The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue

“You don’t know?”

“How would I?” When he’d been a junior in high school, she’d been in sixth grade. Way too young to hear that kind of talk.

His dark brow furrowed. “I thought everyone in the county knew.”

“Obviously they don’t,” she returned, equally blunt, “or I would have heard about it.”

A skeptical silence fell.

She folded her arms in front of her. “All I do know is that you’re Frank’s son, conceived several years before he married Rachel, and you came to live with him after your mother died when you were a teenager. That you were here for almost two years, went off to college, lived elsewhere for most of the last decade and then came back.”

His eyes held hers for a long, discomfiting moment.

Ignoring the fluttering in her middle, she trod even closer. “I had no idea your mother and father were not married when you were born, but really, Cullen, in this day and age, is that such a big deal?” After all, she was attempting to adopt as a single parent! There were plenty of families where the parents were divorced, too.

Jaw set, he spun away and strode toward the front of the house where his office was. “It is a huge deal, even in this day and age to have ‘unknown father’ on your birth certificate.”

Okay, she thought, reeling at the implications. Maybe that was a little different. She watched him check the security screens, find nothing amiss. “Are you saying your mom didn’t know who sired you?”

Cullen dropped down into his desk chair, deep frown lines bracketing his mouth. “No. She knew. She just didn’t want anyone else to know that she had a child by one of the Texas McCabes.”

Bridgett leaned against the front of his desk, facing him, and took a moment to absorb that. Her denim-clad thigh almost touching his, she peered at him closely. “So, what did she tell you then?”

He rocked back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking sexy as all get-out. “Nothing—except that it wasn’t important who my biological father was. She was parent enough.”

“And that was a problem because...?”

“She refused to accept the shame in the continued public perception that she ‘had no idea’ who her baby daddy was, and instead, cast herself as the lead in some romantic, ongoing stage play of life.” He shook his head in obvious regret. “Raising me on her own was all part of the drama and the angst.”

“She made you feel like a burden?”

“It wasn’t her intention. But it was definitely the outcome.” His expression didn’t change in the slightest, yet there was something in his eyes. Some small glimmer of sorrow. “My mother worked as a ranch-house chef. She never had a problem getting jobs, because she was very talented. But she never stayed in one more than a year or so, because by then her romance of the moment would have fizzled out, and she would need a fresh start and move on.”

Bridgett began to see how this had all played out for Cullen. “Taking you with her.”

He gave a terse nod. “To another small, rural town, often in yet another state, where I would again have to register for school.” His lips thinned in frustrated remembrance. “And to do that, I would have to provide my formal birth certificate. The administrators would see I had ‘no known father.’ My mother would tackle the subject head-on. Treat it as a joke and wear it as a badge of honor.”

Gently, Bridgett said, “That must have been difficult for you to deal with at such a young age.”

Cullen accepted her empathy with a downward slant of his mouth and a harsh exhalation of breath. “Pity was the most common reaction.” He shook his head sadly, recalling, “I just felt embarrassed and degraded. To the point I begged my mother to tell me the truth.”

The pain in his eyes matched his voice.

“I wanted her to get the name on the birth certificate and be done with it. I even promised her I would never contact my father.” He walked to the windows overlooking the front of the house, then paced to another window, another view. “I just didn’t want to go through the rest of my life wondering who I was, where I came from. But—” he spun around and flung out a hand “—she wouldn’t budge.”

Bridgett’s heart broke for him. Yet she had to ask, as she edged closer yet again. “Is it possible she really didn’t know?”

Cullen shook his head, certain. “No. She was very much a one-man woman for as long as she was with someone. That was part of her own moral code. And, besides, I knew her. I could see that she knew my father’s identity. She just wasn’t going to tell me.”

Bridgett stood opposite him, her shoulder braced against the window. She hadn’t expected him to reveal this much about himself. Now that he had, it had opened up the floodgates of emotion within her, too. “Then how did you end up with Frank?” she asked curiously.

“My mom died in a car accident when I was fifteen. I was put in foster care for about a year, which was a horrendous experience, mostly because I was so angry about the fact that now I was never going to know who my dad really was or have the chance to meet him.”

He exhaled. “Luckily, I had a social worker who understood how torn up I was about that, so she got a detective on the local police force to help. He used my birth records and my mother’s work history to figure out where she had been employed when I was conceived.” He grimaced. “From there, he found out she’d had a romantic relationship with Frank McCabe that lasted almost a year.”

She studied the sober lines of his handsome face. Thought about the hell he’d been put through, not just after he’d been orphaned, but throughout his entire childhood.

“Frank apparently wanted to get married. Mom didn’t, so they broke up, and she took off for parts unknown.”

She listened empathetically, unsure how to help. Cullen’s eyes took on a stormy hue. “A couple years after that, Frank married Rachel and no one ever gave my mom another thought. Until the social worker told Frank her suspicions.”

“How did you verify it?”

“I had some belongings of my mom’s. A hairbrush still had some of her hair in it. So they used that and Frank’s DNA to determine I was their child.” His manner guarded, he continued, “Frank immediately brought me to Texas. Rachel welcomed me as part of the family. And so did my five half siblings.”

She shot him a commiserating look, guessing, “No one in Laramie made you feel demeaned...?”

“Of course not.” He straightened and moved away from the window. “I was part of the legendary Texas McCabes. But they wouldn’t have, even if I hadn’t been from a well-known Texas family,” he said gruffly. “Laramie isn’t that kind of place.”

“No. It’s not.” It was why she loved it so.

“Here, it’s all about neighbor helping neighbor,” he continued. “Everyone feeling like family, even if there isn’t an actual biological connection.”

“That’s why I’ll never leave here. Because it was that kind of community support after my own parents died when I was in middle school that helped me move on.” He nodded and she touched his arm gently, feeling the kinship between them grow. “Is that why you came back to Laramie County? Because you wanted to live in a warm and welcoming place again?”

Was he perhaps more sentimental and idealistic than he wanted to admit? Was it possible they could connect on that level, too? Because if so...

Unfortunately, he hesitated just a second too long for comfort. Finally, he said, “My family all wanted me here.”

Bridgett’s heart sank as she read the reluctance in his expression. “But you didn’t really want to come back home, did you?”

* * *

CULLEN WASN’T SURE how to answer that. Not in a way a woman like Bridgett would understand, anyway. Finally, he said, “I hoped being with my dad and his family—as an adult, this time—would give me the kind of peace I’ve never had. Instead, it just feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something to happen. Some evidence that I am just as much my heartless, irresponsible, overly sentimental mom as I am my strong, hardworking, responsible father.”

Bridgett let out a slow breath, the warm understanding in her eyes a balm to his soul. “And now it’s happened. With this baby and this puppy.”

Keeping his gaze meshed with hers, he confided ruefully, “On the surface, at least to other people, including Frank and Rachel and the rest of the McCabes, it would certainly seem so.” He leaned in closer. “Which is why I have to find out who Robby’s real parents are. Otherwise...”

Bridgett stared at him unhappily. “I’ll convince DCFS that I’m the right mom for Robby and Riot, and foster-adopt them and they’ll both be loved and cared for and have an amazingly happy life?”

He regretted the angry flush in her cheeks. “I know it hurts you to hear this.” He captured her wrist before she could turn away. “But it’s true. Robby will never be as happy as he could be unless the mystery is solved and he knows who he is, what his past is and why his mother or father—or whoever it was—left him and Riot at the fire station to be given into my care.” He gave a ragged sigh. “And you won’t be happy, either, if you and Robby and Riot have to live the way I have all my life, just waiting for the truth to finally come along and blow your life to smithereens.”