Cowboys Don't Have a Secret Baby Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  COWBOYS DON'T HAVE A SECRET BABY

  First edition. April 23, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Jessie Gussman.

  Written by Jessie Gussman.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Cowboys Don't Have a Secret Baby (Sweet Water Ranch Billionaire Cowboys, #2)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Recipe!

  Dedication: to my second son

  My second son was so easy to raise. Don’t you love those kids that make you look like a good parent? He did anything I asked. He excelled in school. He plays the piano in church. He also played both the violin and viola in the homeschool orchestra. He took the money he made delivering papers and bought all the equipment to reload his own rifle and shotgun shells, a complicated process that requires precision and patience. One time our insurance man was visiting and took a fifty-cent piece up to the pasture field. I could barely see it from the porch, but my son took his rifle and shot a hole through the center of it. He’s part-owner of our trucking company and the head mechanic. He can tear down and rebuild a big CAT engine, and several of our trucks are working every day with motors he built. Plus, he’s a genuine nice guy. I love you, Boo.

  Chapter 1

  “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

  Ty Hanson pulled the covers over his head and rolled over. It was a juvenile thing to do, of course. And it wouldn’t get him out of going to church. Never had. Maybe he was twenty-eight years old and the highest paid forward in the NHL, but his mother didn’t relax her rules just because he was famous. If you were in her house on Sunday morning, you went to church with the family.

  Ty snorted as he threw the covers off and pulled his feet from where they hung over the end of the too-small bed, setting them firmly on the floor. It wouldn’t take him that long to get ready. His appearance, anyway. He’d probably never be fully ready to show his face at the Sweet Water Baptist Church again.

  A knock sounded on his door. “Did you hear me?” his mother asked.

  “I’m up. I don’t have any dress clothes.”

  “What you wore to the reception will be fine.”

  A wave of heat followed by a chill washed over him. He wasn’t going to think about the wedding.

  Actually, it had probably been a nice wedding. Simple. Quick. Lots of good food. Didn’t get much better than that. He’d shown up late, though, and arrived after the ceremony. That’s when the problem occurred, while he was holding his plate and mingling with townsfolk that he hadn’t seen in years. He caught a glimpse of the skeleton in his closet.

  She was beautiful.

  She was with someone. Someone who probably suited her much better than he ever had. Ty could have easily broken that man apart with his bare hands. The fellow was skinny. His glasses perched on the end of his nose, and his suit didn’t quite fit. Strands of gray ran through his slightly balding head, and the entire time Ty watched, the guy didn’t shut up.

  Louise Olson had hung on his every word. Like she’d hung on Ty’s, one summer long ago.

  Ty yanked the covers up, making the bed in one sweep, and pulled his jeans off the chair he’d hung them on the day before when he’d come in from another hard day of work. Depressed.

  It served him right. He’d left her. And he hadn’t come back.

  He had the plaid button-down on and tucked in before he walked out through the living room and into the small kitchen. In North Dakota, the winters were long and cold, and a small house was easier to heat. His parents had raised three kids in this tiny place. Despite the cold, they hadn’t spent much time in the house anyway. There was always work to do on the ranch, and once it got cold enough, he and his older brother, Ford, spent all their free time ice-skating on the pond behind the barn.

  Georgia, their sister, had tagged along too. He’d seen Georgia at the wedding, but Ford hadn’t come. Unsurprisingly. If he wanted to see Ford, he’d need to drive out to the ranch Ford bought a few years ago. If Ford had left the ranch once he moved in, Ty didn’t know about it.

  There were a lot of things that Ty didn’t know.

  Like who the man was that Louise had been with. And why he even cared, since he hadn’t seen her in almost nine years.

  “Good morning,” his mother greeted him from the kitchen table where she sat with a half-eaten piece of toast on her plate and a steaming mug of coffee in front of her.

  “’Morning, Mom. You make two cups?” he asked, nodding at her coffee.

  “Of course.” She gave him a gentle smile.

  Why hadn’t he come home? The thought ran through his mind until he opened the cupboard and saw his dad’s old coffee cup perched on the edge. It’d been almost a decade since the funeral and a stupid coffee cup could still make his chest hurt and his throat tighten.

  In order to not have to touch it, he picked up the pink one on the second shelf. His sister’s old cup. His was probably in there somewhere, but he wasn’t moving his dad’s to look for it.

  “You’re not limping as bad today.” His mother’s hair had turned gray years ago, but her blue eyes were still sparkling and young. She could have remarried.

  “It’s not hurting as bad.”

  “It’s funny how rough those hockey games look on TV, yet you get injured jogging in the park.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about tearing the ligaments in his leg. They’d be healed by the time the season started. It’s what the surgeon had said anyway. His agent was the one that demanded he go home.

  He poured coffee in the cup and carried it to the table. His mother eyed the pink but didn’t say anything, although a tiny worry line appeared between her brows. She’d kept her mouth closed over the years, never pressuring him to come home. Occasionally she’d hinted around, digging for info about any relationships. Maybe she’d read rumors about him. There were plenty of those.

  “It was the closest one.” He lifted the pink cup.

  His mother, with her white skin that flushed easily, ice-blue eyes, and hair that had been blond before it turned gray, was Norwegian through and through. Hardworking, thrifty, and stoic. Just like their ancestors who had settled this land and made a living in a country that was so like their homeland.

  Still, he couldn’t miss her concern. But she didn’t have to worry; he would never disappoint his mother that way. “Honest, Mom. The pink cup was closest, and I’m going to make you late.”

  She smiled a little, still beautiful in her fifties. “I’m thrilled that you’re here.”

  He hid his own smile. This was about as thrilled as her Norwegian ancestry would allow her to be, calmly sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee while her son who’d barely been home for more than a day at a time in nine years sat down with her. Even in Pittsburgh, where he lived, the German and English with their stiff upper lips couldn’t compare to the emotionless Norwegians of his childhood.

  “I’m thrilled to be here,” he said
, allowing his lips to turn up.

  His mother saw, and her own face brightened some. “Still making fun of me.”

  “Mom, when someone is ‘thrilled,’ they do more than sip their coffee.”

  “I would have cooked you breakfast if you’d come down earlier. There’s not time, now.”

  He laughed outright. The guys he played with might not be entirely in touch with their emotional side, but they knew how to do “thrilled” with shouts and slaps and fist pumps. Not a tiny smile and a sip of coffee and an offer to cook breakfast.

  Sometimes still waters ran deep.

  Louise had blue eyes too, a shade lighter even than his mom’s. Her studious exterior had hidden a wealth of emotion, hot and powerful.

  He shook the image. That ship had sailed, even if she was still the standard by which he judged every single female that came into his orbit.

  “I don’t eat in the morning, anyway.”

  “Your father never did either. Not until the stock was fed.”

  He clenched his jaw, determined she not see that he’d never gotten over his dad’s death. Probably because of the way they’d ended.

  “I know. I was with him.” All through his childhood, Ford and he were his dad’s shadows.

  Her expression was benevolent, and he was sure she was remembering the happier days when his dad was alive. Back when they were the perfect ranching family. Before Ford’s accident when he and his brother were high school sports stars that spent their spare time on the farm, working and playing. He couldn’t have had a better childhood. Then Ford got hurt. And not long after that, he and his dad had had the first fight of their lives.

  That night, his dad had died.

  He hadn’t been home to help on the worst night of his mom’s life. Hadn’t gotten to apologize to his dad or race him to the hospital.

  He’d been with Louise.

  The drive to church wasn’t long. Only about twenty minutes to the east. His mom rode in the passenger seat of his rented car, her gelatin salad held on her lap, the hot dish on the seat in the back. He wished they could have driven separately, because she would want to stay and eat and talk, and he didn’t, not after the trouble he’d had at the wedding. It wasn’t because of people recognizing him and wanting his autograph, although they had, to some extent, but Sweet Water was just as Norwegian as his mother, and they’d been very polite about it.

  No, the trouble had been when he’d seen Louise.

  He pulled into the gravel lot, beside the small, white church of his childhood, the August heat making the car’s AC feel necessary. The lot was already full, and they parked way back.

  “I’ll carry these things in,” he said as he got out. He hadn’t seen Louise in the week since the wedding. Of course, he’d been at the house a lot, since he’d been doing a lot of repair work for his mother who was hoping to sell the ranch. This week, she’d be away at a craft fair, and he’d be getting out more.

  “You’ll have to put the salad in the fridge. The Acapulco Chicken should be fine. It’s insulated.”

  “Okay.” He headed toward the back door, while his mother went in the front. The service would be starting soon. It was funny that he didn’t hear any music. He’d always enjoyed the simple piano music and hymns in his home church.

  By the time he had the food situated and crept up the stairs to the back of the sanctuary, Pastor Houpe was talking. Still no music. Odd.

  Their family’s pew was clear at the front, and he went up the side aisle as inconspicuously as a guy as big as he was could before slipping in beside his mother. He’d have sat in the back, but she was alone at the front. He’d never considered that she might sit by herself on Sunday mornings. Ford and Georgia weren’t that far away. Forty-five minutes. Maybe they went to a different church.

  He settled in the seat, resting his arm on the back of the pew behind his mother.

  The preacher’s next words were, “We’re happy to have Titus Hanson here today.”

  Figures. He was used to attention, and it didn’t really bother him.

  “Not as happy as Mrs. Hanson, I’m sure,” Pastor Houpe continued.

  His mother clutched her Bible. She wasn’t used to the attention, and he was sure it did bother her.

  “How long is he here for, Mrs. Hanson?” the pastor asked.

  Ty had forgotten how relaxed the services in his small country church actually were. This would never happen in Pittsburgh.

  “A month,” his mother said in a confident tone. She didn’t like the attention, but his mother never backed down from anything. Pride stirred in his chest.

  “That’s great. We look forward to getting to know you again, Ty.”

  Ty nodded in acknowledgement, and the pastor spoke again. “Let’s move on to the morning’s announcements. Our pianist is home with her daughter who is under the weather. We’ll put her on the prayer list. In the meantime, we’ll sing without a piano today.” He shuffled the papers on the pulpit. “Ladies’ Missionary Group meets Thursday night.” He looked out over the congregation. “See Patty back there in the last row for the location and time.” People shifted as they looked around at Patty.

  Ty was pretty sure she was the daughter of Claudette who used to own the diner that was now called Patty’s Diner. It was still open. He’d noticed that when they’d driven down the street. The C Store was still there, too, as well as the hardware store and the butcher shop. There were still two bars, but it looked like the third one had been turned into a gym. The one right across the street from Patty’s Diner. He hadn’t known, but it would save him a lot of time driving to the next town over for his workouts.

  “Palmer and Ames gave me this to read to you.” The pastor waved a card in the air before holding it in front of his face and reading. “‘We appreciate everyone who came to our wedding and especially those who helped out. We’ll be back next week to open gifts. Love, Palmer and Ames Hanson.’”

  The pastor looked up. “It was a nice wedding. ’Course, they’re back from their honeymoon now and with us this morning.”

  Ty had to agree that the wedding had been nice. Simple and quick. Not formal. Just a down-home feel where everyone had a great time.

  “Thanks,” a deep voice said from behind him. He didn’t twist all the way around, but he assumed it was Palmer. He’d known both Palmer and Ames from high school. They’d all gotten along fine. Of course, Palmer might have a few choice things to say to him if he knew that Ty had been meeting his sister down by the river the summer before he left. Actually, he probably wouldn’t mind the meeting. It was the other things they’d done that would land him in a fistfight with Louise’s brother.

  “The men’s prayer breakfast is on Saturday morning. We’ll meet out at the pavilion at seven. And...” The pastor gathered all the papers and tapped them on the pulpit. “We need volunteers for the Harvest Fest committee.”

  The church was silent.

  “I volunteer the pianist,” a voice said from the other side of the room.

  Titters sounded from the pews. The pastor grinned with good nature. “I guess if you don’t want to be volunteered, you need to show up and say so.”

  “She’ll do it,” an older lady said from somewhere close behind Ty. Again, he didn’t turn around.

  “Thanks, Grandma Gene. I’ll put her down.” The pastor wrote a note on the papers. “I need a co-chair.”

  Silence reigned again.

  His mother’s hand landed softly, like a butterfly, on his leg. Ty knew the question she was asking. He waited another five beats of silence, hoping someone else would speak up. He’d be heading back to Pittsburgh and training camp about that time.

  “What all does it entail?” a nasally voice asked from across the aisle. Ty turned his head, his height making it easy to see over the heads between. He recognized the man who’d been talking to Louise at the wedding yesterday.

  His mother’s hand ran smack into his competitive streak. The explosion in his chest was inevitable. He migh
t not be competing for Louise. He’d thrown that right away. She might even be married to the dude for all he knew. She wasn’t beside him. He hadn’t seen her at all the few times he’d looked around.

  But she’d been talking to this guy at the reception last Sunday afternoon the short moment he’d seen her. His crazy brain latched onto him as the competition to beat. Never mind that the person who got stuck planning Harvest Fest was actually the loser.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, loud and clear before the pastor had a chance to explain what the job entailed.

  All eyes shifted to him. He was used to being in the spotlight. On the ice and off it. But it was hard because this was his community and he’d left. Still, so far, they’d not seemed to hold it against him.

  The pastor wasted no time. He was writing his name beside the hapless pianist’s before Ty’s mouth was even closed. Ty felt a bit like he’d been hooked. “Okay then. You two will need to get together, but I’ll let you handle that.”

  His mom would know who the pianist was. She’d have the number too. Ty pictured himself working with an eighty-year-old woman. Mrs. Hoyt, the pianist of his childhood, had passed to her reward years ago. He remembered his mother telling him. So he wouldn’t know the new one.

  It would require no brainpower from him. He’d be the strong legs and back that carried out all her plans. As long as his leg held up, he was good with that. Hopefully she’d be a good cook, because right here, where he came from, old women who could cook usually rewarded the strong legs and back with good food.

  LOUISE WATCHED THE dust cloud in the distance. It was almost certainly her family coming home. She stroked Tella’s hair. Her daughter had fallen asleep on the porch swing a while ago. At the ripe old age of eight, she’d decided she was too big to take a nap in the afternoon, no matter that she had a fever.

  A little shot of fear went through Louise. Sicknesses were definitely one of the times she wished she had a husband. Should she make the one-hour trip to the clinic in the next town? Or was it just a harmless summer virus that would be gone when Tella woke up from her nap?