To Tame a Wild Cowboy Read online

  “Both.”

  “Once is enough.”

  Rhett muttered a curse. “Rhona set me up. She got pregnant on purpose. She just wants money.”

  “Takes two to tango. Besides, it’s not Rhona who’s after you, she seems to have disappeared. It’s the state of Texas.”

  No. No. This could not be happening. Not at this point in his career. Not when everything was on the line. He shoved his fingers through his hair.

  A sharp pinprick of memory pierced the base of his skull. The summer he was seventeen, Brittany Fant, the girl who’d shattered his heart, had ended any stupid beliefs he’d ever had about romantic love. He flashed back to a positive pregnancy test, a rush of intense joy at the thought of being a dad . . . and then the calm announcement by Brittany’s mother that she was taking her daughter to a clinic and putting an end to this nonsense. “Is this what you really want?” Rhett had asked, pleading. A pale-faced Brittany nodded in silent agreement. And that had been that.

  “I don’t know why you’re so shocked.” Lamar propped his Gucci loafers on the Yeti cooler parked underneath the table. “It’s been six weeks since CPS showed up with the swab. You think you’d have braced yourself for the possibility of this outcome.”

  “I was one of four potential dads. What were the odds it’d be me?”

  “Um, twenty-five percent or better.”

  “How did this happen? It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You think you’re special?” Lamar shot him a look of disdain. “That the laws of nature don’t apply to you? You keep having sex with random women, even protected sex, and eventually it’s going to catch up with you. Stay away from the casinos when you’re in Vegas. Your luck has run out.”

  “Har, har.” Rhett kneaded his brow, felt his stomach flip over. He picked up the papers, reread the part confirming that he was indeed the father of Rhona White’s baby.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s time to accept responsibility for your actions, buckaroo.”

  Panic was a noose around his neck, growing tighter with each breath he took. Rhona had vowed she was on birth control. Assured him that he didn’t need to use a condom. He’d insisted anyway. He wasn’t dumb. She wouldn’t have been the first buckle bunny to get pregnant in order to lasso herself a rodeo hero.

  The thing was, he’d liked Rhona. She was cute and had a bubbly personality, and she looked at him as if he’d hung the moon. That was always a nice combo. Although she’d been younger than he liked, just turned twenty-one.

  Still, he wished like hell he’d shut the door that night she’d shown up at his trailer, after they’d spent the evening playing darts together at a nearby bar. She’d been holding a bottle of champagne, wearing those hot pink short-shorts and an I-wanna-share-your-bed smile. They’d both gotten drunk, and one thing had led to another . . .

  God, he should have known better. Rhett whacked his forehead with the heel of his hand—stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “There’s one major thing you forget in your selfish wallow,” Lamar said.

  Rhett blinked. “Who? Rhona?”

  “The baby, you jackass.”

  Baby.

  Rhett stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing.

  Baby.

  The word rolled through him, a freight train of energy. Blasting hot and indigo up his spine. He clenched his teeth and his fist, but his heart loosened, floppy and soft inside his chest.

  There was a real baby.

  He was a dad. He slumped back down into the chair. His jaw dropped, his mouth falling right open of its own accord. “I have a son?”

  “No, you have a daughter.”

  “What?”

  Lamar tapped the paper with his index finger. “It’s a girl.”

  “I have a da-da-daughter,” Rhett tripped over the word. “Daughter” was so big, carried so many implications. It was too much to absorb. Feelings shot through him like lasers from a ray gun: fear, awe, inadequacy, helplessness, bravery, sheer terror, and, oddly enough, the most prominent feeling of all—joy. Followed by one prevailing thought, I am not worthy.

  “You do indeed have a daughter.”

  “Where is she? Do you know?” Rhett gripped the table with his fingers, fear tearing at the seams of his heart. Good God, he was a father. How was he supposed to act? Certainly not like his own father. Oh shit, oh damn, oh hell.

  “There were . . . complications,” Lamar said.

  “Complications?” His heart squeezed down to the size of a pecan. “What do you mean?”

  “Your daughter was born four months premature.”

  “What?” He felt all the blood drain from his face. Cold, sick fear slapped him. He didn’t even know the kid and here he was feeling sorry for her. “How is that possible? Can you be born four months early and still live?”

  “She was very sick.”

  Was? His heart popped like a slipping clutch. “What? What? Did she die?” An ugly part of him was secretly relieved that maybe she hadn’t made it, but the noble part of him was horrified that he could even think such a thing.

  “Relax, she is alive, and finally out of the hospital.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Rhett clasped a hand to his chest, dizzy and disoriented. “Is she okay now? How’s Rhona?”

  Lamar shook his head as if Rhett was a hopeless case. “No one knows where Rhona is. She abandoned the baby after giving birth at the hospital. She gave the hospital staff the names of potential fathers while she was in labor for fourteen hours. That’s why CPS came looking for the dad. To find out if you want the baby. I explained all this when CPS first showed up.”

  Yeah, he hadn’t really been listening, certain that the baby couldn’t have been his.

  A feeling unlike anything he’d ever experienced crushed Rhett in a powerful grip, flooded his entire system. Big and bad and scary feelings, especially for a man who avoided entanglements.

  He had a daughter. A piece of him was out there in the world. Alone.

  Thirty minutes ago, he was a cowboy without a worry in the world except winning the PBR championship. Now he was a father, and in one sharp moment, everything had changed.

  “Where is my little girl? If Rhona took off, who’s looking after her?”

  “Relax. She’s in good hands. Your daughter is living in El Paso with her foster mother, who, by the way, was also her neonatal nurse.”

  Whew, well, that was good. Someone competent was looking after her. For a second there, he’d had a crazy image of a little baby tucked in a wicker basket, swaddled in pink, left on a doorstep, coyotes howling in the distance. In much the same way that his older brother Ridge ended up dumped by his mother on their father’s doorstep when he was three.

  The Lockhart men had complicated histories with women and abandoned babies.

  It was going to be okay, he told himself. He could have a kid. Lots of the guys on the circuit did. Yes, many of them were married, but having kids didn’t seem to cramp their style. He’d provide for his daughter financially. Of course, that was a given, but it didn’t mean he would have to give up his life. It’s not like he had to change diapers or anything.

  “What’s the next step?” he asked his lawyer.

  Lamar lifted his shoulders. “That’s up to you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You can file for custody, or . . .” Lamar took a form from his briefcase, spread it on the kitchen table. “Sign over all parental rights so the foster mother can adopt her, and you can walk away with a clear conscience.”

  Chapter 2

  Rank: A bull that is difficult to ride is considered “rank.”

  Meanwhile in El Paso, Texas . . .

  “Have you heard from Child Protective Services?”

  Tara Alzate, RN, shook her head. Her mother, Bridgette, sat in a rocking chair, feeding the sweet baby girl that Tara yearned to call her own.

  Two days ago, on May 2, four months after Julie had been born, Tara brought her home from the neonatal
unit at El Paso Children’s Hospital. She’d been Julie’s NICU nurse. The baby had been abandoned by her young mother, who’d taken off in the middle of the night.

  The next day, Tara had started the process of becoming a foster parent with a single-minded goal. Adopt Julie.

  From the moment she’d touched that tiny flicker of life, she’d known in her heart of hearts they were fated. Julie was Tara’s second chance to become a mother. Two years ago, a month before her wedding to Kit Fedderson, her fiancé had contracted a virulent strain of viral meningitis and ended up in the hospital on a ventilator.

  Four days later, he was dead.

  In the shock of Kit’s sudden demise, Tara miscarried their baby eight weeks into her pregnancy. Following the loss of both her husband-to-be and her unborn child, Tara’s gynecologist had delivered more devastating news. Most likely, she would never be able to carry a pregnancy to term. A long struggle with endometriosis had permanently scarred her reproductive organs. Surgery was a remote possibility, but the doctor couldn’t promise it would resolve her infertility issues. Since she had no romantic partner, and wasn’t interested in anyone, she hadn’t yet bothered with the surgery. Although she’d had her eggs collected and frozen. Just in case.

  Tara rested her hand on her lower abdomen, felt the old pain surge up as if it were fresh.

  But now, here was Julie, ready-made and heaven-sent. The baby needed a mom just as much as Tara needed a baby to love.

  Julie had been an extreme preemie, born at twenty-seven weeks’ gestation, and weighing only two pounds at birth. She’d been so tiny, so vulnerable, unable to breathe on her own. No one in the NICU had thought Julie would make it, and they warned Tara not to get attached.

  But Tara believed. And for four long, arduous months, she’d prayed hard, and fought with all her heart, soul, and nursing skills.

  She was taking a gamble. Years might pass before she could legally call Julie her daughter . . . if ever . . . but she couldn’t regret giving it a shot.

  “Tea?” Her mother called her by her childhood nickname, drawing Tara’s thoughts back to the here and now. “Have you heard from CPS? Have they found Julie’s father?”

  “Paternity tests aren’t like on TV, Mom. No results in an hour. First, CPS had to track down the men who could possibly be Julie’s father. Then they administered the tests and we’re waiting for the results.”

  “Frustrating.”

  “It was not an easy task from what the caseworker, Ms. Bean, told me. There were several potential candidates.”

  “I see.” The expression on her mother’s face told Tara she’d been lecturing again. The downside of being a nurse and a part-time child care educator.

  “Sorry,” Tara mumbled, and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to sound like a know-it-all.”

  “You do know a lot. You’ve got a master’s degree in nursing. It’s something to crow about.” Mom stroked Julie’s head.

  “I shouldn’t talk down to you.”

  Mom’s smile forgave everything. “You weren’t. Do you have any idea who these men are?”

  “That’s confidential information. They won’t give me the father’s name until they’ve confirmed paternity. Privacy laws.”

  “Maybe he won’t want this little munchkin.” Mom tickled Julie’s cheek and the baby grinned at her.

  Tara’s heart fluttered. Julie was still so small, barely five pounds. One tiny foot poked from the blanket; the yellow baby sock that was too big for her tiny foot dangled from the end of her toes.

  “Although I have no idea how that’s possible,” her mother went on. “Look at that face! What kind of woman leaves a baby when she needs her the most?”

  “Julie’s mom was young. The responsibilities of caring for a preemie overwhelmed her.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “I don’t want to get into the habit of bashing Julie’s mom.” Tara squatted beside the rocking chair, readjusted Julie’s sock. “It’s easy to judge when you haven’t walked a mile in someone else’s shoes.”

  Her mother cleared her throat. Loudly. “I’m proud of you for taking the high road, sweetheart, but I’ve had five babies, and I can’t imagine any circumstances where it would be okay to walk away.”

  “Mom . . .” Tara chided, unable to stop herself. She shifted to sit down on the arm of the couch beside the rocker. “Rhona White came from an abusive home. She had no help from anyone. No parenting skills.” Tara wasn’t making excuses for the woman abandoning her baby. She simply tried to understand. One day, if she got to adopt Julie, she’d have to explain about her biological mother.

  “I’m just saying, I couldn’t have left her.”

  “Julie has me now. Us. Our family. She’ll never be alone.”

  Her mother stilled, her face pensive. She opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “Are you . . . absolutely sure this is the right thing?”

  Puzzled, Tara cocked her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Adopting Julie.”

  “Of course I’m sure. You were just telling me how you can’t imagine anyone abandoning her. She’s helpless and alone.”

  “I meant her own mother abandoning her.”

  “You’re worried I’m going to get hurt. Don’t.” Tara fiddled with the end of her braid, noticed she had split ends. Past time for a trim, but she’d been too busy to schedule a haircut. “I understand exactly what I’m getting into.”

  “I know, it’s just . . .” Mom bit her bottom lip, her face filled with concern. “I’m worried that your desire to raise this child is rooted in your own tragedy.”

  Tara cradled her abdomen again. Yes, of course it was. How could it not be? Because she’d learned the hard way how fragile life was. But having her impulses guided by the past didn’t mean she was living in the past. Even if Kit and their baby hadn’t died, she would still want Julie. Life was precious. Julie was precious.

  “I fear you’re trying to replace the baby you lost. And while I completely understand that impulse, it’s a pretty heavy burden to put on an infant.”

  “No,” Tara said. “That’s not it at all. I don’t expect Julie to meet my emotional needs. I understand that she is a little person in her own right. I know she’s not the child I lost.” Tara clenched her jaw, fought off tears. “I’m not taking her on to salve my own grief. It’s been two years. I’ve had therapy. I’ve come to terms with what happened . . . and my infertility. I want Julie for Julie. My motive is love and nothing more.”

  Mom leaned over to cup Tara’s cheek, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure.”

  “Don’t cry, Mom. If you cry, I’m going to cry.”

  “No tears.” Mom sniffled. “I’m just so proud of you. You’ve been through hell and back, but you’ve done an amazing job of healing yourself.”

  “You and our family helped heal me. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

  “Of course, darling. Nothing is more important than family, and it truly does take a village to raise a child. My big fear is what if Rhona comes back—”

  “What if she doesn’t? CPS has already started the involuntary termination of Rhona’s parental rights.”

  “But that will be months down the road before it’s finalized. Rhona could still return to claim her.”

  “Yes,” Tara murmured. She thought about that all the time. “I can’t help it, Mom. I love this baby with all my heart. Even if I have to give her up to Rhona, or the dad when they locate him, and he wants her, I’ve got to try.”

  “Your heart is so big, my darling. You always were my most compassionate child, but you’re usually the most cautious as well. You’re not the type to go out on a limb.”

  “Julie is worth it.”

  “Then there’s the father too. What if he—”

  “Let’s stay positive.”

  “He could take her away from you.”

  “Trouble. Borrow. Don’t.”

&nbs
p; “Court battles. Legal fees. Are you ready for that?”

  “Stop worrying, Mom. If Julie’s dad wants her and is able to care for her, then in a perfect world, isn’t that the best scenario?”

  “So you’ll be able to let her go if it comes to that?”

  “I can accept it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Was she? Letting go was not her strong suit, which made her good at her job of saving preemie babies’ lives, but had caused her quite a few problems in life.

  Tara talked a big game. She hoped, if it came down to it, she could gracefully bow out. “Mom . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s stopped feeding.”

  “Oh, so she has.” Her mother set the bottle down. Julie yawned, lowered her lashes, curled her small fists beneath her chin. Mom examined the bottle. Frowned. “She only took two ounces of formula.”

  “That’s not unusual. She takes small amounts more often than a typical baby. It’s quite common in preemies.”

  “How often do you feed her?”

  Tara shrugged. “Every hour and a half.”

  “Goodness. When do you sleep?”

  “Whenever I can,” Tara said, reluctant to admit she worried about her abilities to mother a preemie with numerous health issues.

  “Spoken like a true mom.” Bridgette’s eyes softened as she met Tara’s gaze.

  Tara reached for the sleeping baby. “I can take her now.”

  Mom tucked the blanket more securely around Julie. “Why don’t you leave her to me and you go grab a nap?”

  The idea was luxurious. She hadn’t slept much in the last two days. Tara hesitated, conflicted.

  “I know you want to do everything for her,” Mom said. “But you’ve got to pace yourself. Motherhood is a marathon, not a sprint.”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

  Mom shot her a look. Tara knew that look.

  She had a very clear memory of being five years old with her family in a crowded store. Tara needed to go to the bathroom, but she didn’t say anything because her mother was so busy with the other kids, juggling Kaia on her hip, Aria in a papoose pouch on her back, hollering at Ember to stop climbing on shelves and at Archer to put back the toy truck he’d tucked under his arm. Tara hadn’t wanted to be a burden. Inevitably, of course, she’d wet herself right there in the Wal-Mart, and burst into tears of shame. Mom had thrown her the same look then that she was giving her now, one of extreme exasperation for her solicitous middle child. “Tara,” Mom had scolded. “When you have needs, please make them known. It’s much more trouble for me to clean up pee than to take you to the bathroom in the first place.” Even at five, she’d been mortally mortified. Shame burning deep.