The Cowboy Wants a Baby

Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.

Lost

One grandson. Ailing Eve Bishop desperately wants to find her estranged grandson and heir before she dies. Lily Garrett is on the case.

Found

One ornery cowboy. Now all Lily has to do is find a way to hog-tie a lone wolf and get him back to Grandma’s house. Gossip says that dangerously handsome Cole Bishop is going to pay someone to have his child, which gives this Little Red Riding Hood an idea....

Finders Keepers: bringing families together

“What do you want, Lily Garrett? Why are you here?”

“I’m applying for the job.”

“You think you could handle it? Handle me?”

“That all depends on whether you’re a gentleman or not.”

He took another step, until his chest brushed her arm. “I’m not.”

The cold air behind her and the heat in front met inside her, brewing up one hell of a storm. It wasn’t enough he had that rugged cowboy thing going on, but he also oozed bad-boy sexy, which wasn’t the least bit fair.

His hand lifted and he touched her hair. Just her hair. And she nearly dropped her soda. She needed to make her mouth work. For words to form. But that seemed way too difficult as his fingers brushed her cheek. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“What?”

“You touching me.”

“I’ll stop if you want me to.”

She closed her eyes. His thumb, callused and thick, followed the curve of her jaw all the way to her chin. “Stop.” Her voice sounded weak, soft.

“You’re old enough to know better,” he whispered.

“Better than what?”

“That you shouldn’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Trueblood, Texas!

Here’s what I want to know—how come, when I lived in Texas for five years, I never met a man like Cole Bishop? That doesn’t seem fair, does it? I know there are men like Cole—rough and stern on the outside, passionate and loving in private. I just haven’t met my Cole...yet.

Here’s the other thing I want to know—how come I can’t be more like Lily Garrett? She’s a pistol, that Lily, and I do admire a woman who isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind.... Oh, wait. My friend (who’s reading over my shoulder) tells me I shouldn’t lie to my nice readers. I do say what’s on my mind. In fact, no one can stop me from sharing my two cents. That’s true, I guess, but Lily has such class, such flair, and she’s so darn quick! I usually think of the perfect thing to say about two hours after the conversation is over.

Here’s what I know for sure—there’s magic involved in writing a novel. Oh, there’s plot and character and dialogue and all the usual stuff, but sometimes, if I’ve been very, very good, the book will take wing and soar, and all I have to do is hang on for the ride. The Cowboy Wants a Baby was like that. It will always have a special place in my heart, and I hope, dear readers, that it will be a special book for you, too.

I love to hear from readers! http://www.joleigh.com.

Jo Leigh

The Cowboy Wants a Baby

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY

THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.

The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.

The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.

The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.

None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprec-edented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.

But in one house, there was still hope.

Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.

Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.

Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.

Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.

Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from grow-ing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.

And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would be-come famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in news-papers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.

Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.

At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anni-versary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.

Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Elizabeth Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Elizabeth married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965, and gave birth to twins Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother, Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PROLOGUE

THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the great war in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.

The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.

The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.

The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.

None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprecedented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.

But in one house, there still remained hope.

Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, and left their Quaker roots behind.

Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.

Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.

Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.

Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from growing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.

And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would become famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in newspapers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.

Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.

At her death, the town’s name was changed to Trueblood, in her honor. For years to come, her simple grave was adorned with flowers on the anniversary of her death, grateful tokens of appreciation from the families she had brought together.

Isabella’s son, Josiah, grew into a fine rancher and married Rebecca Montgomery in 1938. They had a daughter, Carrie Trueblood Carter, in 1940. Carrie married her neighbor William Garrett in 1965 and gave birth to Lily and Dylan in 1971, and daughter Ashley a few years later. Home was the Double G ranch, about ten miles from Trueblood proper, and the Garrett children grew up listening to stories of their famous great-grandmother Isabella. Because they were Truebloods, they knew that they, too, had a sacred duty to carry on the tradition passed down to them: finding lost souls and reuniting loved ones.

CHAPTER ONE

THE MANTEL OF the massive stone fireplace in the great room of the Double G ranch overflowed with calla lilies. The elegant white flowers had been placed with care just below the portrait of great-grandmother Isabella Trueblood, and Lily Garrett knew who was behind the sentimental gesture.

She turned to face her loved ones, and her gaze landed on her father, William. “I can’t believe you did this, Daddy. You know they’re my favorite. You’re trying to make me cry, aren’t you?”

“Nothing wrong with a tear now and again.” With a smile that made him seem much younger than his sixty-one years, William leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, darlin’,” he whispered.

“I know, Daddy. Thank you.” Before Lily let the moment disarm her further, she looked over at the couch. Her brother, Dylan, sat perched on the arm. “Hey, get over here. It’s your birthday, too.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You coward.”

He shrugged. “That’s me.”

She sighed, even though she wasn’t really upset. Dylan was shy about this kind of thing, which was peculiar, since he wasn’t shy about anything else. But she didn’t mind taking the spotlight for her twin. “I’m only letting you off the hook because I’m so much older.”

“Ha,” he said. “By all of eight minutes.”

“Quiet, you young whippersnapper.” She smiled, really looking at him, appreciating him. He had the light-brown hair and blue eyes of their father, while Lily had inherited her mother’s wavy black hair and green eyes, but they were well and truly twins. The bond between them… Well, sometimes even she didn’t understand the connection.

Her gaze moved to the rest of the family. Her sister, Ashley, who looked disgustingly young and perky in her tennis whites. Six years Lily’s junior, Ashley had taken time from her busy schedule at the ad agency to be at the birthday party.

Max was there, too. Although not related by blood, he was family in all the ways that were important. He’d grown up on the Double G, just as his father had before him. As ranch foreman, Max played a large part in making the horse and cattle ranch profitable. As a friend, he was even more important. Only five years older than Lily, he’d been a playmate, a tease, a strong shoulder to lean on.

“So are you going to open the presents or what?” Ashley checked her watch impatiently. “I’ve got a game at four.”

“Your game can wait.” William walked over to the big leather couch and eased down, a contented sigh escaping the moment he was off his feet. “It’s not often we have the two of them home on this special occasion.”

“They’re going to live here forever now,” Ashley said. “We’ll have hundreds more birthdays to celebrate.”

“But none like this.” Lily took Ashley’s arm and maneuvered her to the couch, next to their father.

Now that she had everyone’s attention, Lily cleared her throat. “This isn’t an ordinary day. Aside from it being our thirtieth birthday—which, by the way, I feel is totally unbelievable since I don’t feel twenty-five, let alone thirty—today marks a new beginning for me.”

Her brother’s right brow arched in a silent question.

“You’ve all had to put up with a lot from me for the last seven months. I want you to know that I appreciate your patience and your generosity.”

Ashley’s eyes widened. “You appreciate us? It’s a rare day indeed.”

“Hush, Ashley, and let me finish.” Lily moved to the center of the room and glanced up at the second floor for a moment. She cleared her throat, then went on with the speech she’d prepared that morning. “The construction on the new offices is nearing completion, which should be a relief to everyone.”

Ashley clapped, prompting Lily into giving her younger sibling one of her better glares.

“Finders Keepers is well on its way to becoming the success we knew it would be,” Lily went on. “There’s a need for what we’re doing. Too many people are lost and lonely, longing for what we have in abundance in this very room. It’s a cold world out there without someone who loves you. Someone to love. And it’s part of our legacy to help.” She hesitated, wondering if she had the nerve to say the rest. But then she looked into her father’s eyes.

“I also want to let you guys know that as of this day, I won’t be griping about Jason Gill anymore. In fact, I won’t even bring up his name.”

Ashley’s phony choking earned her a pinch from Dylan. Lily didn’t let the episode shake her.

“I’m finished with that,” she continued. “My entire focus is going to be on the agency and nothing else. But I will say one last thing. I know there’s a lesson in this. There’s a reason I fell for the rotten son of a bitch, and a reason I didn’t know he was married. Unfortunately, I have no clue what that reason is. But I figure if it wasn’t for endings, there wouldn’t be new beginnings, right?”

Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them back. The speech, the sentiment, were totally unlike her. She prided herself on her no-nonsense approach to life. Maybe it was turning thirty. Maybe it was the heat. She had no idea what had prompted her to get all mushy. But enough of that. She pushed her shoulders back, took a deep cleansing breath, then made the mistake of looking at Dylan.

His eyes seemed focused on something far away. She had a good idea what he was thinking about. Last year had been tough for him, too. He’d lost a part of himself while he’d been in Dallas. She wished with all her heart that she could take away his pain as well as her own. At least they were home, where they could rebuild their lives and find some peace.

“This is what’s important,” she said, mostly to Dylan, but to herself as well. “Being here with the people we love, and who love us. That’s the best present of all.”

“Uh, Lily?”

She was almost afraid to respond. “Yes, Ashley?”

“Does that mean you won’t be wanting the sweater I got you?”

Laughter shifted the mood, and when Lily walked over to strangle her little sister, things got even livelier. Although she didn’t hurt Ashley, she did pluck her gift from the pile on the coffee table. “Sweater, eh?”

Nearly tearing off the white bandage on her hand, a reminder not to save feral puppies without thick gloves, Lily ripped into the purple-and-white package that Ashley most assuredly had paid someone to wrap. Lily flipped open the box underneath. But there was no sweater. Instead, she pulled out a Sherlock Holmes hat, a meerschaum pipe, and a magnifying glass.

Dylan cracked up and Ashley’s cheeks turned pink.

“This is so cool!” Lily plopped the hat on her head and stuck the pipe in her mouth, then turned to her brother. “Watson, bring me my violin.”

Dylan got up off his perch on the side of the couch and approached her, a sly smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “Watson?” He swiped the hat from her head. “I don’t think so.”

She reached to grab it, but Dylan held it too high. “Give that back. It’s mine!”

“Finders keepers,” he said, dangling the woolen cap tauntingly in front of her.

“I’ve got your finders keepers right here, buddy.” She jumped for the hat and caught the bill. They tugged back and forth, causing much hooting and laughter from Ashley and Max, until, at William’s urging, Dylan gave up. Lily put the hat on, grinning at her victory. They hadn’t tussled in years. It reminded her of their childhood. There had been lots of roughhousing, but very little ill will. Well, except for the time he’d broken into her diary. But since that had happened fifteen years ago, she might be ready to forgive him.

“It’s my turn,” Dylan said, taking the second of the purple-and-white packages. He, unlike Lily, took his time opening the gift. First the ribbon, then each piece of tape. It was maddening. Finally, though, he hit a box. He opened it and grinned as he pulled out a mahogany door plaque that read Finders Keepers in beautiful gold script.

“For the new office,” Ashley said.

“It’s a knockout, Ash.” Dylan passed the plaque to Lily, then kissed his little sister on the cheek. “You did good.”

“Was there any doubt?”

Lily didn’t respond. She was too busy admiring the beautiful workmanship on the plaque. The investigative agency was as real as the wood in her hands. Their intervention had brought three couples together and reunited two mothers and their children—everything Dylan and she had talked about when they’d decided to carry on the Trueblood legacy.

She couldn’t wait until the offices were finished. Maybe she’d even open a bottle of champagne when they put this plaque on the door.

Max cleared his throat, getting her attention. He nodded at the other presents on the table. She plucked a pink bag from the pile and read the card first. It was from her father, and the message was as sweet and corny as he was. Inside she found a jewelry box.

She could sense, even before opening the lid, that she needed to sit down for this one. She settled on the couch, forcing Ashley to squeeze against the arm. When she opened the box, her heart stopped. She recognized the necklace instantly. It had been her mother’s.

“We thought you ought to have that when you turned thirty.” William squeezed her hand. “She’d be so proud of you.”

Lily lifted the elegant teardrop diamond on the slim gold chain. She’d seen her mother wear this on the most special of occasions. It had been her pride and joy. “Help me?” she asked, turning her back to her father and lifting her hair. His fingers trembled slightly as he struggled with the catch, but she didn’t mind the wait. It gave her time to settle her own emotions. She still missed her mother so much.

“There you go, darlin’.”

She let her hair loose and rose to look in the hallway mirror. The diamond hung beautifully on her neck, just below the hollow. It was stunning, but the importance wasn’t in the perfect three-carat stone. It was in the memories. And in the future. She’d give her daughter the necklace, and with it, all the stories of Lily’s mother, and her mother before her… . All the proud heritage of the Truebloods, who’d risen from the ashes of the worst epidemic the world had ever known, only to plunge into the work of reuniting families, finding lost loved ones, creating hope from despair.

“Come back, Lily. Dylan’s opening the next one!”

She left the mirror, but not before she said a silent thanks to her mother.

Dylan had nearly finished his painstaking unwrapping by the time she sat back down on the couch. He got a jewelry box, too. Her father’s watch. The one William had been given by the Ranchers’ Association. The one he’d worn each time their mother had donned the necklace.

“Dad, I—”

“It’s your time, son. I’m just glad I’m here to see you wear it.”

Dylan didn’t speak. He took off his own battered watch and put on the heavy silver timepiece. It looked right on his arm. As if it had always been there.

“There’s only two more,” Ashley said impatiently. “So, would you guys please open them together? And, Dylan, I swear to God, if you don’t rip the paper like a normal human being, I’ll whack you with my racket.”

“You try, little sister, and you won’t sit down for a week.”

“Why? You’d take away the chairs?”

“Very amusing.” Dylan stood tall, reaching his full six-feet-one-inch and folding his muscular arms across his chest. “Amusing, and yet highly annoying.”

“Just open the damn present.”

“Ashley, language.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

Lily interceded by grabbing the next gift. Inside the bag was the most beautiful journal. It had her name inscribed on the outside, and inside was page after crisp white page, just ready for her favorite purple pen and her most private thoughts. “Max.”