The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby (2 page)

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered, tossing the useless phone on the floor. How could a woman who’d bought, built up and sold her own business for a tidy profit—the last without getting caught by her father—be so dumb?

“Now what?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. She was fresh out of ideas and, goodness knew, there was no one else in sight.

A quick survey out the window was not reassuring. There wasn’t a house or a gas station within view. The last road marker she’d seen had been for Los Piños, fifteen miles away. Too far to walk even under the best of conditions.

The name of the town triggered a memory, though. One of her father’s business associates lived in Los Piños, all but owned it from what she could recall.

Jordan Adams was head of a rival oil company. He and Bryce Delacourt had been friendly compet
itors for years. The one honorable man he knew, her father always said. They’d even been fishing buddies for a time when Jordan had lived in Houston, and they continued to trade tall tales about the one that got away. They still got together from time to time at business functions and at fishing lodges, where no wives were allowed.

Trish had no doubt that Jordan and his wife would come to her rescue, if only she could figure out some way to contact them. Unfortunately she also had a hunch that if he were even half the straight arrow her father described, Jordan would blab her whereabouts to her father the first chance he got. With the circumstances getting more desperate by the second, she was almost willing to take that risk.

“Why here?” she asked, gazing heavenward for answers that weren’t forthcoming here on earth. “Why now?”

As if in response to her murmured questions, headlights cut through the pitch-black darkness. In such wide-open spaces, there was no way to tell just how far away they might be. She had to act and act quickly. There was no time to worry about the dangers of attracting a stranger’s attention when she was all alone in the middle of nowhere. She needed help. She had to take her chances. Her baby’s life was at stake. She’d already made a lot of sacrifices for the child she was carrying. This could be the most important one of all.

She jabbed frantically at the button to turn on her blinking hazard lights, then awkwardly heaved herself out of the car to signal to the oncoming driver.
Her feet skidded on the icy road and she clung to the car door to keep herself upright. More cautious now, she managed to slip-slide her way into the middle of the road, waving frantically, praying that the driver had at least a smidgen of the Good Samaritan in his soul.

At the last possible second what turned out to be a late-model, fancy pickup swerved, then skidded to a halt. The driver emerged cursing a blue streak. He ate up the distance between them in three long strides. Naturally he didn’t slip. In fact, he didn’t even seem aware that the ground was six inches deep in fresh snow on top of a sheet of slippery ice. She had to admire his agility, if not his choice of vocabulary.

When he was practically toe-to-toe with her, he scowled down, looking as if he would like very much to shake her. “Lady, are you out of your mind? I could have killed you.”

Trish gazed up into eyes blazing with anger and what she hoped was at least a tiny hint of worry. Hoping to capitalize on that concern, she opened her mouth to explain her urgent predicament, but before she could, another wave of pain washed over her.

To her chagrin, she crumpled to the ground, right at the feet of the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. If she hadn’t been panting so hard, she might have sighed, maybe over him, maybe over the indignity of it all. Her only consolation was that, like Jack, this guy probably had women fainting at his feet all the time.

“W
hat the devil?”

Hardy dropped to his knees, oblivious to the biting cold wind and the six inches of wet snow that had made driving treacherous. What had happened to the woman? Had he hit her after all? Or was she some sort of insurance scam artist who was only pretending to be injured?

Or maybe just a nut case with a death wish? After all, she had planted herself directly in front on his oncoming truck on an icy road, all but asking him to run her down.

Whatever she was, at the moment she was clutching her stomach and writhing in pain. No matter which way he looked at it, that was not a good sign. If she was faking it, she was doing a really fine job
of it. He was certainly buying it, and he was about as cynical as any man could be.

“Miss, are you okay?” he asked, gingerly brushing silky, blond hair back from a face streaked with tears. He couldn’t quite bring himself to try to slap her back into consciousness.

“Come on now, darlin’, wake up for me.”

Finally, wide, blue eyes fluttered open, then promptly glazed over with unmistakable pain. Any lingering doubts he’d had about her faking it vanished.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, conducting a quick visual survey to try to determine if there were any cuts or broken bones.

“No, dammit, I am not okay,” she snapped.

The words were ground out between panting breaths that might have been alarming if he hadn’t just noticed the size of her swollen belly. How he could have missed it was beyond him. Maybe he’d been too entranced by that delicate, angelic face of hers, too distracted by the tears that smudged her cheeks. He cursed his ingrained tendency to get all caught up at the sight of a pretty woman and lose control of his common sense. He had a feeling the occasion called for really clear thinking. A pregnant woman in pain and flat on her back in the snow was not a good thing.

“You’re having a baby,” he said in a bemused tone, which was not exactly the brilliant observation of a man who’d gotten a firm grip on reality.

“Great deduction, Einstein,” she said, clearly not impressed with his quick wit.

He continued to grapple with the implications. “Here?” he asked uneasily. Surely she wasn’t in labor. Surely she’d just slipped and landed a little too hard. This wasn’t the time or the place to be having a baby, and he definitely wasn’t the right person to expect to assist in the delivery.

“Not if someone would get me to a blasted hospital.” She glanced around in an obviously exaggerated search of the barren landscape. “Looks to me like you’re elected, cowboy.”

Sweet heaven, it was every bit as bad as he’d feared. She didn’t seem any more overjoyed about the circumstances than he was. In fact, underneath that smart-mouthed sass of hers, she was probably scared to death. He couldn’t say he blamed her. He was bordering on real alarm himself.

“Well, are you going to stand here all night or are you going to do something?” she demanded, rubbing her belly.

The movement of her hand all but mesmerized him. He’d never felt a baby move inside a woman before, never thought he wanted to, but for some reason he had to fight an urge to do so now. His willpower, already tested to its limits tonight, was called into play to restrain him from covering her hand with his own. As he struggled with himself, she scowled.

“Wake up,” she snapped. “You aren’t drunk, are you?”

“Stone-cold sober,” he assured her. More was the pity. If he’d had more than one beer, he’d still be
in Garden City, a long way from this woman and her problem.

“I hate to rush you, but I really think we need to get going,” she said with renewed urgency. “Unless you’d like to loan me your truck and let me go on my own.”

“Nobody drives my truck,” he said tersely.

“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered. “Then how about we hit the road, cowboy? This situation is only going to get worse with time.”

Her cheeks were damp with tears, which she brushed at impatiently. Clearly, she wasn’t used to having to count on someone else, and even more clearly, she didn’t like it.

Although in a practical way he could see her point, Hardy was not overjoyed with the plan. Tears rattled him. He hated to see anyone or anything in pain. And the mere thought of babies gave him hives almost as severe as the thought of marriage. He sincerely regretted being so anxious to flee the End of the Road Saloon. Normally cool and calm in a crisis, for some reason he couldn’t seem to snap into action the way the situation required. No wonder she was losing patience.

“Where’s your husband?” he asked, aware that he sounded just a little desperate. It was clear enough that the man wasn’t close enough to help them out of this jam.

“No hus…band.” She bit the words out between gasps.

Before he realized what she intended, she seized his hand in a grip that an ex-rodeo star like Slade
Sutton would have admired. There wasn’t a bull on the circuit that could have thrown anyone hanging on that tightly. Hardy gently tried to extricate his fingers.

It was finally beginning to sink in that he had two choices: he could turn around and drive her to the hospital in Garden City or he could deliver the baby himself right here on the side of the road.

Over the years he’d delivered his share of calves and foals. He supposed he understood the rudiments of giving birth to a baby, but it seemed like an awfully personal activity to engage in with a complete stranger, especially one who was eyeing him as balefully as if he were the one responsible for her being in this predicament.

He figured this was no time for asking all the million and one questions that occurred to him, such as what she was doing out here all alone with a baby due any second. Terrified that the decision might be taken from him, he reached down and scooped the woman into his arms.

“Don’t panic,” he soothed. He figured he was panicked enough for both of them. “I’ll have you at the hospital in no time.”

“How far is it?”

“Not far,” he reassured her. Too blasted far, he thought. Contractions as hard and fast as she was having them were not a good sign. Even he had sense enough to recognize that.

“Don’t push,” he cautioned as he settled her into the cab of his truck. “Whatever you do, don’t push.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, clinging to the door with a white-knuckled, viselike grip as another contraction washed over her.

Hardy leaned down and gazed into her eyes. “Sweetheart, you are not going to have this baby in my truck.” It was part reassurance, part command. Apparently the baby didn’t get the message, because a scream ripped from the woman’s throat.

“Oh, my God, the baby’s coming.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked now, as she gave in to panic. “Do something. Please.”

Hardy sucked in a deep breath of the chilly night air and reached a hasty conclusion. Like it or not, he was about to be midwife to this woman’s baby. He touched her cheek with a soothing caress, trying not to notice how soft it felt to his callused fingers. She’d already proven beyond a doubt just how much trouble she could bring into a man’s life. The last thing he needed was to be attracted to her. This was about helping her out of a jam, nothing more. He’d get this over with, deliver her to the hospital and wash his hands of her. It sounded like a sensible plan to him.

She turned those huge blue eyes of hers on him, blinking back a fresh batch of tears. “Help me, please.”

The plea cut straight through him and propelled him into action.

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s going to be just fine. I’ll just spread a couple of blankets on the seat here so you’ll be more comfortable, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” she asked hopefully, struggling to stretch out in the cramped confines of the pickup.

“Enough,” he promised. Calves, foals, babies. Nothing to it, he reassured himself. Just concentrate and help nature along.

After that, everything happened so fast he could hardly catch his breath. The next thing he knew, he was holding a tiny baby girl in his arms. She was screaming her lungs out, but she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Tiny fingers and toes, every one of them perfect. A swirl of soft brown fuzz on her head. Eyes as blue as her mama’s.

Amazing, powerful, unfamiliar feelings swept through him. He felt exhilarated, even more satisfied than he ever had after rambunctious sex. He had a hunch nothing he ever did would match the experience he had just shared with a woman he was never likely to see again.

He gazed into her anxious eyes. “You have a daughter,” he told her, his voice filled with awe.

“Is she okay?” the woman asked, struggling to sit up. “She’s not too little, is she? She’s early, not by much, but still it would have been better if she’d waited.”

“You’re telling me,” Hardy said dryly.

“Let me see.”

“In a second. Let me clean her up a little, get her warmed up in something comfortable. Not that I’m any expert, but she looks just about right to me,” he reassured her.

He stripped off his flannel shirt and wrapped the
baby in it. She snuggled in, looking as contented as if this weren’t her first minute in the real world. He glanced at his watch. It was midnight on the dot. This little one had been in quite a rush to greet the new millennium.

Grinning, he placed the little sweetheart gently in her mama’s arms. “Happy New Year, darlin’.”

Hardy had a feeling it was going to be a long, long time before he got this New Year’s out of his head. Next year he might even break tradition and have a date. Surely a date couldn’t complicate his life any more than this stranger had.

“Oh, my God, she’s beautiful,” the woman whispered, then glanced at him. “Isn’t she the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen?”

“A real knockout,” he concurred. “Now what say we bundle the two of you up and get you to the hospital?” He regarded her worriedly. “Sorry about the accommodations, but you’ll have to sit up and hold the baby. Think you’ll be able to?”

She nodded, her gaze never leaving her baby’s face. She had to be uncomfortable, but with his assistance she struggled into a semi-upright position, then settled the baby in her arms.

When he was satisfied that she and the baby were as comfortable as they could be, Hardy eased the truck back onto the highway, turned around and headed toward Garden City. Although the condition of the roads required his full attention, he couldn’t keep his gaze from straying to his companions. After a few, slow-going miles, both of them fell asleep, clearly exhausted by the whole ordeal.

Hardy, however, felt as wired as if he’d just downed a full pot of Sweeney’s coffee. Normally he liked to tune in a country music station while he drove, but he didn’t want to risk waking either mother or baby, so he hummed quietly. Christmas carols seemed oddly appropriate, so he went through a whole medley of them.

He calculated the time it would take him to get to the hospital, glad that his grown-up passenger wasn’t awake to notice just how far away it was and just how big his lie had been when he’d told her before the birth that he thought they could make it. It had taken him better than half an hour to get from the party to where he’d been intercepted. The roads were worse now. Aware that he was carrying precious cargo, he was creeping along even slower than he would have been normally.

It was nearly one by the time he saw the lights of Garden City, another fifteen minutes before he saw the turnoff to the hospital. All that time and there hadn’t been a peep from either of his ladies. He regarded them worriedly as he drove to the emergency entrance. What if they weren’t okay? What if he’d done something wrong? What if the mama was bleeding to death? What was wrong with him? He should have driven faster, found a phone and called for help, something.

The roads around the hospital had been sanded. Even so, with the snow still coming down, the truck skidded when he tried to stop behind an ambulance, barely missing the back bumper of the emergency vehicle. Hardy bolted from the cab. Perfectly aware
that he was acting a little like a crazy man, he raced into the emergency room shouting for help.

A nurse came flying out of a cubicle in the back, followed by a familiar face. He’d never been so glad to see anyone in his life as he was to see Lizzy Adams-Robbins, daughter of Harlan Adams and, far more important, a full-fledged doctor.

“What on earth?” she said when she saw him. “Hardy, what’s wrong? Has there been an accident? You were at the White Pines party, weren’t you? Did somebody get hurt?”

“Outside,” he said. “My truck. A woman and a baby.” For a man known for his glib tongue, he was having serious trouble forming sentences.

“Is the baby sick?” she asked, already moving toward the door at an admirably brisk pace.

“Newborn,” he said, then drew in a deep breath and announced, “I delivered her.”

Lizzy stopped and stared. So did the nurse who’d been running alongside.

“You delivered a baby?” Lizzy echoed. “Where? Why?”

“Just help them. Make sure they’re okay,” he said. “Don’t you need a stretcher or a wheelchair or something?”

“Got it,” the nurse said, grabbing a wheelchair.

Lizzy raced past him. Outside, they found the baby squalling and her mama just coming awake. Hardy helped Lizzy get the two of them into the wheelchair, then stood back as she whipped them inside.

Suddenly feeling useless, Hardy stayed where he
was. He sucked in a deep breath of the cold air and tried to calm nerves that suddenly felt strung tight as a bow. It was over now. The woman and her baby were in the hands of professionals. He could go on home, just as he’d planned.

But for some reason he couldn’t make himself leave. He moved the truck to a parking space, then went back inside. He grabbed a soda from a vending machine, then settled down to wait for news.

He watched the clock ticking slowly, then stood up and began to pace. There was no sign of Lizzy or the nurse. Seconds ticked past, then minutes, then an hour.

Hardy was just about to charge into the treatment area and demand news, when the nurse returned.

“Everybody’s doing fine,” she assured him. “They’ve checked the mother and the baby from stem to stern and there are no complications. You did a great job, Dad.”