Having The Rancher's Baby. Cathy Mcdavid

getting used to this, too.”

      He smiled. “That offer to follow you home still holds.”

      “I’m better now,” she insisted. “Why don’t you return those steers to the pasture?”

      He decided to follow her, anyway.

      They left the ranch house by the kitchen door and walked to the horse stables, where Vi had parked her truck.

      Before they parted, he said, “Call or text me later to let me know you’re okay. Humor me,” he added, when she started to object.

      True, Cole was still grappling with impending fatherhood, but he had no doubts of his fondness for Vi or his concern for her well-being. He’d also bet money she harbored a similar fondness for him.

      With luck, it might be enough to get them through the coming months, or possibly years.

      * * *

      VIOLET PASSED THE clipboard holding her completed medical forms over the counter to the receptionist, along with the pen she’d used.

      “Do you have your insurance card?” the woman asked, more efficient than pleasant. She accepted the card Violet gave her and made a copy before returning it.

      “You have a thirty-dollar co-pay,” the receptionist informed her. Once the transaction was complete, she said, “Go ahead and take a seat. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

      Violet didn’t ask how long that might be. She’d been seeing Dr. Medina for eight years, long before her first pregnancy. In all that time, nothing in the office had changed. Not the neutral decor, not the generic furniture and definitely not the long wait times. Even the vase of silk flowers on the reception counter was the same.

      On second thought, there was one big difference, and he sat in the corner, cowboy hat balanced on his lap. Every few seconds, one of the other two noticeably pregnant patients cast him a glance. An admiring one.

      Understandable, Violet supposed. Cole had cleaned up for the appointment, donning what appeared to be a fairly new Western-cut shirt and his best jeans. He looked...handsome. She could admit that. Much the same as he’d looked that night in the Poco Dinero Bar when he’d sauntered over and joined her at the table she shared with her friends, the local grain supply rep and his wife.

      Heaving a sigh, Vi plunked down in the chair beside Cole and propped her purse in front of her. If she was hoping to use it as a shield, she’d need something a lot bigger. A thick panel, maybe. Or simply distance.

      She could quite literally feel him. Violet wasn’t a romantic and, thanks to her parents’ three-decades-long miserable marriage, she didn’t subscribe to the theory of soul mates. But there was something about Cole that caused her to be acutely aware whenever he was in the same room. The sensation intensified when they were close and, she was certain of it, accounted for her weakness that night in the bar.

      He was a competent dancer. Quite good, actually. She hadn’t expected him to smoothly glide her across the crowded dance floor. Neither had she expected her insides to melt when he held her tight during the slow numbers.

      She’d been prepared for nothing more intimate than a good-night hug in the parking lot at the end of the evening, but Cole had had other ideas and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

      An amazing kiss. Surprised at first, she’d quickly surrendered. Apparently, she’d invited him home, because the next thing she knew, they were both in the backseat of her friends’ SUV, the lights of town passing by in a blur.

      It was while she’d driven him to his truck the next morning that they’d talked and mutually agreed to forget what had happened.

      Wait a minute. That wasn’t quite accurate. She’d done all the talking. Cole had gone along with her without adding much to the conversation.

      “Everything okay?” he suddenly asked.

      “Just waiting my turn.”

      “How much was the co-pay? I’ll reimburse you.”

      At least he had the decency to speak in a low voice. “Can we talk about this later?”

      “I’m paying,” he answered, his tone implying there’d be no further discussion.

      She stood up, strode over to the periodical rack and grabbed a magazine on pregnancy. Years ago, she’d subscribed to this same one and had saved the back issues, storing them in a credenza drawer. After the third miscarriage, she’d burned every copy in her backyard fire pit.

      Returning to her chair, she began flipping the magazine pages, barely noticing the ads and articles.

      What had she been thinking, agreeing to let Cole accompany her? She was tired; that must be it. And sick. She’d been in no physical condition to put up a fight. Though today she actually felt pretty good and had managed not to lose her breakfast or her lunch.

      She sneaked a glance at him, certain he had nothing whatsoever to do with her improved health.

      “Would you like me to come with you?” he asked.

      “Into the exam room?” She drew back in alarm. “Absolutely not.”

      He tensed.

      All right, she’d overreacted. But if the doctor delivered bad news, and that was a distinct possibility, Violet didn’t want Cole there to witness her emotional breakdown.

      What if the doctor delivered good news? She was two months along, after all. Well, then she’d relay the information to Cole and they’d continue as they’d previously decided, not telling anyone until she reached her second trimester.

      Even then, she’d insist on informing only close family and friends. Violet refused to take chances. Most people, though kind and well-intentioned, didn’t have a clue about what she was going through. Their sympathy when she’d miscarried had worsened her grief rather than relieved it.

      “Perhaps another time,” she offered by way of apology.

      “Next time,” he countered.

      His response thoroughly rattled her.

      A quick check confirmed the one remaining patient was occupied with her phone and not paying them any attention.

      “I thought you said you haven’t figured out what to do yet. But you’re planning to come with me to every appointment?”

      He bent his head close to hers and spoke softly, yet deliberately. “I’m concerned about you and your health.”

      “Pardon me, but I’m confused.”

      “Not to steal your words, but can we talk about this later?”

      “Fine.” She went back to reading the magazine.

      They waited another fifteen minutes when a nurse finally appeared in the doorway leading to the exam rooms. “Ms. Hathaway? This way, please.”

      Violet stood and would have gone if not for a gentle tug on her hand. It was Cole.

      “Good luck.”

      Her insides melted, just as they had on the dance floor. For a moment, she wished he was concerned about more than her health. Enough to reconsider his plans of returning to the rodeo circuit.

      He continued to occupy her thoughts as she walked down the corridor, throughout her weigh-in and blood pressure reading and when the nurse left her alone to change into the paper gown.

      What kind of father would Cole make? He wasn’t always caustic and abrupt. When he wanted, he had the ability to be sweet and tender and so very charming. She’d been the recipient of those qualities before and had basked in them.

      If only their circumstances were different. What then? Dating? Moving in together? Getting married? Violet wasn’t sure she wanted any of that. They really didn’t know each other well.

      Once under way, the exam