A Baby in His Stocking (3 page)

In the dark shadows she drank in Wyatt's strong profile, imagining him with her in a more simple time. In Oklahoma a hundred years earlier. Wyatt was a man's man. She could all too easily see him leading a cattle drive down the Chisholm Trail. He might handle the oil side of the family business now, but in high school, he and Dallas had often been hired by her father to help with their cattle. As a little kid, Wyatt's favorite game at recess had been wagon train.

Too bad her imagination was the only place any of them were perfect. For all of Wyatt's physical attributes, when it came to how he treated women, Wyatt was no different than Craig. Oh sure, he might be far more smooth, but his basic noncommitment routine was much the same. Maybe worse—at least Craig had told Natalie to her face he was done. Wyatt's kissing stunt had forced Starla to do the work.

The only reason Wyatt treated Natalie with respectful kid gloves was the knowledge that they would never be more than friends, never mind the glimpse of chemistry they'd shared.

“Miss Natalie,” seven-year-old Bonnie Buckhorn said, “I thought you were s'posed to tell us a ghost story?”

“Yeah.” Bonnie's twin, Betsy, climbed onto Natalie's lap. “And if you don't tell the story, then when Uncle Cash jumps out in his costume, trying to scare us, then nobody's gonna be scared.”

“Hush,” Natalie halfheartedly scolded. “That's supposed to be a surprise for your friends.”

Betsy folded her chubby arms. “Then Daddy
shouldn't've been talking so loud with Grandma, because I know all about it.”

Laughing, Natalie gave the pint-size know-it-all a squeeze. Was it wrong to pray her child wasn't quite as precocious?

By the time the story had ended and all of the kids save for Betsy were sufficiently spooked, Wyatt pulled the wagon alongside the old stone mill where a bonfire crackled. Dancing flames only added to the already ghoulish scene. Gnarled oak limbs cast monster shadows held at bay with plenty of marshmallows, chocolate and laughter.

Natalie had just assembled a giant s'more when a couple of Bonnie's masked friends ran into her during a ghost-hunter chase. They apologized, but only after having caused Natalie to fall.

“Lord, woman…” Wyatt sprung from the crowd gathered around the fire to help her to her feet. From there, with surprising tenderness, he brushed gravel from her palms. His warmth came as a shock, causing her breath to hitch. Awareness of his size, his strength, the decadence of melted chocolate on his breath, melded into a confused knot in her chest. Was she coming down with something? “There you go,” he said. “All better. Damned kids. Should've watched where they were going. But you need to be careful. This is starting to be a habit.”

“Th-thanks.” He released her hands, but not her gaze. Which, if only for a few seconds, was too intense.

He looked away before asking, “Is the rest of you all right? You know, like the baby?”

Natalie nodded. “I think so.”

“Good.” Hands in his pockets, he looked to the sky, then the wagon. “Well, I should check on the horses.”

Just like that, Wyatt was gone.

Natalie should've been fine with his leaving, but oddly enough, she felt lonely.

 

“W
HAT WAS THAT ABOUT
?” Dallas asked.

“What do you mean?” Wyatt checked the horse's harnesses.

“That thing with Nat. You're not thinking of starting something with her, are you? In case you forgot, you're breaking your mother's heart in just under a month.”

Wyatt shot his brother a dirty look. “For the record, your daughter's hellion friends knocked Nat down. I was doing a good deed. As for Mom, with as many rug rats as you've got running around the ranch, she'll never notice I'm gone.”

“Trust me, she'll notice. She already asked if she should hire a bodyguard for you in case your trip gets dicey. Don't know why you can't just stick around here and pop out some grandkids for her like the rest of us. Would that be so hard?” Stroking one of the horse's cheeks, no doubt when he thought Wyatt wasn't looking, Dallas rechecked the harnesses. Classic Dallas. Always in his business. Never trusting Wyatt to competently handle a job. Ignoring the fact that since Wyatt had taken over the oil side of the ranch, they'd made money hand over fist. Ever since his big brother had the twins, he'd seemed to equate success with the number of kids a guy had. Considering his own shortcomings in that field, Wyatt figured he'd had just about all of his brother's wisdom he could handle.

Wyatt said, “How about I take the truck back to my place and you handle the wagon?”

“Won't work,” Dallas said. “We need you here to—”

“How about making it work.” Beyond angry, Wyatt
strode to the vehicle. Nine times out of ten, Dallas left the keys in the ignition.

This time was no exception.

Wyatt started the engine, hit the lights then bucked it into gear, in the process damn near hitting Natalie.

“Where are you going?” she called over the ancient V-8.

“Home. Had enough family togetherness to last the next year.”

“Me, too,” she said, fumbling with her fingers at her waist. Had it always been huge? How could he not have noticed? “Would you mind taking me to my car?”

For a split second, Wyatt thought about turning her down, but then his mind flashed on just how pleasant his past couple meetings with her had been. Natalie was the anti-Dallas.

Meeting his brother's glare, Wyatt said to Natalie, “Hop in. Let's go lookin' for trouble.”

“What was that about?” Natalie asked once they were well away from the bonfire's glow.

“You really don't wanna know.”

“Wouldn't have asked if I didn't.” She rolled down her window. Sweet wood smoke laced the air rushing across her flushed cheeks and chest. “Your mom, bless her heart, just pressed my hot button nine ways to Sunday. Way I see it, I'll tell you my frustrations, then you can vent yours.”

“Deal. Do you like shooting?”

Forehead furrowed, she angled on the seat to face him. “Haven't done it since I was a kid, but it was fun then.”

“Oh,” he said with a sharp laugh, “you're gonna love this.”

Twenty minutes driving across dark prairie landed them alongside an old wood outbuilding and trash pile from the land's previous owners. One of the latest parcels added to the vast Buckhorn spread, the old Spring place wasn't fancy, but according to Josie, Dallas had gone after it with a vengeance.

“Come on,” Wyatt said, taking a 30-30 rifle from
the back window. “And grab the shells from the glove box.”

Moonlight shimmered off a pond. From somewhere—Natalie hoped far away—coyotes yipped. After handing Wyatt the ammo, she hugged herself to ward off a chill.

“Cold?” he asked, boots crunching on hard-packed dirt.

“A little.”

He removed his ranch coat, settling it about her shoulders. It was still warm and smelled of him—a delicious blend of leather and soap and citrus that quickened her pulse.

“Thanks.”

He cast her a faint, unreadable smile before fishing rusty cans from a burn barrel. After lining ten along the crooked posts of a barbwire fence, he took the rifle from under his arm and the shells from his back pocket and loaded the gun.

Handing it to her, he said, “Ladies first.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she said, “but it's been a while. As a refresher course, I'll watch you a few times.”

Shrugging, he said, “Suit yourself. I've got to work some of this frustration out before I say something to Dallas I'm gonna regret.” Aiming at the farthest can, he fired, blowing it to smithereens. “Damn! Now that's what I'm talking about.”

Natalie laughed above her still-ringing ears. “Hand me that gun, cowboy. Training camp's over. I want a turn.”

He loaded it before handing it to her. “You sure you know what you're doing?”

“No, but how hard can it be?” She prepared to fire, but he stopped her.

“A pose like that is going to give you one helluva bruise. Try this…” Behind her, he drew back the butt of the rifle, landing it square against her shoulder. His proximity set off explosions that had nothing to do with gun powder. The tall, lean length of him radiated heat to her shoulders and back and butt, igniting a tingling swirl in her belly. What was wrong with her? She'd never been attracted to Wyatt. He was the kind of guy she knew she could count on if she had a flat tire. He wasn't the kind of guy a single, pregnant woman turned to for a rebound fling. He was renowned for breaking hearts—never saving them. “Feel better?”

With his warm breath in her ear, she most certainly did not feel better. What she truly felt was a yearning hunger for another kiss. Ludicrous, but undeniable. Forcing a breath, she nodded.

“Good. Line the can in your sight, then
pow.
Blow all your frustrations away.” He'd whispered that one little word, causing more damage to her resolve to resist his charm than she'd ever do to the can.

“This one's for you, Georgina.”

“Sounds intriguing,” he teased.

She pulled the trigger, and found that the noise and thrill were just the ticket to clearing the angst buildup.

An hour later, having finished off the box of shells, Natalie sat alongside Wyatt in the old truck, warming her hands in front of blowing heater vents. “Thanks for this. It turned out to be exactly what I needed.”

“Happy to oblige.”

After a few moments' comfortable silence, cocooned in the truck's dark cab, Natalie said, “I haven't yet found the nerve to tell my folks about my preg
nancy. Their world's pretty black and white, and having an unwed daughter with a baby on the way wouldn't even begin to compute.”

“Sorry. When it comes to family disapproval, mine wrote the book.”

“Oh, please.” Twisting on the seat for a better view of his handsome profile, she asked, “What have you ever done that the mighty Buckhorns disapproved of?”

“Like your folks,” he said, narrowly avoiding a fallen tree, “they would prefer I be married. Oh—and they can't stand my house.”

“Really? Town gossip says it's pretty amazing.”

“I like to think so.” His smile warmed her far more efficiently that the heater.

“And lately, they're mighty pissed about me leaving.”

“Hmm…Josie told me about your great Ethiopian adventure. Sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Something to be done before you finally do settle down with a wife and those requisite 2.5 kids.”

Natalie had expected Wyatt to appreciate her support. Instead, his expression hardened.

She asked, “Did I somehow offend you?”

He shook his head and gripped the wheel tighter.

“Then why the one-eighty in your mood?”

After a glance out his window at the inky nothing beyond the glass, he exhaled. “What the hell? I've needed to get this off my chest for a while now, and I like you, Natalie. Always have. Most girls fell for my Buckhorn hype, but not you. You always treated me like a regular Joe.”

Stomach sour, Natalie wasn't sure she wanted to hear whatever Wyatt had to say.

“I appreciate that. Outside of family, and a few close
friends, there aren't a lot of people I can trust to keep my private issues private. Know what I mean?”

She nodded. “I feel that way about Josie. As happy as I was to see her marry Dallas, part of me mourned to have lost her. Sure, we'll always be close, but not the way we were before she began bursting with family.”

Wincing, he said, “There's that word again. The bane of my existence.”

“Family?” Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I would think however your relatives are, they're still your blood and you love them.”

“Love has nothing to do with it. Their expectations for me to be just like them is what brings me down—especially since no matter how much they bitch and nag about me marrying and having kids, their hopes will never come to pass.”

“Why? You're young. How can you arbitrarily decide you never want to be more than a bachelor?”

“Easy.” Thumping the heel of his hand against the wheel, he added, “Especially since it wasn't even my decision. I'll never have a son or daughter.”

“What do you mean?”

“To spell it out, I'm sterile.”

Heart aching for him, eyes stinging with tears she struggled to hold in, she asked, “H-how do you know?”

“Nasty case of mumps. Doc Haven tested me. That's why I'm so desperate to get out of Weed Gulch. No one knows, and the last thing I want to do is tell them. I don't want their pity or well-meaning lectures on the wonders of adoption. I need to be left alone, you know? Just come to grips with this in my own way.”

Hand on his forearm, she asked, “How long have you known?”

“A few months, and damned if the more kids my
brothers and sister pop out, the more disconnected I feel. I will forever be the lone man out and it—”

When his voice cracked, Natalie scooted across the seat to put her arms around him.

He stopped the truck, killing the engine.

Though Wyatt never shed a tear, Natalie could only imagine how much his diagnosis had hurt. For a guy like him, his macho manliness no doubt meant the world. To never be able to have his own namesake must be crushing.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, holding him for all she was worth. “Ironic how your family wants nothing more than for you to produce a child, and mine is going to be peeved for that very fact.”

“Which is why I need to get the hell out of Dodge. For the most part, family is great, but this is one time when I just want to escape.”

Not sure what the politically correct thing to say was at a time like this, Natalie said the first thing that popped into her mind. “I don't blame you. The Buckhorns are a pretty intense bunch. I can just imagine Georgina catching wind of this. Demanding you have every test in the book done, ignoring the fact that you're a big boy and no doubt already double-and triple-checked this for yourself.”

“True.”

She gave him another hug. “You go off on this adventure of yours, and once you get back, maybe you'll feel better about your lot, maybe you won't, but at least you'll be out there, living life to its fullest.”

Easing back, he said, “You're amazing. How is it I never dated you?”

“Simple,” she teased, “I'm too smart to ever fall victim to your charm.”

 

O
NE WEEK LATER
,
FIVE
rows from Weed Gulch Elementary's stage, Wyatt sat crammed between his sister-in-law Wren and his nephew Kolt. Wren's nearly three-year-old daughter, Robin, sat on her lap, smelling like she might be having an issue with whatever she'd eaten for dinner. Trapped in a room bursting with families, Wyatt had never been more keenly aware of his own deficiency.

The one person who'd made him feel better about himself and his decision to leave town was Natalie.

Daisy's dark-haired eleven-year-old son, Kolt, wrinkled his nose. “Aunt Wren, Robin
really
stinks.”

Just then Natalie stepped out from behind the blue velvet stage curtains. Natalie was the night's MC. She looked good in a rusty-orange sweater over brown pants. He liked her hair, too. Loose and wavy. Pretty—like her smile.

Cash's wife, Wren, laughed. “I know, hon. I told your uncle to not feed her bean soup, but he didn't listen. She's almost totally potty trained, but not good enough for that much fiber.”

“Shhh.” Weary of baby talk, eagerly awaiting whatever Natalie was about to say, Wyatt crossed his arms and prayed for the family portion of the night to end.

“What a wonderful turnout!” Natalie said with a bright smile. Had she always looked so good? “On behalf of our students and staff, thank you for taking time to attend our fall concert. The kids have worked hard, and can't wait to show off their skills.”

Once the program started, Wyatt had to admit all of the songs and hand motions were cute, but instead of focusing on his nieces' talent, he felt trapped under his own dark cloud. How different would the night be were he watching his own children perform?

The show droned on for two hours, during which every baby and toddler present screamed in turns. By the time the twins took their last bows, Wyatt was more than ready to bolt. But no. First, he had to have cake and punch in the deafening cafeteria. Why, why hadn't he driven himself?

“Not that you probably deserve it,” teased a warm, familiar voice from beside him, “but come on. You look like a man in dire need of silence.” Natalie led Wyatt by his arm out of the chaos and into the bliss of her deserted office. She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. She parked behind her desk.

Hands to his throbbing forehead, Wyatt asked, “How do you stand being around here all day, every day?”

“It's usually not this crazy. When school's in session, rules and procedures keep the noise to a minimum.”

“Still…” He managed a grimace. “I'm starting to loathe kids. Which in my case is a good thing, right?”

“Oh, stop.” Tidying a pile of papers, she added, “The night hasn't been that bad. And anyway, it's over now.” Natalie looked awfully grown-up seated behind her big desk. How many crying kiddos had been in here for her to soothe?

He sat a little straighter.

She reached for an apple-shaped candy dish mounded with Hershey's Kisses. “Want one?”

Shaking his head, he said, “I'm maxed out on sugar.”

Apparently she wasn't, as she proceeded to unwrap three of the treats before popping them in her mouth. Her expression was one of pure pleasure. Damned if she didn't look in the throes of an orgasm. The notion produced pressure beneath his fly, along with the asi
nine urge to lick a speck of chocolate from the corner of her lips.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “I, ah, wasn't going to come tonight.”

“Why?” Was she aware that when she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk, her shadowy cleavage popped into view? “This was a big deal for the twins. I know they wanted their favorite uncle here.”

Wyatt snorted. “Cash is everyone's favorite.”

“Don't sell yourself short. The girls talk about you all the time. Bonnie refers to you as her favorite oil king.”

“Nice,” he said with a chuckle. After taking one of her candies, he added, “My Ethiopian residence card came today.”

“Are you excited?”

“Yes and no. As much as I'll be relieved to get out of here, it's strange to think the next time I see Esther, she'll be walking.”

“How does that make you feel? Any regrets?”

He took more candy. Had Natalie always smelled so good? Like a mix of flowers and chocolate and the faintest hint of a just-sharpened pencil?

“Wyatt?” she asked, waving her hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wyatt.”

“Huh?”

“I asked if any part of you regrets leaving.”

Funny, but at the moment, the one thing Wyatt knew he'd miss about Weed Gulch was Natalie. His whole life she'd been right under his nose. How could he have not taken the time to know her before now? “Other than hot and cold running water, electricity and reliable meals, I think I'm good.”

She laughed, which made him smile, too.

Which was nice. If only for a little while.

 

“I
S
W
YATT HERE
?” O
N
Saturday morning, Natalie had found a travel book on Ethiopia at a yard sale. Hoping she'd run into Wyatt at Georgina's latest gathering on Sunday afternoon, she'd brought it along.