Special Ops Cowboy

“Earning our keep today.” Tate’s voice was husky from shouting orders over the loud sounds from anxious calves, and Hoyt didn’t miss his brother’s stiff shoulders and general unease as he took his place beside him at the corral fence.

“That we are,” Hoyt agreed.

He, Tate, their brother Ace and their sister, Arden, were the fourth generation of ranchers and the current owners of Reynolds Station, a large and once-again prosperous Texas cattle ranch. Mismanagement and poor acts by their father had seen to the sell-off of some property and a decade-long process toward getting back on their feet.

And back they were.

Hoyt knew he should take pride in branding day and all it stood for—his father sure as hell had—but he could never muster up the stomach for it.

“Everything okay?” Tate’s question was casual and his brother was wise enough to ask the question with no one in earshot, but Hoyt bristled all the same.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure about that?”

Hoyt shoved the towel back into his pocket, pushing himself off the thick steel bars of the corral fence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” Tate shrugged, his casual motions at odds with the sharp focus that filled his green eyes. “Seems like you’ve been as skittish as those calves and as upset as their mamas for the past few months now.”

Tate had never been the sibling to poke an emotional hornet’s nest—Arden and Ace were far more adept at the chore—which made the fact his brother was standing there attempting to make inroads that much more of a surprise. “You’re seriously comparing me to a cow?”

“Consider it illustrative.”

“Or annoying.”

“The fact you’re evading the question only adds to my curiosity.”

Hoyt ignored the unsettled feeling that scored his skin like barbed wire. His family usually gave him a wide berth emotionally and accepted his surly personality at face value, but even he knew he’d been worse than usual lately. Not that he was even remotely interested in mentioning that. Or the pretty, sweet woman who’d put him in that unbearably surly mood, with lingering memories of the softest skin and the sexiest kisses that refused to leave his thoughts for more than thirty seconds at a stretch.

He’d wanted to call her, and nearly had numerous times. But then he’d consider it and all he could conclude was that things would eventually grow messy. Something about Reese Grantham made him think about a commitment and a future and that scared the hell out of him.

So what else was a man supposed to do when his brother dug into choppy emotional waters?

Fight back for all he was worth.

“I know Belle Granger and I find it hard to believe she’s down with all these feelings. What happened? She get sick of you so you’re trying them out on me?” Hoyt said.

Tate’s voice stayed level but the easy-going smile he’d worn faded. “Belle’s got nothing to do with this.”

“You sure? Because four months dating the woman and you’re so wrapped around her little finger I’m surprised she even lets you out of the house. What’s the matter? Leash getting tight?”

The remark was nasty—even for him—but Hoyt saw it the moment he met his mark. Tate was a big man, his large frame made even larger by ranch work, and all that muscle bunched up as he stepped back from the fence. Hoyt and his brothers had stopped pummeling each other into oblivion around the age of fourteen, but he had the immediate thought that perhaps old habits died hard.

“Belle has nothing to do with this. But I’m not sure you can say the same.”

“Oh?” Hoyt asked, deliberate and slow. “Why’s that?”

“I think you’re the one walking a short leash. One held firmly in hand by Reese Grantham.”

Whatever casual calm Hoyt had attempted as he stepped back from the fence faded as Tate’s words hit a mark of their own.

* * *

Reese had imagined quite a lot as she drove over to Reynolds Station after leaving the high school. The secret that had gnawed steadily at her for over a month—the one that grew harder and harder to ignore as she spent a solid hour each morning desperately trying to keep down her bland breakfasts—needed air. It needed room to breathe.

And it needed its father to know of its existence.

After the initial shock had worn off, she’d been unable to suppress the sheer joy and happiness that filled her. She was pregnant.

Oh, the timing was off and the situation was far from ideal. The grief over her father was still fresh and the unsettling nature of his crimes had given her a few sleepless nights about what might be lurking in the DNA she was passing on to her child. She’d given the thoughts room to breathe, aware that addressing them was better than burying them, but in the end recognized the gift of life was just that. A gift. She’d be doing herself and her child a disservice if she let fear choke away her happiness.

Add on that she had no relationship to speak of with her child’s father and the Midnight Pass PTA would go ballistic at the news, and she really shouldn’t be this happy. Yet, even with that steady reality, she couldn’t hide her contentment or the overwhelming sense of gratitude that had filled her the moment her gynecologist had confirmed the news. She hadn’t once wavered since.

It was that surety—that absolute rightness—that had kept her focus steady and sure on the fact that she needed to tell Hoyt. She wouldn’t hide this from him or try to keep him from knowing his child. If he chose not to embrace fatherhood that would be his call, but it wouldn’t be from her lack of honesty.

She knew this. Felt it to her very core.

Yet, for the past month, the reality of getting in her car and driving to Reynolds Station had seemed like a chore she could put off another day. Oh, she’d plotted and planned what she’d say, worked through the words and how she was going to say them. But she hadn’t done it.

Jake’s news about the PTA had only solidified the fact that she couldn’t wait any longer.

Nor would the thickening of her stomach that was going to spill her secret unless she did the job first.

Truth and conviction pushed her on, through the large gates and enormous wrought-iron arch that announced the entrance to Reynolds Station. She drove down the immaculate concrete drive that seemed to stretch on for a mile, the ranch house rising up in the distance. That conviction never even wavered as she got out of the car and marched toward the side door that was the entrance to the kitchen and, as Arden had invited her in before, she knew was the preferred spot for family and friends to enter.

Ignoring the steady flutter in her stomach that was entirely different from morning sickness, yet nearly as harsh on the few contents still in there, she knocked on the door. A loud, masculine “Come in!” greeted her and she laid a hand on her stomach, willing what little was left to stay put.

And walked straight into chaos.

Ace Reynolds, the oldest brother and resident patriarch, stood in the middle of the kitchen like a football referee. Only instead of his arms extended in demonstrating football plays, each of his large hands was firmly planted on a shoulder. One belonging to Tate and the other to Hoyt.

Both men were filthy, layers of dust covering their shirts and faces, blood dripping from various cuts. Arden flitted around Hoyt with a first aid kit in hand and Belle Granger, Tate’s fiancée, hovered around his head with an ice pack she kept trying to press to his eye. A mix of low growls and muttered curses continued between the two patients which, best she could tell, seemed to be the cause of Ace’s firm and unwavering hold.

“Reese!” Arden’s voice broke through the noise and the greeting was enough to have Hoyt glancing sideways at her from beneath the steady pressure of a bloodied bandage. “Welcome to the O.K. Corral.”

“There wasn’t a gunfight,” Hoyt muttered.

“And thank God for that,” Arden said before lightly smacking him on the back of the head.

Although it had been a long time since she’d swatted at a man, Reese remembered the urge and couldn’t smother the smile. “It looks like I picked a bad time to visit. I can come back later.”

“Stay.”

That lone word—firm and unyielding and without even the hint of a grunt—left Hoyt’s lips. The order seemed to have an effect on everyone in the kitchen, with puzzled looks coming from everyone except Tate.

Instead of uncertainty, a bright wide, triumphant smile spread across Tate’s face. That same sense of triumph filled his words when he spoke. “Why don’t we give them a few minutes.”

“But you’re still—”

Tate cut off Belle with a squeeze of her hand over the ice pack. “I’m fine. Or I will be, once Ace gets his damn hands off me.”

Reese knew it wasn’t polite to laugh, but the harried exit of four adults, all of whom looked as if they’d rather stay and watch, fell firmly into sitcom territory. She wouldn’t be half surprised if the four of them had considered taking up posts on the other side of the kitchen door to listen with empty glasses through the walls. In the end, though, it was Belle’s firmly worded instructions to head outside that had everyone moving, the kitchen door slamming in their wake.

And then she was alone with Hoyt.

He had tossed the bandage Arden had held against his head, his wound obviously tender but no longer bleeding, in a garbage can by the edge of the counter before turning to look at her. “Sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“The middle of our kitchen doesn’t usually look like a MASH unit.”

“Really?” Reese fought the butterflies that had suddenly taken flight in her stomach by picking up a box of bandages on the table and refitting them in the first aid kit. “With a working ranch full of cowboys, I figured this was par for the course.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged before a small grimace marred his firm, full lips. “But usually that’s due to an accident and not a fight between brothers.”

Although the tableau she’d walked in on—complete with Ace holding each man at bay—had suggested as much, it was curious that Hoyt would readily admit it. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That was some heavy duty first aid for nothing.”

His grimace grew wider and for a moment, Reese was half convinced Hoyt wasn’t going to say anything. “He suggested I’ve been in a mood,” Hoyt said.

“At the risk of sounding indelicate, aren’t you always in a mood?”

The surly look on his face broke wide open with a smile so dazzling Reese had to take a moment and simply stare. Good Lord, why hadn’t she remembered just how attractive he was? Her fevered dreams each night had convinced her of just how handsome and good-looking he was, but nothing in those heated imaginings came close to the real thing. She’d thought more than once about calling him, but each time chalked it up to the whole one-night thing and left the situation alone. But now? With that broad smile? Oh, the man was lethal.

And she couldn’t help wondering why she’d stayed away so long.

When he finally stopped laughing, his face settled into easier lines than when she’d first walked in. “Right you are. A point my brother was attempting to point out. I think.”

“Why the fight?”

“Because he brought you up.”

“Me? What’s that supposed to mean? And why is it worthy of a brawl?”

“He had the nerve to suggest I’ve been a raging bastard for the past few months over you.”

“Oh.” She hesitated before pressing on. “Was he right?”

Hoyt seemed to consider the question before that gorgeous green gaze settled directly on hers. “Yeah. I think he is.”

“What would I have to do with anything?”

“Reese.” His voice stopped her, any hints of teasing gone. “You know what happened between us.”

Knew?

Goodness, she’d lived with that knowledge each and every day since. She knew the moments they’d spent together—had watched them on the backs of her eyelids like a vivid film—and hadn’t spent a single day since not thinking about him. While it hadn’t been the only cause of her delayed visit, those vivid reimaginings were one of the reasons she’d stayed away. What had been intended as a casual evening, assuaging an adult need in a very adult fashion, had grown out of proportion in her mind.

Hoyt Reynolds wasn’t her knight-errant come to save her from all the problems in her life. In fact, truth be told, he’d added a complication to her life that—while welcome—was absolutely an obstacle to getting her world back to normal.

Normal had vanished. It had begun back in the spring with her father’s deeds and had only gotten more and more pronounced with her own choices. She was pregnant. And this time next year she’d have a small child utterly dependent on her. Life had changed and it wasn’t ever going to return to where it had been.

“While I’m sorry you’re injured and that I might have had any cause in that, I do need to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Hoyt nodded, pulling out a chair. “Sit down. What is it? Something with your father?”

His concern touched her, as did his immediate willingness to speak to the elephant in the room that most everyone else went out of their way to ignore.

“No, not my father. Although the PTA isn’t crazy that the child of a killer is teaching their children.”

The words popped out before she could stop them, her discussion with Jake still bearing more residual anger than she’d realized.

Hoyt laid a hand over hers, folded on top of the kitchen table. “Reese. They don’t matter. You can’t believe they do. You’re a great teacher. Surely they understand that.”

That overwhelming support struck her hard and deep, like a punch to the chest. Only instead of pain, there was a strange warmth, filling her up even as she struggled to catch her breath at the kindness and ready support. “You going to go over and swing at them, too?”

“Will it work?”

“I doubt it. Although I’d pay big money to see Amanda Carneros take a punch to the nose.”

“She still kicking around?”

“She’s a fixture on the PTA. Eight kids have a way of doing that to a person.”

Hoyt gave a mock shudder. “My condolences.”

“Much as I appreciate the support and the diverting imagery, there’s actually another reason I’m here.”

“Sure.” A soft smile had settled over his features, which nothing—even a split lower lip—could mar. “What is it?”

The stomach jitters ramped up as she accepted the fact that she bore life-altering news. News, she knew, that wouldn’t change or grow any easier to hear by waiting another moment longer.

“I’m pregnant.”

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