Page 25 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy (The Texas Wolf Brothers #3)

He was damn lucky that when he’d hit, he’d instinctively tucked, rolled and hopped to his feet.

He’d been over the fence before his brain had registered the pain, and Brawler had continued strutting around tossing his head in a victory dance while the crowd, after a collective shocked groan, had been silent.

Not what he was used to. And pulling such a rookie move burned.

He was lucky his body and his pride were the only things bruised.

And that was why I didn’t want a relationship.

He still didn’t. Messed with his head. And his scores. And financial goals.

The turn-off for the ranch was in a few more miles. Going home made the most sense. It was late. But he had a key to Tinsley’s.

He could sleep on the couch and talk to her in the morning before work.

He knew he should be pulling in more hours on the ranch since he was home.

He wasn’t going to slack off just because he’d been an idiot and was banged up.

He’d even forced his screaming body to stand on his balance ball for an hour of the flight.

It had been beyond difficult, but he’d wanted to remind himself that he needed to maintain focus always.

Ranch or home? Tinsley wasn’t expecting him, and he didn’t want to scare her, but he had to come to some sort of agreement or truce with her. He had to figure out why she erected so many walls. Was it about him or something or someone else?

He swore under his breath and turned up the radio.

He knew so little about her. His fault. He hadn’t bothered.

She’d been beautiful and sexy and a lot of fun.

That had been all he’d ever looked for in a woman, yet in a wife, he wanted so much more.

But the things he thought he’d wanted, well, he wasn’t sure what those were anymore.

Tinsley and the baby had tied him and his brain up in knots.

And until he figured it out, he’d be risking life and limb and taking more falls off rank bulls.

It was too close to the long break before the finals.

He couldn’t eff up like tonight and expect to stay on top of the leaderboard.

His sponsors didn’t want a mediocre bull rider selling their crap, and the AEbr management team wouldn’t put him on promotional material if he wasn’t reliable in one of the top spots.

The rumors that Kane might retire this year had blown up, and Anders, three years younger and a whole lot hungrier, was next in the line of succession.

He actually stopped his truck in the middle of the road. It was near midnight. Home or Tinsley? Another twenty-minute drive held little appeal, but neither did the couch. Anders tapped his fingers on his steering wheel.

Damn.

Women.

He drove into Last Stand. Killed the headlights before he pulled into a parking spot up front. He grabbed his duffel bag, locked his truck and quietly unlocked the tasting room door, kicked off his boots to make less noise.

He smiled. If she’d been born in Texas, he’d have to worry about her greeting him with a shotgun. His smile faded. He didn’t know where Tinsley had grown up. He hadn’t even known she’d gone to college until she’d mentioned it when she’d been telling him off.

The door to the apartment was unlocked, and Anders frowned.

He wanted the tasting room alarmed and the apartment to have a separate alarm.

Not that Last Stand boasted many criminals, but Catalina’s father and two brothers were no model citizens, and he and August had worried that her brothers might break in and help themselves to a few cases of wine—although it wouldn’t provide the easy cash they craved.

Anders set his duffel down and peeked into the bedroom.

Tinsley was sprawled on her tummy, arms and legs starfished as if daring anyone to try to climb into bed her with.

He smiled. Technically, she was the only woman he’d ever slept with.

During their mutually agreed upon short fling, they’d, taken a couple of trips together during some tour breaks.

Reluctantly, he ducked back out of her room, finished off the water in his water bottle, and then peeled off his T-shirt and jeans.

Each movement made him grit his teeth to keep from cursing.

Finally, he eased his large frame onto the larger of the two couches.

He winced, pondered if sitting up would prove less painful, but ultimately laid down on his right side and snagged one of the Pendleton throw blankets on the back of the couch.

He recognized them both from when he and Tinsley visited Portland, Oregon.

She’d fallen in love with the vibrant colors and patterns on the famous wool blankets and hadn’t hesitated to drop what he considered serious money on both of them.

“Worth every dollar,” he murmured draping one of the blankets over his battered body. The wool was soft and warm and smelled like Tinsley.

He’d definitely been injured far worse over the years, but this injury—probably because he’d been so dumb, and he’d lost an almost sure win—hurt worse than many of the others.

He drifted in and out of consciousness but jerked awake when a light blazed on.

“What are you doing here?”

“What?” He sat up, and wished he hadn’t. He cursed and immediately apologized. Tinsley didn’t need to see and experience the worst of him, and he needed to get rid of his habit of cursing before the baby came.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, coming forward. “What happened?”

Anders blinked. She wore a thin white ribbed cropped tank and black capri leggings.

Her coppery hair fell in messy waves. She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

Her beauty seemed natural. She didn’t look like she’d gained any weight yet, but she just looked a bit softer—ripe in a way she hadn’t before.

Her breasts—stunning handfuls that had been firm and high and creamy satin smooth in his hands, with dark pink nipples—were definitely fuller.

The spit dried in his mouth.

“You’re hurt.”

“Not bad.”

“Your left side is mottled dark purple. How is that not bad?” She stepped closer to him, frowning. “Really, Anders it looks terrible. Is anything broken?”

“No.”

“Did you get an X-ray?”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes. “So, you psychically know that nothing is fractured?”

“My pride. It was a dumb fall. A distraction.”

Her eyes rounded and she took a step back. “You’re always focused,” she whispered.

“Not tonight—or last night.” He looked at his watch. “You should get back to bed, Tinsley. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Lack of focus can be fatal,” she said and sat down on the double-wide chair opposite him.

He’d told her that once. Fantastic. Now he’d worried her.

“Don’t worry. I already contacted my lawyer about the baby, and I bought life insurance.”

“That’s your answer?” She stood up, paced around the living room, holding her own hands. “I’ve told you over and over, I don’t want your money. I don’t care about your money.”

“Do you care about me?” He’d meant to use a different tone, to sound teasing, but to him it sounded and tasted like desperation.

She stood still, worried her bottom lip and looked at him helplessly.

“It’s late, Anders.” Then she pressed her lips together. “Why are you here? Sorry. Never mind. Do you need anything for ah…you know, that?”

He paused, sure she meant his bruising, but since his dick was at full attention despite the throbbing on one half of his body, he could always hope she meant a different that .

“Usually I take an ice bath or ice an injury when I fall, but August wanted to fly out at first light to Portland to his corporate offices, so I flew back tonight instead of tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Her voice was flat.

Anders immediately realized his mistake. Him and his mouth.

“I wanted to fly back early tomorrow morning so that I wouldn’t interrupt your sleep.” He sat up on the edge of the couch despite the pain and reached out and touched a thick, copper-colored tress that framed her face.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Her cheeks pinked, even as she clearly tried to keep her expression neutral.

“And now you’ve seen me.” She sighed. “I have an ice machine downstairs in the commercial kitchen. I can bring up some ice. There’s a bathtub in the master bathroom.”

“You don’t need to be carrying ice up and down the stairs.” He stood, holding the blanket in front of his body. “I’ll just take a cold shower.”

“Does the ice help bruises or not?”

“Cuts my healing in half, but really, Tinz.”

She frowned and then walked out of the apartment.

Anders was up, blanket wrapped around him, and at the top stairs when Tinsley ran up, light on her feet with four bags of ice.

“Still gotta be the tough cowboy,” she said softly, stopping right in front of him. He blocked her path, and while he liked her nearness, he didn’t want to verbally spar with her on stairs. He did something he rarely did: he backed away.

She noticed. Then she looked at the blanket and her mouth kicked up in a half smile.

“When did you get so modest?” she asked, kicking the door shut behind her. “Or do you just really like my taste in blankets?”

He fingered the wool. “I wanted to buy these for you,” he recalled. “You spit on my money. Wanted to split everything fifty-fifty.”

“That’s how I roll.”

It had bothered him before. It still did. When he took a woman out, he paid. And he definitely would take care of his wife and child.

Then he remembered Axel and August’s earlier words that he should get to know her.

Kane had echoed the same sentiment when he’d gone to him to ask how he’d convinced his wife, Sky, to marry him after he learned that she’d had his baby without telling him.

He’d learned he was a father when his daughter was already three years old.