Jo Leigh - The Cowboy Wants a Baby

He didn’t smell half bad, either.

She walked into a sparse living room. Bare white walls, hardwood floor, a leather couch and matching club chairs. The coffee table didn’t even have a magazine on it. It was odd, as if Bishop rented the place.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

His voice startled her and she whirled around, wondering what she’d done wrong. But he wasn’t talking to her. Still on the phone, he paced across the floor in his cowboy boots, worn button-fly jeans, his white shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. Power. In the way he strode, in his posture, in the way his voice flowed deep and smooth as fine whiskey. She felt a little shiver as he eyed her before turning back to his conversation.

Ginny had said he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and Lily concurred. Over six feet tall, he had to weigh almost two hundred pounds, all muscle. His tousled brown hair hung over his collar, and when he stepped in front of the window she could see streaks of sun-dyed blond. He had the face of a Marlboro Man, a real cowboy, tough and masculine from the inside out. Even his ocean-blue eyes had a hint of steel in them.

Her gaze moved to his chest and she wondered how he’d look without his shirt on. It took her a moment to realize he’d finished his conversation and put the phone down.

He narrowed his focus to her and only her. Unabashed and brazen as hell, he looked her over from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking a little extra time when he got to the chest area. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, he walked behind her.

She tried to swing around, but his hand on her arm stopped her still. Her natural instinct was to jerk away, to defend herself, but she held back. She didn’t want to blow this in the first five minutes. But if he didn’t let her go in about two seconds, she was going to make sure he understood what gelding was all about.

“How old are you?”

“Pardon me?”

“I said, how old are you?”

That’s when it dawned on her that he must have assumed she was here about the position. The job, whatever it might be. In that split second she decided to play along, at least for now. At least until she figured out if he was truly dangerous. “I’m thirty.”

“Bit old to start having children, isn’t it?”

Having children? “No, I don’t think so.” Her voice sounded normal, she felt sure. Well, almost normal.

“What about illnesses. You have any?”

“None.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“What about your hand?”

She touched her bandage. “A bite. Nothing serious. Just a frightened dog, that’s all.”

He came around in front of her again, and this time he studied her face. But not in the usual sense. His eyes narrowed as he examined her inch by inch, like a plastic surgeon looking for flaws. Heat warmed her cheeks, but she kept her expression neutral. The thing that frightened her most was that she wanted him to like what he saw.

“How about your teeth?”

This was getting ridiculous. “How about yours?”

“That’s not relevant.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one with the checkbook.”

“But—”

“But nothing. If I decide you’re the right one to have my child, then you can ask me questions. I’ll decide then if I want to answer you.”

“Your child?” she whispered.

“Make no mistake about it. Even though you’ll be the child’s mother, that role will be temporary. He’s going to be my son, and I alone will make all the decisions affecting his future. The marriage will be for his sake, so he won’t be born a bastard, but trust me, you will not be my wife.”

Dear Lord…

“So…?” he queried.

“Huh?”

He lowered his head, but not his gaze, and it made him look like a professor addressing a backward student. “Your teeth.”

“They’re great. My dentist sends me fan letters.”

He coughed, but she didn’t care. If she’d gotten it right, he wanted to hire a woman to get married, have his child, then leave. My God. He was a loon. Or worse.

“What about—”

She held up a hand. “Hold it.”

Impatience drew his brows together.

“You’re not the only one who has some decisions to make here, buster.”

“Buster?”

She nodded. “Yeah. This will be my kid, after all. And even though you’ll have custody, there’s nothing you can do to take away my part in this. Besides, anything could happen to you. You could get shot by an irate female, and then where would I be?”

“You—”

“I’d be raising the kid, that’s where. Therefore, I’ll need to make sure you’re not swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool.”

He didn’t say anything, but there was a glimpse of something that might have been a smile. Or a murderous gleam. Whatever it was lasted about one hot second and was replaced by a scowl, which seemed to be his natural mien.

“Do you work out regularly?” he asked, as if she hadn’t just finished her tirade.

“I keep fit.”

He nodded, his gaze moving to her hips. “Any history of mental illness in your family?”

“Just the usual. An agoraphobic aunt. A cousin who prefers cats to people, which is becoming more understandable every second.”

No reaction. At least his gaze moved back to her face. “Did you bring your medical records?”

“Whoa. Not so fast. We’re not even close to the medical records portion of this deal. I’ve got some questions of my own now.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. But he nodded. Once.

She took advantage of the opportunity and gave him a slow perusal, purposefully lingering when she reached his fly. She shook her head a little and creased her brow, as if he hadn’t met her standards. She took her time walking around him, touched his upper arm, nodded. Then, to make sure he understood who he was dealing with, she patted his butt.

“Hey.” He spun around to face her.

“Just checking.”

He took a deep breath, and she could see him struggle to calm down. The crazy thing about this was that he didn’t look crazy. Or dangerous. In a bad mood, yes, but that wasn’t illegal in Texas. He seemed like a normal, if too good-looking, man. So why in hell did he need to buy a wife and child?

This was getting really interesting.

Bishop shook his head and stepped away. “This interview is over.”

Dammit. She couldn’t lose him this fast. Eve would be heartsick. No way could Lily live with that kind of guilt. And no way could she leave without getting to the bottom of this very odd situation. “Don’t dismiss me just because I’ve got an attitude. In my experience, it comes in real handy.”

“What kind of experience would that be?”

She relaxed, but not much. “I haven’t had a lot of luck with men. In fact, I’ve pretty much had it with the whole gender. What I’m looking for is something with no complications. I want to write, and I want to be left alone. But I need to eat, too.”

“Write what?”

“Novels.”

He nodded. “How did you hear about me?”

Okay, she’d gotten her reprieve. Now she had to hang on to it. “Ginny at the diner told my aunt and she told me.”

Bishop checked his watch, then looked out the window. At what, Lily couldn’t see.

“Come sit down.” There was no politeness in his statement, no niceties about the man at all as far as she could tell. He led her to a large kitchen, which was just as blah as the living room. Of course he didn’t hold her chair for her. The only thing he did that was the least bit courteous was nod at the fridge. “There are drinks in there.”

“Thank you for your gracious offer, but I’m fine.” She winced at her stupid big mouth. This was no time to antagonize the man.