Having the Rancher's Baby by Cathy McDavid Page A

electronic cigarette seemed to be helping with her efforts.
    â€œI wasn’t sure if and when I was going to tell you.”
    â€œViolet!” her mother practically screeched.
    She hesitated, bolstered her courage and said, “I’m pregnant.”
    Her mother audibly gasped. “Is it Denny’s?”
    â€œNo! Why would you think that?”
    â€œYou haven’t mentioned seeing anyone.”
    â€œBecause I’m not.”
    â€œYou must be. That’s how these things usually work. Unless... Violet! Don’t tell me you went to one of those sperm clinics.” She all but choked on the last two words. “You’re young, your biological clock can’t possibly be ticking.”
    â€œI didn’t go to a clinic, Mom.”
    â€œWho is he, then?”
    No inquiries about the baby or about Violet’s health. How far along she was. How she felt. If she was happy. Then again, what did she expect? Her parents, both of them, had always been completely and totally self-absorbed. All that mattered to her mother was whether or not the father was someone she considered acceptable.
    Violet held the phone to her chest. “She wants to know who the father is. Should I tell her?”
    â€œThat’s your business.” A twinkle lit Cole’s blue eyes. “But if you’re asking do I mind, the answer’s no.”
    She returned to the phone. “It’s Cole Dempsey.”
    Her mother sucked in a breath. Or perhaps she’d taken another drag on her electronic cigarette. It was hard to tell. “August Dempsey’s son?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe one you don’t like?”
    â€œThat’s not true.”
    Violet proceeded to fill her mother in on a few of the details, during which Cole wore a none-too-subtle smile. If she didn’t find him so damn sexy, he’d irritate her no end.
    â€œYou will keep me posted,” her mother said when Violet finished describing yesterday’s scare and the doctor’s cautiously optimistic prognosis.
    â€œI will.”
    â€œI’ll tell your father tonight when he calls. He got a suite at Manor House, in case you’re interested.” She took another drag. “He’ll want to come see you. Probably this weekend. Make certain you’re doing all right.”
    Violet bit back a groan. “That’s not necessary, Mom. In fact, I insist.”
    â€œI’ll come, too. I can help with the house. Take care of you.”
    That was a joke if ever Violet heard one. It had always been the other way around. “I’m fine.” She sent Cole a fleeting glance. “I have help.”
    His brows shot up, but he didn’t comment.
    â€œWe’ll talk more about this later. I have to run. Tennis with the girls, then a board of directors luncheon for the community arts committee.”
    What, Violet wondered, would her mother do postdivorce? All her activities were directly or indirectly related to her role as wife to one of the city’s more prominent financial brokers.
    Violet disconnected, then laid the phone on the counter, her hand instinctively going to her belly.
    â€œBad news?” Cole asked.
    â€œMy parents want to come for a visit. Soon. This weekend.”
    He lifted his bare foot and, placing it on the bottom rung, pushed her chair out. “Sit.”
    Not exactly gentlemanly, but very much Cole and, okay, she admitted it, appealing.
    Doing as he’d instructed, she sat and let out a long breath.
    â€œI take it you don’t want your parents to visit.”
    â€œThey love me, don’t get me wrong, and will be happy about the baby. But they have an agenda, they always do. Even before they started divorce proceedings, they tried their best to get me to take sides. It’s one of the reasons I dropped out of college my freshman year and hit the road. What kid wants to be constantly put in the middle?”
    â€œThat’s not very fair of