The Cowboy Seal's Jingle Bell Baby. Laura Marie Altom

      Sleet mixed with the snow.

      Wind pitched it like darts against his forehead and cheeks. He tugged his battered brown leather cowboy hat lower and raised his long duster coat’s collar higher.

      Hell’s bells, what he wouldn’t give to be back in Virginia.

      Everyone on the bustling street walked with their heads down. It was a downright miracle there weren’t more pedestrian collisions.

      He yanked open the door to find wondrous heat. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of sleet in them. When they did, he found a cozy seating area that had a sofa and two armchairs facing a coffee table and electric fireplace.

      “Mr. Jones?” A woman with curly brown hair that was almost as big as her bosom rose from her desk to extend her hand. “Our Tiffany will be glad you made it through this storm. Sometimes newcomers take a while to adjust to our weather, don’tcha know.”

      “True. But I grew up here, so I’m used to it.” Her thick accent had him working to hide a smile. When he’d lived in town, he hadn’t noticed, but now that he’d been away, he heard how pronounced it was in some Maple Springs residents.

      “You did? Well, why didn’t you say so? Who are your people?”

      “Patsy and James Jones. Know them?”

      “As I live and breathe. Rowdy?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Have we met?”

      “Boy—you’re breaking my heart.” She pressed her hand to her impressive rack. “I’m Doris Mills. Well, used to be Doris Patrick, but that was before I went and married Skeeter. I used to be your fourth-, fifth-and sixth-grade Sunday-school teacher. Don’t you remember?”

      “Sure. Sorry. It’s been a while.”

      “I’ll say.” She looked him up and down, then whistled. “You’ve grown into a cool drink of water. Bet your momma’s pleased as punch ’bout you moving home.”

      To avoid getting into the whole messy business of why he was actually in town, Rowdy said, “I, ah, really need to talk with Tiffany and figured having her show me a house or two would be the best way to connect.”

      “You two sweet on each other? You always did have the kindest heart. It’s adorable that you don’t mind her being...” she reddened and patted her own robust belly “...you know... By another man.”

      Ouch. “Would you mind pointing me to her office?”

      “Oh—sure, sure.” She waved toward a short hall. “Two doors down on your left.”

      “Perfect. Thanks.”

      Rowdy stood outside the partially closed office door for a good thirty seconds. He’d have felt more comfortable pulling all-night surveillance in croc-infested waters. This whole thing raised an uncomfortable number of similarities to a not-so-distant situation he’d just as soon forget. Besides, aside from what his brother had told him about the crap he’d gone through with Justine’s cravings, mood swings and general crankiness, Rowdy knew nothing about pregnant women. That said, he did know a fair bit about charming the normal variety of gal and planned on using the same general logic.

      “Thank you, Susie. Promise, as soon as I have my next sonogram, I’ll email the pictures.”

      Eavesdropping on Tiffany’s call, Rowdy narrowed his gaze.

      “Susie, I’m expecting a client any second, but promise, I’ll sign all of your attorney’s documents this afternoon.” There was a long pause. “Please stop worrying. I have no intention of backing out of the adoption. This baby boy will soon be yours.”

      “The hell he will.” So much for adult professionalism or laying on the charm. Rowdy stormed Tiffany’s office like an enemy camp—only instead of rescuing hostages or liberating territory, he was claiming his unborn son.

       Chapter Two

      “Susie, I’ve gotta go.” After hanging up the phone, Tiffany’s eyes widened in shock and maybe even a little horror to find her baby’s daddy standing a mere five feet away. “You...”

      The man she hadn’t shared a room with since she could see her own toes closed the door.

      “What are you doing here? How did you even find me?” Flustered, she couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. She skimmed her no-doubt-messy hair, then tried crossing her arms, but that didn’t feel quite right, because she’d grown so top-heavy that her arms were practically under her chin—yet one more reason to despise the man standing before her.

      “Got your message.” He wagged a silver-toned cell phone.

      “Little late, aren’t you?”

      He shrugged. “Been out of town. Unavoidable delay.”

      “Uh-huh...” She returned to her email. “Whatever you’ve got to say, you’re not just a little late, but all-the-way late. Adoption plans are already in place.”

      “About that...” He stepped forward, bracing his hands on either side of her small desk. In a quiet, downright lethal tone, he said, “There’s no way in hell you’re signing away my son.”

      Tiffany gulped. The last time she’d seen him he’d been handsome, but she’d also been wearing martini goggles and in hindsight had figured it was an impossibility for him to look half as good as she remembered. Wrong. He looked even better. He smelled amazing, too—like a day at the beach. Warm sun and sand and a hint of sexy sweat. She sneaked a peek at whisker-stubbled cheeks and eyes green enough to remind her of her former Dallas mansion’s lawn.

      Straightening in her chair, she retorted, “As a matter of fact, I am giving him up. We might have discussed the matter had you been courteous enough to call within hours—or even days—of my message. But when you failed to share so much as an opinion after months, what did you expect? As much as I’d love being a mom, I can barely afford being me—which reminds me, I have an appointment for a showing, so you’ll need to leave.”

      He not only didn’t leave but set his battered brown leather cowboy hat in one guest chair, then proceeded to help himself to the other. His legs were so long they didn’t fold right given the cramped space, so he stretched them out. Beneath her desk, the toes of his cowboy boots touched the toes of her pumps.

      She lurched backward as if she’d been struck by a rattler.

      “Let me guess?” he asked with a lopsided, white-toothed grin. “This client is a Mr. Jones?”

      “Yes. You know him?”

      “I am him.” He chuckled.

      “No, no, no...” She massaged her forehead.

      “Oh, yes.”

      “But I needed that commission.” Her stinging eyes and tight throat might mean she was ready to cry, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

      “Relax. I’ll help you raise the baby. Financially, and you know...” He waved his hands. “With all the other stuff kids need.”

      “Great—only you won’t be raising him at all. Susie and Jeb Parker will. They’re amazing people, and both have real jobs—as opposed to you. I’m assuming you’re a low-life seasonal cowboy? Now that you’ve earned enough cash to buy beer through the long, cold winter, you’re back in town to raise a little hell?”

      “First, cut the attitude and sass. Second, how about trying to act like a civilized adult. Third, I’m a freaking navy SEAL—it doesn’t get much more real than that, sweetheart.”

      “You’re in the navy? In the middle of North Dakota? The night we were together, you told me you were a bull rider. But now I see you meant to say you’re just full