The Texan's Baby (Texas Rodeo Barons)

He came forward and bent down for a kiss. “Good. Less stress is good for you and the baby.”

She frowned and kept rocking. “I wouldn’t say I have less stress. I’ve been meaning to talk to my dad about something Mark brought to my attention last week and I don’t quite know how to bring it up.”

“Oh?” She watched as Chris moved to the kitchen and retrieved a pot, filled it with water and put it on the burner to heat.

“There’s been a lot of stock activity since Dad’s accident. We expected the price to dip, but there’s been a lot of buying lately, too.” She frowned. “You know, our position in the industry took a hit when we lost that contract in the Gulf. I can’t help feeling that we might have weathered that better if we were more diversified.”

Chris poured marinar

a into a pot to heat and began slicing chicken breasts. “You think someone’s making a move on the company?”

“I don’t know. Other than Mark’s ‘feeling’ about the stock, there’s no evidence.”

“But you’re worried.”

“Of course I’m worried.” She stopped rocking, looked up at him as he stood at the stove, his upper half visible through the opening above the serving counter.

He met her gaze. “You’re just particularly sensitive because you’re new to this and you’re feeling pressure, that’s all. I know you don’t want to disappoint your dad.”

“Not just Dad. The company, too. I love it. I always have. It’s more than just an office to me.”

“I know.” He frowned a little.

“What?” She pushed herself up out of the chair. “You don’t like me running the company?”

“If you love it, you should.” He slid pasta into the now-boiling water. “I’m just, well, a bit jealous. Not everyone finds the one thing that they really love and makes a career out of it.”

She felt a little guilty then, knowing he’d given up something he’d loved to be there for her and the baby. But he needn’t have done that so soon. He could have finished out the season.

She went into the kitchen, paused by the refrigerator and watched as he sautéed the chicken, pushing it around with a wooden spoon. “Chris, why did you leave the rodeo behind so fast after I told you the news? I know you said you wanted to support your child, but he or she isn’t even born yet.”

“Because I was kidding myself,” he answered bluntly. “I took a year off to play, but I knew deep down it was just a vacation. It’s not real life.” He smiled at her. “I found out I was going to be a father and I decided I needed to stop wishing for my youth back and start growing up.”

“But are you happy? Really happy?”

He shrugged. “Is anyone ever completely and perfectly happy? I doubt it.”

He came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen. If we hadn’t met, you wouldn’t be expecting a baby. And if you weren’t pregnant, we wouldn’t be here right now. And here isn’t such a bad place to be.” His dimple popped and she couldn’t deny him anything when he smiled like that.

No, here wasn’t a bad place to be at all. But she couldn’t escape the feeling that he was putting on a bit of a show just the same. That not everything was as cozy as it seemed. The problem, she realized, was that it all felt a little too good to be true. And the problem with that was in her experience, if it felt too good to be true it generally was.

“It’s just a job. Don’t sweat it.” He brushed it off and went back to the stove to stir the meat.

She paused for a moment and then decided to let it drop. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

He smiled brightly. “Salad?”

She went to work making a green salad to go with their dinner when Chris brought up another subject. “I spoke to my parents today. I think we should tell them. How do you feel about going for a drive this weekend?”

She frowned. Things were busy at work and she’d planned to go over some operational reports away from the office. Then again, they’d told her family nearly two weeks earlier and Lizzie was feeling better. After all Chris’s sacrifices, the least she could do was revise her schedule.

“That’d be fine,” she replied, tossing the salad with the forks.

It was all very domestic. Very...settled. She should be happy. He was a good man, they got along well, and the sparks—well, they were there, too.

So why did she feel as if they were living in a house of cards, and the slightest interfering breeze would blow it down?

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