Page 1 of A Baby for the Billionaire Cowboy

Chapter One

Daisy looked inthe long mirror and saw a stranger. The off-white dress, the dark hair artfully styled, but her face far too pale, her eyes huge with no help from makeup. Her mother stood a few feet away, frowning as she studied Daisy.

“Mama.”

“You look very nice, quite respectable. You need some color.” Her mother stepped forward and pinched Daisy’s cheeks hard.

Daisy flinched away. She wanted to ask why she wasn’t allowed to wear makeup when hurting her to bring up color was all right. But that was the least of her problems, and anyway, Mama would have some vague rule to explain it all.

Daisy rubbed at her cheeks. “Mama, I don’t love him.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you let him get you with child. You’re fortunate William agreed to marry you.”

She didn’t feel fortunate. She felt helpless and terrified. She dragged in air. “There must be another way.”

“You made your bed, and now you can lie in it. Be grateful you’re getting a wedding at all. Your father wanted to haul you off to the courthouse the moment he heard, get you married off and forget all about you. William insisted you have a wedding.”

“I didn’t want one.”

Mama kept talking as if she hadn’t heard. “He even offered to pay for it when your father refused.” Mama shook her head at the foolish waste. “He’s more generous than you deserve.” She patted Daisy’s stomach. “That’s our grandchild in there, regardless of how you came to get him. Now you have one chance to make amends, raise the child right, and earn your father’s forgiveness. A baby will settle you down properly.”

“But Mama, I don’t want—”

“Hush.” Her mother grabbed her wrist, squeezing until the bones ground together. “I don’t want to hear another word.”

Daisy didn’t know how she’d finish the sentence anyway. The last few months had been a tornado of things she didn’t want. She’d never intended to date her boss. She certainly hadn’t intended to get pregnant with his child. She could hardly believe she carried a baby inside her, no matter what the pregnancy test said. She didn’t feel pregnant. She wasn’t in love. That shamed her, but it was true.

Memories crowded. How fortunate she felt when she got the job as William’s assistant despite having no college degree or experience. How kind he’d seemed at first as he trained her to do everything the job required, everything he required. That first dinner, a “work meeting” that somehow turned into a date. She’d tried to say no—she was almost positive she’d said no several times—and yet somehow things kept happening, William kept saying it was all right, he wasn’t going to go any further, and then he did, again and again.

When she’d missed her period and taken the pregnancy test, she went to William because she was scared and didn’t know what to do. She’d only wanted to talk over options, but the next thing she knew she was engaged, and when she tried to back out, he told her parents she was pregnant with his child. That was the end of that.

Now she was standing in a room off the church foyer and the organ music had started to play. She was starting a new life that felt like the end of everything. Her breath came in tiny gasps as her mother led her out to the church foyer. Her father gave her only one glance and a grunt as she stepped up beside him. He turned his attention back to the open doors that led into the nave. He didn’t speak. Daisy’s mother hurried to the front of the church and took her seat.

Daisy looked down the long aisle. William stood with the pastor near the pulpit, too far away for her to see his features or expression. Only a few guests sat in the pews near the front, her older brothers and some friends of William’s. The wedding planning had been rushed and quiet. William said it was for Daisy’s sake, so they’d have five months of marriage before the baby came.

She knew the truth. She was in disgrace. If she’d gotten engaged to William without the pregnancy, they would’ve called it a very suitable match and planned a big ceremony. Under these circumstances, her parents couldn’t parade her in front of their friends. She hadn’t been allowed to invite her own friends and had been forbidden to tell anyone she was pregnant. Did they think no one could count to nine months?

The organ music changed. Her father straightened his shoulders.

Daisy couldn’t breathe. Her rib cage seemed too tight for her pounding heart.

Her father grunted. “They’re waiting.” He shifted his elbow out for her to take, a small, grudging movement.

The edges of her vision grayed. She couldn’t walk down that aisle. She’d faint at William’s feet if she even made it that far.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. She would die if she had to walk down that aisle and pledge herself to William forever.

She pulled up her wedding dress to free her feet, turned, and ran.

*

Hours later, Daisypulled into the parking lot of Jamison House, the event center in Last Stand, Texas. She slid her feet back into the ridiculous high-heeled shoes and wriggled her way out of the driver’s seat in the long dress that hugged her from torso to knees. She stood, wincing at the pressure the shoes put on her blisters and stretching as much as the dress allowed. A gas station stop outside of town had relieved the pressure on her bladder, but the brief break hadn’t done much for her aching back or throbbing head.

She had nothing but this stupid dress and the stupid shoes and her purse with a few dollars in it. She was twenty, pregnant, and single. She’d turned her back on her family and the father of her child. They wouldn’t forgive that. “Last Stand,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Sounds fitting somehow, although Last Hope would be even better.” She sighed and limped across the parking lot toward the door.

She hadn’t known where else to go, so she drove across Texas to reach her great-aunt, the one person who might take her in and let her stay for a while. Auntie Rhonda might scold her and call her foolish, but she wouldn’t force Daisy to go back home and get married. When William and Rhonda met, they’d raised more sparks than a fire-starting contest.

Two women stood just inside the Jamison House door, next to a small table that had a couple of printed nametags sitting on it. One woman was in her thirties, petite, with short dark hair and a black pantsuit. The other, dressed in yellow taffeta, was about Daisy’s age but looked as if she’d be nearly a foot taller, had Daisy not been in heels. They smiled and welcomed Daisy.

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