Cowboy Be Mine. Tina Leonard
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saint keeping watch on him, because during the last fifty-five minutes, his lap had been a continual seat for one Dixon child or the other. The nine-year-old, Beth, was too big to sit in his lap so she settled for sitting beside him, proudly helping him find where he should be reading in the church booklet or the hymnal. Brad stared straight ahead, but Bailey had seen the sides of his mouth twitching. The big cowboy from the Wade ranch could handle steers, but he had his hands full with little people.
Bailey closed her eyes, the smile erased from her lips. He’d really be bowled over if he knew a tiny person was on the way, one that would bear his features in some fashion. Her insides went cold. She couldn’t refuse his request to sit with friends, as he’d put it, knowing how uncomfortable he’d be in a church by himself. His father had been more likely to have a pact with the devil than peace with the Lord, and that was true even before his wife left him. Before they separated, the Wades didn’t attend church with their only child. Mrs. Wade had once confided to a town gossip that she didn’t reckon she could sit beside her husband for an hour anywhere without getting into an argument.
Bailey pressed her lips together. No, she would never have turned Michael away, knowing how miserable he’d be forcing himself to walk inside a church alone and sit there for an hour the subject of scrutiny. Afterward, single women would take advantage of the opportunity to flirt with him and cozy up to the Wade fortune. Like a deer tentatively making its way from the cover of woods, he’d be a prime target in the clearing for manhunters.
But she was going to have to figure out a way eventually to inform him that they were far more than friends.
They were soon-to-be parents.
WHEN THE HOUR was over, Michael breathed a huge sigh of victory. He’d made it! Only one crayon had rolled under the pew—rescued—one child’s shoe clattered loudly to the floor—rescued—and one bulletin had fluttered from a child’s hand to the floor in front of the altar. Rescued, by the kindly priest, who smiled at him and the passel of kids who insisted on sitting in his lap. Why did the Dixons have to sit in the front row, in front of the entire congregation and the choir and the religious personnel? Though they didn’t make a peep, the children were like a shifting landscape, never still except during the sermon.
That still had him amazed.
And only one bathroom break had been required—Bailey’s, to his astonishment. She hadn’t looked well when she hurried suddenly to the back of the church. Her skin had taken on a pasty look, pronounced by the bright sunlight streaming through the stained glass. Maybe she wasn’t getting good food to eat.
He could fix that.
Outside the church, as they all crammed into his Lincoln—had he ever thought this car was roomy?—he said, “Let me take everyone to the pancake house as my way of thanks.”
He slid his gaze to Bailey, who stared over Baby, planted firmly between them. Brad sat in the back, the extra children packed on and around him and breaking the law for seat-belt safety, no doubt. Some kids were double-belted, some perched on his lap, but Brad seemed oblivious to the crowding.
Michael admired his patience. Bailey was shaking her head to his offer, and he was afraid he’d lose his.
“You need not treat us for such a simple thing as going to church together. We’ve already had the enjoyment of your car, and that’s enough,” she said firmly.
But he’d heard the gasps from the back seat. The children likely hadn’t been out to eat in their entire lives. A pancake house was temptation beyond belief. “Please, Bailey,” he murmured, “let me do something small for the children.”
“It’s not small!” she replied under her breath. “Feeding all of us will cost a fortune, and we don’t have any way of splitting the tab with you.”
He saw the steel in her posture. But he was determined to have his way on this, now that he’d heard the delight from the too-well-mannered children who wouldn’t dare erupt in pleas, but who were no doubt hoping he’d somehow change Bailey’s mind.
“Bailey.” He made his voice low and pleading.
“You wouldn’t enjoy a meal with this bunch.” She turned her head and looked out the window. “Thank you, but no.”
Her stiff spine said clearly, We’re not a charity case.
Surely she knew he didn’t feel that way. There had to be something else making her dig in and refuse to share a few five-pancake stacks at Miss Nary’s Pancakes and Dairy. “I have good table manners,” he told her.
“Michael!” A smile tried to edge her lips, but she refused it.
“A man can’t always eat alone. It’s bad for the digestion,” he said, his voice innocent.
“Michael.” Her eyes turned soft and slightly worried. “Stop. Please.”
Between them, Baby was still as a pebble. She clutched her ragged doll to her breathlessly. Michael could almost feel the energy of her hope radiate straight inside his soul, and the children in the back seat listening avidly.
“Guess I could go home and scrounge something to eat by myself,” he complained pathetically and without shame.
“Maybe you could eat leftover peach pie.” Bailey’s gaze stayed relentlessly on his.
So she was jealous! That’s why she wouldn’t accept his offer. Well, he could fix that, too. “I sent it over to Gunner’s. I am a thoughtful neighbor.” His expression turned pitiful. “But I haven’t been to the grocery in two weeks, and a man gets tired of canned soup three meals a day—”
“All right,” Bailey interrupted. “I shouldn’t reward your underhanded tactics, but…did you really send Deenie over to Gunner’s?” She stared at him with hopeful eyes.
“Yes. He needed some glitter in his life, and I did not.” He started the car. “Let’s go get some pancakes.”
The back seat exploded with noisy happiness. Michael smiled. He liked being the hero. He liked getting Bailey to give in. The indirect approach definitely worked with her.
He wondered how he could manage to keep her from going to Gunner’s in the morning. Michael had sent Deenie and her peach pie to his rival; it seemed unnecessarily neighborly to hand over Bailey, too.
Maybe all this indirect approach was the right way to find out why Bailey had suddenly ceased her nighttime visits to his bed. He glanced at her, but she was fussing with Baby’s hair. Bailey still looked kind of peaked, which worried him. Her usually sparkly blue eyes seemed dimmed and tired. Maybe it was a womanly thing, a monthly function bothering her in some way.
Maybe she needed to go to the doctor, but couldn’t because she didn’t have the money!
Michael felt ill suddenly. If she needed to see a doctor, he’d carry her kicking and screaming and pay the bill himself. Maybe he should just directly ask Bailey why she’d quit coming around.
There was a time to be direct and a time to sidestep. He missed Bailey in his bed—and maybe he’d just best say so. Clear up any miscommunication on that matter they might have had.
Perhaps it would be even better to endure a month of Sundays hauling her flock to church.
Anything—including sticky pancakes with the numerous Dixon children—to get her upstairs and under the sheets with him again.
BAILEY KNEW it was a bad idea to go to the pancake house. It wasn’t the tab alone that bothered her; it was knowing that she probably wouldn’t be able to hold her stomach down. She’d had to leave during the service and hurry to the rest room. In all her life, she’d never been ill like this. It was like a flu she couldn’t get over. At Gunner’s she’d gotten sick from the aroma of sausage links and tacos, similar to the rich aromas in a pancake house. But she’d heard the gasps of joy over Michael’s invitation—and there’d been no way she could deprive her siblings of such a treat.
She