Cody sitting on the porch of a little blue-and-white house that was positioned on a dirt road and surrounded by trees.
Was that Bridget’s house? The place where she was raising Cody? When Kade and Bridget were together, she’d stayed with him at the motel room he’d rented for the week. He hadn’t gone home with her because she’d still lived with her family then. It would have been awkward for her to bring him there or introduce him to anyone.
But this time would be different. Kade would be going straight to her door—nearly eleven years later—to meet the child they’d created.
Before he panicked from the sheer craziness of it, he opened the third and final photo, which showed Cody by a Christmas tree in the midst of holiday hoopla, wrapping paper everywhere. Again, Cody looked just like Kade when he got dressed up, with a crisp Western shirt and bolo tie.
Should he reply to Bridget’s email? Should he tell her what a handsome kid they had? Or would that sound arrogant, given Cody’s resemblance to him? He smiled, feeling ridiculously proud that his genes were so strong.
Even if he still didn’t know a damned thing about being a father.
* * *
Bridget was a nervous wreck, her pulse pounding beneath her skin. Kade was scheduled to arrive today.
For now, Cody was at school. She and Kade had agreed to see each other first, to talk, to get the past out of the way before their son got home.
Their son. Hers and Kade’s.
The week they’d spent together had been the most beautiful, romantic time of her life. She’d relived every passionate moment after he was gone, waiting by the phone for him to call, just as Bridget’s mom had routinely done with Bridget’s dad. Two women, generations apart, infatuated with the same type of men. Lessons, she thought, learned the hard way.
Struggling to clear her mind, to temper her regret over her family history, she glanced at the kitchen clock. Since Kade would be there during lunchtime, she’d made a beef stew that was simmering in a slow cooker, just in case he was hungry.
Fool that she was, Bridget went into her room to check her appearance for the gazillionth time. Normally she wasn’t the fussy sort. But today she was wearing her best jeans and nicest blouse. Her hair was long and loose, instead of pulled back in a ponytail or plaited into a single braid. She’d even resorted to a little mascara and lip gloss. Cody had told her that she looked “purty” this morning, and for her that went a long way.
He was so darned excited when he’d gone off to school, chattering about the anticipation of meeting his dad. He’d even printed Kade’s bio from his website and stuck it in his notebook so he could study it again at recess.
Her baby boy had a serious case of idol worship. Once upon a time, Bridget had felt that way about her father, too.
Trying to get a grip on her emotions, she returned to the kitchen and waited for Kade to show up. At least she’d seen pictures of him on the internet so she knew what to expect in that regard. As far as she could tell, he was still as hot as sin, with the same piercing brown eyes, granite-cut jaw and striking cheekbones.
The instant the doorbell rang, she dashed off to answer it. She opened the door, and there he was. All man. All six foot four inches of solid muscle. His hair was combed straight back, the ends skimming his collar, and his clothes consisted of timeworn denim. Seeing him in person was far more breathtaking than viewing a picture could ever be. He’d aged, of course, going from his midtwenties to midthirties, but it looked incredibly fine on him.
Bridget was in her thirties, too. Thirty-one, in fact, with a birthday that had just passed.
“Hello,” he said, shooting her a smile she remembered from long ago.
“Hi,” she replied, warning her heart to be still. A dizzying moment later, he leaned in for a hug.
Dang, he moved fast. She would have preferred a less intimate greeting. But she put her arms around him and buried her face against his shirt. He was more than a foot taller than she was, and as she stood on the very tips of her toes to reach him, it almost seemed as if he was sweeping her off her feet.
She ended the embrace and regained her footing, refusing to let him see the ache that being near him caused.
“Come in,” she told him.
He thanked her and crossed the threshold, his boots sounding on the hardwood floor. He had a rugged way about him, the kind of cowboy confidence that appealed to her. Having him around wasn’t going to be easy.
“Something in here smells good,” he said.
“It’s beef stew. Would you like some?”
“Yeah, sure. That sounds great.”
Well, there you go, she thought. He’d reacted quickly once again, accepting a meal without hesitation. She didn’t doubt he was going to want their conversation to happen fast, too.
She offered him a seat at the kitchen table. Her house was neat and cozy, with simple furnishings she’d purchased at flea markets and yard sales. Her favorite items to decorate with were crocheted doilies and antique mason jars. She routinely filled the jars with wildflowers, picking them herself nearly every day, since they grew freely on her property.
“I’ve got some coleslaw in the fridge,” she said as she removed flatware from the drawer. “Would you like some of that, as well?”
He watched her move about the kitchen. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
“Then, I’ll warm up some bread, too.” She tried to keep from getting self-conscious. He was looking at her as if he was remembering how it felt to kiss her and touch her and put his naked body next to hers. “I baked it yesterday.”
He continued to watch her, much too closely. “You bake your own bread? That’s cool.”
“I bake pies, cakes and cookies, too.”
His smile returned, only it was slightly crooked this time, giving him a strangely boyish edge, especially for a man so big and broad. “I think I’m going to enjoy hanging out with you again, Bridget.”
He wasn’t here to hang out with her. He was here to meet their son. But she didn’t correct him, because they both knew darn well why he’d come back to Flower River.
She prepared their plates and put a basket of the warmed bread on the table, along with a stick of butter.
As she poured two glasses of water, she fought to keep her hands steady. He was still keeping a dark and masculine eye on her. Finally, she sat down across from him, trying to look more composed than she felt.
He reached for his fork. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. Not that you made this specifically for me. But it’s still nice.”
“I did make it with you in mind.” She wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. “I took a few days off from work, too, so I’d be around when you and Cody are getting acquainted.”
“Do you still work at your family’s farm equipment store?”
“Yes.
