His Baby Bargain. Cathy Thacker Gillen

name?”

      Matt shrugged as he and Charley locked gazes and the infant momentarily stopped crying, then ever so slowly began to smile. “I know a lot of things,” he murmured.

      Charley reached for Matt, and when Matt offered his hand, the baby latched on tight to the tall cowboy’s pinky.

      In the same soothing tone that would have done a baby wrangler proud, Matt continued, “Including the fact you’ve told everyone to give up on ever getting me involved in the West Texas Warrior Association’s therapy-puppy raising program.”

      Sara had indeed put out the word.

      Figuring there was no reason to stand in the doorway while they talked, she ushered him in. He shut the door dutifully behind them. “And that bothers you because...?”

      Sara perched on the edge of the living room sofa, a little embarrassed by the mess around them. She settled Charley on her lap, while Matt—who still had his hand linked in Charley’s little fist—settled next to them.

      Exhaling, the handsome cowboy looked deep into her eyes. “Since you talked to my mom, every member of my family has come out to the Silver Creek to see me.”

      Glad to see the indomitable Matt off-kilter for once, Sara grinned. “What’s the matter, cowboy?” she teased, knowing there wasn’t a finer group than Rachel and Frank McCabe and their offspring. “Don’t like family?”

      Appearing more besotted than ever of the tall rugged man with the deep, soothing voice, Charley reached up to hold on to Matt with both of his little hands.

      Matt grinned down at her son, looking happier than Sara could recall in a long, long time.

      Apparently realizing he hadn’t answered her question, Matt let out a long exhalation of breath, then turned his attention back to her once again. “I love ’em,” he said, before adding, “when they’re minding their own business.”

      Sara regarded him pensively. She understood that. She had two college-professor parents and five older brothers who’d been in her business for years. Fortunately, all of them were now scattered across the country, busy living their own lives. And though she could have relocated next to any of them after Anthony died, she had chosen to stay on the small ranch where they had hoped to bring up Charley.

      Part of that had been because she still considered the rural Texas county where she had grown up home, and hadn’t wanted the stress of finding another job at another veterinary practice and another place to live.

      The rest had to do with her not wanting to clue any of them in on the private misery she’d been unable to share with anyone. Least of all those who might have judged her for not being the kind of wife she should have been.

      But her own heartache had nothing to do with Matt’s problems now. She settled Charley a little more comfortably on her lap and drew a breath. “I get you have a problem, McCabe, but I don’t see where I come in.”

      Charley finally let go of Matt’s finger.

      Matt got up and paced over to the fireplace, stood with his back to it, admitting gruffly, “The problem is they’re not going to give up on what they want for me.”

      Sara saw where that would be a problem for a man who professed to only want to be left alone. She bit her lip, acutely aware that things were getting way too intimate between them again, way too fast. “What? Can’t kiss them to make them go away?” she quipped.

      He let out a belly laugh.

      At the low masculine sound, so foreign in Sara’s small cottage-style bungalow, Charley’s brows knit together. He began to cry again, so heartrendingly this time it was all Sara could do to swallow the lump in her throat.

      First she had failed as a wife. And now, this...

      Matt frowned in alarm.

      Sara’s lack of sleep made her own eyes well, too. She stood and began to walk the floor with Charley, jostling him a little as she moved in the hopes that the slight, swaying motion would soothe him. It did not.

      “What’s wrong with him?” Matt asked.

      That was the bitter irony. “I don’t know.” And as his mother, she certainly should have. She rocked him back and forth.

      Matt strode closer, his handsome features etched with tenderness. He lifted his hand to Charley. This time, the baby howled all the louder and batted Matt’s palm away.

      “Then why is he so fussy?” Matt had to speak up to be heard over the wailing.

      Sara arched a brow, irritated to have him constantly finding ways to make her feel off balance, not to mention seeming more inept than she already was. “If I knew that, do you really think he’d still be crying?” she demanded.

      Ignoring her pique, Matt gently touched her son’s cheek, as if checking for fever. Again, Charley batted his hand away.

      Taking the cue, Matt backed off. “Is he sick?”

      Glad to have someone to share her concern with, Sara shifted Charley to her other shoulder. She continued gently soothing him, as best she could. Looking over his blond head at Matt, she admitted, “I thought he might be since he’s so cranky and doesn’t want to eat, but he doesn’t have any fever. He’s not pulling at his ears the way he did when he had an ear infection, either.”

      “Is his throat red?” Matt asked, while Charley warmed to the audience and wailed even louder.

      Was this what it would be like to have someone big and strong and male to share the parenting duties with? Telling herself she was really losing it, Sara pushed the ridiculous notion away. “I can’t answer that, either. I haven’t been able to get a good look.” And in fact, she had been considering going into the emergency pediatric clinic in town, if this went on much longer.

      Matt pointed out, “His mouth is open now.”

      Figuring as long as she had help she might as well use it, she retrieved the flashlight she kept on the kitchen counter. Then turned back to Matt. “You want to hold him?”

      For the first time, Matt hesitated.

      “Listen, cowboy, either be part of the solution or leave. Because I don’t need any more problems today.”

      From the pen in the corner of the living room, Champ, the nine-week-old black Labrador puppy Sara had been trying to get Matt to help socialize, lifted his head and began to jump up against the three-foot wooden sides of the whelping pen, in rhythm to Charley’s wails.

      Matt turned in the direction of the noise. He locked eyes on the puppy.

      And in that instant, Sara knew.

      Matt wasn’t a dog person.

      Not in the slightest.

      Not anymore.

      * * *

      Matt swore silently to himself as he clamped down on the memories he worked so hard to quash.

      When he’d set out for Sara’s ranch, he’d figured he would see her baby. He’d even been sort of looking forward to it. Why, he couldn’t exactly say.

      He hadn’t figured she’d have one of the pups from the litter there. But she did and as the puppy continued whimpering with excitement and trying to climb over the sides, it was all he could do not to break out into an ice-cold sweat.

      Over a harmless little black Lab pup, of all things.

      “Matt?” Sara’s hand was on his arm. Her tone as gentle as it was inquiring.

      “Sorry,” he rasped, turning his back to the rambunctious retriever. “I’ll hold Charley while you try and get a look at your son’s throat.”

      Ignoring the stuff of his nightmares, Matt held out his arms. Sara shifted her son over. Oblivious to Matt’s private grief come to life, Charley wailed even louder.

      Whatever