Читать книгу His Baby Bargain - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 11

Chapter Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never mind the strong, silent, stubborn type.

“Arguing.”

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

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

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

Saved by the baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sara had indeed put out the word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charley finally let go of Matt’s finger.

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

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

He let out a belly laugh.

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

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

Matt frowned in alarm.

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

“What’s wrong with him?” Matt asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the first time, Matt hesitated.

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

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

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

And in that instant, Sara knew.

Matt wasn’t a dog person.

Not in the slightest.

Not anymore.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sara seemed even more nonplussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cullen’s wife, Bridgett.”

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

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

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

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

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

Averting his glance, Matt relayed that, too.

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

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

With a scowl, Charley clamped down tight.

“Ouch!” Sara winced in surprise.

“Feel a tooth?”

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

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

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

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

“I remember.”

“She said to try numbing medicine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth was he hadn’t.

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

She continued to study him as Champ raced off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another telling lift of her delicate brow.

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

Again, right on point.

Silence fell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fact that had somehow irked him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, expression tense.

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