The Cowboy's Secret Baby. Karen Smith Rose
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sigh, opened the door and motioned him in.
He couldn’t read the expression on her face. Was it dread, nervousness, regret? He’d love to know what was going on in her head.
He walked in and saw the baby right away. On the rodeo circuit Ty had talked with kids and horsed around with them. He liked their innocence and naïveté and optimistic outlook on life. They made him laugh. But he’d never been around babies.
This little fellow was seated in a high chair, playing with little round cereal pieces on his tray. Ty barely noticed the yellow-and-white kitchen curtains, the skillet simmering on the stove with what looked like barbecued beef. The smell wafted through the kitchen but it didn’t even make his stomach growl. He couldn’t take his eyes off the little boy.
“My uncle told me you’re unmarried and you have a baby.”
Marissa kept silent.
“How old is he?”
As if Jordan wanted to answer for himself, he pounded his tiny fist on the plastic tray, squealed and gave a lopsided toothy grin to Ty. Ty’s heart turned over in his chest.
“He’s fourteen months old,” Marissa said.
Ty’s gaze swung to hers. He could see she was trying hard to hold it together, to act as if nothing were the matter, acting as if that hadn’t been the most important question in the world.
“We used protection,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Not in the middle of the night,” she reminded him softly.
How could he have forgotten that? How could he have forgotten they’d reached for each other, half-asleep, come together as if they’d been lovers for years and rocked the bed as if lightning was striking all over again?
“He’s mine.”
She only hesitated a moment, and then he saw what he’d sensed about her from the very beginning—from the time they were in high school. She was honest and wouldn’t lie.
“Yes, he’s yours. His name is Jordan.”
As if he was drawn by a very powerful magnet, he crossed to the child and stared down at him, trying to let the implications of it all wash over him. The little boy was pounding on his tray again, gleefully burbling, kicking his legs. He had Ty’s brown hair, a much lighter shade than Marissa’s. But the baby had Marissa’s dark brown eyes, sparkling and shiny with new life and expectant hope.
Suddenly the gravity of what was happening hit Ty in the solar plexus. He swiveled on his boots, faced her and said, “You should have told me.”
She looked dumbstruck for a second.
He held up his hand, knowing they both needed to take a few deep breaths. “I need some air. I’m going for a walk, but I’ll be back. Don’t leave.”
“You can’t order me around, Ty. This is my life, not yours.”
“That baby is our life, Marissa.”
With that, he left her kitchen. With that, he took a few gulps of fresh air. With that, he hurried down the steps of the shabby apartment building.
He had a son. Somehow he had to wrap his mind around the idea that he was a father—and then quickly decide what to do about it.
Marissa’s hand shook as she warmed Jordan’s baby food and scooped it into a dish for him. Her own barbecued beef supper would be sitting in that skillet and serve her for the rest of the week. She had no appetite.
Would Ty come back tonight? Or had he just said that to keep her on alert, to keep her off balance? She was already way off balance. What was she going to do?
As she dipped the spoon into Jordan’s food and made noises like an airplane to coax him to eat it, she wondered what Ty Conroy was going to do.
She’d seen the thunder in his eyes when she’d confirmed the fact that Jordan was his. That thunder was anger that she hadn’t told him. She was pretty sure of that. With his lifestyle, she’d concluded he’d want nothing to do with a baby. She’d concluded he might never be back in Fawn Grove again. The circuit could take him anywhere, including to his best dreams. When he had enough money to fund his dreams, why would he want to come back to Fawn Grove? He could do or be anything he wanted. He could travel. He could have a different girl in each town and never get bored.
Ty had had a following of girls in high school. He’d been a wrestler and won a state championship his senior year. However, the book on him was that he didn’t date much. When did he have time with wrestling practice and chores on the Cozy C? But when he did date, he dated a different girl every time. The thing was, the girls he dated only once still spoke highly of him. They still liked him. They said he was polite and charming and made them laugh. He was a good time.
Marissa knew for certain that he was a good time. She looked at Jordan and she remembered that night with Ty explicitly.
The knock on her door came less than fifteen minutes later. She answered it quickly, wanting to get the issue over with, wanting to get it resolved. If it was resolvable.
She’d wiped Jordan down. Somehow he always managed to dip his fingers into the bowl and then smear the gravy all over his face. Now he was sitting in his play saucer with its activity center, bouncing a bit, manipulating the buttons on a ring on one side of the play table. There were activities the whole way around the circle. His attention span was the strongest when he was playing there. Her attention span right now was zilch.
Her heart thudded hard as she let Ty in and wondered again what he was going to say. More important, what he was going to do.
“Would you like coffee?” she asked, maybe trying to postpone the inevitable. “I don’t have any beer.”
“Coffee’s fine,” he answered, removing his hat, laying it on the table. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair and she remembered running her fingers through it. It was thick but soft and silky. His body had been all hard muscle. Her eyes glided across his shoulders. He still was. There might even be more muscle definition in his arms.
She poured two mugs and set them on the table. “Black, right?” At least that’s what she remembered from the reception.
“Right,” he said with a crisp nod as he stared down at Jordan.
She added milk to her coffee, then a little sugar. When she sat, too, Jordan’s saucer right beside her chair, she asked, “What did you decide on your walk?”
“No decisions, Marissa. I need the facts first.”
She frowned, not sure what he meant. “What facts do you mean?”
“First of all, why didn’t you tell me?”
She felt herself bristle and knew getting defensive wouldn’t do either of them any good. How to explain this so he’d understand? How to explain this without turning herself inside out? She’d start with the simpler explanation.
“You’re a rodeo cowboy, Ty. That’s all you ever wanted to be. You told me that yourself over dinner at the wedding reception.”
“Rodeo cowboys can’t be fathers?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.
“How can they be when they’re never around?”
Maybe that struck too close to home because a shadow crossed his face and his jaw tightened. “You’re generalizing.”
“You’ve asked me a question and I’m trying to answer. Maybe you should answer a couple of questions. If I had told you I was pregnant, would you have seen me through my pregnancy? Would you have come back to Fawn Grove? Would you have been here during labor and delivery? Or if that had been the weekend of a big rodeo, would