(Calahan Cowboys 08) The Cowboy Soldier's Sons (7 page)

Jonas grinned. “Come on, soldier. Let’s get you walking wounded.”

Shaman was going to kill Bobby Taylor for visiting this on him. All he wanted to do was think about Tempest—and thanks to his well-meaning family and boss, he wasn’t going to get one second’s peace to do it.

* * *

“S
O,”
J
ONAS SAID,
as he drove Shaman back to the farmhouse three hours later, “your niece says you’re in love with the movie star who was in town.”

Shaman’s head hurt. He was annoyed, and a bunch of deadener hadn’t made the three staples any more fun to bear. “She’s not a movie star, and Cat doesn’t know everything.”

“She is a movie star,” Jonas said. “The contract terms were finalized last night. And I don’t know about Cat not knowing everything. I should warn you that she’s been studying the high art of manipulation and busybodying from my aunt Fiona, and there’s no more successful teacher alive. You’ve been warned, friend.”

Jonas laughed, his mirth almost contagious if the joke hadn’t been on Shaman, which it was. He blinked, trying to take in what Jonas had just said. “Tempest didn’t say anything to me about the negotiations.”

They’d celebrated her big news with beer and fajitas and a trip down haunted house lane. He pondered that a moment, remembering that Tempest hadn’t even had a beer—she’d drunk water.

Some celebration.

“So, is Cat right?”

“You just said she knows everything,” Shaman snapped.

“So you’re in love!” Jonas chuckled, his theory confirmed. “A movie star and a soldier. Could only write that in Hollywood.”

“Not really,” Shaman said. “I’m not in love.”

“You’re not?”

Why would he fall in love with a woman so far out of his league? It would be dumb. “No.”

“Oh.” Jonas sounded depressed about that. “That’s too bad. Sabrina already dragged out the magic wedding dress, in case Tempest wanted to borrow it. Of course, she’ll probably want something fabulous by some world-famous designer, but all the same, the ladies in our family are pretty fond of their magic wedding dress. It’s all a fairy tale, but it’s fun to hear them tell the yarn.”

Jonas grinned, but Shaman didn’t have a smile in him. He wanted Jonas to stop talking, and he wanted to sit alone with his wounded pride and aching head.

“So, who do you think hit you?” Jonas asked.

“Bobby Taylor,” Shaman said, too grumpy to filter.

He felt his boss’s stare. “Why do you think that?”

“Just a sneaking thought,” Shaman said.

“It doesn’t affect what I hired you to do,” Jonas said, “and Gage knows all about it. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. Besides, it’s no reason for anyone to try to open your cranium.” He shrugged. “When Gage was managing Dark Diablo, Bobby filed the suit. I got a little worried and pulled Gage off the project because I didn’t want to build in case the courts decided for the Taylor family. But my brother Sam—he’s a crack attorney—said damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead. He told me to get up every building I have my heart set on for Dark Diablo. And there’s a lot of building I intend to do. So you need to quit loafing,” he finished, his tone jovial.

“I’ll do that,” Shaman said, “as soon as your enemies quit trying to unhinge my head from my body.”

“Good man.” Jonas was quite cheerful, but it wasn’t his head wearing staples. “I’ll give you a few days to rest. And I don’t want to hear a word about you handing in your resignation. I fully expect that you can handle Bobby Taylor, even if you did let him sneak up on you. Weren’t you supposed to be some kind of sniper or something? I would expect more out of a decorated grunt, to be honest.”

Shaman sighed. “Appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“No problem,” Jonas said. “I hope it works out with the movie star.”

“She’s not a—” Tempest
was
a movie star, or she was about to be. He was a soldier, and the whole relationship was pretty uneven. Too bad he’d had to get his head whacked to figure it out.

Yet his head didn’t hurt nearly as bad as his heart, which was, Shaman thought, even dumber.

* * *

“I’
M HEADING TO
Rancho Diablo to see our niece. I should leave Xav here to keep an eye on you,” Kendall said, inspecting the bandage wrapped around his head.

“No,” Shaman said. “I’m going to rest. I can’t rest when Xav’s around. He has the attention span of a flea.”

“He’s not quite like you remembered,” Kendall said. “But we’ll leave you here to sulk in peace if you promise to rest.”

“I will.” Shaman lay on the sofa, his head throbbing. “I’m already resting.”

He could hear his sister and brother whispering, conferring about what should be done with him. “Go,” he said, tense as all get-out. “I want peace and quiet and a shot of whiskey.”

“No whiskey,” Kendall said, bossy as always. “You have plenty of drugs the doc gave you.”

“Fine.” He’d just said it to rile her, give her a reason to worry. “Lights off, please. And get out, sibs.”

He heard Kendall and Xav walk out the front door. Shaman’s eyes closed, and he sighed with relief.

As soon as he felt better, he was going to have a chat with Mr. Taylor.

* * *

T
HE PHONE RINGING
in his pocket felt as if it were splitting his brain into two complete halves. No doubt it was Kendall, calling to check on him. Sighing, Shaman pulled out his cell phone, not recognizing the number. “Yeah?”

“Shaman?” a female said.

“Yep,” he answered. “How can I help you?”

“Shaman, it’s Tempest.”

His eyes snapped open again. “Hi.”

“I—I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”

Frowning, he said, “How’d you hear?”

“Cat texted me. And then Kendall called to tell me.”

He sat up, wincing as the wound pulled. “Wait. My niece and my sister both have your number?”

“Yes. Of course Cat has my number. We’ve been talking to each other for months now. Don’t you remember she’s the reason I came back to Tempest in the first place?”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “I know that. But—”

“And Kendall probably got the number from Cat. Or from whomever she had to bribe to give it to her. You know your sister.”

Shaman cleared his throat. “I think my question was more rhetorical. What I meant was, why does everyone have your number except me?”

“You never asked,” Tempest said reasonably.

He blinked. “I guess that’s true.”

“But you have it now,” she continued. “Although I know that’s probably counterproductive to the status of our relationship.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well,” she said, “you never wanted a relationship. You made that clear. So you never asked for my number or anything.”

“Now look here, Little Red Riding Hood,” he said, “you were the one who showed up with your picnic basket whenever you had the urge.”

“I knew I’d never get you off the ranch,” Tempest said. “You’re kind of a hermit. You shocked me when you took me out. Anyway, how’s your head?”

“My head is fine.” He didn’t want to talk about that. “Are you saying that you felt like I didn’t want you?”

“I think you’re a loner, and if I wanted to bring you food, you’d let me.”

“A little more than food, Cupertino,” Shaman said. “We should have talked more and—”

“Dined less,” Tempest interjected.

“I guess.” Shaman rubbed his face. “So listen, I’m glad you called. First, I want to congratulate you. The grapevine works this way, too, you know, and it’s let me know you’ve received some kind of awesome offer that’s going to kick your career into overdrive.”

“We’ll see,” Tempest said. “I like the project.”

“And, apparently,” Shaman said, ticking down his list, “you’re crazy about me.”

“Did you hear that from the grapevine, too?”

“Yes, I did.” It was a tiny fib. The grapevine said he was crazy about her. But there was no reason to give away all the house cards just yet. He wanted to see what she’d say first.

“Funny,” Tempest said, “the town grapevine told me that you were walleyed nuts for me.”

He grinned in the darkness, glad she couldn’t see him. “It’s a twisted vine.”

“I guess so.”

“So now that you’re calling me, still pursuing me,” Shaman said, “I have a proposal for you. It’s not a Hollywood contract type of proposal, but it’s one that might interest you.”

“I consider all proposals and offers,” Tempest said.

It was worth a shot. “About that baby Cat said you wanted.”

The silence stretched out. “I might want a child one day.”

“Mmm. And if you decide you do, I wouldn’t mind letting you try to have that baby with me.”

“That’s nice to know, soldier.”

“I thought you might think so. But here’s the hook—”

“There’s always a hook with you.”

“You have to marry me first. Then we’d practice. I’m not saying I want to get married,” Shaman said. “I’m just saying that if you decide the bright lights aren’t what you want, and that you want to see if you can handle the heat back here in Tempest, maybe I’ll let you get in bed with me again, with that intent in mind.”

“Well, that is an offer I’ll have to ponder,” Tempest said. “Considering I’ve been chasing you all this time, cowboy, I’m not sure you’re ready for a more serious situation.”

“You’re the one who was going to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I figured you wouldn’t notice. Then I realized bears get hungry after a long winter’s hibernation, and it was the picnic basket you’d miss.”

“Exactly,” Shaman said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now that you’re gone.”

“Learn to cook?”

“Doubt it,” Shaman replied. “Good night, Cupertino.”

“Shaman,” Tempest said, “you didn’t tell me how you hurt your head.”

He wasn’t about to, either. There was something going on here, a little forward progress he hadn’t been expecting, and he wasn’t about to blow it with her feeling guilty. Which she would, if she knew Bobby Taylor had taken a crack at him. “You always warned me about being on roofs,” he murmured.

“You’re dumb,” she said.

“Probably. Thanks for the call, Cupertino.”

“’Bye, soldier.”

She hung up and Shaman tossed his phone on the coffee table. Yes, there was some forward progress. It still might not go anywhere—right now, she had a little nostalgia, maybe a little fear of the new job, so she was reaching out to the comfortable known.

But if she decided she wanted to be a little more forward still, he’d be right here waiting for her.

* * *

T
HREE WEEKS LATER
, Tempest realized that the stomachaches she was having had nothing to do with nerves. Something else was bugging her. She went to the doctor and described her symptoms.

When they asked her to take a pregnancy test, Tempest laughed out loud. “There’s no way,” she said.

“I know, I know,” the nurse said. “The doc can be a crazy old fool sometimes. Humor him and use the cup.”

She did, shaking her head. Shaman had been vigilant about using protection. There’d been no wild-and-crazy, passion-blinded moments. The man was serious about not having children. Oh, he talked big, a real good game—but actions spoke louder than words. He practically wrapped up like a mummy before he touched her.

“Guess what?” the nurse said, handing her a tiny white stick with a blue line across it.

Tempest stared at the blue line. “You cannot be serious.”

The nurse laughed. “Like I said, the doc’s a crazy old fool—crazy like a fox.”

“Are you sure my test didn’t get mixed up with someone else’s?” Tempest’s ears seemed to be ringing with chimes or bells or something. Alarm bells.

A pregnancy would mess everything up. Everything.

“You’re the only one the doc wanted to test for pregnancy today,” the nurse said cheerfully. “Congratulations, you win the prize.”

“I guess so.” Tempest’s mind felt dull and slow. “How can this happen? We used condoms every time. Every single time.”

The nurse shook her head. “Not completely foolproof. Good, but not perfect. There’s really no perfect birth control, to be honest. Very, very close to perfect, but still, we see this kind of thing all the time. Condoms are about ninety-eight percent effective. You can get dressed now, and we’ll make an appointment to have your first prenatal checkup.”

“Thank you,” Tempest said. She dressed quickly, her brain frozen. Shaman hadn’t called her since the night he’d hurt his head. He’d made a big deal out of finally having her number, but then never called.

As her mother always said, if a man was interested, he figured out how to dial a phone. She supposed her mom had known what she was talking about, if she’d gotten Bud Taylor to use the phone. Bud had been a total recluse. The only time he’d left the house was to broker a deal, see his lawyer, grab a bite in town. Mostly he had his groceries brought to him at the farmhouse.

In that, he and Shaman were a lot alike.

Tempest squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, then put her hand on her stomach, feeling a thrill that she was going to be a mother. Secretly, this was her dream come true.

“It doesn’t matter about the cowboy soldier,” she said. “You’ve got me. Welcome to the world, little baby.”

What difference did it make if history might be repeating itself just a bit?

* * *

S
HAMAN RUBBED HIS EYES
when he saw the Land Rover parked outside the farmhouse. It wasn’t Kendall’s; she was in Diablo with Cat and Gage, and generally trying to keep her twin, Xav, away from the “gold digger,” a topic Shaman had heard more about than he ever wanted. The only other person he knew who drove one of those cars was Tempest.

He strolled up to the house, looking for his surprise visitor.

Tempest sat on the porch in the swing, looking so beautiful Shaman thought he could wait on her forever, if she’d just show up every once in a while to make him feel the things only she made him feel.

It was almost worth the wait.

“Hi,” she said.

“They give you a break from filming, or whatever it is you do?”

Tempest didn’t smile at him, didn’t get up. “I quit the production.” Her face seemed strained as she said it.