Cathy Mcdavid - Aidan - Loyal Cowboy

“Let’s get together later tonight,” Ace said.

“I’d like that. After I embarrass you in the arena.”

“Feeling lucky today?”

“Against you? Always.”

“Loser buys dinner?”

“You’re on.” They shook hands again to seal their bet. “I heard you expanded your string.”

“We did.” Ace moved forward in line. “Brought a few of the new head with us today. They’re coming on strong.”

“Wish I’d drawn one.”

“I pulled a McKinley bronc.”

“Isn’t he selling off?”

“He has some contracts still to fulfill over the next couple months.” Ace found himself grinning, like he did every time he thought of Flynn and the baby. “There’s something else. I’m going to be a dad.”

“No fooling!”

Ace summarized the story of him and Flynn, omitting the details of their one-night stand.

“That’s great.” Austin beamed. “I’m really happy for you.”

Why couldn’t Colt be happy for Ace, too?

He and Austin continued chatting until it was Ace’s turn to sign in. After Austin finished and they said their goodbyes, Ace made a quick stop at the concession stand before heading back to the livestock pens. Just as he walked up, two McKinley rigs rumbled on by—Earl behind the wheel of the first truck, Flynn beside him in the passenger seat.

Flynn!

She hadn’t mentioned coming this weekend.

He checked in with Harlan and delivered the cold drinks, all the while keeping an eye on the truck with Flynn. When it came to a stop, the side door opened and she scrambled out. She then jogged around to the rear of the trailer and began directing her father as he backed up to a row of empty pens.

Ace hastened over and waited until Earl was finished parking before addressing Flynn.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Bringing stock.”

Ace was prepared to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off if she attempted to help unload the horses. Fortunately she didn’t, leaving the task to her dad and his trio of ranch hands.

Ace hadn’t seen Flynn’s father since the auction and braced himself for a stern talking-to. It’s what he’d do in the other man’s shoes.

“Afternoon, Earl,” he said with a nod, and waited.

Earl went about his business, ignoring Ace.

He glanced at Flynn.

She shrugged.

“Sir, about the baby—”

Earl straightened, walked calmly over to Ace and stuck a finger in his chest. “I like you. But if you hurt my little girl, mark my word, there will be hell to pay.”

“I won’t hurt her, I swear.”

“Glad that’s settled.”

“Me, too.”

Earl poked Ace in the chest again before leaving.

Flynn laughed under her breath.

Ace wasn’t amused and wiped a hand across his damp brow. “Is that a good idea, you being here? What with the baby and all?”

“What do you mean?”

“Bucking stock aren’t known for their manners.”

“I’m not going to ride the horses.” She laughed again.

Though, in Ace’s opinion, the situation was serious, her gaiety was a welcome change from their recent strain.

“Just being near them is risky. They kick. Bite. Charge.”

“I promise to be supercautious if you promise to be less obsessive.”

“I care about you, Flynn.” Much more than she realized.

Instead of becoming prickly, she smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Grateful for whatever had caused the change in her, Ace let the cozy sensation her smile triggered wind through him.

If only it could be like this between them every day.

“Speaking of taking risks.” She pointed to the entrant number he carried in his hand. “I should scold you for the same thing. What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll withdraw,” he said immediately.

“No.” She laughed again. “I don’t want you to change just because we’re having a baby.”

We? He liked her referring to them as a couple.

“Our child is more important to me than bronc riding.”

“Rodeoing’s a big part of your life. It’s your business.”

“But not competing. I won’t be any good to either of you if I’m injured and unable to make a living. This gives me the excuse I need to quit without embarrassing myself.”

“Compete, Ace. You like it and, be honest, you miss it.”

“Sometimes.” He’d been at the peak of his rodeo career back in college when they’d dated. He gave it up after his father died, like he had Flynn.

What if he’d been wrong all those years ago on both counts?

Their attention was drawn to the McKinley horses, who fussed and squealed and nipped at each other as they settled into the pen.

Flynn knitted her brows as she scrutinized them. “Hmm.”

“Something wrong?”

“It’s Fancy Gal.” She started toward the fence. Ace followed her, determined to intervene if a horse so much as looked sideways at her. “She’s been acting out of sorts all morning.”

“Which one is she?”

Flynn pointed to a stout dun mare standing at the far end of the pen. Ears pinned back, teeth bared and swinging her head from side to side, she sent an unmistakable warning to her pen mates: stay away.

“She’s one of my favorites and is usually pretty docile outside the arena.”

“Want me to examine her?”

Relief lit Flynn’s features. “Would you? I don’t want to be a bother. You have your own string to worry about.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’ll get her.”

“You’re not going in that pen with all those horses.” Ace put a hand on her arm. “Your dad can do it.”

She sighed. “All right.”

Ace liked her when she was agreeable.

He was rather confident it wouldn’t last.

Chapter Six

Pregnancy suited Flynn. She’d woken up that morning on completely the right side of the bed. Not that her doubts about the future had vanished. Far from it. But she felt good. Happy. Optimistic.

Her exuberance, however, dimmed as her concern for Fancy Gal escalated. The mare was clearly distressed and in pain.

It didn’t take long for her father to separate the mare from the rest of the string, bring her out and tie her to the side of the trailer.

Flynn hovered near Ace as he conducted his examination. She had her suspicions about what ailed the mare and was curious to see if she was right.

“We probably shouldn’t have brought her today.” She stroked Fancy Gal’s nose. Away from her pen mates, the mare was gentle as a lamb and calmly tolerated Ace’s poking and prodding. “She’s nineteen. Too old for competing.”

“Not really,” he said. “If they’re in good health, horses can be competed into their twenties. But if you want to retire her, she’d make a nice broodmare.”

“I hope whoever buys her does exactly that.”

Ace ran a hand along Fancy Gal’s abdomen. “Besides irritability, what are her other symptoms?”

Flynn pointed to the mare’s shuffling hooves. “She keeps shifting her weight.”

“I checked her feet,” her father added, coming over. “No stones or abscesses or any problems that I saw.”

“You won’t take offense if I also have a look?” Ace picked up the mare’s front hoof, braced it between his knees and dug around the soft underside with a penknife.

“I’d think you were a sorry vet if you didn’t.” Her father carefully supervised Ace’s every move. Fancy Gal was one of his favorite horses, too.

Ace repeated the process with the remaining hooves. “They look fine.” He took a step back and considered the mare. “Any signs of colic?”

“Nope.”

“Yes,” Flynn interjected. Colic was her guess. “She’s been biting her flanks.”

Ace placed his ear against Fancy Gal’s abdomen.