Page 14 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
Anders was a cowboy. Bull rider. Ranch owner. Texan. Investor. His own man. Successful in every area of his life. He did not need advice from big brothers or friends. He was going to play this his way. Too much was at stake.
He got out of his truck, crossed the street and opened Verflucht’s front door. He hesitated on the threshold while his heart hammered. His chest felt like something squatted on it.
Dread.
But not indecision.
He knew what he had to do.
How he felt about Whiskey, marriage and a baby at this time in his life was irrelevant. His perfect wife list on his phone that his brothers had laughed about so uproariously was going to have to be deleted.
Once he got things settled with Whiskey, the sooner both of them could prepare for their new normal.
He squared his shoulders. The only way to go was forward, and Anders hadn’t ridden to the top of his profession by backing away from rank bulls or any other challenge fate tossed.
He stepped into the re-renovated tasting room and scanned the area. Empty. It was the first time he’d been in the tasting room since the accident last spring when a wine tour bus had crashed through the front window, damaged the custom bar August had imported from a historic French chateau, and knocked into a support beam, which had put a hole in the upstairs apartment August had tricked out anticipating living there. Five of his employees had been injured. They were all healed up now, and the tasting room was finally repaired and would be ready to open soon.
Anders didn’t notice any of the fixes. He was here to see Whiskey. But she was not where his brother and sister-in-law said she’d be.
He walked through the room, the soles of his cowboy boots solid on the restored wood floor. He quickly climbed the stairs to the apartment and opened the door. Lots of light. Kitchen with what looked like high-end stainless steel appliances, island with white quartz that shimmered a little in the early afternoon light, and four red leather barstools.
But still no Whiskey.
Anders’ tension cranked higher as he went back downstairs. Then he noticed that the tasting room was actually bigger than he’d thought and there was an alcove with a garage door in the back. The door was raised to lead outside to the back.
Showtime.
Anders strode across the room and through the door. He pulled up short. Whiskey stood on a wine barrel looking over a weathered fence.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She startled, and the wine barrel rocked.
She jumped off. Anders caught her with one arm and pulled her tight to his body.
“Let go.” She pushed away from him. “What are you doing here? You can’t just show up without notice.”
Her honey-gold eyes had turned more amber now, like her namesake drink, and spit fire. Anders felt something low and wicked in his body spark to life.
“We’ve got a few things to sort out.”
“Not really.” She pushed past him. Her thick ponytail flared behind her like a flag, and the sun turned her wavy copper hair to fire.
“Don’t walk away.” He caught her arm.
She spun toward him, and the extra momentum brought her flush with his chest. His body immediately reacted, which was not part of the plan.
They both took a step back.
“We need to talk,” he asserted, trying to keep his voice even.
“Now you want to talk?” she mocked. “And I’m supposed to listen when you wouldn’t even give me the respect of a couple of minutes of your valuable time when you were with your friends?”
He winced. Her shot hit true.
She stalked past him and returned to the tasting room and he followed. “I asked to talk to you alone, not for some huge favor,” she reminded.
“I…you…” He paused, trying to find the words to explain. “You caught me off guard. I’d just won. The adrenaline. The other riders.” With each reason he gave, she just looked more deeply unimpressed.
