The Bull Rider's Baby

“Don’t look like you just stole the teacher’s apple.”

“Why would a teacher ever really want an apple?” Was that the only thing she could come back with? “I mean, really, wouldn’t she be glad if someone took it? Wouldn’t she prefer a student give her chocolate?”

“You’re overthinking this.”

She cleared her throat and nodded. “Of course I am. I’m Sophie Cooper, I always overthink.”

“Right, and where has that gotten you?”

For a moment she thought about that question. But then she heard the baby from inside the house, crying. “I think someone wants you.”

“Right. Are you coming in?” He headed toward the house, not waiting for her. “You didn’t answer. Where has overthinking gotten you?”

He glanced back over his shoulder as he walked up the steps of the porch.

“Overthinking has kept me out of trouble.” And kept her heart virtually pain free for sixteen years. Poor atrophied heart. It needed serious physical therapy if she ever planned on using it again.

She followed Keeton through the front door. He had already picked up Lucy and had her cradled against his chest. “She’s pretty warm.”

Sophie kissed the baby’s brow. “Very. Have you given her the medicine?”

“Yeah, when I got back.”

“And a bath?”

“Not yet.” He smiled and there was something different about a cowboy smile when the cowboy was holding a baby. “I haven’t read the book.”

Sophie reached for the baby and he handed Lucy over.

“Run lukewarm water in the sink. We’ll start there. I’ll give you a crash course in baby bathing and you can read your how-to manual later.”

“Thanks, Sophie, I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.” She followed him into the kitchen. He turned on the tap and washed out the sink. “Do you have baby soap?”

“Yeah, let me get the water going and I’ll go get the supplies I bought at the store.”

Regret—Sophie had a lot. And after today, she’d have more. Hip against the counter, she watched as he plugged the sink and then rummaged through the plastic bags on the counter, pulling out the soap, washcloth and towel. He held up a little sleeper, pink with ponies on the front.

“Sweet. You did good.” Sophie spread the towel on the counter and slipped off the dirty sleeper. She dropped it on the floor and waited for it to get up and walk away on its own. It was that dirty.

“Now what?”

“You can throw that sleeper away.”

“Done.” He picked it up and tossed it in the trash. A second later he was at her side again. He smelled good. Spicy with a hint of a pine forest mixed in. It was the kind of scent that made a woman want to lean in close.

If it were any other man. If she was any other woman. She sighed and let go of need, held on to strength.

“In the bath she goes.” Sophie lifted the baby, and before putting her in the water, tested it to make sure it wasn’t too hot or cold. “Perfect. Maybe this will help break that fever. And I’m sure she’ll feel better.”

“Soph, I appreciate this.”

“Of course you do, because you think I’m going to do all of the work. Surprise.” She cradled the baby in the water. Lucy tested the surface of the water with pudgy little fingers, and then she splashed just a little. “Hold her like this and then squirt a little soap on the washcloth. It doesn’t take much to wash a baby, Keeton. Even her hair. There isn’t much of it.”

“Right, of course.” He swallowed loud and she looked up, smiling at the bead of perspiration across his brow.

“Easy-peasy.” She moved a little but still cradled the baby on her left arm. “Your turn.”

“She’s already clean.”

“I know, but I want you to be able to do this on your own.”

“I can.” He cleared his throat. “Seriously, Soph, I can do this.”

“You could hire a nanny.”

“I have skills.”

Yeah, she thought.

He reached for his baby girl and Sophie moved her hands to make room for his. She glanced up and he looked down. It felt suddenly very warm in that little kitchen.

“I can handle it without a nanny.” He repeated her actions and Lucy giggled, happy to be clean and to be cooler. “She hasn’t eaten a lot today.”

“She needs liquids. Especially now, with a fever. If she gets enough formula, give her water.” She placed the towel over his shoulder and he looked a little stricken. “Take her out before she gets chilled.”

“I can’t believe this is my life.” He lifted Lucy out of the bathwater and wrapped the towel around her. Sophie took the child from his arms.

“Believe it, Keeton West, this is your life.” She held Lucy close. “What were you planning, coming back here?”

He grabbed a diaper and the sleeper. Sophie put the baby on the counter and made quick work of putting a diaper and the sleeper on Lucy. A little part of her liked that he looked in awe.

“I thought I’d come back and reclaim what should have been mine.” He held his daughter.

The lighthearted moment of seconds ago dissolved. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He leaned, brushing a brotherly kiss on the side of her head. She paused midbutton on the sleeper and looked up at him.

“I know it isn’t—wasn’t my fault. I’m sorry, Keeton, for everything. I’m sorry for the years we’ve all lost, being sorry, being guilty, being alone.” She looked away, because it was easier to focus on Lucy. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

Did he really? She thought he probably still felt guilty. He’d been a kid, really. Even though at eighteen and nineteen they’d thought they were grown, thought they knew everything.

She handed him the baby girl that had his eyes. And in those eyes she saw a little bit of Kade, the West she’d planned on marrying. In a jewelry box at home she had the ring he’d given her, a promise that someday they’d get engaged, get married.

She also had a rose, taken from one of the flower arrangements on his casket. And in a notebook, hidden away in her dresser, she had a note from Keeton, telling her how sorry he was for what had happened. He blamed himself. He would always blame himself.