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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ had become her own special ironic hell that her dog now dressed better than her.

      “When is it not supposed to snow?” Tiffany peered out her bedroom window to find another gloomy day in her equally gloomy life.

      Blustery wind shook Pearl’s century-old home like a dog with a bone.

      For comfort, she cupped her hands to her baby bump, but even that wasn’t satisfying, knowing she’d soon give her son to the Parkers. They were an amazing couple—both attorneys. Jeb Parker was considering a gubernatorial campaign. Susie Parker promised as soon as the baby was born, she’d resign to stay home with their new son.

      In her former life, Tiffany had much the same plans, but then her father’s legal woes had been too much for her ex, Crawford, to deal with, and that had been that. He’d filed for a quiet divorce and was now married to one of her best friends—a former Miss Texas. C’est la vie.

      Tiffany did learn one valuable lesson from her pain—men were as flighty as trash in the wind. Never to be trusted. They made you love them and then broke your heart. Okay, maybe that was more than one lesson, but bottom line, she would never, ever, ever give her heart to another man.

      A twinge of guilt for her infant son made her hug her tummy. You’re excluded, little fella. You’ll be the one man on the planet who’s perfect in every way. I might not be physically with you while you’re growing up, but I’ll be with you every day in spirit.

      Tiffany reached for her hot-pink sequined Uggs, cramming them over the navy tights she wore with the only fashionable maternity dress she owned that still fit—she’d change into her navy pumps at the office. Early on in her pregnancy, she’d found cute, cheap dresses at thrift shops, but now that she was huge, secondhand maternity wear was as elusive as late-October real estate sales.

      “Maybe you should stay in?” Gigi had moved on to a more current Vanity Fair.

      Mr. Bojangles glared at the imposition of waking when she moved.

      “Mom, stop.” Tiffany added a pale pink cardigan over the dress, then a floral scarf and pearls. At this point, accessorizing was her only hope of maintaining a businesslike appearance at Hearth and Home Realty, where she worked twice as hard as her coworker Lyle, yet because he was the boss’s nephew, he had a knack for landing the best listings. “We can’t live in Maple Springs forever. Don’t you want to get back to Dallas?”

      “Honestly?” Gigi sighed. “I’d rather continue hiding. As long as Big Daddy’s away, I’m not setting foot in polite society.”

      To this day—months after her husband’s formal sentencing—Gigi refused to state out loud that her husband was in prison. She much preferred genteel euphemisms that sidestepped the harsh reality that it could be a year before she had a true marriage again.

      Tiffany had visited her father only twice but regularly called.

      Gigi preferred old-fashioned paper correspondence.

      “I’ve got to get to a showing by nine. Try helping Grammy with some housework, okay?” Tiffany kissed her mother’s cheek—already fully made up and smelling of pricey lotion and cream. To show how much she adored her mom, Tiffany picked up sample-sized expensive-brand cosmetics at Bismarck department stores or online at discount wholesalers. There was no need for Gigi to ever learn the true extent of just how bad things were financially.

      “I’ll try, dear, but you know how dust makes me sneeze.”

      “I know. Just do your best.” Tiffany rubbed Mr. Bojangles between his ears, then made it down the two-story home’s creaky front stairs and almost to the door before getting busted by her grandmother.

      “Don’t even think of dashing out of here without a proper breakfast.”

      “Grammy, I’m starving and would love to eat but have to meet a client by nine.”

      “What if I made you an egg-and-cheese sandwich to go?”

      Tiffany’s tummy growled. That did sound awfully tempting.

      “See?” Grammy smiled. “Your boy’s already got an appetite.”

      “Okay, I’ll eat. But I’m meeting Mr. Jones at the office at nine, so I can’t be late. And, Grammy, you know I can’t keep the baby.”

      “Nonsense.” Pearl guided Tiffany into the kitchen and parked her in a comfy chair at the table her ancestors had reportedly hauled west in a covered wagon.

      She happily sighed when her grandmother handed her a steaming mug of homemade cocoa with whipped cream on top.

      “Mmm... I love you,” Tiffany said.

      “I know,” Pearl said.

      When the first piece of bacon hit the skillet, Mr. Bojangles scurried into the kitchen. Of course, Grammy fed him part of a still-warm buttermilk biscuit.

      The eggs frying in butter in her grandmother’s favorite cast-iron skillet smelled so good that Tiffany didn’t even get too terribly upset when an extra-hard wind gust rattled the paned windows. She just glanced that way to note that it had indeed started to snow.

      The flakes were huge—like designer gumballs falling topsy-turvy, covering ugly brown grass with a tidy blanket of white.

      Would her son love playing in the snow as much as she used to when visiting her grandmother over the holidays?

      Along with the realization that she’d never know, pain knotted the back of her throat. She squashed it.

      Giving up her son was the hardest thing she’d ever do, but it was hands down the best decision for him. For his future life. What she wanted didn’t matter. If it did...

      Well, she squashed that thought, too.

      * * *

      ROWDY LOVED STAYING with his folks, but having spent the bulk of the past ten years in warm—if not downright hot—climates, he much preferred the family traveling to Virginia to see him. A few times a year, they packed up his brother, Carl, sister-in-law, Justine, and their two rug rats, six-year-old Ingrid and eight-year-old Isobel, to come to the beach.

      Clearly, the last time he’d been in Maple Springs had been a disaster. He’d always had a thing for cowgirls and Tiffany had been as hot as they come.

      Last Easter had been unseasonably warm, and after the annual rodeo he’d attended, he and a few friends had headed to the town’s only bar. He’d met Tiffany in one of those twists of fate you might see in movies but think never actually happen.

      Rowdy had tried calling her, but the number had been disconnected. He’d next gotten on the phone with his mom and had her make a few discreet inquiries.

      Rowdy had been under the impression that Tiffany lived in Dallas, but turned out a very pregnant girl named Tiffany Lawson currently resided with Pearl Lawson, who used to run the town’s only grocery before selling it to the Dewitt brothers—all of which was a roundabout way of explaining why he was now headed down Buckhead Road to meet with Tiffany at her place of business at Hearth and Home Realty. If his mom ever gave up ranch life, she ought to consider signing on with the CIA. No spook Rowdy had met came close to solving a mystery like his mom.

СКАЧАТЬ