The Cowboy's Accidental Baby. Marin Thomas

an eyebrow and a red flag rose inside Lydia’s head.

      “Did an Uber driver drop them off?”

      Gunner laughed, showing off a row of white teeth. She pressed a hand to her belly, thinking she must have swallowed a fly while eating her cereal outside—the winged insect wouldn’t stop fluttering inside her stomach.

      “Maybelle and Hector rode in on horseback. Red’s hitched to the lean-to behind the motel.”

      There was a lean-to on the property?

      “Hector and Maybelle have a standing reservation at the end of every month.”

      “That means the motel is always open on that weekend?”

      “Not if I’m rodeoing,” he said. “I had an extra room key made for them.”

      How trusting of him. “Are you away riding horses often?”

      Dark eyebrows slanted toward his nose. “You mean broncs.”

      “Same difference.”

      The brows dipped lower. “Not really.”

      “Have you won any buckles?” She’d learned a few things about rodeo from her trips to Texas to visit Aunt Amelia—only the really talented cowboys won buckles and money.

      Gunner straightened his shoulders. “No.”

      “If you’re not any good at rodeo, why do you keep competing at the sport?”

      “Beats waiting for someone to rent a room.”

      “Giving the motel a face-lift will improve your wait times.”

      “What’s up with your aunt wanting to fix this place, anyway?”

      “She’s hoping it will entice tourists to check out Stampede.” Lydia shrugged. “You have to admit the town is depressing.”

      “I guess your aunt’s reasons don’t matter. The sooner the property passes her inspection, the sooner I get back to busting broncs.”

      “And the sooner I can go home.” At least they were in agreement on that issue.

      “So pick a color and I’ll slap a fresh coat of paint on the outside and we’ll call it good to go. Maybelle and Hector don’t care what the place looks like as long as the sheets are clean.”

      Lydia would decide when the motel was “good to go.” “Will you show me around outside before I take a look at one of the rooms?” She turned on her laptop and opened the interior-design software program.

      “What are you doing?”

      She used her fingertip to draw on the screen. “Making notes.”

      “What is it you do for a living that qualifies you for this project?”

      “I’m an interior designer.”

      “Did you go to college?” he asked.

      “Yes. Didn’t you?”

      He shook his head. “College is for people who can’t get a real job.”

      “Well, you can’t ride Wisconsin cows—you can only milk them. So I guess it’s a good thing you live in Texas and I went to college.”

      The corner of his mouth quivered, but he kept a straight face. “This way.” He grabbed a golf club leaning against the wall and walked through the doorway behind the checkout desk. She followed him down the short hallway and out the back door.

      The lot behind the motel consisted of gravel, dirt, weeds and a small grassy field where Red stood in the shade beneath the lean-to. Lydia made a note on her laptop to ask her aunt if there was enough money in the budget to put in a patio and a children’s playground. A family-friendly motel might encourage Maybelle and Hector to find another place to rendezvous.

      She eyed the Dumpster filled to the top with garbage, broken furniture and an old tire. “When do you have the trash picked up?”

      “When it overflows.” He walked over to a patch of weeds and swung the club, taking the tops off the dandelions.

      She clicked on a new tab and drew a space for an entertainment area. Absorbed in adding details to the sketch, she wasn’t aware that Gunner had inched closer until his breath hit the back of her neck. She inhaled sharply and his scent—a combination of woodsy cologne and pure cowboy—shot up her nose. She attempted to move away, but little suction cups had sprouted on the bottoms of her shoes, keeping her rooted in place.

      “Hey, that’s pretty cool that you can draw like that. What about putting in a barbecue so guests can cook out.” He touched his finger against the corner of the screen. “Right here.”

      “That’s a great idea.”

      “Buy one of those grills with a built-in smoker.”

      Of course he’d want that. If her aunt’s plan failed to bring tourists to Stampede, Gunner and his rodeo buddies would use the patio to barbecue and party.

      His masculine finger moved to the opposite corner of the screen and whatever he said next failed to register with her because she was wondering how that calloused finger would feel trailing over her lips or across her cheek or along her... Never mind.

      Shocked by the path her thoughts were taking, Lydia closed the laptop. “I’m ready to look at a room.”

      She followed him back to the office, where he grabbed the key to room 3 from the pegboard behind the check-in desk. She held out her hand. “You don’t have to come with me.”

      He stared into her eyes as if he could read her thoughts and knew he made her nervous. “You sure?”

      “Very.” Key in hand, she left the office, sucking in a deep breath of dusty air, hoping the gritty particles would clear Gunner’s scent from her head. She didn’t condone his lackadaisical management style, but at least when he was off rodeoing, his sexy pheromones wouldn’t interfere with her work.

      Good grief. Not in a millions years would she have thought she’d be attracted to a slacker.

      * * *

      A LOUD CHUGGING noise woke Gunner and he popped out of the chair in the motel office, where he’d fallen asleep after Lydia had gone off to explore room 3. He peered out the window. What the heck was his grandfather doing here?

      He stepped outside and waited for the old 1970 Ford to pull into a parking spot. “I thought you were helping Logan feed the cattle this morning,” he said when the driver-side door opened.

      “Too hot.” His grandfather took the pack of Marlboro from his shirt pocket and lit up. “Thanks for the birthday smokes.”

      Gunner had left a happy-birthday note on the kitchen table along with the cigarettes and the snake, which he’d wrapped in newspaper. “You weren’t supposed to open your gifts until supper.”

      “You wasted your money on that stupid snake. Should have bought another pack of cigarettes.”

      “The snake was cheaper.”

      His grandfather’s mouth twitched.

      “Since it’s your birthday, you should go fishing at the lake.”

      “I might later.” He tilted his head toward the office. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up today.”

      “I got your message loud and clear. I’m at Lydia’s beck ’n’ call until this place sparkles and shines.”

      His grandfather fussed with his belt, then smoothed a hand over his head. Gunner couldn’t remember the last time the old man had taken a comb to his hair, but this morning he’d slicked it down with enough Brylcreem to suffocate a beehive. “Is that a new shirt you’re wearing?”

      “No.” His grandfather’s gaze slid sideways.

      The