When proximity for the sake of the baby leads to passion…
Born prematurely during a tragic tornado, Baby Grace is the littlest miracle in Royal, Texas. Now, with Grace’s mother in a coma and her father missing, rancher Keaton Holt and nurse Lark Taylor must come together to care for the infant girl, putting aside a century-old family feud for the child’s sake.
For these two, the road to forgiveness is paved with passion. Even as the family feud continues around them, Lark and Keaton forge a feverish bond. But what the tornado brought together, it can tear apart, as new revelations surface in the aftermath of the storm…
“That was crazy,” she gasped as soon as he ended the kiss.
“Not crazy,” he corrected, “wonderful.” Keaton framed her face with his fingers and held her still so he could look into her eyes. “If you cook like you kiss, I’m going to be in trouble.”
“In trouble how?”
“I won’t be able to stop myself from wanting more.”
Color flooded her cheeks. Lark hooked her fingers around his hands and pulled them away from her face. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry on either account.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you’ve never struck me as a man who does anything that isn’t good for him.”
“What about kissing you isn’t good for me?”
She set her hands on her hips and regarded him incredulously. “Have you forgotten the bad blood between our families? It already forced Skye and Jake out of town. Can you imagine how bad it would be if we were caught?”
“So what are we supposed to do with these feelings between us?”
“What feelings? It’s just a simple case of proximity lust. Nothing more.”
Keaton studied her, wondering if that was what she truly believed, or if it was a way to let him off the hook. “Is proximity lust a scientific term, or something you just made up?”
Because of the Baby…
is a Texas Cattleman’s Club: After the Storm novel—As a Texas town rebuilds, love heals all wounds…
One
Lark Taylor gathered a deep breath as the elevator doors opened. Plastering a pleasant expression on her face, she straightened her spine. Time to go to work. With a cake box balanced carefully in her hands, she strode down the short hallway to the nurses’ station in front of the ICU. The three women behind the desk didn’t notice her approach, or if they did, they ignored her.
“So I told him if he thinks he’s going hunting two weekends in a row, he can find a new girlfriend.” Marsha Todd, a forty-year-old divorced woman with no kids, was holding court as usual. With her bleached teeth, flawless makeup and manicured nails, she was the same sort of shallow individual who had tormented Lark in high school. “So naturally he’s staying home. He might not be the brightest guy I’ve dated, but he’s smart enough not to mess with all this.”
Jessa and Chelsea, the two other nurses working the ICU today, laughed in appreciation. Taken separately, either woman was tolerable to work with. Jessa was a quiet single mom with a three-year-old son and Chelsea had an alcoholic husband who worked construction. With Marsha as their ringleader, however, they took on a pack mentality. Which meant, if they didn’t want to be on the bottom of the pecking order, they’d better make sure someone else was. That person was Lark.
“You’re early,” Marsha remarked, her tone pitched in criticism as Lark set the cake box on the counter.
“I’m going to spend some time with Grace. I just wanted to drop this off first.”
“What is it?” Jessa asked. The nicest of the trio, she had borne the brunt of Marsha’s bullying until Lark transferred to the ICU three months ago.
“A cake for Marsha’s birthday tomorrow.”
“You bought me a cake?”
“Actually I made it.”
Chelsea opened the cake box and peered in. “You made this? Really? Looks store bought.”
“It’s a hobby of mine.”
“It’s beautiful.” Jessa’s brown eyes were wide with appreciation. “How long did this take?”
“A couple hours,” Lark said, her anxiety easing beneath her coworkers’ admiration.
“How did you do the flowers?” Jessa asked. “The roses look real.”
“I use a frosting tip and something called a rose nail.”
Marsha barely glanced at the three-layer white cake painstakingly decorated in a basket weave pattern with buttercream frosting and royal icing daisies, roses and forget-me-nots. “If it’s not gluten free, I can’t eat it.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know that.”