A Baby of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #1)(41)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Now that you’re going to be gone most of the time, there really doesn’t seem to be any point in waiting. It’s boring here without you. And I’m eager to start my new life.”

Delaney heard a familiar pause and knew Rebecca was smoking. “I thought you gave up cigarettes,” she said.

“That was last week.”

“What about smoking in the house?”

“Just one won’t hurt anything. What’s happening with our sperm donor?”

“Nothing. He hates me.”

“And that’s a surprise?”

“Not really.”

“Are you going to stay there?”

Delaney snuggled deeper beneath the blanket, finally feeling a little sleepy. “I’m not sure. The ranch is nice, but—” she yawned “—Conner is not.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FOR THE FIRST TIME since he’d moved to the ranch, Conner thought he’d rather stay out in the freezing cold than return to the house. Delaney had been there for three days already, but he wasn’t any more comfortable having her around now than when she’d first crossed the threshold. What man could be happy living with a woman who’d used him so calculatedly? Every time he saw her, a sense of betrayal settled so deep in his bones it kept his anger in a constant simmer. The fact that he couldn’t simply tell her to stay the hell out of his life made matters even worse. In less than seven months, there’d be a child to consider—his child.

And he wasn’t father material. He didn’t even know if he’d have a job this summer. Stephen had called again last night to say they’d signed the listing papers. Once the ranch sold, Conner didn’t know what he’d do. He wasn’t going back to Napa, though. He was finished visiting the same old haunts, finished with the shallow people he’d partied with, finished with his uncles, the family fights, the jealousy and the greed. If living out in the middle of nowhere had taught him anything, it had taught him that he liked wide open spaces.

But having a kid would change things considerably. Kids needed money, care, supervision, a sense of belonging—

“What’s that look for?” Roy asked, pulling his horse alongside Conner’s.

Conner wondered how Roy could even see his face. It was after five and getting dark, and he had his cowboy hat pulled low against the wind, the collar of his sheepskin coat turned up. “What look?”

“The one that says the chip on your shoulder is growing bigger by the minute.”

Conner considered the older man, then squinted at the others riding ahead of them. “Stephen called last night.”

Roy spat at the ground. “He did? You tell him we’re designating some campsites and charging to use them?”

Conner shook his head. “It wouldn’t have done any good. They’re planning to sell out,” he said.

“They’re what?”

“They’re listing the ranch for sale.”

Roy’s mouth flattened into a short, straight line. “And you’re gonna let ’em?”

“It’s not my decision.”

Roy rode for several minutes without speaking. “So basically you’re giving up?” he finally said.

The accusation in his voice irritated Conner. He clenched his jaw, knowing it didn’t take much to get a rise out of him lately. “What else can I do? It’s not my ranch.”

“Have you ever thought about making it your ranch?”

Conner scowled at him. “You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Since when has something like money ever stopped an Armstrong?”

Conner halted Trigger. Roy slowed and turned toward him. The wind whipped at their horses’ manes, their clothes, their cold, raw faces, but Conner didn’t feel a thing. “I’m not an Armstrong,” he said, wondering what the hell Roy was getting at. Anyone who’d been around as long as Roy had heard about his father, knew where he’d come from. They knew his mother was adopted, too.

When Conner was angry, most people slunk away rather than taking him on in a direct confrontation. Evidently that didn’t hold true for Roy. He looked Conner in the eye and even brought his horse a little closer.

“Maybe you’re not an Armstrong,” he said. “But you remind me a lot of your grandfather all the same. And the Running Y is a mighty fine place to raise a child.” Saluting him with a hand to his hat, he started to wheel his horse around, but Conner stopped him with a question.

“Who told you about the baby?”

Roy grinned. “You’re not in California anymore,” he said. Then he kicked his horse into a gallop and rode on ahead to join the others.

IT WAS UNBELIEVABLE, really, everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Dundee, Conner thought. He’d stopped drinking. He’d stopped sleeping in late. He’d stopped wasting inordinate amounts of time and money. He’d given up fast cars and fast women. Yet it was now that he faced having an illegitimate child? Now that he faced his life’s greatest dilemma? How ironic was that?

He probably shouldn’t be so surprised, he told himself, putting down his pencil and closing the account books he’d been double-checking for the past hour. Sure, he’d taken his share of risks, but he’d never had a woman like Delaney working against him. He kept thinking he should’ve seen disaster coming, but how? He’d been in a bar, new in town, minding his own business, even doing a little soul-searching when—wham!—she struck out of nowhere, wearing that little black number.

If she’d been a more experienced woman, he might have suspected something. But a virgin? That part of the puzzle didn’t quite fit. Conner wanted to paint her as cold and calculating because it was easier that way—easier to maintain a firm defense, easier to plan what he was going to do about the baby without taking her into consideration. But the memory of that night hardly supported a cold and calculating Delaney, and the longer she worked for him, the harder that image was to maintain.

Stacking the invoices that had yet to be paid on the side of his blotter, he rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes. Any sympathy he felt was because she was always sick, he decided. Any man would feel sorry for a woman who was constantly ill. Delaney spent more time in the bathroom than she did in the kitchen, and she was losing weight. Dark smudges underscored her eyes, she acted as though she could scarcely smell food without retching and she wasn’t sleeping well. He often heard her rambling about the house at night, noticed the fatigue in her face come morning. Yeah, it was only natural he’d feel a little sympathetic….