The Cowboy's Bonus Baby Page 8

  Re-ride stared up at him from the ground where he was sitting, leaning against the wall, clearly just awakening.

  “Oh, no, this is not going to happen,” Creed said, setting the security alarm, locking the door and loping toward his truck. “You and I are not going to be bosom buddies, so buzz off,” he called over his shoulder.

  Re-ride was in hot pursuit. “Where are you going?” he asked, jumping into the truck when Creed unlocked the door.

  “I’m going someplace you’re not. Get out.” Creed glared at him.

  “Breakfast sounds good. I’ll show you the hot spots around here.” Re-ride grinned. “I know where the best eggs and bacon are in this town.”

  Creed didn’t want the company, but his stomach was growling, and if the eggs were the best… “If you give me any trouble,” he said, and Re-ride said, “Nope. Not me.”

  Creed snorted and followed his new friend’s directions to Charity’s Diner two streets over. “I’m pretty certain I could have found this place myself,” Creed said, and Re-ride laughed.

  “But you didn’t. Come on. I’ll show you some waitresses who are so cute you’ll want more than marshmallows in your cocoa.”

  That made no sense, Creed thought sourly. In fact, it was a pretty stupid remark, but he should probably expect little else from the freeloader. He followed Re-ride into the diner and seated himself in a blue vinyl booth, watching with some amazement as Re-ride waved over a tiny, gorgeous, well-shaped redhead.

  “This is Cherry,” Re-ride said, “Cherry, this is Creed Callahan.”

  Creed tipped his hat, noticing that Re-ride’s hand fell perilously low on Cherry’s nicely curved hip. “Pleasure,” he told Cherry, and she beamed at him.

  “Cocoa?” she asked Creed.

  “Coffee,” he said, wary of Re-ride’s cocoa promise. “Black as you’ve got it, please.”

  She showed sweet dimples and practically stars in her big green eyes as she grinned back at Creed. “Re-ride, you’ve been hiding this handsome friend of yours. Shame on you.”

  Re-ride shook his head as he ran his gaze hungrily down a menu, his mind all on food now, though he still clutched Cherry’s hip. Creed looked at his own menu as Cherry drifted away, surprised when Re-ride tapped the plastic sheet.

  “She likes you, I can tell,” Re-ride said.

  “Look,” Creed said, annoyed, “it’s plain that you don’t want competition for Aberdeen, but I don’t—”

  “Oh, there’s no competition.” Re-ride shook his head. “I told you, I’m marrying Aberdeen. I’m just trying to find you someone, so you won’t be odd man out.”

  Creed sighed. “Odd man out of what? I’m only here for a few days.”

  “Really?” Re-ride brightened. “I might have misunderstood Johnny when I called him last night.”

  Creed perked up. “You talked to Johnny?”

  “Yep.” Re-ride lowered his voice. “You know Aberdeen is trying to adopt Diane’s little girls, a horrible idea if there ever was one.”

  “Why?” Creed asked, telling himself that the Donovan family matters were none of his business, and yet he was so curious he could hardly stand it.

  “Because I’m not cut out to be a father,” Re-ride explained. “I don’t want to be a father to Diane’s children.”

  “Oh.” Creed blinked. “Selfish, much?”

  “What?” Re-ride glared at him, obviously confused.

  Creed shrugged. “If you love Aberdeen, wouldn’t you want what she wants?”

  “No, that’s not how it works. I’m the man, and I’ll make the decisions about what’s best for our family. There’s no way a marriage can work when there’s no chance for privacy right from the start. A man and his wife need privacy, and I’m sure you know what I mean, Callahan.”

  Fire flamed through Creed’s gut. Jealousy. By God, I’m jealous. I can’t be jealous. That would be dumb. But how I wish I could poke this jerk in the nose. I should have beaten him a time or two with that broom handle last night, kind of paying it forward. I sure would feel better now. “You’d be better off taking that up with Aberdeen than with me,” Creed said, keeping his tone mild even as his heart had kicked into overdrive. Maybe he was getting a mild case of indigestion. His whole chest seemed to be enduring one large attack of acid.

  “You paying, cowboy?” Re-ride asked. “I’m short a few at the moment.”

  He was short more things than dollars, but Creed just shook his head, deciding it wouldn’t kill him to help out the poor excuse for a man. “I suppose,” he said, and Re-ride proceeded to call Cherry back over to give her a list of items that would have fed an army.

  Creed sighed to himself. If anyone had ever told him he’d be buying breakfast for the ex-husband and current suitor of a woman that Creed had a small crush on, he would have said they were crazy.

  “Turns out I’m the crazy one,” he muttered, and Re-ride said, “Yeah, I heard that about you.”

  Creed drank his coffee in silence.

  WHEN CREED AND HIS unwanted companion returned to Johnny’s bar, Creed said, “Sayonara, dude,” and Re-ride hurried after him.

  “No,” Creed said, shutting the door in Re-ride’s face.

  “This isn’t how you treat friends!” Re-ride called through the door.

  “Exactly,” Creed said, turning to study the bar. He decided he’d go upstairs and call his brothers, see how the old homestead was doing. He’d only been gone a day and a half—not much could have changed in his absence. He got out his laptop, too, to surf while he chatted. “This is the life,” he said, making himself comfortable in the den. He ignored the banging on the door downstairs. Re-ride would go away soon, or he’d fall asleep outside the door again, and either way, it wasn’t Creed’s problem.

  Until Aberdeen came back. Then Re-ride’s constant presence would be a problem.

  Yet, no. It couldn’t be. Aberdeen was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her, and he was only here to pay back a favor. Not get involved in their personal family business.

  Or to fall for her.

  “That’s right. I’m not doing that,” he said, stabbing numbers into the cell phone. Re-ride had ceased banging for the moment, which was considerate of him. “Howdy, Aunt Fiona,” he said, when his aunt picked up, and she said, “Well, fancy you calling right now, stranger.”

  “What does that mean?” Creed’s antennae went straight up at his aunt’s happy tone. Aunt Fiona was never happier than when she was plotting, but surely he hadn’t been gone long enough for her to have sprung any plots.

  “It means that you must have telekinetic abilities. We just mailed out the invitations to the First Annual Rancho Diablo Charity Matchmaking Ball!”

  Creed blinked. “That’s a mouthful, Aunt.”

  “It is indeed. And we are going to have mouthfuls of food, and drink and kissing booths—”

  “I thought—” He didn’t want to hurt Aunt Fiona’s feelings, so he chose his words carefully. “Why are we having a…what did you call it again?”

  “A First Annual Rancho Diablo Charity Matchmaking Ball!” Aunt Fiona giggled like a teenage girl. “Doesn’t it sound like fun? And it’s all Jonas’s idea!”

  Creed’s brows shot up. He could feel a headache starting under his hatband, so he shucked his hat and leaned back in Johnny’s chair. Outside the window ledge, a familiar face popped into view.

  “Let me in!” Re-ride mouthed through the window, and Creed rolled his eyes.

  “Get down before you kill yourself, dummy,” he said loudly, and Aunt Fiona said, “Why, Creed! How could you speak to me that way?”

  “No, Aunt. I’m not—” He glared at Re-ride and headed into another room. It was Aberdeen’s room, he realized with a shock, and it carried her scent, soft and sweet and comforting. Sexy. And holy Christmas, she’d left a nightie on the bed. A white, lacy nightie, crisp white sheets, fluffy pillows…a man could lie down on that bed and never want to get up—especially if he was holding her.

  But
he wasn’t. Creed gulped, taking a seat at the vanity instead so he could turn his face from the alluring nightie and the comfy bed which beckoned. It was hard to look away. He had a full stomach, and a trainload of desire, and if he weren’t the chivalrous man that he was, he’d sneak into that bed and have a nap and maybe an erotic dream or two about her. “When is this dance, Aunt?”

  “Be home in two weeks,” she commanded, her typical General-Fiona self. “We’re rushing this because Jonas says we must. I wanted to have it in a month, when I could order in something more fancy than barbecue, but Jonas says time is of the essence. We need ladies here fast. Well, he didn’t say that, but that’s the gist of it.”

  Creed sighed. “None of us dance, Aunt Fiona. You know that.”

  “I know. I never saw so many men with two left feet. Fortunately,” Aunt Fiona went on, “you still draw the ladies in spite of your shortcomings. My friends have put out the calls, and we’ve already had a hundred responses in the affirmative. This should be a roaring success in the social columns, I must say!”

  This didn’t sound like one of Jonas’s plans. “I’ve only been gone a few hours,” Creed said, reeling, and Aunt Fiona snapped, “We didn’t have time to wait on you to get back here, Creed, and heaven knows you’re not one for making fast decisions. But Jonas is. And he is light on his feet when it comes to planning. I have great hopes for him.”

  Creed said to hell with it and moved to Aberdeen’s bed, testing it out with a gentle bounce. It was just as soft and comfortable as it looked. “I’m afraid to ask, but why do we need a charity ball?”

  “To get your brothers married, of course. And you, but I think you’ll be the last to go.” Fiona sounded depressed about that. “You’re still haring around, trying to figure out what you want in life, Creed.”

  Right now he wanted a nap in this sweet bed. Telling himself he was a fool to do it—he was treading into dangerous territory—Creed picked up the lacy white nightie with one finger, delicately, as though the sheer lace might explode if he snagged it with his work-roughened hands. “I know what I want in life, Aunt Fiona,” he said softly, realizing that maybe he did know, maybe he’d known it from the moment he’d met her, but there were too many things in the way that he couldn’t solve. His aunt was right—he was still going after something he couldn’t have. “What are we wearing to this shindig, anyway?”

  “Whatever you want to wear,” Aunt Fiona said, “but I’ll warn you of this. Your brothers are going all out in matching black tuxes. Super-formal, super-James Bond. They intend to dance the night away and seduce the ladies in ways they’ve never been seduced.”

  Creed stared at the nightgown, seduced already. But what good would it do? There was an eager ex-husband jumping around outside, climbing to second-story windowsills, trying to make himself at home. And Creed was feeding him. “Sounds like fun, Aunt Fiona,” he said. “Guess I’ll shine up my best boots.”

  “I’ll just be grateful if you get here and ask a lady to dance,” Aunt Fiona said, “so hurry home.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be home very soon.”

  “You promise?”

  “I swear I do.”

  “Then I hold you to that. I love you, even though you are a wily coyote. I must go now, Jonas is yelling at me to buy more stamps for the invitations. He had them made special in town, and then printed invitations in all the nearby papers. I tell you, your brother’s a magician. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before.”

  She hung up. Creed stared at his cell for a moment, finally turning it off. He was dumbfounded, in a word. Aunt Fiona must have worked a heck of a spell on Jonas to put him in such a partying mood. Jonas was not the ladies’ man in the family. Nor did he have the most outgoing disposition. Creed frowned. There was something off about the whole thing, but it was Aunt Fiona and her chicanery, so “off” was to be expected.

  Still, it made him tired. Or maybe Re-ride had made him tired. It didn’t matter. He’d slept on the sofa last night, and he hadn’t slept well, and the eggs had filled him up, and Re-ride was quiet for the moment, so Creed took one last longing look at the white lace nightie he held in his hand, and leaned back against the padded headboard just for a second.

  Just for a quick moment to see what it would feel like to sleep in Aberdeen’s bed. A guy could dream—couldn’t he?

  His eyes drifted closed.

  CREED HAD NEVER SLEPT SO HARD. Never slept so well. It was as though he was enclosed in angel wings, dreaming the peaceful dreams of newborn babies. He didn’t ever want to wake up. He knew he didn’t want to wake up because he was finally holding Aberdeen in his arms. And she was wearing the hot nightie, which was short enough and sheer enough not to be a nightie at all. He’d died and gone to heaven. Everything he’d ever wanted was in his arms.

  He heard a gasp, and that wasn’t right; in his dreams, everyone was supposed to make happy, soft coos of delight and admiration. Creed’s eyes jerked open to find Aberdeen staring at him—and Re-ride.

  It was a horrible and rude awakening. There was no hope that he wouldn’t look like some kind of pervert, so Creed slowly sat up. He removed the nightie from his grasp and shoved it under a pillow so Re-ride couldn’t get more of a glimpse of it than necessary. “Hi, Aberdeen. Did everything go well?”

  “Yes.” She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Shawn says you’ve been running all over town, not watching the bar at all. He says he had to come in and look after it last night because he thought he saw a prowler!”

  Creed flicked a glance at Re-ride. The traitor stared back at him, completely unashamed of his sidewinder antics. “Did he say that?” Creed asked, his voice soft, and Aberdeen nodded vigorously.

  “And may I ask why you’re in my bed?”

  It was a fair question, and one to which he didn’t have a good answer. And he was already in the dog house. Creed sighed. “You can ask, but I don’t have a good reason.”

  “Then will you get out of it?” Aberdeen said, and Creed got to his feet.

  “I guess I’ll be going.” He walked to the door, glancing back only once, just in time to see Re-ride grab Aberdeen and give her the kind of kiss a man gives a woman when he’s about to emblazon her hand with a diamond ring fit for a princess. Creed could hear wedding bells tolling, and it hurt.

  All his dreams—stupid dreams—were shot to dust. He slunk down the hallway, telling himself he’d been an idiot ever to have trusted Re-ride. “That yellow-bellied coward. I live with Aunt Fiona and five brothers. How could I have let myself be gamed like that?” Creed grabbed up his laptop and his few belongings, and five minutes later he was heading down the stairs, his heart heavy, feeling low.

  Re-ride went running past him, hauling ass for the front door. He jetted out of the bar, running toward town. Creed hesitated in the doorway, wondering if he should check on Aberdeen.

  She came down the stairs, lifting her chin when she saw him. “You’re still here?”

  Creed blinked. “Re-ride just beat me to the door, or I’d be gone already.”

  She had enough ice in her eyes to freeze him, and Creed was feeling miserably cold already.

  “Why were you in my bed?”

  “I fell asleep. Is that a crime? It’s not like I was Goldilocks and I tried out all the beds in the house and thought yours was the best. Although from my random and incomplete survey, so far it is pretty nice.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to find you in my bed.”

  “I wasn’t actually expecting to be in it, it just happened that way,” he said with some heat, still smarting that Re-ride had painted him in a thoroughly unflattering light, and liking it even less that Aberdeen had believed the worst of him. Women! Who needed them? “I went in there, I fell asleep. End of story. And I’m not sorry,” he said, “because it was damn comfortable, and I slept like a baby. Frankly, I was beat.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Would you like to sleep all night in my bed?” she asked, and Creed’s pulse rockete
d. Women didn’t say something like that unless they meant something awesome and naked, did they?

  “I should probably be hitting the road,” Creed said, not sure where he stood at the moment, although the direction of the conversation was decidedly more optimistic than it had been a few moments ago.

  She nodded. “Okay. I understand.”

  He understood nothing at all. “Understand what?”

  She shrugged. “Thanks for watching the bar, Creed. And I’m sorry for what I said. I should have known better than to believe anything Shawn says.”

  “You mean Re-ride?” Creed glanced over his shoulder to see if the cowboy had reappeared, but there was a dust plume from the man’s exit. “What changed your mind?”

  “He proposed,” she said simply. “And I realized he was doing it because of you.”

  “Yeah, well. I have that effect on men, I guess. They get jealous of me because it’s obvious the ladies prefer me.” Creed threw in a token boast to boost his self-esteem. Aberdeen had him tied in a cowboy’s knot.

  “So,” Aberdeen slowly said, “the offer’s still open if you’re not of a mind to hit the road just yet.”

  Creed hung in the doorway, feeling as if something was going on he didn’t quite understand, but he wasn’t about to say no if she was offering what he thought she was. Still, he hesitated, because he knew too well that Aberdeen wasn’t the kind of woman who shared her bed with just anyone. “Where’s Johnny? And the little girls?”

  “They’re in Spring, Montana. I just came back to get some of our things.” Aberdeen looked at him, her eyes shy, melting his heart. “And then I’ll be going back.”

  She wasn’t telling everything, but Creed got that she was saying she wouldn’t be around. And she’d just told Re-ride to shove off, so that meant—