Having the Rancher's Baby by Cathy McDavid Page B

them.”
    â€œThey aren’t terrible people. Not really. They used to hate my job and my lifestyle, but they’ve come around. Mostly because they liked your father and Raquel. It didn’t hurt that your dad was one of the valley’s leading citizens. Position in the community matters to my parents. Makes telling people what I do a little easier. According to my mom, I’m a bovine management specialist employed at a premier cattle operation.”
    Cole would be described as one of the owners. Not—gasp!—a professional cowboy or rodeo champion.
    He sat back, and Violet sensed his disapproval.
    â€œIt’s complicated,” she said, feeling suddenly defensive.
    â€œYou don’t have to explain complicated family dynamics to me. I’m an expert. At least tell me they’re happy about the baby.”
    â€œMom sounded glad. I think Dad will be, too.” Violet paused. “They’ll probably want me to move back to Seattle.”
    Something flickered in Cole’s eyes, an emotion hard to define. “Will you?”
    â€œAbsolutely not. Mustang Valley is my home.” She didn’t add that he was here, too, since his stay continued to remain undecided.
    Cole got up and made himself another cup of coffee, appearing at ease in her kitchen despite it being only his second time there.
    â€œI was supposed to graduate with a degree in finance like my father,” she said, surprising herself with the admission.
    Cole returned to the table. “Me, too, with a degree in business management. My mother went crazy when I started rodeoing. Having one son competing professionally was bad enough. To have two?” He chuckled.
    â€œShe probably didn’t expect you to marry a junior executive on the career fast track like my parents expected of me.”
    â€œYou got me there.”
    Violet absently swept muffin crumbs into a small pile with the side of her hand. “They’re still hoping. They tried to lure me home after my divorce.”
    â€œI’m glad they didn’t.”
    She gazed at him, curious as to his meaning. “I can already feel the screws tightening, and they haven’t even arrived yet.”
    â€œYou don’t have to move,” Cole said. “There’s nothing wrong with being a livestock foreman.”
    â€œI love what I do. Your father didn’t just give me a job when I showed up on his doorstep, he ignited a passion and gave me a purpose. I’ll always be grateful.”
    â€œWas it him who taught you to ride?”
    Violet noted the curiosity in Cole’s expression and found it interesting. He didn’t talk much about August. He certainly didn’t ask questions. Not of her. This was a first.
    â€œI started riding when I was six. My parents sent me to summer camp and horseback riding was my favorite program. When I got home, I asked for lessons. They refused, and I literally pitched a fit for weeks until they relented. English pleasure, hunter-jumper and dressage, naturally. My mother didn’t approve of Western riding. I never sat in a Western saddle until your dad hired me. He said good riders are born, not made, and it didn’t matter what style I first learned.”
    â€œAnd a horse is a horse.”
    She smiled. “He said that, too.”
    Cole looked away. “I don’t remember much about him.”
    â€œA shame. He was a good person. Kind. Generous. I was flat broke when I arrived in Mustang Valley.”
    â€œYour parents refused to help you just because you dropped out of college?”
    â€œOh, they’d have given me money. On the condition I come home. I refused. I was on my way to Rio Verde when my car ran out of gas. I had no idea what to do, other than cry, when your dad drove by. He stopped, put a couple gallons of gas in my tank from the spare can he carried in the back of his truck, handed me twenty dollars and directions to the ranch. I spent the night