One to Take (Stuart & Mariska): Sexy Cowboy (One to Hold Book 8) (6 page)

D
octor Brown points
to the black screen where white echoes flicker across what looks like deep-sea images. Then all at once, a tiny profile appears, and I forget how to swallow. Right in the center of a small black cave inside a mountain of white, the outline of a perfect little baby lying on its back materializes.

“Oh my god!” Mariska’s voice breaks as she starts to cry silently.

I reach for her hand, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen. The doctor moves the wand over her stomach, and the outline comes in and out of view.

“There’s a good, thick line here.” The doctor points with her pen along the profile of our baby’s head. “Good skull formation.”

I can’t speak as she continues to move the wand. The spine is visible. Every little bone in its little body shines like white light, and it looks like it might be sucking its thumb.

“She’s so beautiful,” Mariska sniffs. I glance at her then, and her face is beaming and wet with tears. We exchange a smile, our hands clasped so tightly, I can’t feel my fingers.

The doctor holds a segment still for several moments and we can see little legs propped upward and tiny feet.

“I’m taking pictures as we go,” she says. “They’ll be waiting for you when you check out.”

“Thank you,” Mariska says, wiping her cheeks. “Sylvia will be so excited to see them.”

“Your blood work shouldn’t take long to get back, but based on what we’re seeing here, your age and overall good health, I’d say you have very little to worry about.”

My stomach tightens at that. “Worry about?” Eyes on the doctor’s face, my brow lowers. “What would we be worried about?”

As happy as I am and as much as I love Mariska, I’m pissed at being out of the loop so long on this. I’m coming from behind, figuring out what all of this means, making sure my fiancée isn’t doing anything reckless like climbing into a pen with wild horses…

“Absolutely nothing—you have nothing to worry about.” The doctor has the nerve to smile as if I’m being silly. “It’s standard procedure to check for chromosomal abnormalities at this stage, that’s all.”

“Chromosomal abnormalities… that means…?”

“Down’s syndrome.” She points back to the screen, running her pen along our baby’s head. “This right here is a great indicator you have nothing to fear. Also, Mariska is young and healthy. It’s more an issue with older mothers.”

I turn and meet Mariska’s golden eyes. They’re glowing with tears, but at the same time, a sassy spark is in them. “You have to be patient with him, Dr. Brown,” she says. “He treats me like I’m made of eggshells now.”

Irritation bristles in my chest. “I just want you to take it easy and be careful.”

“Oh, no. Mariska should stay active,” the doctor says. “She can do pretty much whatever is comfortable all the way up to delivery. In fact, it’s better for her to be active. Active mothers are happy mothers.”

I’m sure she’s right. I’m also sure she’s referencing activities like jogging or swimming. Not riding horses or sleeping in primitive cabins in the middle of nowhere.

I take one more look at the tiny human peacefully resting in Mariska’s beautiful body and shake my head. “I’ll get her a treadmill.”

Both women laugh, and the doctor stands, removing the large white microphone-looking contraption and handing Mariska tissues.

“Get dressed, and we can meet in my office if you have any questions.”

I stand as well, seeing her to the door before returning to Mariska, who is wiping the blue gel off her stomach.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” her voice is quiet.

I can only catch her cheeks and kiss her again, long and deep. My thumbs trace a line across the top of her cheekbones, and I lean back and study her face.

“You’re amazing.” If I ever said it before, I mean it tenfold now. She only smiles, eyes still shining.

Back at the ranch, Mom and Bill pass the black and white ultrasound photos around exclaiming and pointing at different ones.

“I think the baby has your profile, Stuart!” Mom exclaims.

“Show me!” Mariska skips over to look, watching as my mother traces her finger down the sheet.

“I think you’re right!” she exclaims, looking up at me. I don’t see it.

When we got back from the cabin this morning, I’d had a quick talk with Bill about how this baby changes everything. He’d been very understanding, as always. The idea that we might one day take over the ranch isn’t off the table, but with Mariska due in the dead of winter in one of the most remote parts of the state, I can’t entertain such a notion now.

He’d responded in his usual hippie
que sera, sera
manner about how the future is a book already written or whatnot, and for the first time in my life, I understood why my dad had lost all patience with his younger brother when we were kids.

Sometimes you have to make decisions and not depend on the universe to work it out for you. You need
definites
and
nows
. Looking at my beautiful, pregnant fiancée, I feel this more than ever.

These thoughts are on my mind as we gather around the table for dinner. Winona prepared a bison roast complete with carrots, celery, and onions in a large pan. Mashed potatoes are served with the rich roast gravy, and the vegetables cooked with the meat are our sides. Soft rolls wrapped in a checkered cloth are passed around in a wicker basket, and everything smells as amazing as I’m sure it tastes.

My uncle leads a short blessing on the food and our coming baby from the head of the table, and we proceed to dig in. Sylvia sits at Bill’s right and her face is beaming with pride. The two of them exchange smiles every time their eyes meet, and I can see by their body language, they’re aching to hold hands.

Instead they share stories of my siblings and I when we were young. Mariska hangs on every word as if it’s water in the desert.

“Stuart was almost eight when Patrick was born.” Sylvia swirls a glass of red wine as she speaks. “He was already a little commander then. As soon as his brother started walking, Stuart started making rules about what he could and could not touch…”

They all laugh, but I can’t see what’s funny. “Patrick almost broke everything. I can’t understand why you didn’t stop him.”

“He was adorable,” she says with a laugh. Then she pauses, and her thoughts seem to travel somewhere else. “A lot of time had passed between the two of you. I guess I didn’t have the heart to scold him for breaking things that were easily replaced.”

At that point, my uncle does take her hand, and I feel like an asshole. I forgot about our stillborn sister Sophie, the baby girl who came between Patrick and me. Her death had a definite impact on my mother, and in turn, our entire family. My parents’ relationship never seemed to recover from the loss.

“That must be why Patrick says you were born a Marine.” Mariska takes my hand grinning. “You’ve been giving him orders since day one.”

My little brother’s penchant for escaping the consequences of his irresponsibility has always gotten on my nerves. Still, I’ve never hated him. I’ve just wished he would get his shit together and stop skating by on the skin of his teeth.

“Elaine is the best thing that ever happened to him,” I grumble.

“Hear, hear!” My mother calls out with a laugh. “She’s perfect for him. Just like you’re perfect for Stuart.”

She pats Mariska’s arm, and my fiancée turns in her seat. “What else did they do as little boys? And Amy! I want to know about Amy!”

I think back to what Mariska said at the ultrasound appointment. She’s expecting to have a girl.

“Stuart was my little man, but Patrick was always my sweet little charmer,” Sylvia says. “Yes, he tested the limits, but he would also pick me bouquets of wild flowers, and if I ever was upset about anything, he’d climb into my lap and hug me until it passed.”

“That’s so sweet!” Mariska leans her cheek on her hand, and I can’t help being irritated.

“He didn’t do anything to fix it,” I note.

“Sometimes just being there for someone is enough.” My mother’s voice is reproving, and I decide to bow out of this conversation. My parents seemed to forget any rules once Patrick and Amy came along. Amy was at least somewhat level-headed for a while.

“Amy was completely different,” Sylvia laughs. “She was always my baby girl, but she was as headstrong as Stuart. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she didn’t want anyone trying to hold her down or tell her what to do.”

“I understand that,” Mariska says, and my eyes move to her. She’s so pretty tonight. She’s wearing a black short-sleeved blouse that has a colorful southwestern pattern around the neck. Her short black mini is loose and shows off her smooth, tanned legs. She’s very sexy, glowing and full of life. Her hair falls long over her shoulders in loose curls, chestnut touched with the faintest caramel highlights.

Mom is still talking about my sister. “It was hard when she went through her difficult stage in high school. I wanted to protect her so much, but I knew she wouldn’t respond well to my interference. I had to let her get through that time, and she’s stronger for it now.”

My feelings toward Amy tend to be a little more forgiving. She discovered the same heartbreaking truths about my father around the same time as me—only Amy is almost fifteen years younger than I am, and I had no idea she knew. When she started acting out, we thought she was just being a teenager. We had no idea her heart was breaking, and she was trying to manage the pain on her own.

“I can’t imagine watching your child suffer.” Mariska’s voice is quiet. “I don’t even know ours yet, and already I feel so protective of her.”

Her eyes drift to mine, and I smile. She’s so young. She has no way of knowing I’ll have no qualms about beating the shit out of anyone who mistreats our baby.

“You’re being very quiet, Stuart. How are you feeling about all of this?” My mother always manages to pull me back into conversations.

“If I’m quiet, it’s only because I agree with what you’re saying.”

“Wise man,” Bill says with a chuckle.

I nod in his direction feeling guilty for my thoughts from earlier. He’s only ever had my back my entire life. I can’t fault him for being who he is, and who the hell knows? He could be right about the future.

Dinner finished, we carry our plates to the kitchen. Bill walks into the living room while my mother prepares a cup of coffee.

“I think I’ll turn in,” I say, glancing at the clock. It’s after ten, and I’m an early riser.

Mariska wants to know more about what we did as children, but I want to take her to bed and hold her in my arms. Make sure she sleeps, and protect her from anyone who might disturb her. In the end, she concedes.

In our suite at the back of the house, Mariska slips off her skirt, followed by her loose top. She turns to the side in front of the full-length mirror and spreads her hands over her flat stomach again. “Coming soon,” she says in a silly announcer-voice.

I grin as I watch her from the large king-sized bed. “You’ll be cute with a little baby bump.”

“I’m so excited about our family.” She hops over and joins me in the bed. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, since you always had a brother and sister, but I was always alone growing up.”

“Trust me, growing up with siblings does not make me less excited about our baby.”

She snuggles into my side. “I’m so happy you’re happy. I don’t know why I was afraid to tell you. I guess I just didn’t want anything to go wrong.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong.” I bring my arm down and surround her with my strength. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I
sit up fast
, breathing hard and sweating. That dream again. That stupid, nonsensical dream.
Why do I keep having it?
Rolling over, I reach for Stuart only to find his side of the bed is cold, and I start to cry. I feel like my heart is breaking, which makes zero sense. Still, the weight of my miserable insides pushes me down. Through the crack in the curtains I can see it’s morning. He left me in bed again without loving me.

Tears come harder, and I put my face in my hands trying to get a grip. I’m okay. I have no reason to cry. I’m sad because of the emotions of my dream, and I’m sure a good dose of pregnancy hormones as well. My shoulders shudder once more, and I hug my midsection remembering the intense fear, the panic and sadness.
What does it mean?

Pushing the blankets away, I slide to the end of the mattress and go to the bathroom. Splashing cool water on my face, I hold the soft towel to my cheek and inhale deeply, in and out. Again…
Inhale, exhale
. It’s going to be okay. I’m okay. The dream isn’t real. I’m here with my new family and all the beautiful horses.

“Oh!” I say out loud, dropping the towel.

The idea of working with Jessie doesn’t entirely eliminate the lingering misery of my dream, but it helps. Quickly I brush my teeth then I dash into the bedroom and go straight to my dresser. A sleeveless floral top that ties at the neck and then hangs loose through the bodice is comfortable and cool. I scoop up my black knit mini from last night. It’s a flippy circle that ends mid-thigh.

My sketchpad and pencil are on the desk in the corner, so I grab those while I step into my short, black cowboy boots and head out the door. Noises from the end of the hall tell me I must be the last one in bed.

When I finally reach the great room, I see Bill talking to Sylvia while Winona stands by the stove stirring the contents of a black skillet with a wooden spoon. I’ve given up coffee for the duration, so I only give them a little wave before running out the door.

The sun is almost directly overhead, and the constant breeze pushes my hair off my shoulders. I don’t see Stuart anywhere, but it doesn’t stop me from dashing into the barn.

The crisp smell of fresh hay combined with the heavy odor of leather and livestock floods my senses. It’s a rich, comforting scent. I look all around, but still no signs of Stuart. I do see Freckles in her stall. Her white head with its stark black mane is in the alley looking out at me.

“Hey, girl!” I say gently, going to where she waits and holding out my hand to give her velvety nose a pet.

For the first time, she doesn’t pull back or make those funny, grunty noises. I take it as a good sign. She’s starting to like me.

“Where is your baby girl?” I say softly, scanning the otherwise empty stall. “I bet that naughty Stuart is out training her without me again.”

Turning on my heel, I skip up the alley and out the back where the circle pen and the yard are nearly side-by-side. Sure enough, my handsome cowboy is in the pen with my little horse. He has her on a line, and she’s running around while he turns with her.

“You keep starting without me,” I call, climbing onto the fence.

He glances over at me and gives me a nod. “I’m not going to do all the work. I’m just getting her over the initial stages.”

“How will I ever learn if you don’t at least let me watch?” Speaking of watching, I lean my head to the side, taking in his loose, faded jeans and untucked tan cowboy shirt.

“You’re watching now,” he says, turning his back as she goes and giving me a nice view of that tight, square ass.

“Looks good,” I say, thinking about the last time we were together in the creek.

I watch as he holds his hand out, and she walks to him. This time when she puts her nose in his chest, he strokes her neck, bringing those sexy hands up behind her ears.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “You’re getting it.”

“No treats this time?” I call out, giving him a wink.

He looks up, brow lined. “What?”

“I saw you giving her treats the other day.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “We were just getting to know each other. I don’t give her treats when we’re training. Teaches her to bite.”

“Really?” I move so I can sit on the top of the fence. “Why?”

“Just does.” He shrugs and studies my position. “Come over here and let her see you.”

“Okay!” I climb down and take slow, careful steps toward them.

“Come on now. Walk to us in a normal pace—not like you’re afraid. You’ll make her afraid.”

“Okay,” I say with less enthusiasm, trying to figure out my pace.

“Don’t be timid. Be assertive, a leader.” His voice is urgent. “Show her you’re in charge. But gently.”

My head is swimming with all these orders, but I take a breath and straighten my shoulders, striding toward them with confident thoughts.

“You’re walking like a robot.” Now he’s laughing at me. “Relax. Move your arms.”

“You’re making me self-conscious!” I whisper-cry.

“Do you remember how to walk?”

Narrowing my eyes, I stand beside him. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Just move naturally.” He holds Jessie’s neck, and she only seems a little wary of my presence. I can’t wait to touch her out here in the open. “Slowly lift your hand and touch the side of her neck.”

“I thought you said not to move slowly.”

“When you’re reaching for her face, take it easy.” His voice is gentle, guiding. “You wouldn’t want someone jamming their hand in your face, would you?”

“No,” I say quietly, staring into her big black eyes. “She has such a pretty face.”

The black covering her nose is like a sheer veil with darker spots scattered across the bridge and between her eyes. The white spot in the center of her forehead reminds me of a little moon shining above it all.

“It’s almost as if her spot is casting a reflection down her face,” I say, and without thinking my hand moves from her neck to the white spot at the top of her head.

“Easy,” Stuart says softly, but she doesn’t pull away or even resist.

I place my palm flat over the white circle and look into her eyes. “Hello, girl,” I whisper. “You’re a beauty, did you know that?”

“I’ve never touched her there,” Stuart says in the same even tone. “She’s letting you do more with her than she lets me.”

“See?” My voice takes on a musical quality. “She’s my horse. I told you.”

Still, he stays beside me, not releasing her. “It’s good that she lets you touch her. She trusts you.”

“It’s because she knows I love her. I can’t wait to ride her.”

“We’re a ways out from riding. It’s possible we might not even make it that far before we have to leave.”

Pulling my hand back, I jerk my face to look at him. “What?”

The sudden change causes Jessie to pull back. She nods her head up and down, trying to lunge away from us, but Stuart holds her, stepping in front of me to block her with his body.

“Ho! Easy, girl.” He holds her nose making that clicking noise, and I feel terrible.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is back to soft. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”

He continues making the clicking sound, holding her. “Come on, it’s okay.” She lets him put his hand on her neck and then her face again, and I exhale the breath I was holding.

“Bill’s been working with her. She’s not going to lose ground so fast.” He’s got her back to him now. “Still, she has to trust me if I’m going to teach her speeding up and slowing down on the line.”

“And me!”

He looks over and smiles, and my stomach does a little flip. “She already seems to trust you. Sit up on the fence while I let her run.”

I skip back over to the fence and climb up while he makes a different noise to her. I’m starting to understand the different sounds are for different commands.

“What if someone works with her, and they don’t know all the sounds you make?” I watch as he follows her, jogging to the right.

“They’re pretty standard in the horse world. Bill taught them to me.”

My brow lines. “I don’t know any of them.”

“Just keep listening. You’ll catch on.”

I sit and watch as he leads her around and around until he takes a few steps toward her while saying
whoa
. She does not stop, and he repeats the process, shortening the line. They keep at it again and again until she finally stops when he gives the command.

“She’s very smart,” I call out from where I’m sitting.

He nods. “She learns fast. We’ll have to wait and see how much she’s like Freckles.”

I know he’s referencing her mother’s habit of being flighty and running away. Uncle Bill told me Freckles was captured with a band of wild horses, which is why she’s prone to erratic behavior. Jessie isn’t like her. I’m convinced my little horse is different.

As they work, my eyes follow the movement of her legs, the way it’s almost like dancing how she takes tiny steps to avoid Stuart, then large, graceful canters when she’s doing what she’s told. Stuart’s expression is focused, intense. His hazel eyes never leave her, and his light-brown hair is messy over his forehead. The muscle in his jaw moves, and the rope is like an instrument in his elegant hands. He’s strong and so intoxicatingly handsome as I watch him work with her.

It feels like we’ve been out here for hours, and I skipped breakfast. Still, I don’t want to miss anything. Quickly dropping down to fetch my sketchpad, I climb back to the top rail, holding it on my lap.

With one long, black sweep, I draw the curve of Jessie’s back. Her dark mane ripples along her side, and her tail is slightly raised. The grasses in the pen are low and brown, and behind all of it, the hazy mountains rise in the distance, purple, green, and gray.

Stuart is lean and tall guiding her. I shade the cuffs in his sleeves then spend a little time shading the muscles in his forearms. Watching the movement of his hands, my mind drifts to our morning in the spring and his hands on my bare skin. Warmth spreads across my stomach in a fizzy wave. The water in the creek was fizzy and warm. The sun was bright over our heads like the brightness of the sun today…

Too bright. It makes my eyes ache.
Brightness, aching eyes
. It’s like my dream. My sketchpad is so heavy. I need to put it down. My head is light, and from somewhere far off, I hear a voice shouting my name. I have to close my eyes.
I’m falling…

T
hree worried faces
are the next things I see. I’m lying on the couch in the house, and a cool rag is on my head. Bill’s face is drawn tight, and Stuart’s is pale. Sylvia looks like she’s about to cry.

“What happened?” I whisper, trying to sit up.

“Oh, thank God!” Sylvia gasps, catching my shoulder. “Lie back and sip this.”

She holds a glass of lemonade to my lips, and I sip it. Grasping it tighter, I take another, longer sip. It’s the best-tasting lemonade I’ve ever had.

“Take it easy now,” Bill says calmly. “You got a little overheated.”

“But I wasn’t doing anything…” I try to remember the last thing that happened before I passed out. “I was just sitting on the fence sketching.”

“On the top of the fence. If I hadn’t heard your sketchpad fall, looked up and saw you swoon.” Stuart’s voice trails off, and I realize what must have happened.

“Is Jessie okay?”

“Forget Jessie. Are you okay?” I can tell how worried he is by the sharpness of his tone, and I quickly try to ease his mind.

“I’m okay. I should’ve eaten some breakfast is all—”

“You didn’t eat breakfast?” His voice rises, and his mother stands quickly beside him.

“Why don’t you ask Winona if she has a little bread or something mild like a banana or cheese…”

His jaw is tight, and his eyes flash. I wish there was a blanket or something I could pull over my head to hide. “No more skipping meals,” he says in a voice just above a growl.

With that he turns and heads for the kitchen, and I feel the blood flaming hot in my cheeks. “I had no idea I would faint like that. I’ve never fainted in my life.”

“Your blood sugar must’ve dropped,” Sylvia says. “It never happened to me until I was nursing, but you’re not very big to begin with.”

“I’ll let you two have some privacy. I’m glad you’re okay,” Bill says, giving me a kind smile. Then he tilts his head toward the kitchen where Stuart went. “Don’t worry about him.”

My stomach tightens, and I’m so embarrassed. “I can’t believe this happened. As if he weren’t overprotective enough.”

“Now, stop that.” Sylvia moves my legs and sits beside me on the couch. “You’re still learning how your body is going to respond to pregnancy. It’s not your fault.”

“Still, I should know not to skip meals. Especially breakfast.”

“You’re also not used to this climate. The air is drier and a little thinner. We’re at a higher elevation.”

The thud of boots on the wooden floor signals Stuart’s return. I look up to see his expression has cooled slightly, even though his jaw is still tight.

“Mom, can I steal your seat?” he says, and Sylvia jumps up.

“Of course.” As she starts to go, she squeezes his shoulder. “Be gentle.”

His eyes are fixed on the plate in his hand. Winona has arranged several slices of fresh cucumber, a wedge of watermelon, several cheese cubes, and a stack of crackers.

“Do you need some more lemonade?” His voice isn’t as stern as I expected, and I relax slightly. Still I feel guilty.