Page 18 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy (The Texas Wolf Brothers #3)

“Y ou bought me a truck?”

“A company truck,” Anders said quickly. He wanted to hang on to the tender moment when he’d put something cool on her leg after she’d spilled her tea, but he had a feeling the truck was going to obliterate it.

He’d bought the damn truck with money he’d earned hard. He hated that August had been right—Tinsley would have driven the truck to the edge of town, hung a FREE sign on it and left the keys on the front seat if he’d driven it up to the tasting room with a bow and expecting thanks.

Her sassy fierceness had sucked him in from the first moment he’d spotted her teasing, flirting and yet keeping each cowboy at a professional distance. Now her strong independence frustrated him.

Contrary much, cowboy?

“Company, huh? I sense your hand in this purchase.”

“You are suspicious,” he pointed out although she was well within her rights, “and short-sighted.”

“How so, Anders Wolf?”

“You will need transportation for this job.”

“I have wheels, or had them before you hoofed it with my bike.”

The thought of her on the bike now that she was pregnant speared an ice pick into his gut—ironic and hypocritical since the first time he’d seen her roar up on her Ducati had been hotter than hell. He still dreamed about it. And he didn’t exactly have a desk job.

“August thought a truck would be more practical for you going between the winery and the tasting room.”

“August did?” Her whiskey-colored gaze drilled into him, and he barely restrained himself from shuffling his boots on the pavement. Damn, but he’d had bulls try to stare him down less effectively. “Then why didn’t August or Catalina deliver it?”

Why was he being such a pansy, hiding behind his brother and the mythical truck buy?

“I was coming out to see you this morning,” he said. “So I brought the new company truck.”

True, but Tinsley was the only one getting the keys.

Her gaze briefly skittered over the truck behind him and then was back on him with full intensity.

Beautiful. He remembered the way her eyes would darken to a deep, honeyed gold when he would kiss her.

Made him want to kiss her here on the middle of Main Street.

Claim her before he took off on tour again.

As if she guessed his intention, her eyes flared with heat, and then she tilted up her chin, and her full mouth firmed a little.

Try it, she seemed to dare.

Made his dick stir.

And an answering heat, a call to warriors, sang through his blood. Damn, but she was beautiful with her coppery flow of hair and creamy skin with the light smattering of freckles on her upper cheeks.

Complicated and challenging had not figured on his perfect wife list.

“I bet the gas mileage sucks.”

He fought the urge to smile. “You can drive sedately.”

“In your dreams.”

“You driving like an old lady is not what I dream about.” He let his eyes drift down her body. That shirt hugged her breasts and the peek-a-boo whatever it was called around the neck that showed off glimpses of her creamy flesh made his mouth water.

“You’ll have to keep your dreams to yourself.”

“Or not. I’m generous when the mood strikes.”

He saw her eyes flare and her breathing was heightened.

He wanted to drag her back to the tasting room, lock the door and kiss her until they both forgot their names.

Tempting. But his brother and Catalina were due to arrive to help organize the wine and do whatever else needed to be done in the tasting room.

The construction crew had finally pulled out day before yesterday.

“The truck is different from the two vineyard trucks I saw when Catalina toured me around the vineyard yesterday,” she said softly, her lips a sensuous invitation.

Or probably that was just the way he saw everything about Tinsley—an invitation. And definitely a challenge.

“Platinum version Ford F250.” He couldn’t help himself. “A touch more sophisticated detailing than the Ford King Ranch trucks we have at Ghost Hill.”

“Sophisticated?”

“More for city driving.”

Tinsley looked left and right up and down the handful of blocks that made up Last Stand.

Her arms crossed over her body, lifting her breasts a little and offering a more generous peek of her creamy, lightly freckled mounds through the lacy whatever of her soft cotton shirt that was the color of her hair.

Beautiful. Dutifully he jerked his fascinated and hungry gaze back north where it belonged. This was important.

“So that’s how August plans to brand Verflucht? A touch of city sophistication in the heart of Hill Country?” Her husky voice that had always aroused him and made him want to hear her speak more, had dropped even deeper into an exaggerated drawl.

“No idea. That’s up to you, I’ve been told.”

He stared down at her from his few inches of extra height.

He liked that he didn’t have to bend down to kiss her—just lean into her inviting body.

And her vivid coloring drew him in—deep copper hair, matching brows and eyelashes and other parts he’d seen and touched and tasted—he broke off, feeling way too heated in the late morning early fall sun.

“It’s red.”

“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.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get clever.”

“Not often an issue.”

“Damn you, Anders Wolf.” But the words lacked heat and now he could see the sparkle in her whiskey-colored eyes that always made him thirsty for a drink from her lips—the lips that were faintly curved in a smile.

Relief washed through him. He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “Tinsley, I promise I…”

“Anders, I’m sorry…” she began.

Their breath mingled, and he forgot what he was going to say. Her eyes warmed, and he felt the brush of her firm breasts against his shirt as she breathed in and out, and then his gaze naturally drifted lower.

The off-the-shoulder shirt that highlighted her beautiful skin drew his fascinated regard. Her breasts—always high, round and so sexy, a handful he had savored and never forgot their satin texture or the way her nipples felt pebbled against her lips—looked even more luscious.

“Eyes up, cowboy,” she murmured.

“You shouldn’t be so damn beautiful then. Or so sexy I can’t think with my northern brain.”

She pulled her hands out of his.

“Considering I’m pregnant, that’s not going to last,” she said. “And that’s all we had.”

What? His brain stuttered at the quick change of tone and subject.

“No, it’s not,” he objected automatically.