The Texas Cowboy's Baby Rescue

“And the baby,” Cullen added in disbelief.

“Actually,” Bridgett told him, “because of the way all this went down, that is going to take a few days. And that’s assuming you want Robby and Riot.” She held up a hand before Cullen could interrupt. “If you don’t, then social services is already working on a solution.”

He stared at her, then the Plexiglas infant bed, then back at her. “You really found this infant next to the fire station in a cardboard shipping box?”

Bridgett nodded as her heart cramped in her chest once again.

“I really did,” she said softly, stepping a little closer. “Why else would I have tracked down your cell phone number and left ten messages over the course of the last eleven hours?”

Cullen fell silent once again and just shook his head.

Bridgett had an idea how he felt. She’d had most of her shift to deal with this, and she still couldn’t get over both the miracle and the horror of it.

She had to keep reminding herself that despite the fact the several-days-old Robby Reid McCabe had been swaddled in a disposable diaper and a man’s old chambray shirt, and his knotted umbilical cord was still attached when he was found, he really was okay.

And that was as much a godsend as the fact that she had been in the right place at the right time, for once in her life.

As Cullen stepped closer to the glass and gave the baby another long, intent look, Bridgett inched nearer and stared up at him. At six foot four, he towered over her five feet seven inches. Quietly, she explained, “Robby was apparently surrendered under the Texas Safe Haven law. Or attempted to be, anyway.”

Cullen swung back to Bridgett, all imposing, capable male. “What’s that?”

“Any infant sixty days old or younger can be surrendered—safely and legally—at any fire station, freestanding emergency medical care center, EMT station or hospital in Texas, but they are supposed to be left with an employee. Not just dropped off and left in the care of a dog who was staked nearby. Although, to Riot’s credit, he did do a good job of insuring that Robby got quick aid.”

Cullen rested a shoulder against the glass and folded his arms against his broad chest. “You found him?”

She nodded. “Fortunately, the baby was sleeping. From the looks of it, little Robby didn’t even seem to know he had been abandoned. So he couldn’t have been there very long at all.” Thank heaven.

Cullen’s expression radiated all the compassion Bridgett had hoped to see. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He stepped forward, inundating her with the mint fragrance of his breath. His voice dropped another notch as his eyes met and held hers. “But unfortunately, I don’t have any connection to this baby.”

“Sure about that?”

He frowned at her. “I think I would know if I had conceived a child with someone.”

“Not necessarily,” she countered. Not if he hadn’t been told.

Briefly, a resentment that seemed to go far deeper than the situation they were in flickered in his gaze.

He braced both hands on his waist, lowered his face to hers and spoke in a low masculine tone that sent a thrill down her spine. “I think I would know if I had slept with someone in the last ten or eleven months.” He paused to let his curt declaration sink in. “I haven’t.”

Neither had she, ironically enough. Although she hadn’t ever really been interested in having sex simply for the sake of having sex. She wanted it to mean something, the way it had with Aaron.

She wasn’t sure a man as unsentimental as Cullen would feel the same. For him it might only be about satisfying a need as basic as eating and sleeping.

Studying her, he scoffed. “Obviously, you don’t believe me.”

Bridgett shrugged, aware this was becoming way too personal, too fast. “It’s not up to me to believe you or not,” she returned lightly as Mitzy Martin, Laramie County’s premiere social worker, walked up to join them, sheaf of papers in hand.

Not sure if they knew each other, Bridgett made introductions.

Laramie County Sheriff’s Deputy Dan McCabe—one of Cullen’s younger brothers—strode up to join them, too.

“Let’s take this into a conference room,” Mitzy said, leading the way down the hall.

Once the door was shut behind them, all four moved to take seats at the table. The windowless space was tight, especially with two big, strapping men in it, and Bridgett had to work to keep from brushing shoulders and legs with Cullen.

“Why are you here?” Cullen asked his brother.

Dan sent his older brother a sympathetic glance. “I volunteered due to the sensitive nature of the situation.”

Cullen nodded his understanding, but he did not look happy. Briefly, he repeated what he had already told Bridgett, then asked in the same gruff tone he’d used with her, “Is there any way I can prove this baby isn’t mine?”

Bridgett called on her training to answer what was essentially a medical question. “Not without the mother’s DNA.”

“So, until then?” he pressed.

Mitzy’s answer was brisk. “Robby is going into foster care.”

Bridgett’s heart squeezed in her chest. Aware she was about to learn of an even more important decision, she looked at her friend hopefully. “Was my request granted?”

With a staying lift of her hand, Mitzy allowed, “Temporarily. As long as you understand that this child is not, and may not ever be, available for adoption.”

Bridgett thought about the emotional connection she had already forged with the infant. The reservations she’d had up to now, about opening herself up to further heartache, faded completely. “I can handle it,” she vowed to one and all. “Furthermore, I’ll do as the note requested and take Riot, too.”

* * *

CULLEN WOULD HAVE figured the social worker would be happy to hear that, since it meant her job here was done. Instead, Mitzy Martin looked as stressed as Bridgett Monroe had when he’d arrived at the hospital to confront her.

She leaned forward. “Are you sure, Bridgett? Up to now you’ve adamantly refused to consider fostering any child not available for adoption because you have a hard enough time saying goodbye to the babies in N-ICU and didn’t think you could do it in your personal life, too.” She reached over to take her friend’s hand. “And I get that. We all do.”

So, Bridgett Monroe had a heart as soft as her fair skin and bare pink lips. Cullen couldn’t say he was surprised. Any more than he was surprised about his reaction to her. Stubborn, feisty women always turned him on.

“This is different,” Bridgett said, color flooding her face.

“How?” Cullen asked, an answering heat welling up deep inside him.

“I know it sounds crazy...but I think I was meant to find these two.”

It was all Cullen could do not to groan. The last thing he needed was another overly sentimental woman in his life. Even on the periphery. Yes, she was graceful and feminine. Pretty in that girl-next-door way, with her glossy, rich brown hair, delicate features and long-lashed pine-green eyes. She wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt beneath the blue hospital scrubs that seemed to emphasize, rather than hide, her svelte curves and long legs.

But she was also an emotional firebrand—at least, when it came to him. Jumping to conclusions. Pulling him in. Then shutting him out, just as quick.

He did not need those kinds of ups and downs.

Especially not now.

Mitzy and Dan exchanged a wary glance.

“Unfortunately, Bridgett,” the social worker put in gently, “even if what you say is true, that this was all destined to happen the way it did, it doesn’t mean your chances of fostering then adopting a baby on your own have changed. At least, as far as the department goes.”