The Texan's Baby (Texas Rodeo Barons)

Her bell rang at six twenty-nine—goodness, Chris had a habit of being punctual—and she opened the door to find him in a suit and tie. Her lips dropped open at the sight of him, looking so different out of his jeans and T-shirts and boots. The suit was a good one, dark gray and well-fitting through his shoulders and hips, and his tie was red, with geometric squares in a simple pattern. He was perfect right down to the tips of his dust-free shoes.

“At a loss for words?” he asked with a smile.

“You look... That’s a nice suit.” She stumbled over the compliment.

“Thanks. You didn’t think I had one, did you?”

Her cheeks heated. “You don’t seem the type.”

“A man should always have a good suit.”

“For weddings and funerals?”

He smiled again. “And dates with beautiful women.”

Lizzie tried to remain immune to the compliment. She leaned forward and whispered, “Hey, you don’t have to do that sort of thing with me. Clearly your charm already worked.”

“It’s the truth. Now, are you ready to go?”

“Just let me grab my purse.” She took a beaded clutch from the counter and grabbed her keys. In the parking lot he opened the door of his truck for her and she climbed in, not really minding taking it instead of her car. It was a relatively new half-ton with power everything and comfortable seats. He reset the address for the restaurant in the GPS and they were on their way.

“You look nice tonight,” he offered, stopping at a traffic light. “I like your hair that way.”

She’d left it down, pulling a few strands back from the sides and anchoring them with bobby pins while the rest of her hair fell in slight waves over her shoulders. She rarely wore it like this; at work she went for something more no-nonsense and out at the ranch it was usually in a practical long ponytail.

The evening was starting to feel very special indeed.

At the restaurant she was delighted to discover that their table was in a back corner, quiet and cozy with candlelight and soft music. They were given menus and before they even had them opened, waitstaff arrived with a basket of warm, fragrant bread and a chilled bottle of cider.

Despite her best intentions, she had to admit she was being romanced, and she liked it. When was the last time she’d been treated this special? She couldn’t quite remember.

Chris held up his glass. “We got off to a very unusual start,” he admitted. “But you were right. We should begin as we mean to go on. To a healthy baby boy or girl and his or her bright future.”

Her vision blurred and she blinked. How lovely and generous of him. Tonight was a far cry from tequila shots at a honky-tonk and a discount motel room.

She raised her glass. “Thank you, Christopher,” she said softly, touching the rim to his in a faint tinkle.

The cider was tart and refreshing and Lizzie helped herself to a piece of bread, dipping it in fragrant olive oil and balsamic vinegar. A waiter came and took their order and disappeared again, and Lizzie began to enjoy herself. It was a good date. Even if it wasn’t supposed to be romantic, it was still relaxing and special and a complete treat. Way better than takeout on the way home from the office or a warmed-up frozen dinner at the end of a long day.

“Lizzie, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chris began, putting down his glass. “I told you I wanted some time to think about things and how involved I wanted to be, and I’ve done that.”

The relaxed feeling went away and Lizzie’s body tensed. Was he going to start making demands now? She knew what she was going to do. She was going to have this baby and be a mom. She’d stay on at Baron and hire a nanny, and she’d spend as much time as possible with her son or daughter.

“You know I don’t care about child support,” she reminded him. The less she demanded of him, the less he could demand of her, right?

“I appreciate that, but I intend to support my kid, financially and otherwise,” he stated calmly.

“Otherwise?”

“Lizzie, I intend to be a father to my child. I can’t go on with my life, pretending that he or she doesn’t exist.”

Her lips twisted...the last thing she wanted for her baby was to be carted back and forth between houses and all the confusion and insecurity that could come from that sort of relationship.

“I just want my baby to have stability and consistency, and I’m worried that won’t happen if we bounce her back and forth, you know?” She fiddled with her napkin.

“You mean you’re worried you won’t have parental control twenty-four seven?”

Was that it? Was it really a control issue? She pursed her lips, unsure of how to answer.