Page 1 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
Chapter One
Late June
Anders Wolf kickedback in the white wood rental chair, easily balancing on two legs, and surveyed the crowd dancing in his family’s large and supposedly haunted East Barn. His two older brothers had married today. Anders had written two speeches as the double best man. Both had killed. He’d worn a western-style tux without complaint—that had been easy since the tux had been a gift from a designer for doing a photo shoot earlier this year for a men’s athletic magazine. He’d posed for pictures—he was used to that with his career as a top bull rider—toasted the brides and grooms, danced with both sisters-in-law. He’d even choked down a few bites of each heavily frosted wedding cake.
He would have preferred pie. Apple.
He took out his phone and brought up the list he’d started when his best friend had married several years ago. He added pie to the list and then in parentheses Char-Pie, a local Last Stand Texas shop where two sisters baked and served the best pie in the country. Anders knew. He traveled a lot.
He read through his list. Short. Simple. Practical. The Perfect Wife List. He didn’t want a woman who was after his money, fame or land. She wouldn’t want a showy wedding. A ranch wedding with friends and family suited him, but he’d take a church or courthouse.
His brothers had mocked his list.
They’d laughed even harder when his brother August had grabbed his phone, scrolled down, and found the date he’d start looking for his perfect bride: November, five years down the road. He’d be thirty and likely quitting the AEBR tour. He’d be ready to settle down and start growing a family.
His bride would be a good cook, organized housekeeper, sweet, kind-hearted, traditional, pretty but strong, ranch-raised, hardworking and eager to start a family and raise them on Ghost Hill Ranch. She wouldn’t want the big-city life or to travel. He was tired of that. His wife would want to stay home and raise the kids with him on the ranch.
“What. The. Hell! Sounds like a robot wife,” August had hooted. “Some futuristic plastic doll that will malfunction and slay you in your sleep. Then she’ll stumble onto the land and start a stampede with the longhorn. That will destroy my vineyards and tear up the fencing, leaving us with miles of fencing to re-stretch, probably in the middle of July, and you won’t be here to help.”
August had always had a big mouth and a vivid imagination.
Axel had been less harsh. “You’d be bored in two weeks.”
“I want boring in a woman.” Anders had grabbed his phone back. “By the time I’m thirty and retired, I’ll be sick to death of hot and beautiful and out for a good time, or drunk or so sexed up they want to ride all night. I want to work the ranch and come home to a clean house, home-cooked meals and a relaxing time playing board games with my kids because their homework is finished.”
August had laughed so hard he’d choked on his whiskey. “What the hell are you binge-watching on Netflix or HBO or whatever? Reruns of something from the fifties? Please stop! It’s embarrassing. If any woman catches you with a list like this, she’ll right hook you into the current decade and century, and I’ll cheer her on.”
“Definitely won’t be a Texas cowgirl,” Axel had added.
Anders tucked his phone inside his tux jacket.
His brothers could laugh. They got their Texas cowgirl dream girls. Anders would hold out for his. It wasn’t like he wanted to marry anytime soon. He was twenty-five, at the peak of his career on the tour, pulling in serious money from tour wins and sponsorships, and his investments in Ghost Hill Ranch and his brother’s distillery—Four Wolfs—only enriched him more.
He didn’t want Mrs. Stay at Home on the Ranch with the Kids now.
Hell no.
Tonight he wanted action—hot, wild and all damn night.
Think of the devil. Anders returned to all four legs of the chair and stood up. Before his brain could kick in and say no, he strolled across the barn, easily dodging dancers and tables and chairs to make his way to the bar August and his bride, Catalina, had constructed to serve their Verflucht wines and his Cowboy Wolf Whiskey.
“Whiskey straight,” he said softly to the copper-haired bartender who had been reorganizing the stock, her supple body swaying to the beat of the music while she worked.
“Me or the drink?” She turned around and cocked a hip.
He’d always loved her bold style of flirting. It had tempted him for months before he decided to make a move. She’d never end up on his perfect wife list, but damn, her husky tone, arrogantly amused regard, and perfectly arched brows combined with her petal soft lips that reminded him of a rose in full bloom still got him even after they’d both finally indulged themselves a couple of months ago.
She’d been the first woman he’d had a hard time kissing goodbye and walking off with a smile after their agreed-upon short fling. Rules were rules, and his had kept him safely unattached.
But tonight he felt primed to make an exception.
“You gonna dance with me later?”
“We already danced, Anders.”
“You are an exceptionally sexy and memorable dancer.”
“Getting lazy with your lines, cowboy.”
