Page 1 of The Cowboy and the Baby

1

CADE

The Chicago airport smelled like plastic and sounded like an empty cave filled with crying babies.

While low-level stress crawled through the air like a zombie apocalypse, I tossed my backpack over one shoulder and braced myself for more lines, more wait times, and more dealing with harried people. There wasn’t much I hated more than airports, security lines, and hurtling my body into space at top speeds while strangers surrounded me.

Not ideal.

I’d rather face a raging bull than run to make a connecting flight, thanks.

The only redeeming factor was not being in Florida anymore. Experiencing the first of December in Florida was wildly different from my ranch in Wyoming, and not necessarily in good ways. Cold, snowy air did a man good. Fortified the lungs.

At least I wasn’t stuck in that miserable heat swamp anymore. Goodbye tropics. The ranch—no, my ranch—awaited. That felt good.

Real good.

While I strode past a group of slow-moving tourists and ignored blaring announcements from overhead, my pocket vibrated with a text. Probably from a woman named Noelle, granddaughter of my former boss, old man Morgan. I’d been his ranch foreman for years, managing the animals, the ranch hands, and everything else, at the end.

He died a few weeks ago. When I returned to Wyoming, I’d also pick Noelle up from the airport and bring her to the ranch. Thankfully, she arrived around the same time as me, which made it too easy.

Noelle: My flight is on time. Are you sure it’s no trouble? I could find a ride share . . . I think.

Cade: Not a problem. I’ll be there, anyway.

Noelle: Great. I’ll text you when I land. Thanks!

I tucked the phone into my pocket. Tomorrow, we’d meet with Kinoshi, the local attorney, to review Morgan’s will. I knew what it would say . . . but Noelle didn’t. None of the family knew that he’d turned the entire ranch over to me. He’d threatened it for years, but they didn’t bother to visit to discuss the estate with him.

Not that the ranch was much to lose, really. It was a ticking bomb. Falling apart. Patched together. The finances hadn’t been great for years, but Morgan had been too tired and old to give the ranch what it deserved.

I stood off to the side to wait for my connecting flight, which would be boarding shortly.

A helpless whimper caught my attention, and I glanced over my shoulder to find a woman with messy, strawberry blonde hair and a heap of freckles across her nose heading toward me. She pushed a squalling baby in a stroller while juggling two suitcases, a diaper bag dangled from one stroller handle, and a purse sat on top of the stroller.

While she scrambled to keep the roller bags from crashing together, the baby issued another ear-splitting shriek. Her purse pitched sideways at the same moment as the diaper bag slid off the handle. I reached out, righted the purse before her phone toppled free, and used a knee to stop the stroller from gliding away. A pile of burp cloths, diapers, bottle, and other baby accoutrements plopped onto the floor from the diaper bag.

“Oh!” she cried, barely recovering the roller bags. “Thank you.”

My other hand gripped the stroller, and I crouched to gather and replace the fallen items from the diaper bag. While she calmed the baby, I righted her purse and set her diaper bag where it had been. A stack of burp cloths, a package of wet wipes, the formula, with a binky at the top.

Red rose to her cheeks when I straightened, meeting her gaze. Her emerald beauties offered a grateful smile, drawing my attention to ragged hair tumbling out of a hasty ponytail, and loose-fitting clothes. Beneath the frazzled layers of exhaustion marking her expression, she had a sweet face.

“Thanks.” She tilted her lips a little sheepishly. “I thought everything was secure. We just have so many bags, but I need everything . . .”

“No problem.”

She pulled the crying baby from the car seat attached to the stroller. The loose-limbed, curled-up ball with a little pink bow and wrinkled face absolutely captured me.

So bitty.

So loud.

I couldn’t help my chuckle. The little girl couldn’t be much older than a few weeks, if that, and she already knew what she wanted. Her protests quieted as soon as her mama cradled her, but her face looked a few seconds away from another bellow. A physical pang of jealousy hit me right in the gut.

The woman bounced the baby while she dug into the diaper bag with her other hand, nose wrinkled.

“Is this the flight to Jackson City, Wyoming?”