Daddy Wore Spurs. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
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A faint smile curved his lips.
“I’m a curious man and you’re a beautiful woman. A plus B equals C.”
“That’s not the way algebra works.”
Finn chuckled lowly. “You’re right. That’s not algebra. That’s my own special equation.”
He was making light of the whole thing and it would be best if she did, too. But his kiss had shaken her to the very depths of her being. And she was sick of men never taking her seriously, tired of being considered a pleasant pastime and nothing more.
“Very cute,” she muttered, then quickly turned away from him and walked over to Harry’s playpen. “But I’ve had enough laughs for one night. I’m putting Harry and myself to bed.”
Mariah was bending over to pick up Harry when Finn’s hands caught her around the waist and tugged her straight back into his arms.
“If you thought that was for laughs, then maybe I’d better do it over.”
Before she could react he’d already fastened his lips over hers. And this time there was no mistaking the raw hunger in his kiss.
***
Men of the West:
Whether ranchers or lawmen, these heartbreakers can ride, shoot—and drive a woman crazy…
Daddy Wore Spurs
Stella Bagwell
After writing more than eighty books for Mills & Boon, STELLA BAGWELL still finds it exciting to create new stories and bring her characters to life. She loves all things Western and has been married to her own real cowboy for forty-four years. Living on the south Texas coast, she also enjoys being outdoors and helping her husband care for the horses, cats and dog that call their small ranch home. The couple has one son, who teaches high school mathematics and is also an athletic director. Stella loves hearing from readers. They can contact her at [email protected].
To my husband, Harrell.
You still look sexy in spurs, my darlin’!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Was this baby his son?
Finn Calhoun stared in wonder at the four-month-old boy cradled in the woman’s arms. The child’s hair was curly, but it wasn’t bright copper like his own. Still, it was a light shade of auburn. Finn’s eyes were the color of the sky, while the baby’s eyes were a much darker blue. There were also the dimples creasing his fat little cheeks. Finn possessed those same dimples, too. But that was hardly proof the little guy belonged to him.
A man was supposed to have nine months to adjust to the idea of becoming a dad, Finn thought. He’d had all of two days to ponder the notion of having a child. And though he liked to consider himself a man with his boots firmly planted on the ground, the idea that he might be a father had left him feeling as if he’d been shot out of a cannon and hadn’t yet landed.
“Would you like to hold him?”
The gently spoken question broke through Finn’s dazed thoughts, and he lifted his gaze to Mariah Montgomery, the baby’s aunt.
Gauging her to be in her midtwenties, he noted that her slender frame was concealed beneath a pair of worn blue jeans and a sleeveless red checked blouse. Crow-black hair waved back from a wide forehead and was fastened at the nape of her neck with a white silk scarf. Cool gray eyes regarded him with cautious regard, while a set of pale pink lips pressed into a straight line.
Since meeting him at the door five minutes ago and inviting him into the house, Finn hadn’t seen any sort of pleasurable expression or welcoming smile cross her face. But Finn could overlook her somber attitude. She’d surely gone through hell these past few weeks.
A month ago, her sister Aimee had died in a skiing accident. Since then she’d had to deal with grief and instant motherhood. Now she was meeting Finn for the first time. And she had no idea if he was a worthless bum who’d taken advantage of her late sister, or a nice guy who’d been caught up in a long-distance love affair. She only knew that Finn’s name was listed on the baby’s birth certificate as the father.
His head whirling with questions and reservations, Finn stepped forward. “Do you think holding him would be all right?”
She shot him an odd, almost suspicious look. “Why wouldn’t it be all right? Fathers do hold their sons. And Aimee named you as the father.”
Her voice held a thread of skepticism. As though she was far from convinced he was the boy’s father. Well, Finn could’ve told her that for the past two days, he’d also been swamped with doubts. No matter that the timing of the child’s birth calculated perfectly back to the weekend he’d spent with Aimee, a two-day affair hadn’t necessarily created a baby. Even so, he wasn’t about to dismiss the possibility that he was the father.
Keeping these thoughts to himself, he said, “Some babies don’t appreciate being handed over to a stranger. And I don’t want to make him cry.”
Mild surprise pushed the suspicion from her face. “Oh. So you’re familiar with babies?”
“I’ve never had one of my own,” he admitted. “But I spent quite a bit of time with my nieces and nephews when they were small.”
That hardly seemed to impress her, but she did move a step closer.
“I see. Well, Harry is a friendly little guy. He likes most everyone.”
The breath suddenly rushed from Finn’s lungs. “Harry? Is that short for Harrison?” he asked, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
“That’s right.