Page 8 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
Why had she thought she should tell him? He was such a jerk. He couldn’t even spare a minute of his oh-so-precious time to talk to her.
She banged open the vendor exit door with the flat of her hand. There. It was done. She’d told him. She’d said the dreaded word aloud. Pregnant. That made it officially real. Anders knew. So did a big chunk of the tour. Big deal. She was quitting.
She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
She was never going to see any of those idiots again.
“Tinsley, there you are. Tell me you are not avoiding my texts.”
August Wolf—her soon-to-be ex-boss because no one found a whiskey shot pourer with a short denim skirt and huge baby bump sexy no matter how good their flair—leaned against her bike.
She liked August. He was a respectful boss who’d given her tremendous independence, but he was Anders’ brother, and Anders had just dug himself a hole to the other side of the earth. No coming back from that.
Good, because I don’t want him.
And she was deeply wishing she’d kept her mouth shut and ridden off on her bike to have a huge cry and a sulk before figuring out this new, unwelcome phase of her life. Alone.
“Are you writing me a note?” She stopped short and blinked.
August Wolf, entrepreneur who’d turned a college freshman chemistry class challenge in his freshman dorm into a multimillion-dollar enterprise including microbreweries all across the west, gastro-brew pubs, historic hotels and event spaces, a distillery and now a winery in the Texas Hill Country, grinned.
“I figured you’d be pissed if I parked my ass on your bike.”
Yes.
“No. Do you ride?” she asked politely, struggling to rally her rioting emotions—chiefly fury and humiliation—into some semblance of control.
“More of a Jeep off-roading or sports car kinda guy, but never say never.”
He paused, his gaze assessing.
“The tasting room is close to being repaired. I need to get it opened,” he said, watching her closely. “The tour’s going to wrap up soon and you’d be back in Portland, but I’m hoping Texas is a better lure.”
She’d actually seriously considered taking on the role of the tasting room manager of his Verflucht vineyard. The job included strategizing branding, growth management, social media and event planning.
All in her wheelhouse.
But that was before she accepted that the spotty periods, vivid dreams, vague nausea, and bigger boobs meant a baby.
“And if Texas doesn’t appeal, I’m hoping a significant raise and even better benefit package can get me the yes I want.” August removed an envelope from an inner pocket of his expensive-looking jacket.
Her galloping heart rate was finally starting to slow, and her stomach—still feeling sloshy with bile and nothing else—was no longer threatening to erupt, although that too would have served Anders right.
“August,” she began and then looked back toward the arena. Nothing.
Dumb girl.
Was she expecting Anders to race after her?
Why would he?
He was free.
She was the one trapped.
Once again her words that night clapped back at her.
“You ran with my Cowboy Wolf Whiskey. Sales are off the charts. The events you planned for the Four Wolfs Distillery are legend. I want that for Verflucht. I need it,” he said. “The vineyard is on land that has been in the Wolf family since before the Revolution. The tasting room is in my hometown. I need a win, Tinsley.”
