The Rancher's Secret Wife

“That would be a wonderful gift, but you don’t have to.” Cheyenne stood for an awkward moment, and then she sat next to Heather.

After a few minutes of silence Cheyenne shifted to face her guest. “Why are you really here?”

“Cheyenne, I want to know about you and my brother.”

Cheyenne breathed through a pain that wrapped around her middle, and she wanted so badly to tell Heather to leave, to let it go.

“I’m not going to give you information that Reese hasn’t given. This is between the two of us.”

And what would people think of her if they knew the deal she’d made with Reese Cooper? Would they be as welcoming as they’d been? Would Vera at the Mad Cow still welcome her with pie? Would Myrna Cooper ask her to leave?

Sometimes she didn’t know what to think of herself.

“I’m sure it is between the two of you.” Heather shook her head. “He’s my brother, and I don’t want him hurt.”

“He isn’t going to be hurt.”

Heather gave her a careful look and then she nodded.

“When he’s around you, I see pieces of the old Reese. No matter what the situation is between the two of you, I think you’re good for him.”

“I’m the last thing Reese needs in his life. He has a wonderful family, and he’s going to get through this.” Cheyenne rested her hand on her belly. “I’m here to start a life for my baby and myself. I’m here because Reese told me stories about this town, the people. That’s all, Heather. There’s nothing more between us.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Heather hopped down from the stool. She grabbed her purse, and she smiled an easy smile. “I’m busy the next two days, but I’ll be back Thursday to help you. And if you’re interested in church, Dawson Community Church is at the edge of town.”

“I’d love to go to church. But about the decorating—I really can’t afford to pay you.”

“I’m not asking you to pay me.” Heather stopped at the door. “And if you need anything, let me know.”

Cheyenne nodded and managed a smile. After watching Heather drive away, she went back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. Another pain wrapped around her belly. She’d been having them all day, these pains. She’d timed them. They weren’t regular, but she still didn’t think it should happen this way, not this often or this soon.

She should find an emergency room—alone. She closed her eyes and leaned back, giving herself a pep talk. She could do this. She didn’t have to call someone. She didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. In two months she would be a single mom with no one to call or lean on. She’d made the decision to have this baby, and she could do this.

Alone.

She closed her eyes and let one tear trickle down her cheek—only one. She wouldn’t let the rest squeeze out. She was done crying. She had a life to get hold of, a baby counting on her. She picked up her purse and left, locking the door of the shop behind her.

Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the parking lot at the emergency room for the Grove hospital. She sat for a second, telling herself she’d been imagining the pains. But another hit as she sat there. She breathed through it and then got out of her car and headed toward the entrance of the E.R. As she walked through the double doors, a receptionist smiled a greeting. The woman, gray-haired and kind, told Cheyenne to take a seat and she’d get her information.

Cheyenne pulled out her insurance card and driver’s license. She handed both through the window to the woman who took them, then looked at Cheyenne over wire-framed glasses.

“You just moved to town?” The woman, her name tag said Alma Standish, asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ll need to find an obstetrician very soon. We have a couple here in town.” She peered at the insurance card and shook her head before handing it back. “I’ll have our nurse get your vitals, and then we’ll get you right back to the E.R.”

“Thank you.”

As if on cue the door to the E.R. opened and a nurse peeked out. “I can take you back. We’ll get your blood pressure and temp.”

Cheyenne picked up her purse, thanked Mrs. Standish and followed the nurse back to the E.R. The nurse, wearing blue scrubs with teddy bears, pulled a curtain and motioned Cheyenne into the small cubicle.

“You can sit up here.” The nurse helped Cheyenne onto the exam table. “How many weeks?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Okay, has everything been normal up to this point?”

Cheyenne nodded and held out her arm for the blood pressure cuff. The nurse listened, wrote down information and started to walk out of the room. The curtain slid back, and the doctor walked in, staring at the chart in his hands. He looked up, black wire-framed glasses on a straight nose. His dark hair was a little long.

“Cheyenne Jones Cooper?” He read the name from the chart and then looked at her, clearly puzzled.

The nurse shrugged when he looked at her.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat at the weak answer and tried again. “Yes.”

“You didn’t list a spouse. Is there someone we can call in case of emergency?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I’m fine, though.”

“I’m the doctor. I’ll decide that.” He helped her lay back on the exam table. “Cheyenne, I think you should know that I’m Jesse Cooper.”

She moved to sit back up. “I should go.”

“Not so quick. We have an obstetrician who happens to be in the hospital. I’ve called her down to examine you. And now is there someone I should call?”

“No, there’s no one.”

“But you’re married to a Cooper?”

“It isn’t...” She shook her head and blinked back tears.

Jesse Alvarez Cooper pulled tissues from a box and handed them to her. “It’s okay.”

But he didn’t sound as if it was okay. She remembered back all those months ago when Reese had told her about his family. Jesse had been adopted from South America. Reese called him overly serious and said he had no sense of humor.

He was the last person she needed to run into today. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be in the mood to let her leave. And the sudden wave of nausea that hit was a good reason to wait and see the doctor.

* * *

Reese lifted the weight one last time and set it on the floor. He stretched and then rolled his shoulders to loosen the overworked muscles.

“The end. I’m done.”

He grabbed the towel off the back of the rowing machine and draped it around his neck. The only thing he wanted now was the recliner and a glass of iced tea. Jeff, the physical therapist, a guy from Tulsa, laughed.

“We’re not done.”