The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue

He tucked a hand beneath her chin and guided her face back to his. “News flash, Bridgett. It’s always going to be complicated.” His deep voice sent another thrill soaring through her. “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

“Is that what we were doing?” Her throat was thick with emotion. “Simply enjoying ourselves?” Because to her it felt as if they had been on the brink of much, much more.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, then dropped his hand at the sound of a car coming up the drive. He went to window, looked out. Swore.

Her pulse jumped again. “Who is it?”

“My folks.” He grimaced.

“Want me to make myself scarce?”

He caught her wrist before she could escape. “Nope. There’s a chance—a remote one—your being here will help them censor their remarks.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scared of them, Cullen Reid McCabe.”

He shoved his hands through his hair. “In awe, maybe. And you’d be damned right.” He swung open the front door before they had a chance to ring the bell and wake the little ones. “Hey. Frank. Rachel. You-all know Bridgett?”

As always, the handsome couple radiated warmth and good cheer. The petite blonde Rachel smiled. In a cardigan set, skirt and heels, a strand of pearls around her neck, she looked as if she had come straight from her work as a tax attorney. Frank’s jeans, shirt and vest indicated he had left his work on the ranch. “Actually, we know her entire family,” Rachel said. A long, awkward pause followed.

Cullen nodded at the picnic hamper in his dad’s hand and the long wicker basket stuffed with baby things in his stepmother’s. “What do you have there?”

“We heard about what happened,” Rachel said gently, “and we brought by some dinner and a few baby items to help out in the interim.”

It was a nice gesture. Or would have been, Bridgett thought, if Cullen obviously didn’t resent the interference.

Frank frowned as Cullen ushered them inside. “We were disappointed you didn’t call us to tell us about the situation yourself.”

With a sober nod, he relieved his father of the basket of food and carried it back to the kitchen. “How’d you hear?”

His dad glanced into the family room where baby and puppy were sleeping. “I think the question is who didn’t call to let us know about the note left with the baby.”

Ouch, Bridgett thought as she took the Moses basket from Rachel with a grateful smile.

“Can we see the baby?” Rachel asked eagerly.

Cullen tensed. “If you promise not to wake either of them.”

Who was sounding like a daddy now? Bridgett wondered.

Everyone tiptoed toward the baby carrier.

Robby was sound asleep. He’d worked one arm out of the swaddling—it rested on the center of his chest. A blue knit cap covered most of his dark curly hair. His cheeks were slightly pink, his bow-shaped lips pursed. He was the epitome of sweetness and innocence.

On the floor opposite the Pack ’n Play, Riot was curled up in his crate, eyes closed, chin resting on a stuffed toy. He, too, was slumbering away.

“Adorable,” Rachel whispered approvingly.

For Frank, the emotions seemed more complex.

They trooped back out of the family room. Cullen grabbed four bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and ushered everyone out onto the screened-in back porch, leaving the door to the kitchen open so they could hear.

Everyone sat.

He waited.

“I’m just going to be blunt,” Frank said, looking at his eldest son. “Rachel and I both understand why you might have felt awkward about coming to us with this. It had to have been a shock, finding out about Robby the way you did. But surely you’d know that I would understand, better than anyone, what it’s like to get news like this after the fact.”

Cullen held up a staying hand. “Before you continue, you both should know, he’s not mine.”

Frank and Rachel exchanged concerned looks.

Finally, his stepmom cleared her throat and said kindly, “What we’re trying to tell you, Cullen, is that it would be okay, if he was. A McCabe is a McCabe. Part of our family, no matter how they come into it. Whether it’s by marriage.”

“Or illegitimacy?” Cullen challenged.

Frank leveled Cullen with a disappointed look.

Silence fell once again, more awkward and fraught with emotion than ever.

Finally, Cullen bit out, “Have you talked to Dan?”

Frank nodded. “He said attempts are being made to find the mother, but without her DNA, the child’s true parentage may never be known. And that would be a shame, son. For everyone.”

His words hung in the air, simultaneously an indictment and a plea to come clean.

Uncomfortable, Bridgett rose. “I really don’t think I should be here for this.”

Cullen put a hand on her shoulder. “This concerns you, too.”

Not wanting to contribute to what increasingly felt like an emotional melee, Bridgett eased back into the chair.

Cullen turned back to Frank and Rachel. “I am not dissembling when I tell you and everyone else the child could not possibly be mine. Obviously, I’ve been tapped to be the responsible party. Why, I have no clue. Yet. But I will figure this out. And when I do—” he turned back to his parents and finished heavily “—you-all will be the first to know.”

* * *

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Bridgett asked, short minutes later, after his father and stepmother had left.

His broad shoulders flexed against the soft chambray of his shirt. Exasperation colored his low tone, resentment his eyes. “What do you think?”

Knowing that he needed her support, whether he realized it or not, she ignored his curt reply. “You really don’t have any idea who did this, do you?”

An awkward silence fell. “You’re just now figuring this out?”

Hating the fact he thought she had betrayed him in some way, she gave in to impulse and caught his arm before he could turn away. “I can see why the accusation—never mind an anonymous one—would be upsetting, Cullen.” The hard curve of his biceps warmed beneath her fingertips. “But I can also see it goes much deeper than that.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Let me guess,” he muttered. “You want to talk about my illegitimacy, too.”

She blinked, taken aback. Dropped her grasp and moved away. “Were you born illegitimately?”