Twins for the Rebel Cowboy (The Boones of Texas 2)

“I need some hot chocolate,” she called out to Ryder as she headed into the kitchen. “Want some?”

He didn’t answer.

She pulled the milk from her refrigerator, needing something to do while Ryder was doing whatever it was he was doing. With a few clicks, the old gas burner flamed to life. She turned it down low and poured two cups of milk into the saucepan. She opened the cabinet, moving cans and boxes until she found the hot chocolate packets.

She glanced down the hall. No Ryder. He needed time, and she’d give it to him.

The first bubbles in the milk appeared. She couldn’t leave it, the milk would scorch. She stirred the milk with a wooden spoon, feeling colder with each passing second. Once the milk reached a nice rolling boil, she sprinkled in the cocoa and turned down the burner. She poured the cocoa into two mugs and carried them to the bathroom.

Ryder was bent over, his hands on his thighs. He was breathing hard, as though he’d been running for miles and couldn’t catch his breath.

“Hot chocolate?” she asked, her voice sounding hollow.

He straightened, attempting his normal careless stance and cocky grin even though his skin was an alarming shade of white.

“Or something stronger?” Annabeth asked, nodding at the test on the bathroom sink. There was no mistaking the bright blue plus mark on the test window. “Definitely something stronger.”

He was staring at her, his pale blue eyes so piercing it was hard not to cringe. But she didn’t. She met his gaze, refusing to buckle or fall apart. The longer he stared at her, the more nervous she became. She jumped when he took the mugs from her, placing them on the bathroom counter. When he pulled her into his arms, she couldn’t decide whether to brush him off or melt into him. Then he made the choice easy for her, pressing her head against his shoulder and running his fingers through her long hair. She could hear his heart, racing like crazy, under her ear. His breath was unsteady, too. But he stood straight, holding her so close his heat warmed her. It would be easier if he didn’t feel so damn good, if he didn’t feel so right...

“It’s late.” Ryder’s voice was soft, his arms slipping from her. “You... I... I should let you get some sleep.”

She stepped back, grappling with his words and what they might mean. “Okay.”

“Give me time...to think.” He kept looking at her, his gaze wandering over her face, her stomach, before he glanced back at the test. She saw the muscle in his jaw harden, the leap of his pulse along the thick column of his tan neck. “I’ll go,” he added.

She stepped back, out of his way. If he wanted to leave, she wasn’t going to stop him. But the look on his face, the shame and self-loathing, made her wonder if she’d ever see Ryder again.

Keep it together, Annabeth. This is best. At least she knew what to expect. The biggest surprise was how devastated she felt when he pulled the front door closed behind him, leaving her with two steaming mugs of cocoa and one bright blue pregnancy test.

* * *

RYDER SAT ON his bike, staring at the closed door of Annabeth’s house.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

A baby.

He stared up, sucking in lungfuls of bitter cold night air. A shooting star caught his eye, giving him a point of focus. He had to get his head on straight, had to think about what this...a baby...meant.

Being a parent? A father? He didn’t know how to do that.

With a quick kick, his bike roared to life. He headed straight to the gas station on the edge of town and picked up two longneck beers. After they were tucked into his saddlebag, he headed out of town.

The city had built a fence around the Stonewall Crossing cemetery after a few headstones were shot up with a pellet gun. Kids probably. His family donated the stone and wood for the decorated, and highly effective, fence that now surrounded the cemetery. It didn’t stop anyone who really wanted in, but most kids looked for an easier target.

Ryder parked his bike, shoved the beers into the pockets of his leather jacket and jumped onto one of the four-foot-tall decorative stone posts of the fence. He gripped the top of the fence, shoved his boot int

o the chain link and swung himself over. The drop was a little farther than he expected, making him wince when he hit the dirt.

He paused then, his nerves unexpected.

With another deep breath, he headed across the fields. He knew where he was going, even if he hadn’t been there in five years. He’d never planned on coming back. Greg sure as hell wouldn’t expect him to stop by. But, damn, right now he needed his best friend.

He stood staring at the white marble headstone. He read the inscription four times before he got the nerve to step closer. Gregory Cody Upton. Loving Husband and Father. He’d never had a better friend—except maybe Annabeth.

Annabeth. He looked up, staring blindly at the star-laden sky.