The Cowboy's Baby Bargain. Emilie Rose

her goal of finding a husband?

      The men in her life thus far had either resented the time she devoted to her career or wanted to ride on the coattails of her success. She drew a vertical line on the page and listed their names in one of two categories: Users or Losers.

      In her peripheral vision she saw the cowboy settle his hat on his opposite knee and lift a finger to signal for the bartender. She could feel his assessing gaze on her. “I would have taken you for a chardonnay drinker.”

      She shrugged without looking his way and forced down another noxious sip of beer. It grew more disgusting by the moment. “You’d have been right, but when in Rome…”

      The bartender approached. “What can I get you?”

      “Tequila. Straight. Better make it a double shot. You have any white wine back there for the lady?”

      “Sure. Coming right up.”

      She didn’t want him to get the idea that she was here to pick up a man. That would have to wait until she’d moved into her new home, and then she’d be looking for Mr. Right, not Mr. July. A vision of the cowboy wearing nothing but a staple in his navel flashed in her mind. The image practically jolted her out of her seat. Nudie magazines had never been a favorite of hers, and yet here she was with visions of cowboy buns dancing in her head.

      She turned quickly and their legs bumped again—this time her fault. “Pardon me. You don’t have to buy me a drink.”

      “I do if I don’t want to watch you making that face. Looked like you were choking down cough medicine.”

      She hadn’t blushed in years, but to her surprise heat climbed her cheeks. She tucked her chin and ran a fingernail beneath the edge of the bottle’s label. “I’ve never been crazy about beer.”

      “No kidding.” She heard laughter in his voice. Out of the corner of her eye she studied his big, tanned hands. Numerous scars crisscrossed the backs, but his nails were clean and neatly trimmed. He shelled a peanut from the bowl on the bar one-handed and popped it into his mouth. “So what are you crazy about—besides making lists?”

      Brooke closed her planner. She absolutely refused to discuss her failures, and it was no one’s business that she’d have to start on her goal of having a family alone. She wasn’t about to confess to some stranger that tomorrow she had an appointment to be artificially inseminated.

      The uneasy feeling in her stomach intensified. Her hands started to shake. She’d thought it out, plotted the pros and cons, and chosen the most appropriate donor. He was blond like her and came from a similar academic background. He’d been carefully screened, had no known medical problems, and was the genetically ideal choice.

      Pasting on a sympathetic smile, she faced the cowboy and turned the conversation in a different direction. “I’m crazy about my work, but let’s not talk about me. You ordered a double. It sounds as if you’ve had a rough day.” She was a master at pulling information from others and at making even the most pessimistic see the brighter side.

      “Worse than some. Better than others.” He pulled out his wallet and laid a bill on the bar. “Nobody died.”

      A smile twitched her lips at his dry humor. “That’s always positive. Any permanent damage?”

      “Prob’ly not.”

      The bartender slid their drinks onto the counter. Brooke reached for her purse.

      The cowboy shook his head. “It’s on me.”

      “Well…thank you, but I really don’t think—”

      “No buts. Just a drink. I’m not looking for more.”

      Taken aback by his frankness, she blinked at him. “Neither was I.”

      “Then you shouldn’t come in here dressed like that.”

      “What’s wrong with my suit?” The lavender silk had cost the earth and she dearly loved it. The short skirt showed her legs, and the loosely belted jacket accentuated her waist. She’d bought it when her first book hit the New York Times bestseller list. It was her lucky suit. She saved it for her most important occasions. Today qualified. She’d closed on a quaint little ranch fifty miles south of Tilden, Texas.

      The rolling hills and sprawling house were almost exactly what she pictured when she closed her eyes and visualized her dream home, but the property would be so much more than just her home. It was perfect for both business and personal reasons. She’d turn the former dude ranch into a corporate retreat, a place to do her life’s work without the incessant traveling. It might be a little rustic for her needs right now, but with a little paint, elbow grease and a bulldozer or two, she’d whip the property into shape.

      He sipped his drink and winced at the bite of raw liquor. “Besides looking good enough to eat, you’re dressed like money. This bar is close enough to the courthouse that some of the delinquents drop in. Better keep your purse in your lap.”

      Flustered by his backhanded compliment, she glanced around the room again, this time noting the less than professional—all right, seedy— appearance of the other clientele and pulled her purse into her lap. She hadn’t noticed earlier because she’d been rushing to find a seat and examine her new deed. For the first time in her life she owned land. She patted her bag. Just knowing the deed was inside filled her with a sense of accomplishment. One goal out of three wasn’t a total washout.

      “One of the clerks recommended the barbecue here.”

      He pointed to the low sanitation rating on the wall. She decided to skip the food and pretend she hadn’t noticed he didn’t wear a ring on his left hand. It wasn’t important because she wasn’t interested in him that way.

      “And you might not want to check out every man who walks in the door the way you did me.”

      Embarrassment flamed her face. She set her wineglass down with a thump that would have broken more fragile stemware. “I did no such thing.”

      He eyed her over the rim of his glass. “What color are my boots?”

      “Brown—” Another wave of heat scorched her. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Ninety-nine percent of the men here are wearing brown boots.”

      He pointed his finger like a toy gun and pulled the imaginary trigger. His grin displayed almost-perfect white teeth and a twinkle lit his dark eyes. “Gotcha.”

      She bit her lip to keep from smiling back. “That wasn’t nice.”

      “At least you’ve quit scowling over that book like somebody shot your dog. Not kidding ’bout the bar, though. Watch your stuff and don’t leave alone. Let me know when you’re ready to go. I’ll walk you out.”

      Why would a stranger do such a thing? Whatever the reason, she’d take the gallant cowboy up on his offer. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want to spend my birthday at the police station filling out a report.”

      “Birthday?”

      “Yes, I’ve tacked another year of wisdom and experience onto my belt.”

      One dark brow rose and a crooked half smile tilted his lips. “You really believe that cr—baloney?”

      Brooke cringed as she sipped the acidic wine. “Affirmation is essential to good health and prosperity.”

      He looked skeptical. “Believing will make it so, huh?”

      “Of course. You’ll only get out of life what you truly believe you deserve.”

      He sipped his drink. “You sound like a self-help book.”

      She should since she was quoting chapter thirteen of her first book. Brooke snapped her teeth shut. It was terribly difficult to keep herself from trying to convert this nonbeliever. “You don’t believe in self-prophecy?”

      “If folks got what they deserved the world would be a whole different place. Probably