Stella Bagwell - Daddy Wore Spurs

“With me?”

An awkward silence followed his question, and with each second that passed, the more Mariah had to fight to keep from jumping from the rocker and rushing out of the nursery. Something about this man and her sister sharing a passionate weekend together was an image she wanted to push from her mind.

“Well, I’d hate to think she falsely put your name on the birth certificate. And I’d sure hate to think that Harry’s father might always be a question mark.”

He looked down at the baby. “I’d never let that happen to this little guy.”

Feeling like a jumble of raw nerves, she restlessly crossed her legs and began to tap the air with her bare foot. The movement must have caught his attention because she suddenly noticed his gaze slowly slipping from her face and traveling downward, over her leg and onto her foot.

Heat instantly flooded her cheeks and she mentally scolded herself for not slipping on her shoes before she’d answered the door. But it was a warm May afternoon and certainly pleasant enough in the house to go without footwear.

You’re reacting like a foolish teenager, Mariah. Finn doesn’t find anything fascinating about your pink toenails. And he hasn’t come to Stallion Canyon to ogle you in any form or fashion. He’s here because of Harry and no other reason.

Clearing her throat, she blocked out the scolding voice in her head and tried to form a sensible question. “So you’re saying you want Harry to be your son?”

To her relief, his gaze returned to Harry and as he studied the child, she could see something that looked an awfully lot like love move over his features. The sight smacked Mariah right in the middle of her heart. A man was supposed to care that much for his child, she thought. Yet a part of her had been hoping Finn would be the irresponsible type. That he’d gladly hand the responsibility of raising Harry over to her. But it was becoming clear that he had no intention of stepping aside. So where was that going to leave her?

He said, “This wasn’t the way I’d planned on becoming a father. But now that I have Harry in my arms, it feels right and good.”

She folded her hands together atop her lap and tried to keep the confused emotions swirling inside her from showing on her face.

“So you believe he’s actually your son?” she asked guardedly.

“I do. I think you’d have to agree that he takes after me. The red in his hair and dimples in his cheeks.”

“Maybe. But that’s hardly proof.”

Frowning, he moved closer to where she sat, and Mariah instinctively placed a hand on each arm of the rocker and both feet flat on the floor.

“Something in your voice says you’re hoping I won’t be the father,” he said tersely.

A blush scalded her cheeks. “I only want what’s best for Harry.”

He eyed her with cool conviction. “I don’t know what sort of man you think I am, Ms. Montgomery, but—”

“Please, call me Mariah,” she interrupted. “Calling me Ms. Montgomery makes me feel like I’m in the classroom.”

Distracted now, he latched onto her last word. “Classroom? You’re a teacher?”

“High school. History. That surprises you?”

Confusion flitted across his rugged face. “Aimee insinuated that Stallion Canyon was a profitable horse ranch. I just assumed the ranch was your livelihood, too.”

A dead weight sank to the pit of her stomach as she slowly pushed herself out of the rocker. “I’ll explain in the kitchen. It’s time for Harry’s bottle and I’m sure you could do with some coffee or something.”

“Coffee sounds good,” he agreed. “Lead the way.”

* * *

With the baby cuddled safely against his chest, Finn followed Mariah out of the nursery and down a hallway that eventually intersected a small breezeway. Once there, she turned left down another short hallway until they reached a wide arched opening.

“We used to have a cook, but we had to let her go,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Hopefully, you can tolerate my coffee-making.”

They stepped into a rectangle-shaped kitchen with a ceiling opened to the rafters and a floor covered with ceramic tile patterned in dark blues and greens. To the right side of the room a round oak table and chairs were positioned near a group of wide windows covered with sheer blue curtains. To the left, white wooden cabinets with glass doors lined two whole walls, while a large work island also served as a breakfast bar.

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Have a seat at the bar or the table. Wherever you’d like. I’ll get the coffee going, then heat Harry’s bottle.”

Since he was closer to the bar, Finn sank onto one of the padded stools and propped the baby in a comfortable upright position against his left arm. So far the tot seemed to be a good-natured boy. He hadn’t yet let out a cry or even a fussy whine, but living in the same house with Rafe’s two children, Colleen and Austin, had taught Finn that a baby’s demeanor could change in an instant.

“What was wrong with the cook?” he asked curiously. “Burned the food?”

Greta, their family cook back on the Silver Horn Ranch, had been with them for more than thirty years. He couldn’t imagine anyone but her making their meals and ruling the kitchen.

Over at the cabinet counter, Mariah was busy pouring water into a coffeemaker. He was still trying to grasp the fact that she was a teacher. Apparently, being in a classroom full of kids was a more comfortable job to her than sitting atop a horse.

You’re wondering too much about the woman, Finn. It doesn’t matter what she does for a living or for fun. Once you take Harry away from here, you probably won’t see her again. Unless she comes to the Horn to visit Harry from time to time.

Was that the way it was going to be? Finn asked himself. Was it already settled in Finn’s mind that Harry belonged to him? That the baby belonged on the Silver Horn with him?

Mariah’s voice suddenly interrupted the heavy questions pushing through his thoughts.

“Cora was a great cook. She’d worked here for years. But after Dad died, money got tight. We had to start cutting corners.”

There was an embittered tone to her voice. One that shouldn’t belong to someone so young and pretty, he decided. Sure, she’d obviously had to deal with her fair share of raw deals. But that didn’t mean she needed to keep dragging those disappointments behind her.

“Aimee talked about your father passing away,” he told her. “I could see she was still pretty cut up about his death.”

“Aimee and Dad were very close. She was just like him—obsessed with horses. Especially the wild ones,” she added bluntly.

Was Mariah trying to say that Aimee had possessed a wild streak? Had Aimee shared her bed with Finn because she’d liked living recklessly? Or had she, as Mariah had implied, used him to get pregnant? Whatever the reason, it was clear that Aimee hadn’t been completely honest with him, and that left Finn feeling like a fool for ever getting involved with her in the first place.

The baby let out a short cry and Finn looked down to see that the child was gnawing on his fist. “Harry, you must be hungry or teething,” he said to the boy.

Finn’s voice caught the baby’s attention and Harry went quiet as he stared curiously up at him. Finn used the moment to touch his forefinger to the baby’s hand, and instantly the tiny fingers latched tightly around his. Harry’s response filled Finn with a fierce love and protection he’d never experienced before. Father or not, the baby needed him.

As another thought suddenly struck him, he glanced over to where Mariah was gathering mugs from the cabinet. “Do you have a copy of Harry’s birth certificate?”