The Texas Wildcatter's Baby. Cathy Gillen Thacker

only, Ginger thought, she had stopped there, said a cool but firm good-night to Rand, and stuck to her usual ginger ale. Instead she had risen to the challenge of the ruggedly handsome environmentalist, and taken a seat beside him at the bar, where their disagreement had turned to laughter, their animosity to shameless flirting. Along with a host of others, they had closed the place down and taken the party bus back to her room at the Summit Inn.

      The next thing Ginger knew sunlight had been streaming through the blinds. Her body still humming with the bone-deep satisfaction that was every bit as familiar to her as he was, she’d opened her eyes and groaned, aware it had happened. Again.

      Only this time she had a scarlet heart with a broken arrow tattooed just below her shoulder. Rand had an exploding heart inked on his upper arm. And both of them were as naked as the day they were born. Ginger had moaned in dismay, because once again she’d felt way too exposed and vulnerable. “I don’t believe this,” she’d whispered to herself. When would she ever learn?

      “Can’t say I mind,” a low masculine voice had drawled back.

      Ginger winced. “Of course you don’t mind,” she’d muttered. He’d had a great time.

      They both had.

      “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better Valentine’s Day,” he’d added.

      As confident—and determined—as ever, Rand had turned his ruggedly handsome face and warm, strong body to hers. The stubble of morning beard, a shade darker than his rumpled mahogany hair, had lined his jaw. A sexy smile turned up the corners of his lips. But it was the compelling masculine intensity of his midnight-blue eyes when he’d admired her tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips that had really left her enthralled.

      Damn him for reminding her just how right they were together. In bed anyway....

      Ginger knew she should have said no when Rand’s grin broadened and he’d reached for her again. Instead she’d given in to overwhelming desire and said yes to making love one last time.

      To her relief, their coordinating tattoos hadn’t been real. But apparently the consequences of their actions had been. And now, Ginger thought, on a fresh wave of emotion, she had to decide what to do before any more precious time elapsed.

      * * *

      RAND MCCABE HAD collected eleven of the twelve soil samples he needed from in and around the Summit Creek bed when the pickup stopped just south of him. The door opened and an achingly familiar woman, with a mane of long copper-colored hair, stepped out into the warm spring sunshine.

      A real looker, Ginger Rollins was dressed much like the last time he had seen her, in formfitting jeans, white T-shirt and button-up Western vest. Her leather boots were thick and sturdy, meant for traversing hard-scrabble ground. Her stone suede hat had a rolled brim that spoke volumes about her sassy attitude.

      And while Rand could not help but admire the sultry curves on her tall, statuesque frame, it was her pretty face, the pert, straight nose and soft, sensual lips that had haunted his dreams.

      One more night together shouldn’t have made all the difference.

      But it had.

      Perhaps that’s why it bothered him more than usual that she’d been steadily avoiding his calls, texts and emails for the past six weeks, as was always the case after they hooked up....

      His gut clenching with a mixture of impatience and anticipation, he watched Ginger stride toward him, her long legs eating up the ground. Slender shoulders squared, her chin held high, she moved with a smooth, effortless grace that made his heart jackhammer in his chest. Unfortunately there was no way of telling what she was thinking or feeling, given the sunglasses shading her dark green eyes. Figuring it best that he be standing when they faced off, Rand straightened to his full height. He set the soil sample in the bed of his truck. Inched off his leather gloves. Waited.

      Her purposeful steps stopped just in front of him. Keenly aware that she owed him a big apology, for her usual lack of post-hooking-up etiquette, he looked at her expectantly.

      Several long moments passed. Then she stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and squared her shoulders again. Another beat of silence. Finally she said, “There’s no other way to put this, so I’m just going to spit it out. I’m pregnant.”

      Pregnant. The word rolled around in his brain, refusing to compute. She was pregnant?

      Ginger offered a weak smile, but did not take off her sunglasses. The silence between them stretched. Within him, anger and irritation surged. After weeks of ignoring him, now this? He took off his sunglasses, so she could see his eyes.

      “Is this an April Fool’s joke?” he demanded. Yet another way to torment him? If so, he wasn’t laughing.

      Every inch of her five-foot-eight-inch frame tensed. She let out a long, slow breath that first lifted then lowered her full shapely breasts. “Believe me, McCabe, I was as caught off-guard as you are.”

      He stared at her, still considering what to do and say next that wouldn’t make the situation even more volatile.

      Finally she took off her sunglasses.

      To his surprise, she looked calm. Every emotional defense she had firmly in place. As though this whole speech was something she had rehearsed.

      “Anyway.” Ginger paused, appearing not to share the complex feelings roiling around inside him. “I thought I should tell you. Probably in person.” She took another deep breath, suddenly looking oddly vulnerable. “So...” She gestured broadly, then started to pivot away from him.

      Not about to let her run away from him again, especially now, he stopped her exodus with a light hand to her shoulder. Turned her slowly back to face him. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly, searching her eyes, aware a sort of happy acceptance was beginning to crowd out the shock within him.

      “Yes,” she said softly, meeting his gaze for one long, telling moment that had them both—however briefly—on the same page. “When I first saw the plus sign in the indicator window, I was hoping it was a glitch in the home pregnancy test. Which is why—” She rummaged around in her back pocket, finally producing a folded piece of paper. “I saw a doctor over in Marfa and had a blood test and physical exam.”

      Her fingers brushed his briefly as she gave him the paper. It had her name and confidential patient information, all right, as well as lab results and the word “Positive.” Under diagnosis, he saw “Pregnancy” listed, along with a projected due date of November sixth.

      Their eyes met once again. Emotion shimmered between them as another long, awkward silence fell. He wasn’t sure what she expected of him. Wasn’t entirely sure what he felt, either. Except for the tiny hint of joy.

      She assessed him with a long, level look and blurted, “Aren’t you going to ask me if the baby is yours?”

      Rand knew that would have been the logical response if their latest one-night stand had been with two people who were accustomed to having one-night stands. Neither of them was. That made her habitual running away from him—from the passion they shared—all the harder to understand and accept, given that their intermittent lovemaking had been ongoing for more than a year now.

      “No.”

      Her green eyes glimmered with barely suppressed emotion. “Why not?”

      “Because I don’t have to, Ginger,” he said. “I know it is.”

      Seeming vaguely insulted by his confidence, she squinted at him, then retorted, “How?”

      Aggravated to find her still wanting to downplay what they’d experienced, which had been pretty spectacular, he returned, just as contentiously, “Because it was apparent from the very first time we ever went to bed together that you knew nothing about having a fling, and even less about turning an ongoing series of flings into a relationship.”

      She flushed. Guilty as charged.