The Cowboy Seal's Jingle Bell Baby. Laura Altom Marie

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      The twenty-minute drive from the ranch to town gave him too much time to think.

      Maple Springs was nice enough in the summer, but once winter set in, the place could best be described as gray. A half-mile, single-sided stretch of old-as-dirt grayish brick buildings housed antiques stores, insurance agents, the drugstore, the diner and café, three clothing stores, and a day care. A few years back, his mom told him the mayor’s wife decreed the windows of each business be fitted with red-striped canvas awnings. In warmer months, they were okay, but the rest of the year, they resembled soggy ice-and snow-crusted circus popcorn boxes.

      Judging by how fast the snow was falling, this might be one of the last weeks of the year when both sides of Richard L. Fulmer Avenue were available for parking. The usual snowplow drift grew on the same side of the road as the railroad tracks. That side also happened to not have any businesses—at least not until a good two miles outside town, where the Robert T. Fulmer Tavern had moved into the former feed store’s building. Mayor Richard L. Fulmer was less than pleased about his twin brother serving spirits, which was why the establishment had to be outside city limits.

      As long as the beer was cold, nobody in town gave two hoots. As an added bonus, Robert had been kind enough to restore the long-abandoned roadside motel just next door. Much to his brother’s dismay, he’d been voted Maple Springs’ Man of the Year in 1998 for giving free rooms to patrons too tanked to drive.

      Rowdy recalled that at the time of his son’s conception, he was awfully thankful for the motel’s close proximity.

      He pulled his dad’s truck into an empty space just down from Hearth and Home’s office. When he wasn’t in town, Rowdy stored his truck in one of the ranch’s outbuildings. As his lousy luck would have it, this morning, the damned thing hadn’t started.

      In an attempt to hold off winter’s fast-approaching gloom, pumpkin lights hung from the office’s awning. Skeletons danced from gaslight sconces on either side of the mirrored-glass double doors.

      Rowdy turned off the engine, then sat a spell to compose his thoughts. He’d made his appointment with Tiffany through her secretary. Would Tiffany even remember who he was? For that matter, was she mistaking him for another man? There was also an off chance this gal wasn’t even the same woman with whom he’d had relations. If she wasn’t, he’d be free to return to his normally kick-ass life.

      Forcing a deep breath, he dove from the balmy truck cab to the miserable white mess outside.

      Sleet mixed with the snow.

      Wind pitched it like darts against his forehead and cheeks. He tugged his battered brown leather cowboy hat lower and raised his long duster coat’s collar higher.

      Hell’s bells, what he wouldn’t give to be back in Virginia.

      Everyone on the bustling street walked with their heads down. It was a downright miracle there weren’t more pedestrian collisions.

      He yanked open the door to find wondrous heat. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of sleet in them. When they did, he found a cozy seating area that had a sofa and two armchairs facing a coffee table and electric fireplace.

      “Mr. Jones?” A woman with curly brown hair that was almost as big as her bosom rose from her desk to extend her hand. “Our Tiffany will be glad you made it through this storm. Sometimes newcomers take a while to adjust to our weather, don’tcha know.”

      “True. But I grew up here, so I’m used to it.” Her thick accent had him working to hide a smile. When he’d lived in town, he hadn’t noticed, but now that he’d been away, he heard how pronounced it was in some Maple Springs residents.

      “You did? Well, why didn’t you say so? Who are your people?”

      “Patsy and James Jones. Know them?”

      “As I live and breathe. Rowdy?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Have we met?”

      “Boy—you’re breaking my heart.” She pressed her hand to her impressive rack. “I’m Doris Mills. Well, used to be Doris Patrick, but that was before I went and married Skeeter. I used to be your fourth-, fifth-and sixth-grade Sunday-school teacher. Don’t you remember?”

      “Sure. Sorry. It’s been a while.”

      “I’ll say.” She looked him up and down, then whistled. “You’ve grown into a cool drink of water. Bet your momma’s pleased as punch ’bout you moving home.”

      To avoid getting into the whole messy business of why he was actually in town, Rowdy said, “I, ah, really need to talk with Tiffany and figured having her show me a house or two would be the best way to connect.”

      “You two sweet on each other? You always did have the kindest heart. It’s adorable that you don’t mind her being...” she reddened and patted her own robust belly “...you know... By another man.”

      Ouch. “Would you mind pointing me to her office?”

      “Oh—sure, sure.” She waved toward a short hall. “Two doors down on your left.”

      “Perfect. Thanks.”

      Rowdy stood outside the partially closed office door for a good thirty seconds. He’d have felt more comfortable pulling all-night surveillance in croc-infested waters. This whole thing raised an uncomfortable number of similarities to a not-so-distant situation he’d just as soon forget. Besides, aside from what his brother had told him about the crap he’d gone through with Justine’s cravings, mood swings and general crankiness, Rowdy knew nothing about pregnant women. That said, he did know a fair bit about charming the normal variety of gal and planned on using the same general logic.

      “Thank you, Susie. Promise, as soon as I have my next sonogram, I’ll email the pictures.”

      Eavesdropping on Tiffany’s call, Rowdy narrowed his gaze.

      “Susie, I’m expecting a client any second, but promise, I’ll sign all of your attorney’s documents this afternoon.” There was a long pause. “Please stop worrying. I have no intention of backing out of the adoption. This baby boy will soon be yours.”

      “The hell he will.” So much for adult professionalism or laying on the charm. Rowdy stormed Tiffany’s office like an enemy camp—only instead of rescuing hostages or liberating territory, he was claiming his unborn son.

       Chapter Two

      “Susie, I’ve gotta go.” After hanging up the phone, Tiffany’s eyes widened in shock and maybe even a little horror to find her baby’s daddy standing a mere five feet away. “You...”

      The man she hadn’t shared a room with since she could see her own toes closed the door.

      “What are you doing here? How did you even find me?” Flustered, she couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. She skimmed her no-doubt-messy hair, then tried crossing her arms, but that didn’t feel quite right, because she’d grown so top-heavy that her arms were practically under her chin—yet one more reason to despise the man standing before her.

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