Harlequin American Romance May 2014 Bundle: One Night in Texas\The Cowboy's Destiny\A Baby for the Doctor\The Bull Rider's Family (62 page)

Colt eyed a bright gash in the animal’s glossy brown coat. After ten years riding some of the meanest bulls on the rodeo circuit, he knew a thing or two about them. Some had dispositions as gentle as the one in the picture book that had been his favorite when he was Bree’s age. Others could be sweet as clover one second and madder than a wet cat the next. Whatever their mood, two thousand pounds of muscle and horns earned the animals a healthy dose of respect. But livestock weren’t pets. They didn’t have names. As the third of four bulls on the ranch, this one was simply referred to by number.

“Three tangled with some downed wire a week or so ago. It’s probably infected.”

“Anything else I should know?” Jim reached for the latch.

“I don’t know much more than that,” Colt admitted. With a start, he realized Josh had probably been tasked to provide more details on the animal’s history. “You need someone on the gate?”

“Nah, I got this,” Jim said.

Only, he didn’t. Instead of raising his head the way he should have, Three didn’t so much as twitch when Jim slid back the latch. The animal didn’t even look at the man entering his pen. In fact, a low, rumbling
mmrruuh
was Three’s only indication that he was paying attention at all.

“Uh, Jim...” Colt reached for his rope.

The warning came too late. No sooner did the vet ease the gate wide enough to step through than Three charged across the pen.

Jim yelped and jumped to one side. Stumbling out of the bull’s path, he lost his grip on the metal bar. The gate swung wide.

Three exploded out of the pen and into the yard.

“Aw, crap,” Colt muttered. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Jim scramble over the fence and
into
the pen. Though he was probably safer there than out in the yard, that still left the not-so-little matter of a loose bull for somebody to deal with. The animal stood in the center of the space between the barn and the greenhouse.

“No harm. No foul.”

Slowly, Colt walked Star toward the beast.

Think again,
he told himself a second later when Bree Shane peeked around the corner of the house. The girl gave a quick wave before ducking out of sight.

Colt’s chest seized. “Stay away. Stay away,” he whispered.

Moments later, Bree raced around the corner. This time, she didn’t stop, but headed straight into the yard, pigtails flying. Colt’s mouth filled with sawdust.

The motion drew Three’s attention. His head lowered, he pawed the ground.

Colt swore. His heart rate kicked into a gallop.

“Get back,” he yelled, not caring whether the bull or the child obeyed as long as one of them did.

Bree skidded to stop. “Mr. Colt,” she called. “Can I pet the cow?”

“No!” His eyes on a bull that could charge with devastating results, Colt spurred Star into action. Dirt sprayed from the gelding’s hooves as he positioned the horse between the girl and certain death.

“Get back in the house!”

Bree didn’t move. Star’s hooves pranced over the dirt, throwing up clods.

“Get inside. Right now!”

The kid’s mouth dropped wide open. More sound than Colt ever thought possible spewed out. The high, shrill voice startled the bull. Three shook his head, turned and trotted toward the greenhouse.

Watching a ton of hooved, horned danger hustle to escape the noise, Colt spared a look behind him. The slap of the kitchen door told him Bree had scampered to safety. Relief uncoiled through his chest and he sucked in air. He unfurled his rope and worked it into a lasso. Step by step, he advanced on Three, flung the business end of a lariat over the bull’s massive horns and led him toward the pen.

While Jim clambered over the fence again, Colt dismounted and gave Star a well-deserved pat. Trying to make light of the situation, he grinned and nudged the vet.

“This time, don’t let him out.”

But there was nothing lighthearted about the way his stomach dipped when Colt considered what might have happened if he and Star hadn’t been there.

“I’ll send someone out to help as soon as I can,” he told Jim. “First, though, there’s a little kid who needs to know the importance of doing what she’s told.”

Intending to read both Bree and her mom the riot act, he headed for the house. Ty Parker met him halfway there. The owner hiked a thumb over one shoulder at the kitchen he’d just exited.

“I wouldn’t go inside if I was you. Crying kids. Angry women. General confusion.” Ty doffed his hat. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Colt squared his shoulders. “My fault.” He refused to dodge the blame. As manager, anything that happened on the Circle P was his responsibility. “I didn’t realize Three was an escape artist. I should have known better. Should have let Josh help the vet like he was supposed to.”

“Anyone hurt?” Ty wanted to know.

“Just my pride.” Colt clenched and unclenched a fist. “We were lucky.” He eyed the door at the end of the path. “You want to tell ’em for me?”

“Nah, man. I’m smarter than that.” Ty’s feet were already in motion. “I’ll help Jim with the bull.”

Colt didn’t doubt for a minute he’d drawn the tougher job. One look through the kitchen door only reinforced his certainty that if he had anything better to do, he’d choose it rather than face the crowd clustered around Bree.

He eased into the room. Knowing he’d have to wait for the excitement to fade, Colt grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself a tall iced tea. He drank it down in one long gulp while he tried to steady his hands. He closed his eyes, but the image of massive horns tossing a tiny body into the air played against the backs of his lids. He groaned, thinking of all the times he’d been thrown from a bucking bull’s back. Landing always hurt. And there’d been that time in Laredo when Ol’ Hickory got his head under him and sent him flying. Nothing about that night had gone well.

Behind him, Bree’s sobs gradually quieted down enough that a man could make himself heard. He pushed away from the counter. Tea sloshed in his empty stomach as he spun to face the room.

Still clutching her daughter to her chest, Emma turned a tear-stained face in his direction. Her hair had spilled from its ponytail. It hung in a tangled mass around her shoulders, tempting his fingers and evaporating all thought of yelling at the woman. Her face flushed and, when her eyes met his, fire flickered in her dark orbs.

A knock sounded, and thankful for the interruption, he turned toward the doorway where Jim had appeared.

“Yeah?” Colt asked, stealing time to calm his nerves.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m gonna need Three in a chute so’s I can work on him. Those cuts are pretty deep.”

Colt struck his Stetson against his jeans.
Barbed wire.
It kept the cows where they belonged, but one loose strand was all it took to inflict serious damage. At least with the fencing, he could send one of the hands out into the pasture to gather it up. He glanced back at the woman who had flames in her eyes and anger on her lips.

Something told him ridding the ranch of downed wire would be a lot easier than getting Emma off the Circle P...or out of his head.

* * *

H
OISTING
HER
DAUGHTER
onto her hip, Emma turned to face the man whose yells had sent Bree into hysterics. The big rancher didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Far too calmly, he lowered a glass of iced tea. He crowded her and Bree against the counter until all Emma could see were his wide shoulders and the anger that darkened his blue eyes.

“It’s better she’s a little scared than hurt,” he growled. “Your daughter nearly got herself killed.”

Immediately, he stepped back, ice cubes clinking against the glass as he gestured toward the barn.

Suddenly there were far too many pairs of widening eyes surrounding her and not enough air in a room that had gone cold despite the warm temperature.

“What?” Emma asked, not understanding and desperate for answers.

But Sarah only swooped in, prying Bree’s unwilling fingers from around her neck.

“Come on, Bree,” she said, her voice firm but cheery. “Ms. Doris and I were on our way to the greenhouse. Why don’t you come with us? We’ll look at the flowers. You can turn on the sprinklers.”

Bree raised a tear-stained face. “Can I, Mommy?”

Emma brushed a hand over her daughter’s damp features. The idea that Bree had been in danger was as earth-shattering as it was preposterous. Either way, Colt needed to know how badly he’d messed up. But facing down the cowboy was not something she wanted to do with an audience.

“You’ll love it,” she said, denying the tendril of fear that snaked across her midsection. “You go along with Ms. Sarah and Ms. Doris for a bit. When you come back, you can help me finish the dessert.” Her gaze flicked to the armload of ingredients she’d spilled onto the counter in her haste to answer Bree’s cries. A vague sense that something was missing from the haphazard pile of canned goods and staples tugged at her. She ignored the feeling while she narrowed in on the insolent man who stood in the kitchen calmly swirling ice in his glass, as if he hadn’t just made her daughter cry.

No, the conversation she’d have with Colt Judd would not be fit for little ears.

The minute her two guardians escorted Bree out of sight, Emma crossed her arms and gave Colt her sternest look. “You had no right to yell at my child,” she said, squelching the urge to give the man a dose of his own loud medicine. “She’s just a little girl. What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

She waited while the big rancher set aside his glass, certain no excuse he could come up with would justify his actions.

“The bull got out.”

“The bull?” Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands dropped to her sides. She reached behind her, clutching the counter for support.

She’d seen the huge animal this morning when four cowboys delivered it to the pen. Massive hooves. A thick, muscular body. An even heavier head. Its horns were so wide, not even a strapping figure of a man like Colt could touch both tips at the same time. Not that he’d ever get that close.

Only a fool would. A fool, or a child who didn’t know any better.

She didn’t need anyone to put two and two together to know the animal would make quick work of her inquisitive little girl.

“I wouldn’t have let her out of my sight if I’d known...” She stopped herself. Her lips trembling, she met Colt’s blue-eyed stare. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving my daughter’s life.”

Colt’s firm hand grasped her forearm. His soft voice cut through the white noise that filled her head.

“You probably didn’t see many snakes or scorpions or wild coyotes in New York. Not many cows running loose there, either, I bet.”

His words slowed. “Nine days out of ten, life on the ranch goes according to plan. But...” Colt nudged his hat away from the edge of the counter where he’d set it. “Every once in a while, something goes wrong. A cow breaks through a fence. Someone leaves the gate open at the end of the drive, and some of the herd wanders onto the highway.” He shrugged. “A bull slips past a gate. When that happens, I’ll do my best to fix things. That might mean raising my voice to get my point across.”

Emma swallowed. There were situations—like the time Bree darted toward a busy street—that justified a quick, no-nonsense response.

“You were right,” she conceded. Lest Colt think he was off the hook, she added, “Let’s just not make a habit of it.”

The atmosphere in the room thawed as every sign of anger dropped away from the rancher. He stepped back, loosening his hold on Emma’s arm.

“Look.” Apparently anxious to leave, he grabbed his hat and stuck it on his head. “I’ve got more on my plate than I’ll finish today. But you and Bree need a crash course in ranching 101. Why don’t I show you around tomorrow, right after Mom and the rest of the boys leave?”

Emma flexed her fingers, not that it did any good. Numbness spread from the spot where Colt’s hand had left a big, warm imprint, right up her arm and into her brain. Blindly, she nodded. She watched until he left the room, uncertainty slowing her steps and muddling her thoughts. Though he’d made it clear he resented her presence on the Circle P, it sounded as if he might be willing to give her a chance. And a chance was all she needed.

One chance to prove she could handle the job. Starting now.

She hustled toward the ingredients she’d assembled for the cobbler. Once more the feeling that something wasn’t right seeped through her. She gave the counter a closer look, her gaze stuttering to a stop on the empty book stand, where she’d propped the Circle P’s cookbook.

Her heart sinking, she stepped closer.

The book lay facedown, one half on the counter, the other half hanging into the sink full of sudsy water.

“No,” Emma whispered. “No. No. No.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. She snatched the dripping notebook from the sink. Her cheeks grew damp as she stared at smears of blue ink, all that was left of the beloved recipes.

Colt had just proven he could fix nearly everything on the Circle P. He had saved her daughter from serious injury. Maybe worse. But even he had limits.

Emma groaned. It would take more than a big, strong, handsome cowboy to restore the treasured Circle P cookbook.

Chapter Four

Certain Emma’s dark eyes traced his every step, Colt forced an extra bit of swagger into his walk. The move took every ounce of self-reassurance in his considerable arsenal, but he maintained the image until his boots struck the dirt at the end of the patio. Safely out of view from the kitchen windows, he sucked in a calming breath. Except drawing in a lungful of damp, hot air didn’t exactly have the relaxing effect he hoped it would. Any more than curling and uncurling his fingers soothed the burning sensation that had sped up his hands and arms the moment he’d reached out to Emma. If anything, the deep breathing only spread a jittery sensation from his abdomen to points farther south, while flexing his fingers made them ache for another touch of soft skin.

And why the heck was that?

He neither wanted nor appreciated an attraction to the Circle P’s newest employee. From the moment he’d first spotted the young cook standing on the front porch holding a fancied-up basket, she’d done nothing but infuriate him. So what if he’d snagged one of her cookies, and it was great. And, yeah, his mom thought well enough of the newcomer to put the Circle P’s kitchen in her hands. None of that changed his initial impression. The way Emma had chastised him for raising his voice only added to his determination to make her stay on the Circle P a short one.

So why had a single touch triggered the same rushed reaction he’d left behind with his randy, teenage years?

Unable to answer the question and just as determined not to dwell on it, he trudged toward the barn. There, Ty and several hands had penned Three in a narrow chute more suited to the vet’s business than an open corral. The men had better things to do, chores that weren’t getting done, and the fault was all his. He should have known the bull’s quirks and habits ahead of time. Should have pressed Josh for more information before he sent the young man off to repair a fence. It was what his dad would have done, and he vowed to do a better job of following in Seth’s boot steps. Even if it meant studying the pedigree and history of each head of cattle on the ranch until the words swam before his eyes. Colt ran a hand through sweat-dampened hair and resettled his hat.

“That’s the last stitch, big guy.” Holding a large needle aloft, Jim stepped away from the chute. The vet headed for the back of his truck, where he stashed his bag, and grabbed more supplies. “Dose him with antibiotics every three days,” he said, handing Colt a large syringe and a tube. “Smear this ointment over the affected area for the next ten days. After that, you should be able to cut him loose.”

Colt ran a finger over his hat brim. “By then, we’ll have solved our wire problem.” Wanting the job done right, he singled out a worker who wasn’t Josh. “Scour the brush all along the fence line. You find any loose wire, get rid of it.”

“Yes, sir, boss.” Whether the hand was eager to please or simply putting on a show in front of Ty, Colt didn’t know and didn’t care. He concentrated on smearing the cream on Three’s sore hip before he nodded to the rest of the workers. “Let him out.”

The moment the men released the bull, Three showed his appreciation for his new-found freedom by bucking his way around the larger pen. Colt noted the bull’s shallow leaps, the halfhearted twists and turns.

“Definitely not rodeo material,” he noted, propping his elbows on the top rail next to Ty’s. The orneriest bulls had a bit of Brahman in them. Three was pure Andalusian.

“I’m pretty sure even I could cover him,” said the man who’d never gone eight seconds in the ring. “But then, we don’t raise rodeo stock. Speaking of which, that was quite a dustup earlier.”

Colt scuffed his boot through the dirt. “Sorry about all the commotion.”

“Wasn’t the first time.” Ty shrugged. “Won’t be the last. You get everything straightened out?”

“I got my point across.” Colt stared at a distant stand of palm trees. “Don’t want to think what could have happened...” His hold on the rail tightened into the death grip he’d used on the rope back when he made his living by sitting atop of a ton of bucking bull.

“Good thing you were in the right place at the right time. Emma’s new here. She’ll learn.” Ty leaned toward him. “Sarah and me, we faced the same kinds of problems when we first brought Jimmy to the ranch.”

A slow breath eased between Colt’s lips. Two years ago he’d already hung up his spurs and retired from the rodeo circuit. Back then, busy trying to prove he could handle the job as advance man for the PBR, he’d skipped the cattle drive that had resulted in a family for his friend.

“Jimmy snuck off while I was keepin’ an eye on him,” Ty continued. “Did the same thing to Sarah in the middle of a thunderstorm. Kids.” He slipped a piece of straw between his teeth. “They do stuff without thinking. It’s up to us to protect them from themselves.”

“How’d you do that? With Jimmy, I mean.” It wasn’t his job to watch after Bree, but Ty and Sarah were the most attentive parents Colt had ever known. If they’d had trouble keeping track of a young’un, a single mom might, too.

“Time and patience,” Ty said. “I kept him at my side as much as I could. Taught him what he needed to know. Things like, don’t dive in until you know what else is in the water.”

Colt kneaded his upper thigh. Not following that advice had nearly cost him a leg when he was eight. “Man, the trouble we got into when we were young. It’s a wonder we survived.”

“There was always a bunch of us around. The older ones,” Ty said, with an elbow jab, “kept the little ones from doing stupid things.”

“Or saved ’em when they did.” Times had changed. His childhood pals were settling down with families of their own. Jimmy and Bree were the only children on the Circle P these days, and Ty’s son would be in Hawaii for the next month or so. Which meant the burden for keeping Bree safe fell to him, Colt guessed. As if he didn’t have enough responsibilities.

He pushed away from the railing. “I’ve got bills to handle and calls to make this afternoon, but I’m giving Emma and her daughter the fifty-cent tour tomorrow. I’ll make sure they know what to watch out for.” Coyotes and the occasional bobcat roamed the pastures. Alligators frequented the pond out back. Snakes and scorpions put in routine appearances.

Ty shoved off, too. “I better get moving myself. We need to get on the road if Sarah’s going to drop by the Department of Children and Families office before it closes.” The Circle P’s owners planned to spend the night in the city before catching an early morning flight.

“You looking to foster another child?” Colt asked as they cut across the yard. Unlike most foster parents, Ty and Sarah provided a permanent, stable home for the kids in their care. They had room, now that Tim and Chris had grown, to take in another child or two.

“Maybe. After we get back.”

They split up in the foyer. Colt waited until Ty bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom before he headed for the office. On his way, a sudden thirst that didn’t have anything to do with wanting to see their new cook again propelled him toward the kitchen. At the threshold, he halted.

Emma stood across the room, her back to him. His gaze climbed past her denim-clad legs, skimmed over a tiny, cinched-in waist and landed on shaking shoulders. She bent over the sink, one hand repeatedly skimming the surface of the water. Unease whispered through him. With it came the realization that their new cook was crying. He stepped into the room, quietly pulling the kitchen door closed behind him. Four long strides brought him close enough to make out her words.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.”

Was she hurt? Had something happened to Bree? “Emma,” he called softly.

Silence.

She spun away from the sink, horror and fear swimming in her eyes, crumpled wet paper in one fist. With her other hand, she pressed a pulpy mass to her chest. For a second, Colt stood riveted by the gut-wrenching tears that spilled from her dark eyes. The droplets left tracks on her blotchy cheeks. He steeled himself and peered past her to the counter. Canisters, bowls and wooden spoons littered the work space.

No blood, he noted.
So far, so good.

Water splashed onto the tip of his boot. He stepped back, his stomach lurching as he spotted a familiar design on the leather cover of a soggy book. His focus shifted to Emma’s open palm, where he barely recognized his mother’s handwriting smeared across the drenched paper.

Anger, white and hot, blinded him.

“Emma,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, “what have you done?”

* * *

R
UN
! H
IDE
!

The words reverberated while Emma stood, frozen, unable to speak, much less able to move. Colt’s harsh whisper broke through her mind-numbing panic.

“It was... It was an accident,” she stammered. Her chest squeezed when she dared to look up at him. A strangled mix of pain and fury spread across the rancher’s features. Wishing there was something, anything, she could do to erase it, she had nothing.

“How bad is it?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Awful.” She placed the ruined notebook in his outstretched hands. Though the back half remained intact, the front was all sodden paper and smeared ink. A muscle along Colt’s jaw twitched. Emma braced for a torrent of angry words. For the crash of thrown dishes and pots and pans. For accusations, raised hands. She studied the waterlogged mess he held. “What can I do?”

He peered up from wringing-wet pages. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

No matter how well deserved, the caustic retort stung. She searched for an appropriate response, was still searching when someone knocked on the door to the hallway. Muffled by thick wood, Doris’s voice drifted into the room.

“Who closed this door?” The knob rattled and something thumped. “Darn thing’s jammed. Emma? Tim? Chris? You in there? Open up.”

Emma’s heart stuttered. Surprised when Colt didn’t stride to the door in his eagerness to spill the news, she shot the tall rancher a questioning look. For the first time since they’d met, doubt and indecision played across his chiseled features. He stared down at the ruined pages.

“This’ll kill her.” His voice thinned. “We can’t let her find out.”

When another thump sounded at the door, the soggy mess landed back in Emma’s grasp.

“Put it...somewhere,” Colt hissed.

His wide hand at Emma’s waist propelled her behind him. Shielded by Colt’s broad shoulders, she spread the damp mass on the counter and covered it with a towel. She’d no more than finished when the door popped open. She and Colt spun away from the sink as Doris stumbled across the threshold and into the kitchen.

“Mom, are you okay?” Colt hurried to her side.

“Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

While Colt blocked his mother’s view, Emma gave the counter a quick look. She swallowed a relieved sigh when she didn’t spot so much as a scrap of paper.

“Why’d you close the door? You know the humidity makes it swell.”

“That was my fault, Doris,” Emma offered. “I was working on tonight’s dessert and didn’t want to be interrupted.”

“Oh? Something special?” The top of Doris’s gray head barely appeared beyond Colt’s shoulder before he shifted to block her view.

“Don’t be nosy, Mom,” Colt said smoothly. “You’ll ruin the surprise.” He draped his arm around his mother’s shoulders and steered her back the way she’d come. “You’ll just have to wait and see. Now, can I get you anything? Some tea? A snack?”

“Hold on just a minute.” Emma caught the merest glimpse of Doris peering up at her son. “I need to go over the shopping schedule with our new cook. Make sure she has the next supply order ready on time.”

“We make the run to Okeechobee each Thursday,” Colt said as if reciting from a list. “To the big-box store over on the coast the first Tuesday of every month. The butcher delivers on Fridays. We call to place that order by Wednesday.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Ty and I went over everything last night. I’ll fill Emma in. It’s part of my job.”

Doris patted her son’s arm. “Sounds like you’ll do just fine. Your dad would be so proud.”

It was a good thing Colt snaked his arms around his mother and drew her close. Otherwise, a woman as sharp as Doris would have noticed the stricken look that formed on the tall man’s face. “I’m sure there’ll be some hiccups,” he said in a strangled tone that made Emma’s heart ache, “but you’re only a phone call away. I’ll get in touch if I need to.”

Appeased, Doris started to leave. At the door, she hesitated and stepped back toward them. “Did I answer all your questions, Emma? Was there anything else you needed?”

Know a good restoration specialist?

She swallowed. “You don’t have a thing to worry about.” Though it pained her to lie to the older woman, she understood Colt’s decision to keep the damage under wraps. Or at least, she thought she did.

The minute his mother’s footsteps faded down the hall, Colt turned to face her. Gone was the softness he’d shown Doris. Looking at features that were all hard angles and angry glints, Emma knew the time had come. From the second she’d lifted the waterlogged cookbook from its bath, she’d known her dreams of making a home on the Circle P had ended. No apologies would ever be enough. No amount of begging or pleading would earn her a second chance. The how or why wouldn’t matter. Nothing could change the fact that she’d destroyed a family heirloom. She’d have to leave.

“I’ll go. First thing tomorrow. Tonight, if you’d rather.”

Colt’s blank stare swam into focus. He shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easy. You made this mess. It’s up to you to stay and help fix it.”

Emma quickly snuffed out a wisp of hope. She folded her arms across her chest. “How exactly do you propose I do that, Colt? I don’t even know what half those recipes were. Much less how to prepare them.”

“I do. I grew up eating my mom’s cooking. I bet I’ve had every dish in that book a dozen times or more. You’re some kind of fancy New York chef.” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “I’ll describe what something looks like, how it tastes. You’ll fix it.”

“If only it were that simple.” She sighed. “Re-creating those recipes will involve trial and error. Lots of it.” Mostly error, she imagined, unless Colt knew more about spices and seasoning than she thought he did.