And Cowboy Makes Three. Deb Kastner
glances and murmurs aimed their direction.
Rowdy shrugged. He wasn’t the one who needed to feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t done anything wrong. If some of the older townsfolk had long memories, that wasn’t on him.
Still, he nodded in agreement and followed her to a bench well out of the main stream of the celebration, where a festive picnic basket bedecked with baby blue pastel ribbons was waiting for hungry picnickers—which Rowdy wasn’t. His gut felt like lead.
An infant car seat and a yellow-giraffe-themed diaper bag covered the rest of the bench, marking it out for Rowdy and Ange’s use.
Ange picked up the car seat and set it aside on the ground next to the bench, and then did the same thing for the diaper bag, gesturing for him to sit in the space she’d opened.
She remained standing, shifting from foot to foot in a slow, rhythmic rocking motion as she pressed a kiss to the forehead of the infant she was holding in her arms.
“Okay,” she said, blowing out a breath. “I have no idea what just happened back there. Though I expect Jo might be able to answer that question, eventually.”
“You aren’t the one behind this—whatever this is? You didn’t buy me behind everyone’s back?”
“Absolutely not. Why would I do that? I only came to town to settle Granny’s estate.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, no matter how adamant her refusal. And though he didn’t like it, the way she’d worded her statement about not wanting to buy him stung his ego.
“Well, you didn’t bother to come to Granny Frances’s funeral.” He knew it sounded like an accusation, and maybe it was. “So I have to ask myself why you would suddenly show up now.”
Pain flashed across her gaze and she shifted her eyes away from him.
“I couldn’t come,” she murmured.
He waited for more of an explanation, but none appeared to be forthcoming.
“Can you hold the baby for a minute while I set things up?” she asked, pressing the infant into the crook of his arm before waiting for his answer.
“Uh. Yeah. Sure,” he said, seconds after the fact.
He shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know how to hold a baby—at least a human infant—and he felt like an awkward giant made of all thumbs. His gut churned.
He was used to bottle-feeding little lambs, and this tiny bundle of humanity lying in the crook of his arm was a whole other thing entirely.
“His name is Toby.” Ange’s rich alto was warm and filled with pride and wonder when she spoke of her son. “Toby Francis, after Granny.”
Rowdy pushed the pastel green receiving blanket off the baby’s forehead so he could see his face better, and a jolt of realization slashed through him.
Toby was...
Ange hadn’t said...
“Yes,” she affirmed in a whisper, reading the recognition in his eyes. “Toby has Down syndrome.”
Rowdy’s throat tightened. He was even less familiar with Down syndrome than he was with babies in general, but while this little guy was alert he wasn’t fussy, and after a moment, Rowdy’s heart calmed.
“He’s beautiful,” he said, and meant it.
Rowdy brushed a finger over Toby’s silky white-blond hair, a shade lighter than his mother’s. His almond-shaped blue eyes had popped open at the sound of Rowdy’s deep voice and were now staring up at him with interest. The little guy’s mouth was nearly wide enough to fit his entire tiny fist, and he was loudly sucking on his knuckles.
Ange’s eyes widened at Rowdy’s compliment, as if she didn’t hear kind remarks very often. And maybe she didn’t. People were strange when it came to anything or anyone different than they were.
Special needs freaked some people out, but it didn’t bother Rowdy. As far as he was concerned, all humans carried the same dignity because they were made in the image of God. Different was beautiful.
She smiled sincerely, apparently satisfied that he meant what he said.
Rowdy always meant what he said.
“I know, right?” she whispered after a moment. “He’s such a sweetheart. The biggest blessing in my life.”
As little as Rowdy knew about babies, his being a perennial bachelor, he knew enough to realize infants were a challenge for any new mama or daddy, even the experienced ones. He’d watched all of his friends get married and have babies, and seen their slow adjustments to the learning curve called parenting.
Rowdy’s closest friend, Danny Lockhart, complained nonstop about having to stay up all night with a fussy infant who had her days and nights mixed up—and then in the next breath he’d proudly show her off, forgetting whatever trials he faced at two o’clock in the morning.
So it seemed strange to Rowdy that Ange would choose to return to Serendipity, where she had no real support as a single mother. Her parents had moved away long ago, not that they were ever terribly supportive of her. And he doubted, given the past, that Ange had many friends here, either, as horrible as that was to think.
Was Toby’s father in the picture?
If so, where was he? Holding down the fort in Denver while Ange visited Serendipity?
She didn’t have a ring on her finger. Rowdy didn’t have much use for men who didn’t marry the woman they intended to start a family with.
But that was a discussion for another time.
Rowdy had so many questions that he didn’t even know where to begin.
As Ange prepared the picnic lunch, Rowdy studied her face. The telltale dark circles under her eyes and the lines of stress creasing her brow suggested her life hadn’t been easy on her.
She looked older than her twenty-nine years, but she was nonetheless beautiful enough to make Rowdy’s stomach flip as he attempted to rein in the physical attraction he’d always felt toward her.
That much, at least, hadn’t changed. He’d always seen the inherent beauty in her that she didn’t see when she looked in the mirror.
But it was the only thing that hadn’t changed. And he had no idea what she saw when she looked in the mirror these days.
“How’s Toby doing?” she asked as she popped the top on a can of Rowdy’s favorite soda.
“Sleeping again. He’s really cute. Still sucking his fist, even when he’s napping.”
Ange handed Rowdy the soda and took Toby into her arms, landing a soft kiss on his cheek before gently placing him in his car seat so she and Rowdy would have their hands free to eat.
“Still your favorite?” she asked, gesturing toward his soda can.
He lifted the can in salute. “I’m surprised you remembered.”
Another flash of pain crossed her gaze. “I remember a lot, if truth be told.”
So did he.
And he really, really wished he didn’t. Because with every unexpected glimpse into their past, every unanticipated memory, it became harder and harder to catch a breath.
He hadn’t been ready to see Ange again.
And he wasn’t sure he ever would be.
Angelica settled cross-legged on the bench next to Rowdy and set her plate in her lap.
“It isn’t just the soda.” He gestured