the bathroom door was open. “Olympia?”

She was back in bed, with the covers over her head.

“Olympia, we’ve got to go. You can sleep in the truck.” She shook her head like a toddler. He didn’t have time for this. He yanked all the covers off. “Let’s go.”

“If I get in your truck, I’ll be sick.”

“Drink this,” he said, holding out the soda. She cracked open one eye, then held out her hand for the bottle. She sat up slowly. He wanted to tell her to hurry, but he also didn’t want her back in the bathroom. “While you drink that, I’ll get ready. Five minutes.”

She was sitting propped against the pillows when he came out of the bathroom, about half the soda gone. Her just-below-the-chin, deep brunette hair was messy, and dark circles still ringed her eyes, but she no longer looked whiter than the sheets.

“Good. You’re ready.”

He refilled his coffee and shoved their stuff into the duffel. They had to get going now.

“Just leave me here.”

“Can’t afford the room for another night.” He opened the dresser drawers, looking for any stray items.

“I’ll be sick again.”

“You have the ginger ale, and I’ll stop at a drive-thru for breakfast. You need food.”

“I’ll get a taxi and meet you at the ranch.”

“No taxi will take you that far out of town.”

Olympia curled into a ball. “No.”

He’d had less trouble with Calvin when he was little. “Olympia, I will carry you downstairs if I have to. We’re going.”

She sighed dramatically and slowly sat up. “If I get sick, it’s your fault.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

Olympia walked over to him, pushing at her hair. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“You’re going in that?”

“What does it matter? We’re just headed home.”

“Don’t you, um, want to...well, maybe...a bra?”

She glanced down. “What? Nothing’s showing, is it?”

Was she making a joke? He could see her nipples and the generous curve of her breasts! He could imagine them filling his hands, soft but firm. He dug in the duffel and pushed her bra at her. His face had to be red. The last time he’d blushed about a girl’s bra had been in the eighth grade.

“I need to wash my face, too.” She strolled to the bathroom with her bra hooked on her finger. Was she putting an extra swing in her walk?

Spence adjusted his stance, wishing that his hangover was worse, bad enough that all he could think about was the pounding pain in his head. Instead, he remembered holding on to those hips as... He refocused his inner dialogue, telling himself to check the room for more of their stuff. Think about Calvin. Recite legal code. Remember what it felt like when he turned eighteen and his parents, who were on a cruise, didn’t even call to wish him a happy birthday. That did it. Calvin would never know that kind of disappointment and hurt.

Chapter Four

Olympia’s touchy stomach growled when she got a deep whiff of the smell of cumin, chili and sizzling meat that hung over the restaurant. Good thing because if she’d run to the bathroom, Spence’s very smart doctor brother would figure out everything. Her stomach did a tiny flip as she thought about the pages that Spence had proposed adding to their prenup to “address the ongoing custody and care of any issue of said marriage” after they’d discovered she was pregnant last week.

“So how’re things going? That rescue horse working out?” her new brother-in-law asked. “Jessie wanted me to find out.” Payson was as tall as Spence but a little thinner and much darker. She wondered how two brothers from the same parents could look so different.

“He’s doing fine. I’m getting him sorted out. Why couldn’t Jessie come with you?” She hoped she didn’t sound desperate. Being surrounded by MacCormack men made her nervous.

“She has a new crop of therapists to introduce today. But I’m supposed to warn you that we’ll be down to see you before I fly back to Philadelphia.”

“I thought you were done with the East Coast?” Olympia swallowed hard and told her brain to calm down. Getting him to talk about his program at Children’s Hospital would stop him from focusing on her. Could he see the pregnancy glow or something?

“Not yet,” Payson said. “My contract with Children’s runs through the end of next year. Even with a lawyer in the family, I couldn’t get out of it. Jessie and I keep reminding ourselves that it’ll be over soon. Plus, she’s so busy, she doesn’t notice whether I’m there or not.” Payson’s smile moved only the very corners of his mouth.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Spence said. “Plus, how are you two supposed to give Calvin a little cousin if you aren’t even in the same state?”

Olympia wanted to kick Spence. How dare he talk about pregnancy and babies? He’d promised her that he wouldn’t say a word tonight about the baby, but had added that they couldn’t keep the pregnancy secret forever.

“I don’t need a birds-and-bees talk from my little brother,” Payson said with a slight edge as his smile disappeared.

Olympia felt Spence stiffen beside her. She dug her hand into his thigh as the increased tension went right to her now-unsettled stomach. How could she endure months of sickness?

Spence relaxed just a fraction and answered in his cowboy drawl, “Well, there, pardner, just wanted to make sure y’all know how it’s done.”

She scrambled to say something that would get the two of them off this path. “I heard Molly is getting her own YouTube channel? Pony Diva? Or is it Pony Princess?” Payson finally relaxed and actually smiled.

“That pony already had a swelled head. The video of her at our wedding got ten thousand hits.” He shook his head. “The kids bring their phones and tablets, take videos of her, upload them and then show them to her. I swear she watches.”

“If she needs an agent, tell Jessie to give me a call,” Spence said just as the waitress came to the table with their order.

Olympia surveyed her meal. Soup and salad. Nothing spicy. Nothing with any flavor. She still wasn’t sure if she could eat it and keep it down. Her soda had stayed put, so she lifted a spoonful of the broth. At the same time, Spence raised an overflowing burrito to his mouth. She caught a whiff of chili and beef. Nausea rose, then his arm brushed the side of her breast, causing her nipple to tighten. Her body didn’t know whether to be sick or get ready to do the nasty. She jerked away and spilled a little soup.

Payson’s gaze zeroed in on her.

She put her head down. She had to stay calm in order to keep from racing to the bathroom. She wasn’t ready—and might never be ready—for Payson and Jessie to know about the baby. Which was totally stupid because unless she went somewhere far away, everyone would know she was pregnant eventually. She pushed her meal away. Spence gave her the stink eye, but she didn’t care.

“Something wrong with the food?” Payson asked, a forkful of tamales on the way to his mouth, dripping with guacamole and salsa verde. She averted her eyes from the green goo.

“I had a big lunch.”

He ate his bite and gave her another long stare. “So you’re boarding horses and rescues at the ranch...where my brother is currently living?”

“Ha-ha,” Spence said. “I know you and Jessie think it’s hilarious that I’m living on a ranch, but if it gets me Calvin, I’d even clean the stalls.”

“You think this’ll work?”

Spence nodded and talked about the custody. All she could think was, My baby will have a big brother. Olympia gulped down nausea. Spence turned to her, his hand going—without her permission—to her abdomen. Her head swiveled sharply. She caught Payson looking at them with speculation. Damn it. Now was not the time for this.

“I’ve got animals to take care of. We almost ready?” She knew how rude she sounded. She didn’t care. When she was outside, the hot dry air settled her down by short-circuiting the rush of fear that hit her when she imagined Payson asking what she and Spence were hiding. What would they tell him? Jessie? They knew the marriage was a sham.

* * *

TWO DAYS AFTER the near disaster of a dinner, Olympia visited Muffin, the rescue that Jessie had recently asked her to take on. The horse, true to form, backed away from her, teeth bared. The paint gelding had bad habits and a quick temper—probably abused in his past. He was wary of humans, and the feeling was mutual. He’d bitten Olympia three times and stomped her foot. Her ranch was home to him and three other horses, not enough to cover the bills since only two were paying customers.

“Seven months, Muffin. I can do this for seven months. Otherwise no feed for you.” In a little over half a year, she’d have the baby, and...she’d be free of Spence and ready to hit the rodeo circuit. No way would she feel sad about leaving her fake cowboy. Plus, Rickie would have the cash she needed for school. She smiled thinking about her sister, with her red hair and long legs—nothing like Olympia. Made sense for her and Rickie, since they only shared James DNA. Olympia vaguely remembered Rickie’s slow-talking dad, an Oklahoma cowboy who hadn’t stuck around for his daughter’s birth.

While she and Spence lived together, money should be a little less tight. Olympia might be able to figure out a way to trade for or get the funds to buy a barrel racer. Then she’d be ready to hit the circuit running—so to speak. Right, cowgirl, and exactly how are you going to practice with a big old belly?

Muffin shook his head, his mane going in six directions. Olympia smiled at the gelding’s goofiness and not just the fact that the less-than-pleasant animal had been given such a girlie handle. Jessie said that he’d been named for his unnatural love of muffins—butter-rum ones, in particular. She wasn’t ready to break down and bribe him with those treats...yet. She reached over the stall to put the bucket of feed in place. Muffin showed his teeth. “Silly horse,” Olympia said. “Biting the hand that feeds you is a bad idea.” She checked his water, then moved on to the boarders.

Now what? All the chores were done, and she might actually be hungry. She’d have to face the house sometime.

“Dinner, Olympia,” Spence said from the barn door.

She whipped around but could see only his silhouette against the setting sun, his hat cocked at an angle that gave her a shiver of recognition. He looked just like a cowboy who’d be the sort of stand-up guy she could rely on and fall in love with. But that had been the dream of a teenager. She didn’t want to feel that for Spence or the instant flash of heat. So she’d lie and tell him she wasn’t hungry. Then what? She couldn’t sleep in the barn. She’d agreed to marry him and live with him. Time to act like a civilized human being. “What are we having?”

“Chicken fingers and fries.”

She stared at him, trying to decide if he was making a joke.

He stared back. “It’s Calvin’s favorite. I’m missing him.”

She waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, she replied, “As long as I don’t have to cook it, I’m good.”

“My cooking skills are limited, but I can make a meal. Are you ready?”

“I’m done, and I might even be hungry.”

“Are these your horses for racing?”

“No. I’m boarding those two.” She waved to the closest animals. “Pasquale there is a rescue that...well, he just never left. The one at the far end is another rescue Jessie talked me into taking. If I was a little more centrally located, it’d be simpler to board more animals. It’s just too far for most people.”

“It is way out. Family ranch?”

“You could say that.” She didn’t want to talk about the father who’d given her the property in apology for a lifetime of neglect.

“So your family is from Arizona?”

He was making polite conversation. She could return the favor. She might have grown up like trailer trash, but she’d learned a lot since then. “My sisters and I grew up over near Bisbee.”

“Sisters. You have more than Rickie, right?”

“Two others. They’re between me and Rickie.”

“What’d you tell them about the wedding?”

“Nothing. They’ll just assume I hitched my wagon to yours for the cash. That’s what we James women do. Find a sugar daddy.” Olympia tried to smile and make a joke of it. That wasn’t easy since her entire life she’d been telling herself that she’d never get stuck pregnant and relying on a man like her mama and grammy. She and Spence stood in the doorway, and even over the horses and hay, she could smell him—which would have been fine, except it made her warm and gooey inside. “I’m hungry,” she said, hoping that would encourage him to move on.

“That’s good. If you can’t keep down food, there could be trouble for the baby.”

“Thought your brother was the doctor?” She followed Spence to the house, taking sneak peeks at the way his jeans followed the curve of his rear. They wouldn’t be sleeping together again—because that would just be a bad idea, right?—but she could still admire the view. She’d had that strong, round butt in her hands when Spence had... When they’d made the baby that... Damn. The nausea roiled up from her middle. “I’m going to skip dinner,” she said, rushing by him and into her room.

She sat on her bed, closing her eyes and willing away the ball of sickness. Could she break the contract? Hide out somewhere until she had the baby and handed it over to a nice couple? If she’d had a normal family, she would’ve been on the phone to her mama for advice and support. She’d never had the time to make close friends, either, because she’d been taking care of her siblings. Who had time for going to dances or sleepovers when her sisters were at home sick with the flu? She’d barely squeaked through high school. For a second, she thought about calling Jessie, but her one friend was also Spence’s sister-in-law—hers, too, she guessed. That meant Olympia couldn’t confide in her, could she? No. That would put Jessie in a bad place.

* * *

“YOU’VE GOT TO EAT,” Spence said through the door, hoping his voice sounded less annoyed than he felt.

“Not now.”

“Come on. What can I make you? Toast?”

The door swung open, and he stepped back from Olympia’s white and angry face. “I’m not hungry. If I eat anything, I’ll throw up. I do not like throwing up, so I’m not eating. I might not be a smart attorney, but I can figure that out on my own.”

“You might be nauseated because you haven’t eaten. Everything I’ve read indicates that having frequent small amounts of food will stop the queasy feeling.” She clenched her fists, and his internal voice said, You had to prove that you’re smarter, didn’t you?

“Do you want me to kill you?”

He backed away. “If you don’t want supper, we still need to talk.” She didn’t move. “Um, I’ve addressed your concerns with the...” He motioned to her midsection.

“Adoption, like I asked?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t walk away from my children.” She glared at him as color flooded her unnaturally pale cheeks. He went on, “The document makes it clear that you won’t be responsible for the child.”

“Fine. But I don’t want a bunch of legalese crap. I don’t have the money for a lawyer to check on you.” She gulped in a breath.

“Are you going to be sick?”

“Probably.” She closed her eyes, and any color she’d gained disappeared.

He reached out to touch her but let his hand hover. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. He really didn’t have the right to comfort her. But he couldn’t stop feeling that he should hold her until she felt like her usual sassy, drive-him-to-drink self. “We can do this later if you need to lie down.” His fingers landed lightly on her forearm. He could feel the warmth of her skin under his fingertips and the slight tremor. He aimed her toward the twin bed shoved against the wall. What the hell? She hadn’t let him into the spare room she’d taken when he moved in. It was so tiny. Why had she insisted he take the master bedroom and its big bed? “Come on. Get in. I’ll finish the draft and leave it for you to read on your own. It’s about protecting you, too.” He worried when she dropped onto the bed, letting her head hang forward.

“If you say so,” she whispered.

“I say so.” He knelt in front of her and pulled off her sneakers. He liked the boots better. He’d like to see her in nothing but those boots. Whoa. That was not what he wanted and definitely not what they needed. What was wrong with him? She was sick. She wasn’t really his wife. More important, she didn’t even like him.

When her shoes were off, she curled into a ball on the bed. “Go away. I want to die on my own.”

“You won’t die,” he said softly. “It’s morning sickness. It’ll go away.”

“Is it morning?”

“Just a turn of phrase. The nausea can happen at any time of day. Researchers believe that it’s a warning system. That usually the illness is triggered by foods that could cause the baby harm.”

“Toast? Toast is harmful?”

“It’s not a perfect system.” He smiled at her tousled hair. He wanted to smooth the strands to comfort her, except the other feelings that had him shifting on his feet had nothing to do with tenderness. Stop it, you perv. “It’ll get better. It always does.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

He stood for another moment, imagining their baby...his baby. Good Lord, he was going to be a father again. He hurried out of the room, so he didn’t do something stupid like cry or give her a hug.

* * *

THE SOUND OF Olympia being sick on the other side of the door ratcheted up Spence’s worry. They’d been at the ranch for three weeks, and Olympia had been sick nearly 24/7...although that hadn’t stopped her from going out to the barn or looking for more horses to board and train.

Fear sweat gathered in his armpits. Could a woman die from morning sickness? He’d looked it up on Google. He pulled out his phone. Hey, he had a doctor in the family. He dialed Payson. Where was his brother, Arizona or Philadelphia?

“What?” Payson asked, sounding harried and annoyed.

“Olympia is pregnant and has been throwing up constantly,” Spence spewed out, the fear choking his voice a little as Olympia moaned in distress. “Do I need to take her to the emergency room?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do I need to take Olympia to the ER?”

“I can’t get past pregnant. Your phony wife is pregnant?”

“Yes,” Spence said, realizing this had been a huge mistake. He’d called on instinct, not with the thinking part of his brain. “I’ll just take her to one of those clinics. Never mind.”

“Don’t hang up,” Payson said. “Olympia is having a baby. I thought you said this wasn’t a real marriage?”

“Pregnancy and marriage are not correlated.”

“I know that, but—”

“It’s your fault. Well, yours and Jessie’s.”

“I don’t see how. You might be a lawyer, but even you’ve got to understand basic anatomy—”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. She’s sick constantly. I swear she’s lost twenty pounds.”

“I doubt she’s lost that much weight. I want to understand how she got pregnant when you’ve been married for less than a month.”

“We met at your wedding.”

“You hooked up at our wedding? Were you so drunk that you didn’t—”

“The condom broke.”

“You’re sure it’s your baby? It seems awfully convenient that you offer her a marriage proposal with money... I assume you offered her money, since you told me you might have to sell that damned truck, which you love better than any man should.”

“The baby is mine.” Spence made himself loosen his grip on the phone. Olympia wasn’t that kind of woman, which he’d known even before she’d punched him. She lived by a cowgirl code like his sister-in-law’s. No matter what she might say about walking away from the baby and her family, she was the one who’d stepped in when her youngest sister lost her scholarship. “I didn’t call you for a lecture. I called you for medical advice. Second, Olympia didn’t know she was pregnant when Elvis married us.”

“Really? An adult woman didn’t put together that she’d had sex, then didn’t have her period? Pregnancy never came to mind?”

“Do I need to take her somewhere?” Spence asked, listening intently at the bathroom door. Silence. Had she passed out?

“If you think she’s dehydrated, yes. Otherwise, make an appointment as soon as possible.” Payson’s voice was coldly clinical. “You know it’s not your job to save her, right?”

“That’s your thing, Payson. I have a prenup contract with her, and it’s all about keeping Calvin safe. I’ll do whatever it takes. Right now, I’m married, and my wife is pregnant.”

“Not your wife, the woman who you talked into acting as your wife. Remember that.”

Spence hung up and stared at the closed door. He raised his hand, letting it hover there for a moment before tapping lightly. “Olympia, you okay?”

A choked “Fine” came through the closed door.

“Open up, so I know for sure.”

“No,” Olympia said, her voice stronger. Water ran in the sink, making the old-as-dirt pipes clatter. The house had been built by someone with enthusiasm but a definite lack of skill. Nothing worked well, and everything needed to be updated, including the bathroom.

“Let me get you some—”

The door opened, and Olympia stood there, swaying just a little, dark circles under her eyes, her lips bloodless. “I’m fine.”

“If by fine, you mean that you could audition to be one of the walking dead...” His heart beat hard in his chest. “We’re going to the ER.”

“Absolutely not,” she said, her knuckles white as her hand gripped the jamb, her jaw thrust forward. They’d been living together long enough for him to know what that meant. A boulder would be easier to move. A stupid part of him admired her grit. “You’re going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For next week. That’s too far away. I’ll call from the office, and if that doesn’t work, then I’ll get Payson to call them.”

Olympia had just opened her mouth when crickets sounded from her pocket. She pulled out the phone and narrowed her tabby-cat eyes at him in an obvious this-conversation-is-not-done look. “Hey, Jessie, what’s up?” She took a small step from the door. He didn’t walk away. Her paleness worried him. He didn’t want to leave her alone until she was in bed or sitting on the couch. “Payson told you what?”

Apparently, doctor-patient privacy didn’t count when it was your brother.

“Yeah. That night. I can’t talk about it now. I’ve got to go.” Olympia shoved the phone into her jeans’ pocket and turned slowly to him. “You told your brother? We decided to keep it quiet until we worked everything out.”

“I called him for medical advice. I wanted to know about morning sickness.”

“Get that damned agreement out now because we’re going to hammer this out. I don’t want any more surprises.”

“You do know that eventually everyone will know you’re pregnant.”

“We’d better be divorced before then.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that if anyone really looked at her now, they’d know. He glanced down where her shirt stretched across her breasts. The generous curves had swelled to... She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. He said hastily, “I’ll get you toast and soda, then we’ll talk about the prenup.”

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

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