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

H er low, slightly husky voice rolled over him, stirring up heat and memories of her warm, taut, creamy skin under his hands and his mouth.

Hell no. He wasn’t that good an actor.

“Whiskey.” His heart kicked up hard and fast. What was up with that? He dug deep for his usual calm and tipped his hat he’d put on to go to the winner’s circle. “Good to see you, darlin’.”

Her gaze narrowed and seared him like a flank steak. “I just need a minute. Maybe a few more. Depends on you.”

There were a few muttered ribbings about his prowess and stamina and reputation.

Men acting like boys.

“Pretty busy, Whiskey. Heading home tonight.”

“Won’t take long,” she said tightly, her gaze not leaving his for the full ten seconds it took him to engage his brain. “Alone,” she added, looking at each of his friends who flanked him.

“Darlin’, you can say what you need to say here.”

“Cut the darlin’ . I’m not looking to dance.”

He heard a few snickers.

“We’ll catch up to you later, Anders,” Kane, the only civilized rider and friend he apparently had, said.

“Whiskey,” Anders began cautiously, wishing himself miles away. Public confrontation had never been part of their deal. Resentment flitted down his spine and settled in his churning gut.

“Alone,” she repeated, and that gauntlet drew out a few whistles. Anders felt someone rock his shoulder and another hip-checked him.

What was up with that? He stared at her nearly uncomprehendingly.

She was the one who had wanted to keep their hookups private.

He never shared details like that with anyone, and he could see why she wouldn’t want tour staff and other riders to know the two of them had burned up the sheets more than a few times.

She already had men stumbling over each other to get to her. If it got out that she’d hooked up, they’d only be more determined.

He got it. He’d agreed. He’d played it cool. So why was she breaking the rules now?

“You can talk to me here or call me later. I’m heading home. Long drive. My brothers are expecting me.”

Screw the shower. He’d get in his truck now. His appetite was long gone.

“Whiskey!” One of the riders who looked like he’d started celebrating early sauntered up holding a bottle of Jack. “Do your thing. You know, waving the bottle in the air and spinning it around and pouring a shot on your…”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jason?” Anders lunged forward and clapped his hand over the bull rider’s mouth.

Whiskey’s famous move had been a one-off, a dare that had been memorialized on YouTube to hundreds of thousands of views. He knew. He’d been the cowboy who’d been on the receiving end of that shot. It had been good, sexy fun at the time, but not the brand of his long-term reputation.

He tried to signal to Whiskey that she should go. They could talk later. Never was even better. She looked so hot in her leathers and the cropped, rust-colored biker jacket, he salivated.

“Sure.” She seized the bottle from Jason’s fingers, flipped it around and around a few times like she was a gunslinger, tossed it up, caught it and rolled it across her upper body.

“Who wants a shot?” she asked.

Anders looked around for cell phones.

“We played that game out, sweetheart.”

“You don’t want to talk in private, fine. Listen,” she hissed, her dark, honey-colored eyes the hue of her namesake liquor sparked yellow fury.

Dread washed through him with the same fierce intensity it did when the chute would spring open and the bull would lurch out and Anders immediately knew he was in trouble.

She eased the stopper and tilted the bottle over his head.

“What the hell?” He jumped away but not quick enough to avoid a dousing.

“I’m pregnant.”

He stood there, dripping, reeking of booze, and stared at her.

“Just thought you should know, but I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

” Her furious gaze raked his face. “Don’t worry.

I’m not asking for a damn thing. I don’t need your money.

” She sneered the word. “And I don’t want you.

Just thought it was the mature thing to let you know that, biologically at least, you’re going to be a father. Congrats.”

*

Tinsley barely remembered walking out of the arena to her bike. Impotent tears burned her eyes like fire.

“Don’t you dare cry,” she hissed at herself in a voice eerily reminiscent of her mother’s when she was angry at Tinsley’s behavior.

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.”

She shifted her weight. That word need hit too close to home for her at the moment.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she said, finding it harder to resist his ask than she’d anticipated.

August had been a good boss. Organized. Open-minded.

No games. Meticulously fair. He expected an employee’s best, but he always gave more than one hundred percent.

His company provided good pay and benefits—something she could no longer ignore.

“Here. Read this. Say yes.”

She took the envelope like it was contagious. “Small town in Texas, right?”

“Nothing is Texas is small, darlin’.” August smiled. He had one dimple. Anders had two, plus the cleft in his chin. And Anders’ entire face lit up when he smiled, and he had laugh lines that had flipped Tinsley’s tummy before he’d even said hello to her the first time.

How could she be such a clichéd sucker for laugh lines?

She still wanted to slap herself. Instead she opened the envelope.

“Seriously?” She stared at August. “You’re nearly tripling my salary.” And more benefits, including a retirement plan.

Tinsley’s impulse was to say no. Her mouth even formed the word, but something stopped her.

The money and benefits were excellent. She was going to need those very soon.

Also the job offered her a lot of independence and creativity.

She would be the first tasting room manager.

She would create the experiences, build the staff, help to brand the wine and the tasting room, invent the traditions.

She’d worked with August for more than a year, and after their initial meeting where she’d shared her thoughts on how she and the other bartenders should handle the sponsor events, he’d left her alone and given her free rein. She’d started selling the hell out of it, and her bonuses had racked up.

“The position of tasting room manager also comes with a two-bedroom apartment above the tasting room.” August said, clearly trying to read her expression.

One number gave her pause.

“Two-year contract,” she murmured.

“Minimum. Non-negotiable. We need that time to build the brand and the experience and to get a trained staff. And I won’t lie.

I’d prefer you think longer term. Verflucht is going to expand.

I need someone smart, visionary, someone with incredible people skills, not afraid of responsibility and hard work and kicking ass when necessary. ”

“You got that right,” she said.

Her heart fluttered. She didn’t want ties. Limits. But she’d need to find something else soon. And she couldn’t live out of a backpack and a small storage facility forever, especially not with a baby.

But what about Anders?

Would he think she was trying to get something from him if she stayed in his hometown for a few years?

That thought was like a slap to her face. She wasn’t going to live her life worrying about what anyone thought—especially a man who’d just made his lack of intentions abundantly clear.

“I love the open road,” she said slowly to August. “I’ve loved meeting new people. New places. Two years in one small town…” she said to cover up her discomfort.

“I might let you have a day off now and again,” August said drily.

She laughed. She probably seemed like the biggest diva, and while she had cultivated a lot of attitude when she’d been pouring shots, that was work and her “Whiskey Go-Go” persona.

What, if anything, of that girl would she be keeping in the next stage of her life?

It was then she knew she’d made her decision. Eff Anders Wolf. She was going to Last Stand. She was writing the next chapter of her life without him.

Tinsley grabbed the pen out of August’s hand, signed her name, and handed it back.

“When do you want me to start, boss?”