The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby

“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.”

Hardy started at her assumption. “I’m not the father,” he informed her quickly. “I don’t even know the woman.”

The nurse didn’t seem to believe him. She regarded him with amused skepticism that suggested she recognized him and that she’d heard tales about Hardy Jones. Since he’d dated quite a few people on staff at the hospital, it was entirely possible she had.

“Really,” he insisted. “I found her by the side of the road. Her car had skidded into a snowdrift.”

“Whatever you say.”

“No, really. I’d never seen her before tonight.”

She grinned. “Young man, you don’t have to convince me. I believe you.” She winked. “Of course, I also believe in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus.”

Hardy sighed. Word of this was going to spread like wildfire. He could just imagine what the rumors would be like by morning. He’d never live it down.

“I have some paperwork here,” the nurse said. “If you’d just fill out these forms for me, I’d appreciate it.”

His frustration mounted at her refusal to take his word for the fact that he didn’t know the woman in the back room. “I can’t help you. I don’t know her. I don’t even know her name. I don’t know where she’s from. I don’t know what sort of insurance she has. Ask her.”

“She’s pretty well wiped out,” the nurse said.

“Then look in her purse. She probably has ID in there, an insurance card, whatever you need.”

“I can’t go through her purse,” the nurse retorted with a touch of indignation. “I just thought, given your relationship, that you could provide the necessary information.”

“There is no relationship,” Hardy said tightly. “None. What about that word don’t you understand?”

The nurse withdrew the papers with a heavy sigh. “They’re not going to like this in the billing office.”

Hardy whipped his checkbook out of his back pocket. “How much?”

The nurse blinked. “What?”

“I asked you how much. I’ll write a check for it.”

“I don’t know the charges, not yet. She’ll be here overnight at least. There will be routine tests for the baby.”

“Then give me something to sign and send me the bill.”

“You said you don’t know her.”

“I don’t, but I wouldn’t want your precious paperwork messed up. Just send me the bill, okay?”

The bright patches of color on the nurse’s cheeks suggested embarrassment, but she popped some papers in front of him, anyway. Hardy signed them all. He knew, even as he scrawled his signature in half a dozen places, that he was dooming himself. After all, what kind of fool would pay for the hospitalization of a woman he didn’t even know? Obviously everyone was going to jump to a far different conclusion.

Well, so be it, he thought as he jammed his checkbook back in his pocket and headed for the exit. What was it they said? No good deed goes unpunished. Between his reputation and his bank account, it looked as if he were going to take a real hit.

Then he thought of the baby and the sassy woman who’d been forced to trust him with their lives. What if they did cost him a few bucks? What if he took a little ribbing for a few weeks? It would pass soon enough.

And in the meantime he could remember forever that he’d been part of a miracle, the kind of unexpected miracle that a bachelor was unlikely to experience, the kind of miracle that assured a man of God’s presence. What price could he put on that?

Chapter Three

The last thing Trish remembered was falling asleep, her baby in her arms, as the stranger rushed her to the hospital. She’d been exhausted, but she had never before felt such contentment, such an incredible sense of accomplishment.

She woke up to bright lights and chaos as three people swept her from the truck, wheeled her into the emergency room, then took her baby from her arms and clucked over her bravery. Once she was inside, there was no further sign of her reluctant hero. He vanished just as quickly as he’d appeared earlier. She hadn’t even had time to thank him properly, to apologize for the grief she’d given him.

No one seemed to stay still long enough for her to ask a single question. Finally she latched on to the sleeve of a pretty, dark-haired woman whose bedside manner had been gentle, cheerful and briskly efficient. She read the name printed on her tag: Lizzy Adams-Robbins, M.D.

“Doctor, is my baby all right?” she asked. “She was a couple of weeks early, and I was in the middle of nowhere when she decided to come. The man who helped was wonderful, but he wasn’t a doctor…” She realized she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Your baby is perfectly healthy,” the woman assured her. “She weighed in at a respectable seven pounds, three ounces. Terrific lung power. Despite the circumstances of her untimely arrival, I’d say everything turned out just fine.”

Trish remembered the baby’s wails and couldn’t help smiling. “She already has a lot to say for herself, doesn’t she? No wonder she was so anxious to get here.”

The doctor grinned, then patted her hand sympathetically. “Right this second you may find that charming, but take it from me, you won’t feel that way a week from now when she’s been waking you out of a sound sleep a couple of times a night. By the way, have you decided on a name for her?”

Trish hadn’t given the matter of naming the baby a lot of thought. Despite the increasing size of her belly, the routine of prenatal visits and regular kicks from an active baby, she had somehow gotten the idea that she had forever before she had to decide on anything as important as a name. She’d been too busy trying to plan her escape and steer clear of her father, who was dead set on having her marry the baby’s father.

Even now with the baby a reality and the future uncertain, she still knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t marry Jack Grainger if he were the last man on earth. On the same day she’d found out she was pregnant, she had also discovered that he’d been seeing at least two other women—intimately—while he was supposedly engaged to her.

Even if those two pieces of news hadn’t collided headfirst, she would have wriggled out of the engagement. She’d discovered that Jack bored her to tears, maybe because he was so busy with his other women that he hadn’t had time for her. She suspected he hadn’t been any more overjoyed by the prospect of marriage than she had been. He’d just been too much in awe of her father—or her father’s fortune, more likely—not to go along with Bryce’s plans for the two of them.

Very methodically she had gone about quietly selling her business to a friend who’d expressed interest in it. She’d put her furniture in storage and slipped out of Houston. She’d been heading west to start the new year and a new life…someplace, when she’d gone into labor. The fact that her daughter had arrived early did not alter her determination to move ahead with her plans, and they definitely did not include Jack or any of the Delacourts.

The baby was her responsibility, and she was going to do right by her. That started with giving her a name she could be proud of, honoring someone who deserved it. Certainly not Jack. Certainly not anyone in her own family, since they’d all been far more concerned about convention than about her well-being or the baby’s. Assuming that the marriage was a foregone conclusion, her mother had pleaded with her more than once to rush the wedding so that her pregnancy wouldn’t show. When Trish had made it plain that there was to be no wedding despite her father’s wishes, her mother had been appalled.

“What will we tell people?” she had demanded.

“That your daughter had better sense than to marry a man she didn’t love.”

“What does love have to do with it?” her mother had asked, genuinely perplexed. “I thought the two of you got along well enough. Jack is suitable. You’ve known him for years now. He has a place in your father’s company, the promise of a vice presidency after the wedding.”

That, of course, had been Jack’s incentive. She’d had none, not any longer. “I’ve only known the side of him he wanted me—wanted us—to see. I certainly didn’t know about the other women.”

Ironically, her mother hadn’t seemed nearly as surprised or dismayed about that as Trish had been. “You knew, didn’t you?” Trish had charged, stunned that her mother would keep something like that from her.

“There were rumors,” her mother admitted, then waved them off as unimportant. “You know how it is. A handsome man will always have women chasing after him. It’s something you get used to, something you just accept.”

“True,” Trish agreed. “The difference is an honorable man, a man who actually cares about his fiancée, doesn’t let them catch him.”

“You’re being too hard on him, don’t you think? He was just having a little premarital fling.”

“Or two,” Trish said, wondering for the first time whether her father’s behavior was responsible for her mother’s jaded view of marriage. As far as she’d known, her father had never strayed, but maybe she’d been blind to it.

“Never mind,” Trish had said finally. “It’s clear we don’t see eye-to-eye on this. Bottom line, hell will freeze over before I marry Jack. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to get used to the disgrace of it, Mother.”

Of course she hadn’t. Straight through until Christmas Day, with Trish’s due date just around the corner, Helen Delacourt had remained fiercely dedicated to seeing Trish and Jack married. Without informing Trish, she had even included him on the guest list for the family’s holiday dinner. When he’d arrived, Trish had promptly developed a throbbing headache and excused herself. Even as she went to her room, she could hear her mother apologizing for her. If she hadn’t already been planning to leave town, overhearing her mother’s pitiful attempts to placate the louse would have spurred her to take off.

“Hey, where’d you go?” the doctor asked gently.

Back to a place she hoped never to set foot in again, Trish thought to herself. “Sorry. I guess my mind wandered for a minute. What were we talking about?”

“Naming your baby.”

“Of course.” She thought of the man who’d helped her. He might have been caught off guard. He might not have wanted any part of the crisis she had thrust him into, but he’d pulled through for her. She and her baby were fine, thanks to him. “Do you happen to know the man who brought me in?” she asked the doctor.

“Sure. He works at my father’s ranch.” She chuckled. “I’ve got to tell you I’ve never seen a man so relieved to get to a hospital in my life.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hardy Jones. I’m not sure where the nickname comes from. I’ve heard Daddy say it has to be short for hardheaded because he’s resisted every single attempt that’s been made to get him married off. You’d have to know my father to understand how annoying he finds that. He’s not happy unless he’s matchmaking and he’s not ecstatic unless it’s paying off.”

“Well, I certainly can’t name the baby that,” Trish said, disappointed. “Do I have to decide right now?”

“No, indeed. We’ll need it before you leave the hospital, but it can wait. You take your time and think it over. Get some rest now. I’ll be back to check on you later, and the nurses will bring the baby in soon so you can feed her.”

Trish lay back against the pillows and let her eyes drift shut. The image that came to mind wasn’t of her baby, but of the cowboy who’d delivered her.

“Hardy,” she murmured on a sigh. A strong man with a gentle touch. She could still feel the caress of his work-roughened hands as he’d helped her in one of the most terrifying, extraordinary, wondrous moments of her life. No matter what happened in all the years that stretched ahead, she would never forget him, never forget the miracle they’d shared.