The Texan's Baby (Texas Rodeo Barons)

There was no question about that. Christopher Miller deserved to know the truth and deserved to hear it from her—not from anyone else. What if the media got a hold of the story? They’d been quick to report the lost contract in the biz pages, and she already felt extra scrutiny from all sides as she sat at the boardroom table. Only thirty and vice president of a major energy corporation—not to mention being the boss’s daughter. The old boys’ club was just waiting for her to screw up.

Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to be able to hide her condition forever. She was already almost eight weeks along. Another couple months and she’d be showing. It would be far better to do damage control right now and get on with things.

She looked up at the attractive stucco condos and wished there was a way to make this look like less of a disaster. But no matter how she spun it, the bald truth remained. She’d been stupid. Impulsive. She’d let the family down—especially her dad. She knew how it would look to the shareholders and the press.

Mark Baker, Baron’s CFO, would practically be crowing about it. He was dying to get his chance to be in the driver’s seat at Baron, urging Brock to retire. It burned her biscuits that he might have any leverage on her, the pompous jerk.

Her headache was starting to come back, so she made her way over to one of the low stone walls by the building where there was some shade under a sycamore tree. All she had to do was remember her plan. Plans were good. Plans were soothing. Plans gave the illusion of control in the midst of chaos.

She gathered herself together and walked purposefully to the front door of the building, stepping into a blessedly cool air-conditioned foyer. The second set of doors was locked for security, so she scanned the panel of residents for his name. There it was—C. Miller, unit 406. She pressed the buzzer and waited.

As the seconds ticked past, she looked around. The complex was quite nice. The buildings were well kept, the grass cut neatly and urns of flowering plants flanked the entrance. It was definitely not what she’d expected from the dusty bronc rider she’d met two months ago. He wasn’t that high up in the standings, either, so how on earth did he afford this place? Momentarily she wondered if she’d gotten the wrong Christopher Miller. What if she’d come all this way for nothing?

There was a click and then a voice. “Hello?”

Something stirred inside her at the sound of his voice. It was just one word but it was familiar—the low grit of it skimming over her nerve endings. She swallowed. “Uh...hi. I’m looking for Christopher Miller?”

“That’s me.”

“It’s...uh...” She scrambled to think of what she’d said to him that night. How much she’d revealed. Plans, she reminded herself. Just stick to the script. “It’s Elizabeth.”

There was a pause.

“From the bar in Fort Worth.”

The words came out strained.

“Come on up. Elevator’s through the doors and to the left.”

There was a click—and a buzzing sound as he let her in.

She pulled open the door and stepped inside. The tiled floor of the lobby gleamed as if freshly waxed and potted trees were spaced throughout the small area. There was a small table flanked by two chairs to the right, adding a homey yet classy touch. An elevator waited and she pushed the up arrow button. Seconds later the door opened and she stepped inside the car.

She could do this. She could see him and speak to him in a businesslike way and explain what she intended to do. She didn’t need anything from him. Didn’t want anything from him. He was completely and utterly off the hook.

The doors slid open at the fourth floor and she ran her hands down her skirt and then over her hair, making sure the knot at the back was smooth and neat. Stepping out, she started down the hallway. Number 401 was on the left, 402 on the right. Two more doors to go. She would knock. Smile. Begin with “you must be surprised to see me...”

A door opened and Christopher stepped into the hall. Her feet halted and she stared at him awkwardly, her practiced words flying out of her head. She’d definitely gotten the right guy. Around six feet, with dark hair that curled around his collar and gorgeous chocolaty eyes that crinkled in the corners. He wore jeans and a T-shirt but was in his bare feet, and his hair was glistening, as though he’d recently got out of the shower. Oh boy.

He was staring at her, too, like she was a stranger. “It really is you,” he said

, shaking his head a little. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “What the hell are you doing here?”

* * *

FOR WEEKS, CHRIS had been wondering if he should try to find out who she was. She’d only said her name was Elizabeth. They’d met at a honky-tonk in Fort Worth after a less-than-stellar rodeo performance on his part. She’d been sitting at the bar, sipping a beer right from the bottle. His first impression had been surprise. Despite wearing jeans and boots and a T-shirt, there was a look of class about her. She looked more the wine-and-cheese type rather than beer and chips.

He’d had a good first round that weekend, but then he’d drawn Devil’s Spawn. The horse was aptly named, it turned out, because Chris had been launched into the stratosphere in the second round after 4.6 seconds. He’d missed out on the money. No buckle bunnies had followed him to the bar and that had been just fine with him. He’d figured he’d nurse his wounds with a beer and head back to the motel where he was staying. Take a hot bath to soothe his sore muscles.

And then he’d seen her. He’d ordered another beer, looked over at her and she’d smiled, a soft little smile, and all his brain cells turned to mush.

When he’d woken the next morning, the bed had been empty. The only evidence that she’d been there was the earring she’d left behind. How very cliché.

That had been nearly two months ago. Since then he’d done better, hitting the finals in a few rodeos, bringing in a little cash to help cover his expenses. It wasn’t like this was his livelihood or anything. He was only on a leave of absence from his regular job. A job which had suddenly felt very claustrophobic after years of long hours. He missed the outdoors, missed the horses and the thrill. Missed having fun.

This leave of absence was his one last chance. Not that he expected to earn any titles. He’d been out too long and he was getting older. Another few years and he wouldn’t be quite so resilient. If he were going to relive his youth one last time, it had to be now...before he lost his nerve. So he’d have no regrets. One last chance to live the life he wanted rather than the one that was expected of him.

Now she was here, standing not ten feet away. Forget the jeans and boots, too. She was the picture of elegance and power, moderately tall and slim, and wore her dark hair up in a conservative knot rather than the long, sexy ponytail he remembered. A great pair of legs was shown to excellent advantage in a slim skirt and sexy black heels. Buckle bunny? Not in a million years. The woman before him now was used to being in charge. If it weren’t for the stunning blue eyes, she’d barely resemble the woman he remembered from the motel that night.