The Cowboy's Baby Bargain. Emilie Rose

I hate to tell you, but you’re a long way from California.”

      Before she could respond a fight broke out in the back corner. Just like a bad B movie, one man broke a chair over another’s head. Others jumped up to join in.

      Her cowboy muttered a curse. “The place around the corner will suit you better.”

      “I hardly think—” She broke off when a beer bottle came sailing through the air toward her head. In an instant the cowboy had snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her off her chair and practically into his lap. She found her face plastered against a warm chest with the cowboy’s rough palm protecting her face. Her hand was…well, somewhere it shouldn’t be. She snatched it back, but her skin tingled from the unexpected intimacy.

      The sound of breaking glass and the bartender’s blistering language splintered the air. Brooke peered between the cowboy’s fingers and realized in disbelief that she was in the middle of a barroom brawl—a first for her.

      She’d barely had time to register the sound of a steady heartbeat beneath her ear when her cowboy stood, putting himself between her and the chaos. He scooped up her Day Planner and purse from where they’d landed on the floor and shoved both in her hands. “Let’s go.”

      The noise level had risen dramatically, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he was ordering her to leave. “Excuse me?”

      He shoved his hat on his head, scowled at her, and leaned forward to growl in her ear, “You’re not going to be stupid about this are you?”

      She had an IQ in the genius range and opened her mouth to tell him so. A chair flew through the air and crashed less than a yard away. One of the legs broke off and skidded her way, but the cowboy’s booted foot stopped it before it hit her. She forgot what she was going to say.

      “Let’s go,” he repeated, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her toward the door even though neither of them had finished their drinks. Since he had no trouble cutting a path through the exodus of other patrons, she followed in his wake until they’d reached the sidewalk and cleared the entrance. He stopped beneath a streetlight. It blinked on as if sensing their presence in the dusk.

      “Where’re you parked?”

      Looping her purse strap over her shoulder, she wondered why she didn’t tell him to take a hike. “By the courthouse, but—”

      “Did you want dinner before you hit the road? If you do, I’ll walk you to the restaurant around the corner and buy you another drink before I go.” It wasn’t the most gracious invitation she’d ever heard.

      She was an independent woman. She shouldn’t find his behavior gallant or attractive, but she did. None of the men in her life had ever made her feel so…protected. It was a peculiar feeling, one she wanted to explore.

      “Why don’t you join me for dinner instead?”

      He blinked. His lashes were as lush and sexy as the rest of him. “What makes you so sure I’m not one of the courthouse delinquents?”

      She was very good at reading people. Her cowboy’s gaze was direct and his body posture said he had nothing to hide. “You have an honest face.”

      He laughed. It was a deep rumbling sound that reached down inside her and stirred things up. “Haven’t you ever heard that you can’t judge a book by its cover?”

      Studying people was her vocation. Written somewhere in her notes for her next book were the words: No one ever enters your life at the wrong time. Her job was to discover why him and why now. She had to find out what it was about this primitive man that pulled a response from her. “I’m willing to risk it if you are. Can you recommend a place with good Texas-style barbecue?”

      His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never let a woman buy my dinner.”

      Pride she understood. The men of her acquaintance seemed to have an abundance of it. “I owe you. That bottle would have hit me, and the chair came awfully close. Consider it an opportunity to experience another dimension.”

      “You’re talking like a self-help book again.”

      She wouldn’t tell him why. “I tend to do that.”

      “It’s only dinner you’re buying. Understand?” Even in the fading light she could see the dull flush climbing his neck.

      The thrill shooting through her at his implication shocked her. What would it be like to buy a man’s attentions? She tamped down the inappropriate thought because she wasn’t that type of woman. No, her conscience prodded, you’re the kind who buys a stranger’s sperm and has it sterilely inserted by a doctor at a fertility clinic.

      She wasn’t making a mistake, was she? Of course not, she’d considered every angle. Not only was she emotionally and physically ready to become a mother, she had very little time to accomplish the feat. Her own mother had been in full-blown menopause by the time she’d turned forty, topped off by a complete hysterectomy at forty-five. If she wanted a baby her intuition warned her it was now or never. She couldn’t waste any more time waiting for Mr. Right to father her child.

      That funny feeling started in her stomach again. She tried to ignore it because it was too late for doubts, too late to cancel tomorrow’s appointment—even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. She considered digging an antacid from her purse. She’d eaten a bottleful since deciding to go through with the insemination, but that was okay. The baby would benefit from both the antacids and the prenatal vitamins she’d started last month after paying the deposit on the vial of sperm.

      “Please, join me for dinner. I—I’m sick of my own company.” It was a painful admission. She’d always believed you had to be content with yourself before you could be content with anyone else, but tonight she didn’t want to be alone with her own thoughts. Her doubts. Her fears.

      He ran a hand over his jaw. Immediately she recalled the raspy texture of his palm against her own cheek and wondered what it would feel like scraping against her belly, her breasts. The uneasy feeling in her stomach turned into something else all together. Warmth prickled from her thighs to her breasts.

      “I promise not to attack you over the appetizers.” She hoped he didn’t notice the tremor in her voice.

      “Yeah, sure. Why not?” His reluctance wasn’t flattering. “Best place for barbecue is about two miles north of town. We’ll have to drive. I’m parked near the courthouse, too. You can ride with me or follow.”

      Despite her foolhardy decision to have dinner with a total stranger, she wasn’t stupid enough to get into a car with one. Besides, the restaurant was in the same direction as her motel. “I’ll follow you.”

      He offered a large, tanned hand. “Name’s Caleb.”

      She was so used to being recognized from her public appearances that it never occurred to her that she’d have to introduce herself—not even here in the middle of nowhere, Texas. “Brooke.”

      No recognition flared in his eyes, but then she doubted cowboys read many goal-actualization books. His hand swallowed hers. During the brief formality her senses registered a multitude of things: strength, heat, rough calluses and gentleness. He handled her like she might be breakable instead of trying to prove his masculinity by crushing her hand the way some men did.

      Her pulse kicked up a notch. Her breathing became shallow. A smile tugged her lips at the irony of being physically attracted to a man so wrong for her. Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor.

      Maybe she’d fantasize about Caleb tomorrow while the doctor did his thing.

      Caleb released her and turned toward their cars. She lengthened her stride and she could tell he shortened his. Pent-up energy marked his every step.

      The man truly was a work of art. She was admiring the shadows cast beneath his cheekbones by the streetlights when he turned unexpectedly and caught her staring. “You in town for long?”