Page 43 of My Cowboy Temptation

And just like that, the slim hope I was holding out for, that this baby is somehow mine, is gone, and the disappointment I’m feeling is sharp. “What about this other guy? Why can’t you ask him to help out?”

She stares at me, and I’m beginning to wonder if she’s going to reply when she finally speaks. “Because I don’t know who he is. It was just a one-night-stand kind of thing.”

My hands fist again even though I’m not sure I’m relieved she never had feelings for the guy, or if I’m even more pissed because this guy gave her something I hadn’t, and he doesn’t even know it. “Cal, I hate thinking you’re doing this all alone.”

“Rest assured. I’m more than capable of doing this. I have a great job, one that’s flexible for a single mom, a great apartment that’s big enough for the two of us, and I’m already looking at daycare options once I’m ready to go back to work. I’ve got this, so if that’s what you’re worried about, you don’t have to.”

“I get it. You’ve got it all under control, and you don’t need anyone. Least of all me. But I want you to know that if you do need anything, anything at all, you can come to me.”

“Sure, Brody,” she says dismissively. “Now, if that’s all there is, then I would really like to be alone. I have some work I want to do before I go to bed.”

And that’s it. That’s all I came to say, even if as I’m standing here, it feels like there are mountains of words I should be sharing with her. But she’s already given me answers to everything I came here for, answers that I’m going to need to sit on and figure out what they mean to me. To us.

“Sorry for taking your time, Cal. Take care of yourself.”

“I always do.”

And with that, I leave her alone, the sound of the lock clicking in place giving me some comfort. Now that I’ve seen her place and assured myself she’s not in some dump in a bad area of town, I can breathe better, imagining her in that bright space with her paints and brushes around her as she creates her magic.

Not just on the canvas, either. For a moment I imagine a tiny little babe growing inside her womb, a babe that might have tufts of the blackest hair like hers, eyes as bright as emeralds, and a temper just as feisty. Or maybe the babe will look like its dad, whoever that is.

It wouldn’t matter if it did. It would still be hers, and it would still be a miracle.

What was that doctor’s name? Talbot.

Yeah. There are a few more things I want to look into before I can really feel she’s ready to do this on her own.

* * *

Callie

“Who didyou say the artist was again?” the guy asks, turning his gaze back to me instead of the painting on the wall.

It’s Friday evening, which means it’s a little busier than it was earlier this week, so I’m trying to be polite and informative but also brief as I explain how the artist is from Billings and has several pieces here on consignment. As I speak, the guy’s eyes slither over me, making me uncomfortable.

Now that everyone close to me knows I’m pregnant, I’ve embraced my current state—and the figure it comes with it—and am wearing a high-waisted dress that makes the baby bump inescapable. Dresses have become a staple of late since I don’t have to worry about my expanding waist and bust lines as they’re very forgiving, yet still leave me feeling pretty and feminine despite feeling like I’m going to throw up eighty percent of the time. Let’s just say that carbs have become my friends.

The guy shifts his gaze around the room as if trying to gauge how close anyone is before stepping closer to me. “So what’s someone as young and pretty as you doing here in Kalispell?”

One thing I’ve learned since working at Natasha’s gallery is that art buyers come in all shapes and sizes, and that a man in worn jeans and cowboy boots might be as motivated to buy a premium art piece as a man in a suit and tie. The man next to me is the jeans and boot type; however, for some reason, I’m not getting the vibe that he’s here to buy anything and is merely here to take up my time.

I take a step back, ignoring his question. “Feel free to take a look around. Let us know if you need anything else.” Still a polite response, but one that gets me away from this guy.

He smiles, but it doesn’t feel genuine. “Sure thing, Callie.”

I maintain my smile as I try to recall whether I mentioned my name. I’m pretty sure I didn’t. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Probably not. But I’m sure we’re going to get to know each other real soon.”

I swallow, trying not to read his meaning as a threat. He wouldn’t be the first guy to hit on me, pregnant or not, and that’s surely all this is. He’s alluding to getting to know me better because he thinks he has a chance with me, that’s all.

“Sorry, but I’m actually involved with someone. But you have a good evening,” I say and, keeping the smile on my face, walk away, knowing his gaze follows me as I head to the front of the gallery.

Natasha is at the register where she’s finalizing the sale of a smaller vase, part of a series we have on display in the window, and I wait until the customers leave. “Do you know that guy checking out the latest Luten?”

She follows my gaze, taking a few seconds to study him. “No, why?”

“I don’t know. He just gave me a weird vibe. Even knew my name.”

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