A Baby in the Bunkhouse

Stretch looked uncomfortable. “Fellas, I don’t think we should say any more.”

Gabby nodded. “It’s really none of our business.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble with the boss,” Curly said.

“Me, neither,” Red agreed.

“Sorry, Jacey,” Hoss said gently. He gave her a look that was equivalent to a pat on the shoulder. “We just didn’t want you to be disappointed when the boss didn’t show up.”

She had passed disappointment weeks ago, when he’d kissed her, and then made sure she didn’t so much as lay eyes on him again. Not easy to do, when they were both residing under the same roof, albeit in different wings. “Where is Rafferty?”

“Out working,” Curly said.

Red nodded. “He was going to burn the spires off the prickly pear on the south side of the mountain.”

“That had to be done today?”

The men shrugged, apparently seeing nothing wrong with it.

IT WAS NEARLY FOUR-THIRTY when the Lost Mountain Ranch pickup his father usually drove bumped along the gravel road that connected the pastures on the property. Wondering what was up, Rafferty put down his propane torch. He shoved the brim of his hat back, waiting. It wasn’t long before the driver came into view. Seeing who was behind the wheel, he released a string of swear words not fit for mixed company. And he was still muttering when Jacey parked in the middle of the lane, left the cab and marched toward him.

She was dressed ridiculously, in a black knee-length skirt that revealed just how much of her baby weight she had already lost, some sort of thin, cream-colored sweater with a lacy collar and a row of fancy buttons up the front, just begging to be undone, and sexy black suede heels definitely not meant for traipsing through the brush.

Noting she didn’t look scared or worried, just mad, which meant there was no real emergency, he leaned against a recently sheared prickly pear, crossed one boot-clad foot across the other, folded his arms in front of his chest and simply waited.

When she got close enough for them to converse normally, she demanded, “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m supposed to be working in the pasture. You’re the one who’s lost.” He hooked his thumb in the direction she’d come. “The kitchen is thataway.”

Her soft lips formed an irritated line. “You’re a laugh a minute, Rafferty Evans.”

He settled in against the cactus. “I think so.”

Sparks radiated from her green eyes. “You’re also unbearably rude.”

Here it came. The lecture he’d heard at least half a dozen times before. Although never from her. He picked up his propane torch, turned around and headed through waist-high brush. “Go away. I’ve got work to do.”

As he half suspected, she stormed after him, giving a little cry when her skirt caught on the spires of a cactus he hadn’t yet had time to trim back.

Concerned, he turned around to see her delicately extricating the fabric from the pointed end of the spire. Luckily, she didn’t appear to be hurt. “Need some help?”

Another glare. “What I need is for you to talk to me. Why did you skip Thanksgiving dinner this afternoon?”

He let his gaze drift over her lazily. “Shouldn’t you be doing dishes or nursing the baby?”

She ignored his rudeness. “The men are doing the dishes for me—they insisted, since the dinner you missed was so fantastically delicious. And Caitlin just nursed and went down for a nap, so they’re watching over her, too. They’ll call me on the truck radio if I’m needed, which I don’t expect to be, since the baby was awake all morning while they fawned over her.”

Sounded cozy. “What does any of that have to do with me?” he snapped.

Her eyes moist, she stepped closer. “You hurt your father’s feelings.”

“I did not.”

“Yes,” she enunciated plainly. “You did.”

Rafferty tensed. “He said that?”

Ignoring the damage it was doing to her shoes and clothes, she waded through waist-high brush. “He didn’t have to. I saw his disappointment when you didn’t show up and your place at the table went empty.”

“First of all—” Rafferty set the torch down once again “—a place for me should never have been set. The men should have told you that.”

She tilted her face up. “They did.”

He scowled at her. “Then why did you set one?”

Color blushed her cheeks. “Because I figured you wouldn’t be that much of a jerk. But then…I didn’t know about Angelica.”

Once again, Rafferty was caught off guard. Once again, he put his emotions in a box. “No one told you about that. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Really. Then how do I know her name?”

Good question.

Jacey stepped closer yet. “I get that she broke your heart.”

Rafferty’s gut twisted. Once again, he found himself defending the indefensible. “My wife didn’t get thrown from a horse and lose our baby on purpose.”

“You were married?” Jacey interrupted, stunned.

“What’s so odd about that? Yes. I was married,” Rafferty growled. “And furthermore, I thought you knew all about Angelica.” Damn it. She’d been bluffing. And he’d fallen for it.

“I gathered she meant a lot to you, that she was your girlfriend. No one said anything about you actually being married.”

“Well. I was.” For better or worse, and mostly, worse.

Jacey made a face that indicated she was struggling to understand. “And she was horseback riding when she was pregnant?” Jacey spoke as if that was the dumbest thing on this earth.

And it had been.

As well as the saddest.

Figuring he might as well answer a few questions—otherwise he’d never hear the end of it—Rafferty said, “She wasn’t supposed to be. But Angelica was not the kind of woman who liked to be told no.”

“Even when she was carrying your baby?” Jacey said, aghast.

Rafferty shrugged, weary of trying to make sense of the insensible himself. “She thought it’d be okay. She was a natural athlete, an accomplished equestrian, and she’d done it before early in the pregnancy, snuck out to ride, and nothing had happened. So even though the doctor told her not to do it, and I forbid it, she kept saddling up every time no one else was around. And that happened from time to time.”