Page 6 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy (The Texas Wolf Brothers #3)

Catalina looked away down the road and then back at Tinsley. Tinsley could have sworn something like guilt crossed her face. “Sure. That’s taken care of.”

“Huh?”

Cat handed her the basket. “Have a snack. Take some time to make some notes, check out the apartment and then give me a call. Have fun.” Catalina’s voice rang with enthusiasm, and for the first time, Tinsley was beginning to think that running a tasting room and designing a marketing plan for a new brand of wine wasn’t going to feel like a trap.

Feeling lighter, a smile playing over her lips, Tinsley pushed the heavy door all the way open and stepped over the threshold.

*

Anders pulled into a parking spot across the street from Verflucht.

He frowned when he saw the motorcycle. Tinsley’s balance and center of gravity was going to change pretty quickly.

Also the motorcycle wouldn’t be practical commuting from the ranch to work.

He’d get her something safe and practical, and she could ride the bike for fun after the baby.

Even that didn’t sit well since bikes were dangerous, but he could hardly judge, considering how he made much of his living.

August’s warning to go in low key niggled at his conscience, but he shoved the advice away.

August hadn’t been low key once in his life.

And Kane’s advice to give her space? Hypocritical.

He’d admitted as much since he’d practically kidnapped his baby momma and their toddler when he’d discovered his daughter’s existence.

Anders was a cowboy. Bull rider. Ranch owner. Texan. Investor. His own man. Successful in every area of his life. He did not need advice from big brothers or friends. He was going to play this his way. Too much was at stake.

He got out of his truck, crossed the street and opened Verflucht’s front door. He hesitated on the threshold while his heart hammered. His chest felt like something squatted on it.

Dread.

But not indecision.

He knew what he had to do.

How he felt about Whiskey, marriage and a baby at this time in his life was irrelevant. His perfect wife list on his phone that his brothers had laughed about so uproariously was going to have to be deleted.

Once he got things settled with Whiskey, the sooner both of them could prepare for their new normal.

He squared his shoulders. The only way to go was forward, and Anders hadn’t ridden to the top of his profession by backing away from rank bulls or any other challenge fate tossed.

He stepped into the re-renovated tasting room and scanned the area.

Empty. It was the first time he’d been in the tasting room since the accident last spring when a wine tour bus had crashed through the front window, damaged the custom bar August had imported from a historic French chateau, and knocked into a support beam, which had put a hole in the upstairs apartment August had tricked out anticipating living there.

Five of his employees had been injured. They were all healed up now, and the tasting room was finally repaired and would be ready to open soon.

Anders didn’t notice any of the fixes. He was here to see Whiskey. But she was not where his brother and sister-in-law said she’d be.

He walked through the room, the soles of his cowboy boots solid on the restored wood floor.

He quickly climbed the stairs to the apartment and opened the door.

Lots of light. Kitchen with what looked like high-end stainless steel appliances, island with white quartz that shimmered a little in the early afternoon light, and four red leather barstools.

But still no Whiskey.

Anders’ tension cranked higher as he went back downstairs. Then he noticed that the tasting room was actually bigger than he’d thought and there was an alcove with a garage door in the back. The door was raised to lead outside to the back.

Showtime .

Anders strode across the room and through the door. He pulled up short. Whiskey stood on a wine barrel looking over a weathered fence.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She startled, and the wine barrel rocked.

She jumped off. Anders caught her with one arm and pulled her tight to his body.

“Let go.” She pushed away from him. “What are you doing here? You can’t just show up without notice.”

Her honey-gold eyes had turned more amber now, like her namesake drink, and spit fire. Anders felt something low and wicked in his body spark to life.

“We’ve got a few things to sort out.”

“Not really.” She pushed past him. Her thick ponytail flared behind her like a flag, and the sun turned her wavy copper hair to fire.

“Don’t walk away.” He caught her arm.

She spun toward him, and the extra momentum brought her flush with his chest. His body immediately reacted, which was not part of the plan.

They both took a step back.

“We need to talk,” he asserted, trying to keep his voice even.

“Now you want to talk?” she mocked. “And I’m supposed to listen when you wouldn’t even give me the respect of a couple of minutes of your valuable time when you were with your friends?”

He winced. Her shot hit true.

She stalked past him and returned to the tasting room and he followed. “I asked to talk to you alone, not for some huge favor,” she reminded.

“I…you…” He paused, trying to find the words to explain. “You caught me off guard. I’d just won. The adrenaline. The other riders.” With each reason he gave, she just looked more deeply unimpressed.

“You wouldn’t give me a private moment so you got a public declaration.” She brushed her hands together. “Now you know, so nothing more to say. We’re done.”

“Done?” he echoed incredulously. “We’re not even started.”

“I felt you deserved to know, but I’m not expecting anything.”

“You’re not expecting anything?” he repeated, feeling like his brain wasn’t working. He’d never seen Whiskey angry. It would be hot if her ire were directed at some other hapless cowboy.

“Stop repeating everything I say.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, but the action pushed her breasts together and up so that more creamy cleavage was revealed in the deep V of her thin, bohemian-style floral top.

He’d never seen her wear anything like it before except that afternoon she’d been working his brothers’ weddings. It was pretty. And distracting as hell.

“Is the baby mine?” he demanded, suspicion rearing up out of nowhere, startling even him.

Her breath whooshed out, and she stared at him, beautiful eyes huge and round and her plump pillows of lips forming a circle.

“It’s not an unreasonable question, considering.” He knew he should back down, but now that he was on this road, he needed to walk it. Pretty crucial fact.

“Considering what?” She flung her arms wide. “You wouldn’t even talk to me and now when you finally climb down from your mountain of superiority, you have the audacity to suggest that I was sleeping around and had a whole stable of men to entertain me? That I don’t know which one knocked me up?”

The mental image that painted—Whiskey with other men, men he knew and competed against weekly—burned his brain.

Tension snarled between them just like the words. The air felt hot. It was hard to breathe. He even saw red, and the top of his head felt like it was going to blow off.

“You think I’m a slut,” she taunted and laughed a little. Anger and disbelief and then a determined glint of steel sliced through her glare. “You think the mother of your child is a slut.”

He winced at the word. “I didn’t say that.”

Her accusing tone didn’t sit well with him. He’d had more women than he remembered. Whiskey had the same right to find pleasure and fun.

She rolled her eyes. “I had to watch you every weekend yacking it up with—” She broke off quickly and Anders felt his interest kick up. She’d watched him. She’d noticed.

“Yes,” he said softly taking a step toward her.

“So, if I don’t know who my baby daddy is, why did I pick you? Oh wait, you probably think you’re all that.”

“I think you might think I’m all that.” He felt something in his chest warm up and kick free, unfurl.

“Not even close.” She closed the distance.

The heels of her motorcycle boots were hard on the wood floor and the jangle of the chains on the boots were musical in contrast. “I don’t want anything from you.

I don’t want your money and I don’t want your pity and I sure as hell don’t want you to make some dumbass sacrifice like thinking you have to spend time with me when your mind is somewhere else with someone else.

You’re the type of man who always has one boot out the door. ”

The sensation of heat and warmth fizzled out.

Jesus. This was a disaster.

His fault for trying to avoid being alone with her because he’d been worried he’d say something stupid like “I missed you.” Or “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Whiskey,” he began. He needed to defuse the situation but had no idea how. Dammit. He should have listened to August and Kane. But no. He’d rushed off hotheaded and unprepared.

“That’s not even my name.” She huffed.

Anders waited.

“That’s not on me.” He’d asked her before, but she’d laughed that husky laugh of hers and when combined with her enigmatic expression that always cranked him higher, he’d been distracted enough to let it slip.

He’d liked the name Whiskey. Suited. Sexy as hell.

“Tinsley,” she said finally, as if she were in an interrogation room and confessing to a crime. She hesitated, and an expression he couldn’t quite define flitted over her beautiful features. “Tinsley Underhill.”

He felt as if she’d just kneed him in the balls and thrown a hard uppercut to his jaw. They’d made a baby and he hadn’t even known her real name. Not even close.

How was this even happening?

“Why not tell me?” He bit out the question.

“Climb off your superior custom saddle, cowboy. The nickname suited what I was doing, and you were trying to get under my short skirt just like every other bull rider, businessman and cowboy attending the sponsor events.”