The Cowboy's Pride. Charlene Sands

Their needs were ever-changing and she would be the one adapting, not the other way around.

      Every day brought a new challenge. Every day was different, unplanned and unorganized. It was a whole new learning curve for her.

      When they reached the entrance, Clay unlocked the door and allowed her entry first. He stepped inside behind her. “Your luggage is in the master bedroom.”

      She turned to him. “Thank you.”

      He nodded and moved into the living area, tossing the diaper bag down on the light tan leather sofa.

      Trish followed him into the room. Once upon a time, Trish had fallen in love with the small cottage and had asked Clay if she could make a few changes, put her stamp on it, so to speak. She gazed into the room with a sense of pride. A combination of soft leather and suede in cream tones marked the Southwest contemporary feel of the house. Delicate copper and brass sculptures sat on glass tables and masterful metal artwork hung on the walls. She’d created a cozy atmosphere in keeping with the flavor of Red Ridge for their one-time guests.

      But it looked as if no one had ever stepped foot in it. Everything was in its place, not a stick of furniture or a fruit bowl had been moved. The place was perfect and pristine. That would change in the blink of an eye.

      Babies caused chaos, even four-month-olds who weren’t at the crawling stage yet. Meggie did her fair share of rolling, though, and Trish knew she had to give the baby a wide berth when she set her down on the floor.

      “If the baby needs anything, Helen will be around. She’s got three grandchildren.”

      “Three now? She had only two when I was living, uh, here,” she finished awkwardly.

      Clay waited a beat, probably deciding whether to enter into a conversation with her. The tick in his jaw did an intermittent dance. “Jillie had another, a boy this time.”

      “So Helen has two grandsons and a granddaughter. I bet they keep her busy.”

      “When she’s not here, she’s usually with them.”

      Trish often wondered if her own mother would take to Meggie like that, love her unconditionally and accept her in their family. It seemed Trish’s mother had given everything she had to give to Blake in those earlier years. Once he’d recovered, her mother had never really been the same. Maybe it was the pressure, the constant tension or the drain his illness had taken on her, but her mother hadn’t really been thrilled at the prospect of a grandchild. Not the way Trish had hoped.

      The baby squirmed in her arms, wiggling and making her presence known. Clay watched her interact with the baby with curious eyes. “I’d better set her down for a few seconds.”

      She bent to put Meggie down on her butt, propping her against the sofa on the floor. The baby waved her arms and cackled, happy for the time being. “There you go, sweet baby. Much better, huh?” Straightening, she turned to Clay. “She likes a change of scenery sometimes. I’ve got to learn not to hold her all the time.”

      His gaze stayed on Meggie sitting quite contentedly on the floor. “You need help unpacking?”

      He was being polite. Clay had always been a gentleman, even when he was hopping mad. She shook her head. “No. We’ll be fine, Clay.”

      His mouth pinched tight and he lifted his eyes to her. “Doesn’t the baby need a crib?”

      At least Trish had that much under control. “I’ll call the rental company and have a few things delivered tomorrow.”

      “What about tonight? Where will she sleep?”

      Trish let out a pent-up breath. “She’ll be with me. The truth is, I don’t get much sleep. I check on her most of the night. She sleeps so soundly, sometimes I wonder if she’s breathing at all. I guess most new moms go through the same kind of panic.”

      Clay nodded as if he understood it all, but she noted the question in his eyes. No one knew what parenthood was like until they experienced it themselves. Trish’s emotions this past month were all over the map, from highs when Meggie would take a full bottle and fall asleep, to lows when she was fussy and Trish couldn’t figure out what the heck was wrong. Half the time, she second-guessed herself and questioned if she was doing anything right. But Meggie was thriving and safe, so she clung to those positive thoughts.

      “Helen stocked the refrigerator. You should have everything you need in there,” Clay said.

      “Okay. And I’d like to see Penny’s Song as soon as possible.”

      The divorce wasn’t the only reason she’d come back to Red Ridge. She’d promised to play a key role in fundraising for Penny’s Song, even though that hadn’t been the original plan. That plan, to be there for its development and construction, had gone by the wayside when her marriage fell apart.

      “Tomorrow morning soon enough?”

      “Yes, I can hardly wait. I’ve been thinking about it. Wondering. Is it … all that we imagined?”

      Clay’s unyielding expression softened. “It’s all that and more. Seeing the kids there, well, it makes all the difference.”

      Young Penny Martin, the charity’s namesake, a Red Ridge local and a big fan of Clayton Worth, hadn’t been as lucky as Trish’s brother, Blake. Even though she’d put up a valiant fight and had been so brave, she’d lost her life to leukemia at the age of ten. Her death sparked the idea in Clay to use Worth land and resources for the charity and Trish had been behind it one-hundred percent. Penny’s Song would go a long way in helping kids robbed of their childhood assimilate back into society after their recovery by making them feel normal again. Trish couldn’t wait to see how the facility had come to life.

      “We’ll be ready.”

      “I can drive you over at nine, if that’s not too early?”

      “Early? I wish. Meggie’s up at the crack of dawn. By 9:00 a.m. I’ve already put in half a day.”

      Clay wasn’t really paying attention to her, though. She caught him watching Meggie, who had plunked down onto her tummy and begun to roll toward the fireplace. “Looks like you’ve got a runaway.”

      “Meggie!” By the time the words were out of her mouth, Clay was there, picking her up before she pulled the fireplace tools on top of her.

      “You’re fast,” he said. The smile on his face was only for Meggie. He held her at a distance for a second, not quite sure what to do with her. Then he tucked her into his body and cradled her to his chest.

      Trish inhaled a sharp breath.

      Meggie wasn’t too sure what to make of Clay, but she wasn’t crying either. Trish wished she could say the same of herself. Inside, her heart cried out seeing what could have been if only their marriage had survived. Clayton Worth, the big, rugged cowboy holding a baby, her baby, in his strong arms was a tender sight to behold.

      She could have gone on watching the two of them, but Clay didn’t give her time to lament the loss. Before she knew it, he was handing Meggie over. “Here you go.” He made the transfer with utmost care. “She’s going to keep you on your toes.”

      “She’s fast,” Trish whispered, still awed seeing Clay holding the baby. “But she’s a good sleeper, so it’s a trade-off.”

      Clay nodded, giving Meggie one long look before turning on his heels and heading to the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he glanced back Trish’s way. “If you change your mind, I can send Helen over to help you unpack.”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      Clay sent her a dubious look before walking out.

      Trish closed her eyes. Heaven help her. The last half hour had been one of the hardest in her life. Seeing Clay again hurt. The pain had resurfaced the minute he’d walked up to greet her. And seeing him holding Meggie just now was like pouring salt in