Having The Cowboy's Baby. Stella Bagwell
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the backyard garden. It’s still too early for bed and it’s pleasant out there at this time of night.”
Hoping the grin on his face wasn’t as wolfish as it felt, Cordero hurriedly left his chair and helped her to her feet.
As they left the dining room, he took the opportunity to slip his arm around her back. The moment he touched her, he could feel her body tense, but after they took a few steps she seemed to relax and accept the weight of his hand resting in the curve of her waist.
In a matter of moments they were on the porch where they’d left the juleps. There, a screen door led down several wooden steps and onto a neat trail covered with washed river gravel.
Anne-Marie inclined her head toward an archway tangled with moon blossom vines. “Through there,” she said. “The footlights are enough light.”
By now the sun had been down for a couple of hours and the temperature was cooling to a bearable level. The faint breeze stirring the oak leaves above their heads helped ward off the occasional mosquito.
Cordero felt a strange sense of peace as he looked around at the carefully groomed rosebushes and smelled the pungent scent of jasmine. “I noticed this part of the backyard when we hauled the horses down to the stables,” he said to Anne-Marie. “I thought it looked like something in an Old Spanish courtyard or a private garden behind a sanctuary.”
“I suppose it does. My mother built this garden shortly after she married Father. She was a deeply religious person and I think she liked to use this as a quiet place to pray.”
“Did she work as a missionary, too?” Cordero asked as they strolled along the winding trail.
“No. She was a high school music teacher. But she did lots of church work.”
“Is she the reason you thought about entering a convent?” Even as he asked the question, Cordero couldn’t imagine this warm, vibrant woman next to him making a vow of chastity. One look at her was enough to tell him she was meant to love a man and have his children.
Her chin dropped and she kept her eyes on the ground as they continued deeper into the garden. “Maybe. I think I always viewed her as an angel. She seemed so perfect. And I wanted to be like her.”
Cordero smiled faintly. “That’s because she was your mother. You were viewing her through very young eyes.”
Her gaze slipped up to his shadowed face. “She had friends from all over Assumption and St. James parishes and she had a special way of taking care of others—people who were sick or emotionally needy. As I grew older I thought becoming a sister would be the best way to give of myself—like she did. But that wasn’t meant to be. I learned I—well, I’m not worthy.”
Cordero couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing about herself. He wanted to press her about the comment, but she suddenly changed the subject completely. “Do you know anything about sugarcane?”
He laughed. “The only thing I know is that I like desserts and I like molasses poured over a hot biscuit.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe I could show you some of the fields tomorrow and give you a little lesson,” she suggested. “If you’d like, that is.”
He’d made a big mistake, Cordero thought, as he gazed down at her beautiful face. He should never have agreed to stay here alone with her, even for a few days. One evening with this woman was turning him into a complete fool. He felt like a teenager, raging hormones were directing his brain. What would he be like after spending a few days with her?
Don’t worry about it, Cordero, once you’re back in Texas nothing about Anne-Marie Duveuil will matter. You’ve been temporarily enchanted with a woman before. This one is no different.
The little voice in his head was enough to momentarily push the nagging question out of Cordero’s mind and his fingers tightened on the side of her waist.
“I’d like it a lot,” he murmured, then remarked, “Your home here is really something. Has it always been in your family?”
She nodded. “The Duveuils have always been here. Our family tree goes back to some of the first Acadians who settled this area. My ancestors were part of the French Acadians that had to flee Canada in 1755. They came down here to Louisiana when it was still just a Spanish colony. I’m sure at that time most of my distant relatives were trappers. But down through the years the Duveuils began to farm and we’ve raised sugarcane here in the river bottoms for nearly two hundred years.”
Anne-Marie was relieved to see the wrought iron bench come into view. Maybe if they sat down, he’d be forced to take his hand away and she could put some distance between them. Otherwise, with his fingers dipping into her flesh, she could scarcely think about anything except the excitement that was rushing through her, making her heart beat way too fast.
“Let’s sit,” she suggested and, pulling away from his hold on her, she walked to the bench and took a seat at one end.
In front of her, slightly to the left, was an old concrete fountain built in the image of an angel. Most of the fountain was covered with moss and algae, making a major portion of the figure a muted green color. Water trickled from a large jug cradled in the cherub’s hands and splashed like musical notes into the pool surrounding her feet. Normally the sound of the cascading water soothed Anne-Marie, but tonight, with Cordero easing down on the seat next to her, she could hardly hear it for her pulse pounding in her ears.
“I feel like a bull in a china shop,” he said wryly, as he took in the delicate white roses encircling the fountain. “Maybe we should go back to the porch.”
Anne-Marie’s gaze settled on his brown cowboy boots. The toes were slightly rounded, the heels slanted and high. She could easily picture him in spurs and chaps, cracking a whip at a charging bull. “Why? Don’t you like it out here?”
“It’s beautiful. The roses look like something out of a gardening magazine. But it’s—” He glanced around as though he expected to find someone standing in the shadows. “I get the feeling someone is here—watching us. I feel like I’m intruding.”
Anne-Marie wondered what it meant that he felt the presence, too. No one else had. Not even Jules.
“I think it’s Mama’s spirit. I guess that’s why I love this garden so much.” She let out a wistful sigh, then glanced at him. “Tell me about your ranch. What does it look like?”
He leaned back in the seat and crossed his boots at the ankles. Anne-Marie was glad to see the mention of a spirit hadn’t spooked him or made him laugh at her as Ian used to.
“The Sandbur is a big property. It covers several thousands of acres. In the main ranch yard, there are lots of corrals and fences and barns. We employ cowboys to take care of the cattle and the horses.”
“Does all your family live on the ranch? In one house?”
With a fond smile curving his lips, he picked up her hand and gently rubbed his thumb against the soft skin of her palm. Anne-Marie swallowed as her heart kicked into an even higher gear. She didn’t know why the memory of that kiss he’d planted on her in the elevator was still rattling around in her head like a dangerous bullet. She should have forgotten the whole thing. Instead, those moments seemed to be growing more and more vivid in her mind.
“Most of my family lives on the ranch,” he said. “But not in the same house. There are two main houses on the Sandbur. The Sanchez house and the Saddler house, which belongs to my Aunt Geraldine. My cousin Lex lives with her. He’s in charge of sales and marketing.”
“Is he married?”
Her question brought a loud guffaw from him. “Not on your life! Lex is like me. He enjoys his freedom too much to let a woman tie him down. He’s about to turn thirty-five and he hasn’t been married yet. I doubt he’ll ever walk down the aisle.”
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