Page 43 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
“Ruby red,” he corrected, feeling a grin start deep in his belly because he was going to get his way. He could tell when her shoulders dropped infinitesimally.
“The tasting room truck should have a little more pizazz. It will be parked in town. You’ll be driving it to the ranch. Taking it to events. The Ruby red is eye-catching.”
Like you.
“And how is anyone going to know that this ruby red platinum version of a Ford F250 is a Verflucht truck?”
“I have the stencil and the paint from the ranch. Going to do it myself.”
“Anders.” She looked down and twice tapped the toe of her gray boot embroidered with flowers on the sidewalk. Then she looked up at him, her gaze more troubled than angry. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it and earning all my own money for five years now.”
He winced a little in surprise. Was she younger than him? She’d always seemed so polished and sophisticated and had so many references to places and events that he’d always thought she was a little bit older.
“Anders, I don’t need your money.”
He swallowed his reactionary words. They sat in his gut like rocks. What would Axel say? No help there. Axel was a man of action, not measured thoughts. August? No. He was brilliant, but he and Catalina had verbally tussled for years. Seemed to thrive on it. Not Anders. He wanted peace in his home.
“I know,” he said.
Day by day.
“But we made the baby together, and I want to help.”
“I don’t want to owe you anything.”
“Owe me?” He was so shocked he flung his arms wide, exasperated.
She flinched and jumped back. Fear skittered across her face, and she brought her arms up.
“Tinsley?” he said, keeping his voice soft and arms down to his sides, loose. Her pose relaxed, and he felt like he could breathe again. “I know it’s a lot of changes.”
“And I’m expected to make all of them. Every single one. New job. New town. New apartment. Even my body feels new. And I don’t like it at all!” She raised her voice, and then, looking a bit surprised, she whirled away from him, and her shoulders hunched. “I hate this. I wasn’t going to do this with you today. Argue.”
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling all kinds a fool as more than a few folks he’d known most his life walked up and down the achingly familiar street of his childhood home. A few had called out to him, but now that it was obvious there was A Problem, people were pretending to ignore him, and he was pretending all was well.
And that meant Axel or August would hear about this.
Damn.
“A spat on Main Street probably isn’t the Verflucht branding August and Catalina were hoping you’d develop,” he said, unclenching jaw with a Thor-like effort.
She turned around and brushed the back of her hand against one cheek and then the other.
He’d made her cry. Another punch in his gut.
I should be the one brushing away her tears.
The thought surprised him. It was dumb. Something a romantic, emasculated idiot in a cable movie would think all while having puppy dog eyes that stared at the movie star heroine helplessly.
He shouldn’t be making the mother of his child cry.
“Stupid hormones,” she muttered. “I think. I used to hate it when a woman would express a real emotion—anger because her boyfriend stood her up or flirted with another girl or was late without texting and she’d blame her period. Women have real emotions, not just during their period or pregnancy.”
Anders nodded.
Tinsley glared. “Don’t even say it.”
“I wasn’t even thinking it.”
