Cathy Thacker - The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue

Not exactly a yes. But likely the closest he would get.

He gave her the address to put into her navigation system in case they got separated, and then they took off. Twenty minutes later, they were turning beneath the archway to the Western Cross ranch. Both sets of vehicle headlamps swept over the live oaks lining the drive, the fenced pastures filled with cattle and the cluster of brand-new state-of-the-art barns and stables. Finally, he drew up in front of the ranch house and parked behind the Laramie Animal Clinic van.

His good friend, and recent widow, Sara Anderson stepped out. It was hard to tell whether the pale, drawn hue of her face was due to grief over the sudden loss of her soldier husband or the nausea associated with the first trimester of pregnancy. But he appreciated her willingness to help them out today.

He picked up Riot and met her in the middle of the circular drive. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

The willowy blonde smiled, kind-hearted as always. “No problem.” Sara studied Riot with a clinician’s unerring eye, stroked him beneath the chin. “This the little runaway?”

“It is.” And though it had been years since he had held one, Cullen experienced the lure of a puppy all over again.

Bridgett parked and got out, too, a fussy baby Robby in her arms. Cullen made introductions. “Sara Anderson, Bridgett Monroe. Sara’s a neighboring rancher and the veterinarian who sees to all of my cattle and horses.”

Bridgett nodded. “Sara and I talked at the county’s High School Career Fair last fall. And we also both volunteer at the West Texas Warriors Assistance nonprofit.”

“Ah, then no introduction necessary.” Indeed, the two women looked surprisingly chummy. He hadn’t thought about them being friends. But then, he didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with anyone outside the cattle business.

Sara moved an electronic wand over the pup, between his shoulders and neck and from side to side. Then over the rest of his body.

“Anything?” Cullen asked.

“No.” Sara frowned. “I thought he might be a little too young for a microchip, but I wanted to be certain. There were no tags on his collar?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. I’d like to know more about him.” She opened up the back of her van and pulled out a medium-sized plastic crate with a metal-grill door. “The food, dishes and leash you requested are all in there. You’re also going to need to make sure he gets started on all his vaccinations, ASAP.”

“I’ll make an appointment.”

“Good.” Sara grinned, tossing Cullen a bottle of puppy shampoo. “And you might want to give him a bath while you’re at it.”

Grinning, Cullen caught the bottle with one hand. “Thanks, Sara.”

Sara paused to greet little Robby, who was wide-eyed and squirmy. “Bridgett? Good luck with the baby. I heard about the situation.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I hope you get to keep him.”

Abruptly looking like she might burst into tears at any moment, Bridgett nodded. “I want what’s best for them both,” she said thickly, the strain of the day showing on her pretty face. “And I appreciate your help with Riot.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sara said with a warm smile. “And if you need anything else, just ask.” Then she climbed back into her van, gave a parting wave and took off.

Silence hung heavy between them as they stood there together, cradling puppy and baby.

Bridgett looked up, wordlessly scanning the compact century old farmhouse, whatever she was thinking at that moment as much a mystery to him as the emotion resonating in her dulcet tones.

“So, this is where you live,” she said.

Chapter Three

“For the last ten and a half months, it has been,” Cullen admitted as they moved inside.

He hit a button on the keypad by the door, and the place lit up. “And before that?” Bridgett prodded, trying to recall what she’d heard.

He led her through the foyer and shut the door behind them. “Oklahoma, for two years.”

They were standing close. Almost too close. Bridgett swung around to face him, stepping back a pace in the process. She was acutely aware she really didn’t know much about Frank McCabe’s eldest son at all—and she wanted to know more, because of the situation they were in. Noting he looked as inherently masculine as he smelled—like sun and soap and leather—she searched the rugged planes of his face. “And prior to that, where were you?”

The grooves on either side of his sensual lips deepened. “Colorado for eighteen months, Nebraska for four years.”

“Nebraska. Wow, you must have really liked it there.”

He studied her, as if trying to decide how much farther he wanted this discussion to go. “It’s the second-largest cattle-producing state in the country, and I had two different ranches. A small one in the north for about twenty-six months, a larger one in the south, for about the same amount of time.”

“Which you purchased after starting out here, correct?” Her feminine instincts on full alert, she pushed on, curious to hear about the time he’d spent outside of Laramie County. “Somewhere in the Panhandle?”

His gaze roved her upturned face. He looked at her for a long beat. “How do you know that?”

She flushed under his intense scrutiny. “My sister Erin and her husband, Mac, mentioned it when they moved up there for his work.”

He continued holding her gaze for a brief but electrifying moment that swiftly had her tingling all over. “Hmm.”

“Mac said you were a rancher to watch.”

Cullen shifted the exhausted puppy in his arms, cradling it to his broad chest. “I don’t think Wheeler was too fond of me back then,” he pointed out. “I outbid him on a property he wanted for his wind energy turbines.”

Bridgett grinned. “I’m sure Mac forgave you.” If there was one thing her brother-in-law respected, it was business acumen and skill.

A wave of unexpected contentment flowing through her, she snuggled the sleepy Robby, breathing in his sweet baby scent. “Speaking of family, though, yours must be happy to have you back in Texas again.”

His expression darkened and the corners of his lips slanted downward. “They are.”

“Are you?” Curiosity won out over caution yet again.

“For the moment.”

Which meant what? He had one foot out the door? Was getting ready to bolt again?

Not that it was any of her business what his future plans were. Once the current mystery was solved, anyway. She knew what her future was—it was right here in Laramie County with Robby and Riot.

“So.” Bridgett forced herself to concentrate on their surroundings. She inclined her head toward the front two rooms of the thousand-square-foot first floor. The one on the right sported a wall of what appeared to be security monitors showing various areas of the ranch, while the other room was outfitted with a large, masculine mahogany desk, a comfortable chair, built in bookshelves and sleek computer equipment. Framed diplomas and awards adorned the whitewashed wood-paneled walls. “I gather this is where you do all the Western Cross ranch office work.”

“Yep. And there’s never any shortage of it.” He moved forward, leading the way past an iron-railed staircase to the living room in the rear, which also had an open layout. She paused to admire the rustic fireplace, a big comfy sofa and the state-of-the-art entertainment center.

After getting a cursory glimpse at the pristine eat-in kitchen, she followed him to a screened-in porch, complete with cushioned furniture and a chain-hung swing. It overlooked a stone patio and built-in barbecue grill as well as an impressive view of the ranch.

“This, I am guessing, is where you hang out when you’re not working.” She tried not to think about how intimate it would be, sharing such a cozy space, and failed. “And maybe entertain.” She pushed the words through the abrupt tightness of her throat.