The Cowboy Seal's Jingle Bell Baby. Laura Marie Altom
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that it could be a year before she had a true marriage again.
Tiffany had visited her father only twice but regularly called.
Gigi preferred old-fashioned paper correspondence.
“I’ve got to get to a showing by nine. Try helping Grammy with some housework, okay?” Tiffany kissed her mother’s cheek—already fully made up and smelling of pricey lotion and cream. To show how much she adored her mom, Tiffany picked up sample-sized expensive-brand cosmetics at Bismarck department stores or online at discount wholesalers. There was no need for Gigi to ever learn the true extent of just how bad things were financially.
“I’ll try, dear, but you know how dust makes me sneeze.”
“I know. Just do your best.” Tiffany rubbed Mr. Bojangles between his ears, then made it down the two-story home’s creaky front stairs and almost to the door before getting busted by her grandmother.
“Don’t even think of dashing out of here without a proper breakfast.”
“Grammy, I’m starving and would love to eat but have to meet a client by nine.”
“What if I made you an egg-and-cheese sandwich to go?”
Tiffany’s tummy growled. That did sound awfully tempting.
“See?” Grammy smiled. “Your boy’s already got an appetite.”
“Okay, I’ll eat. But I’m meeting Mr. Jones at the office at nine, so I can’t be late. And, Grammy, you know I can’t keep the baby.”
“Nonsense.” Pearl guided Tiffany into the kitchen and parked her in a comfy chair at the table her ancestors had reportedly hauled west in a covered wagon.
She happily sighed when her grandmother handed her a steaming mug of homemade cocoa with whipped cream on top.
“Mmm... I love you,” Tiffany said.
“I know,” Pearl said.
When the first piece of bacon hit the skillet, Mr. Bojangles scurried into the kitchen. Of course, Grammy fed him part of a still-warm buttermilk biscuit.
The eggs frying in butter in her grandmother’s favorite cast-iron skillet smelled so good that Tiffany didn’t even get too terribly upset when an extra-hard wind gust rattled the paned windows. She just glanced that way to note that it had indeed started to snow.
The flakes were huge—like designer gumballs falling topsy-turvy, covering ugly brown grass with a tidy blanket of white.
Would her son love playing in the snow as much as she used to when visiting her grandmother over the holidays?
Along with the realization that she’d never know, pain knotted the back of her throat. She squashed it.
Giving up her son was the hardest thing she’d ever do, but it was hands down the best decision for him. For his future life. What she wanted didn’t matter. If it did...
Well, she squashed that thought, too.
* * *
ROWDY LOVED STAYING with his folks, but having spent the bulk of the past ten years in warm—if not downright hot—climates, he much preferred the family traveling to Virginia to see him. A few times a year, they packed up his brother, Carl, sister-in-law, Justine, and their two rug rats, six-year-old Ingrid and eight-year-old Isobel, to come to the beach.
Clearly, the last time he’d been in Maple Springs had been a disaster. He’d always had a thing for cowgirls and Tiffany had been as hot as they come.
Last Easter had been unseasonably warm, and after the annual rodeo he’d attended, he and a few friends had headed to the town’s only bar. He’d met Tiffany in one of those twists of fate you might see in movies but think never actually happen.
Rowdy had tried calling her, but the number had been disconnected. He’d next gotten on the phone with his mom and had her make a few discreet inquiries.
Rowdy had been under the impression that Tiffany lived in Dallas, but turned out a very pregnant girl named Tiffany Lawson currently resided with Pearl Lawson, who used to run the town’s only grocery before selling it to the Dewitt brothers—all of which was a roundabout way of explaining why he was now headed down Buckhead Road to meet with Tiffany at her place of business at Hearth and Home Realty. If his mom ever gave up ranch life, she ought to consider signing on with the CIA. No spook Rowdy had met came close to solving a mystery like his mom.
That said, she was currently none too happy with him.
For quite a few years, she’d expected him to marry and give her more grandkids. The news that she might already have a grandson on the way had been far more agreeable to her than him. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been through a similar scenario, and he couldn’t handle that brand of stress again.
Regardless, he had plenty of leave time coming, so he’d let his CO know he’d be gone a few weeks, then hopped the earliest flight to Bismarck. His family had been thrilled to pick him up from there. That had been yesterday.
First on this morning’s agenda was meeting with the mother of his child and hopefully having a rational, adult conversation about a number of topics. First, he needed to be 100 percent sure the baby was his. Second, he’d inform her that she had no right in hell to give his son away to strangers—or anyone else. That said, he wasn’t sure what might happen next, but he was an honorable man.
He and Tiffany would find a mutually amenable arrangement.
His folks felt Rowdy should have at least given the woman a courtesy call that he was in town, but when it came to the topic of signing away his kid, he wasn’t in a courteous mood.
In a businesslike setting, everyone would be on their best behavior.
The twenty-minute drive from the ranch to town gave him too much time to think.
Maple Springs was nice enough in the summer, but once winter set in, the place could best be described as gray. A half-mile, single-sided stretch of old-as-dirt grayish brick buildings housed antiques stores, insurance agents, the drugstore, the diner and café, three clothing stores, and a day care. A few years back, his mom told him the mayor’s wife decreed the windows of each business be fitted with red-striped canvas awnings. In warmer months, they were okay, but the rest of the year, they resembled soggy ice-and snow-crusted circus popcorn boxes.
Judging by how fast the snow was falling, this might be one of the last weeks of the year when both sides of Richard L. Fulmer Avenue were available for parking. The usual snowplow drift grew on the same side of the road as the railroad tracks. That side also happened to not have any businesses—at least not until a good two miles outside town, where the Robert T. Fulmer Tavern had moved into the former feed store’s building. Mayor Richard L. Fulmer was less than pleased about his twin brother serving spirits, which was why the establishment had to be outside city limits.
As long as the beer was cold, nobody in town gave two hoots. As an added bonus, Robert had been kind enough to restore the long-abandoned roadside motel just next door. Much to his brother’s dismay, he’d been voted Maple Springs’ Man of the Year in 1998 for giving free rooms to patrons too tanked to drive.
Rowdy recalled that at the time of his son’s conception, he was awfully thankful for the motel’s close proximity.
He pulled his dad’s truck into an empty space just down from Hearth and Home’s office. When he wasn’t in town, Rowdy stored his truck in one of the ranch’s outbuildings. As his lousy luck would have it, this morning, the damned thing hadn’t started.
In an attempt to hold off winter’s fast-approaching gloom, pumpkin lights hung from the office’s awning. Skeletons danced from gaslight sconces on either side of the mirrored-glass double doors.
Rowdy turned off the engine, then sat a spell to compose his thoughts. He’d made his appointment with Tiffany through her secretary. Would Tiffany even remember who he was? For that matter, was she mistaking