A Baby in the Bunkhouse. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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СКАЧАТЬ guest was likely still sleeping the morning away—and drove down to the river. Or as close as he could get to the low water crossing; the concrete bridge was now buried under several feet of fast-moving water. With the rain still pouring down there was no way it would recede. Not until the precipitation stopped, and even then, probably not for another twenty-four to thirty-six hours.

      Realizing what this meant, Rafferty stomped back to his pickup. En route back to the ranch he passed the red station wagon. It was still half off the berm of the lonely dead-end road that led to the ranch, its right wheels buried up past the hubcaps in the muddy ditch.

      Worse, it looked as if it was packed to the gills with everything from clothes to kitchenware to what appeared to be a baby stroller and infant car seat. They’d have an easier time getting the vehicle out of the mud if it weren’t so weighted down with belongings, but the thought of having to unpack all those belongings, only to repack them again made him scowl all the more.

      He and the men couldn’t start the fall roundup until the rain stopped.

      Knowing however there were some things that could be done—like getting that car out of the mud so their uninvited visitor could be out of their way as soon as possible—Rafferty drove toward the bunkhouse.

      He was pleased to see the lights on, the men up.

      Pausing only long enough to shake the water off his slicker, he strode on in, then stopped in his tracks. Stretch was setting the table. Curly was pouring coffee. Red, Gabby and Hoss were carrying platters of food. Steaming-hot, delicious-smelling, food. The likes of which they hadn’t been blessed with since he couldn’t remember when.

      In the middle of it all was Jacey Lambert.

      Impossibly, she looked even prettier than she had the night before, her cheeks all flushed—whether from the heat of the stove or the thoroughly smitten glances of the men all around her—he couldn’t tell.

      “Hey, boss,” Stretch said.

      “I’ll get you a plate.” Red rushed to comply.

      “Man, this stuff smells good.” Hoss moved to hold out a chair for Jacey at the head of the table.

      Flushing all the more, she murmured her thanks and slipped into the seat with as much grace as the baby bump on her slender frame would allow.

      Rafferty felt a stirring inside him. He pushed it away.

      “We didn’t think we were going to get someone to cook for us again until, well, heck, who knows when,” Curly said, helping himself to a generous serving of scrambled eggs laced with tortilla strips, peppers and cheddar cheese.

      Curly handed the bowl of migas to Jacey, while the others ladled fried potatoes, biscuits and cooked cinnamon apples onto their plates.

      Gabby paused long enough to say grace. Then the eating commenced in earnest.

      To Rafferty’s chagrin, the food was every bit as delicious as it looked, and then some. From his position at the opposite end of the table, he gazed curiously at Jacey. “You’re a chef by profession?”

      Her vibrant green eyes locked with his and she shook her head. “Property manager. Er…I was.” She lifted a staying hand, correcting, “I’m not now. Although I like to cook…”

      “I can see why,” Gabby interjected cheerfully. “You’re dang good at it.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Which is why we’re so glad you’re here,” Stretch added.

      Rafferty could tell by the relaxed smile on her face that Jacey Lambert had no idea what the men were talking about. He, however, did. Which left him to deliver the bad news. “She’s not our cook,” he said.

      Uncomprehending expressions all around.

      He swore silently and tried again. “I haven’t hired her. She’s not working here.”

      “Then what’s she doing sleeping in our bunkhouse?” Hoss demanded, upset.

      “My station wagon got stuck in the mud last night,” Jacey said. She leaned back in her chair slightly, rubbing a gentle, protective hand across her belly.

      Turning his attention away from her pregnancy and the unwanted memories it evoked, Rafferty looked at the men. “She’ll be on her way to wherever she was headed—”

      “Indian Lodge, in the Davis Mountains State Park and then El Paso,” Jacey informed them with a smile.

      “—as soon as the river goes down.”

      “Then let’s hope it never goes down,” Curly joshed with a seductive wink aimed her way.

      Everyone laughed—including Jacey—everyone except Rafferty. Finished with his breakfast, he stood. He was about to start issuing orders, when Jacey let out a soft, anguished cry.

      All eyes went to her.

      She blew out a quick, jerky breath. The color drained from her face, then flooded right back in.

      “You okay?” every man there asked in unison.

      Jacey pushed back her chair, got clumsily to her feet. Trembling, she looked down at the puddle on the seat of her chair. Eyes wide, she whispered, “I think my water just broke!”

      THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! Jacey thought as the door to the bunkhouse opened once again and a silver-haired, older man who bore the same rugged features Rafferty Evans sported walked in. Eyes immediately going to her, he swept off his rain-drenched hat and held it against his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked with the quiet authority of someone who had long owned the place.

      Jacey braced herself with a hand to the table. “I think…I’m having my baby,” she said as a hard pain gripped her, causing her to double over in pain.

      The ache spreading across her middle was so hard and intense, she couldn’t help but moan.

      Her knees began to buckle.

      The next thing she knew, Rafferty was at her side. One hand around her spine, the other beneath her knees, her swept her up off her feet and carried her the short distance to the bed where she’d spent the night.

      He laid her down gently.

      Jacey shut her eyes against the continuing vise across her middle.

      “We need to get you to the hospital,” Rafferty said gruffly.

      Another pain gripped her, worse than the first. She grabbed Rafferty Evans’s arm and held on tight, increasing her hold as the knifelike intensity built. The combination of panic and pain built; hot tears gathered behind her eyes. Oh, God. “I don’t think I can wait for an ambulance.” Glad she was lying down—she surely would have collapsed had she been on her feet—she blew out another burst of quick, jerky breaths.

      This was not something Rafferty wanted to hear. He stared down at her, willing her to stop the labor, as surely as he had rescued her the night before. “Yes. You can.”

      Hysterical laughter СКАЧАТЬ