Faith in the Cowboy (Taming the Cowboy) (17 page)

“It’ll just be a little while longer,” Mr. Richaud said, as if to reassure her before walking off.

A little while longer before everything changed. Either she would get custody of her daughter, or would lose her forever.

Grace tucked her arm through Teresa’s and guided her to a bench near the door. A strange energy ran through her friend, but Teresa didn’t have the energy to try to work it out.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention, the brisk click of hard soles on the tile.

Her heart stopped when West rounded the corner. She almost didn’t recognize him at first, dressed as he was in his firefighter dress, his steps quick. She’d never seen him move fast, other than in the arena. But damn, he looked so good, he took her breath away.

Her first instinct was to run to him, to throw herself into his arms in welcome, to absorb his strength. Instead, she stood on shaky legs. Beside her, Grace almost bounced with excitement. So this was what that odd energy had been about.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to talk to the judge.”

She took a step back, the bench hitting the back of her leg. “Talk to the judge? About what?”

His eyes were solemn as he stopped in front of her. “I’m here to convince him that we’re what Emily needs.”

“We’re what...?” she echoed dumbly.

“I spent a couple of weeks thinking you were right, that I was bad for you, that I was going to ruin your chances of getting Emily, that I’d made a mistake getting involved with you. But I had a lot of time to think while I was recovering. I started thinking about what I really wanted, what you really wanted, what Emily and Taylor really need. The answer to all was the same—someone to love. Someone to turn to. Someone to lean on, depend on, someone who’ll depend on us.”

Her breath wouldn’t come, and she swayed in front of him. He steadied her with a hand on her arm, and she wanted to turn into his touch, wanted to fuse him to her so he’d never let her go.

And then he let her go, and tears filled her eyes.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but in the name of expedience.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box.

Her gaze riveted to the little box, her pulse thundering at the significance, and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “West. No.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Traditionally, one waits to give the answer after one has been asked.” He popped open the top to reveal a modest engagement ring, a single round diamond.

She looked from the ring to him, through tears in her eyes. She wanted to flee from the longing that built up in her, something she wanted so badly that it physically hurt, but with the bench behind her, West in front of her and Grace by her side, there was no where to go. “What are you doing?”

“I’m proposing to you.”

With some effort, he went down on one knee. She put out a hand to touch him. She hadn’t thought about his broken ribs until this moment. He drew back a bit, as if he thought she was going to stop him. But his words penetrated her fear, his words about needing someone to love, Grace’s words about giving Emily an example of a loving couple to look up to. They could do this. Together, they could be a family.

“I know this isn’t the most romantic place, but I want to be engaged to you, I want to have a part in this. I love you, Teresa. Do you love me?”

Her legs wobbled as she looked into his eyes. She knew this man. Though they’d only been introduced less than two months ago, she knew him, heart and soul. “I do, but—”

“So what’s stopping you from saying yes?”

His frustration was evident when she put her hand over his, the one holding the box. “Because if I lose today, I won’t be worth having.”

He took the ring out of the box and held it in front of her. “Then let’s not lose.”

Teresa wrapped her arms around her sleeping daughter in the front seat of West’s truck and stared at the ring on her finger. So many emotions ran through her right now—relief, joy, love. She couldn’t remember having so many happy emotions at once.

She kept replaying West’s testimony in her mind, and though the judge told her that ultimately his decision was made because Emily had asked to live with her mother, Teresa would never forget what West said to the judge, to the people listening, to the world.

“She’s the most loving mother I’ve ever known. She would do anything for her daughter, at any time. She puts her daughter first, above her own needs and wants. I asked her to go with me on the circuit when school was out, but she wouldn’t be away from Emily, even though she only gets to see her for four hours a weekend.” He’d shifted on the seat, leaning forward, commanding such attention in his handsome uniform. “She could be making more money doing another job, but she works as a teacher’s aide so she can have the same schedule as Emily.”

“You’ve proposed to Teresa,” Mr. Richaud said.

“Yes.”

“So you’ll be part of Emily’s life, too. But your son lives in Houston and from what I understand, you don’t see him that often.”

West looked at his hands, then up again. “That’s true. I had let my relationship with my son, who is ten, lapse. I thought it was better for him to have his mother and step-father and half-siblings. But when I met Teresa, and saw how much she wanted to have her daughter in her life and didn’t have a choice about it, while I did, well, I called my son and brought him here and we’re on the road to mending our relationship. That wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t known Teresa and seen the love and longing she has for her daughter.”

Emily shifted in her arms to get comfortable, bringing Teresa back to the present. “What about Taylor?” she asked West quietly. “You won’t see him very much now. Las Vegas is so much farther away from Houston than San Antonio.” While the judge had granted her custody, Miguel and Layla now had visitation.

“There are a lot of direct flights. I can go there, he can come here.” He reached over and took her hand, spinning the ring on her finger. “A little big. We can get it resized.”

She wasn’t ready to change the subject. “What do you think? Do you think he’ll be happy?”

“I’ll call him when we get to the house and we can tell him together.”

She nodded.

“Do you mind if—” She took a deep breath, uncertain if she should tell him yet, of the suspicion she hadn’t even had until Layla mentioned it, but now had to know. “Do you mind if we stop at the drug store before we get to Grace’s?”

“Sure. You doing okay?”

She hugged her daughter. “I’m great. I just need to pick up a couple of things.”

*****

When West pulled into the drive in front of Grace and Liam’s house, Teresa was surprised to see a few strange cars in front of the house.

“What’s going on?” she asked, helping Emily out of the truck.

West smiled across the hood at her. “I think Grace wanted to celebrate.”

Touched, Teresa placed a hand over her heart. Grace’s testimony had warmed her, too, the testimony that Grace trusted her most precious possession, her son, with Teresa. She hadn’t flinched when Miguel’s attorney Mr. Scott had mentioned her past as a stripper, had only lifted her chin and reminded him this was about Teresa, not Grace, though Grace promised to be available to help Teresa as Teresa had been for Grace.

Teresa prodded her sleepy daughter toward the house, followed by West, and opened the door to hear, “Surprise!” shouted from different directions. She barely registered the presence of her friends from school, of Liam and Kennedy and Luke, of the “Congratulations” banner hanging from the ceiling before Grace enveloped her in a hug.

“We have so much to celebrate,” Grace said in her ear.

Later, Teresa had ditched her shoes and was sipping from Emily’s cup of punch. Her friends from school had left after dinner, and now Teresa was eyeing the champagne, but she couldn’t be sure. She had the pregnancy test in her purse. Did she dare? How much happiness could a woman experience in one day?

She slipped away to retrieve the test from her bedroom and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Three minutes, the test said. Who knew three minutes took so long? And the bathroom wasn’t even big enough to pace.

When she turned the stick over after counting to two hundred, the two pink lines were clearly visible, and her heart jumped into her throat. She was going to have West’s baby. She wore his ring, and she was going to have his baby.

She needed to find him now.

She walked out of the bathroom and spotted him immediately, talking to Luke in the kitchen, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. He smiled at her, and she inclined her head toward her bedroom. His grin brightened, he excused himself from Liam with only a lift of his hand in her direction, and he followed her.

Tonight her daughter would sleep in her room with her, until she got her own apartment. Her heart was so full.

West curved his hand over her cheek. “I didn’t think we’d get away.”

He kissed her, long and sweet.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, stroking her hair back from her face. “I wish we could have done this differently. My own fault for not being able to figure everything out for us.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here. Everything’s perfect. I just—” Suddenly she didn’t know how to tell him. “I had to stop at the drug store for something, and I couldn’t wait any more.”

She brought the stick from behind her back and held it in front of him, holding her breath, terrified of his reaction.

When he didn’t say anything, just stared, she started babbling.

“I didn’t even suspect. I thought I was throwing up because I was nervous about Emily. If this is too much for you, I completely understand.”

He swept her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. She melted in his arms the way she’d wanted to do from the moment he’d turned that corner in the courthouse, and kissed him back.

“Are you okay?” she asked when he released her.

He chuckled softly. “I might have liked more time, just to get used to having a daughter, but it’s good. I love you, so it’s good. It’s all good.”

For the first time in her life, she believed it could be true.

THE END

Emma Jay has been writing 15 years, using her string of celebrity crushes as inspiration. Her husband’s tolerance for hunk-decorated blog posts improves when they’re her "heroes." For Emma, writing romance is like falling in love again. Creating love stories is an addiction she has no intention of breaking.

You can find her online at
http://emmajayromance.com/
and
www.facebook.com/EmmaJay
and @emmajayromance.

Other Books by Emma Jay

All on the Line (Blackwolf Hot Shots #1)

Standing on the Line (Blackwolf Hot Shots #2)

At the Cowboy’s Mercy (Taming the Cowboy #1)

The Cowboy’s Saving Grace (Taming the Cowboy #2)

Her Perfect Getaway (Bridesmaids in Paradise #1)

Her Island Fantasy (Bridesmaids in Paradise #2)

Her Moonlit Gamble (Bridesmaids in Paradise #3)

Wild Wild Widow

Stealing the Marshal’s Heart

Eye of the Beholder

In the Marshal’s Arms

Show Off

Lessons for Teacher

Riding Out the Storm

Two Step Temptation

Off Limits

If you like Emma’s cowboys, you should check out her firefighters! Here’s an excerpt from Standing on the Line, a Blackwolf Hot Shot novella.

“The lady over there sent this to you.” The bartender slid a dripping bottle of beer in front of Deacon Granger, and motioned to the blonde sitting at the end of the bar.

The woman—pretty in a trying-too-hard way—craned her head and waved at him. Deacon hesitated. He was used to people buying him drinks. Often it was because he was a hot shot firefighter, a fact broadcast by the T-shirt he wore with the Blackwolf Hot Shot emblem on the back. People in remote areas like the small town of Purity, California, appreciated the hard work he and his crew did.

Other times, he got drinks from women looking for an introduction, and usually, he accepted. But he was here tonight in Johnny’s Bar and Grill looking for a particular woman, the gorgeous sheriff Cheyenne Culpepper, who’d interviewed him after he and another hot shot had been, well, let’s say detained, by some pot growers during a blow-up on the mountain. Two days had passed and he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since.

With a sigh, he picked up the bottle and ambled down the bar. He hated rejecting women. They always took it personally.

The blonde wiggled on her stool in excitement at his approach, and nudged her friend.

She was younger than he first thought. He wondered if she’d ever bought a man a drink before. Damn, he didn’t want to crush her. “Hi, I’m Deacon,” he began, pitching his voice at friendly.

“Deacon. That’s a funny name.”

Yeah, he got that a lot. “Mom went into labor at church, and the deacon was there to give a hand.” He was grateful she’d gone with Deacon, and not the man’s first name, Oliver.

“I’m Beth.” She offered a slim be-ringed hand.

Automatically he checked to see if one of those rings marked her as taken, but shook off the thought. “I thank you for the drink, Beth, but I’m waiting for someone.”

Aw, hell. He hated when their faces collapsed like that, the smile shriveled up, the gaze drifted down.

“Oh.” The word was very small.

He chanced a glance at the friend, whose eyes shot daggers at him. Ah, well. He wouldn’t be in this place much longer, with the fire in the mountains more than fifty percent contained. He didn’t need to worry about making friends.

He tipped the untouched bottle toward Beth. “I thank you, but I can’t accept it.”

“Okay.” That small voice again.

The friend snatched the bottle from his hand, all but snarling. He offered his best smile, then turned away, scanning the room for Cheyenne. He’d been told she came in for dinner fairly often, and he hoped to join her.