Montana Cowboy Daddy (Wyatt Brothers of Montana #3) - Jane Porter Page 0,16

and kindness, respect, and most of all love. Lots and lots of love, unlike April’s childhood. And unlike her own. “I’d consider all options for him, including adoption.”

Erika could feel Mrs. Wyatt’s hard stare. She sensed she hadn’t given Mrs. Wyatt the right answer but she wasn’t going to lie to Billy’s mother.

She glanced down at Beck and saw that he’d stopped sucking vigorously. His eyes were closing and the nipple just pressed against his mouth. She carefully eased the bottle from his lips, set the bottle on the table, and put Beck on her shoulder to gently burp him. He cuddled into the hollow of her shoulder and neck, his small fist pressed to her skin. She dipped her head, kissed the top of his head with its fine golden hair. There were only a few strands, so few that if you didn’t look carefully he appeared bald, but Erika saw them, and she was delighted by them, as they were new in the past month. He was growing up, getting bigger every day.

Could she give him up for adoption?

Could she really hand him over to strangers?

The tightness returned to her chest, tightness and a panic she couldn’t explain. She did love him, she’d come to love him, but did that give her the right to keep him? To raise him?

She looked up at Mrs. Wyatt who was still watching her.

“You’re attached to him, aren’t you?” the older woman asked.

“He’s a wonderful baby,” Erika said softly. “He deserves the sun and the moon and the stars.”

“I think you and Billy need to do some talking. Some real talking. When he comes back in, I’ll keep Beck, and you two find somewhere private to speak.”

Erika didn’t need time alone with Billy. In her mind, there was nothing to discuss. They just needed him to do the test, and then they’d have the information they needed, but she didn’t want to contradict Mrs. Wyatt, not when she’d been so welcoming to her. “I’d hate to leave Beck with you again as he might wake—”

“I’ve had four boys of my own, Erika. I can handle a baby for an hour or more.”

Billy stepped into the den then, and glanced from his mother to Erika. “Did I just hear my name?”

“You did,” his mother answered. “I was just telling Erika that when you have a minute, you and she should go somewhere private to talk.”

“Joe’s giving me a break. I was just going to make a sandwich and then I’m free for a bit.”

“Good. Make your sandwich, and I’ll keep an eye on Beck.” Summer hesitated. “You’d probably have the most privacy in the barn. I don’t think anyone’s in there right now.”

While Billy made his sandwich, Erika retrieved the car seat from upstairs and tucked Beck into it before placing it on the floor next to Mrs. Wyatt’s feet.

She then bundled up and marched out to the barn with Billy, snow slipping inside her shoes, making her nose wrinkle.

Reaching the barn, Billy handed her half of his sandwich. “Here, you’re probably hungry,” he said, after closing the barn door behind them.

It was a huge ham and cheddar sandwich, with lots of honey mustard on thick homemade white bread. “I’m not that hungry,” she answered.

“I’m not going to eat in front of you, so please, keep me company.”

She took a small bite. It was good—the bread soft, the mustard tangy, the ham flavorful. “This is good,” she said, taking another bite, but it was rather challenging separating the sandwich from the odiferous barn. The smell of animals, hay, and manure were potent. “But it’s rather fragrant in here, isn’t it?”

Billy lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a barn.”

“I’ve never been in one before.”

“You’ve been to county fairs, haven’t you?”

“To go on the rides and eat fair food.”

“You didn’t visit any of the animal exhibits?”

“I didn’t even know there were animal exhibits.”

“Are you that much of a city girl?”

“I grew up in Riverside, it’s not a city, as in urban, but I wasn’t surrounded by farms, either.”

He’d finished his sandwich and he wiped his hand on the seat of his jeans. He had lean hips, a tight small butt which his tight Wranglers showed off to perfection. She watched him walk between the horse stalls. Horses nickered at him, and he stopped to give attention to several.

“Do you have your horses in here?” she asked.

“Yes. Notorious,” he said, gesturing to a dark brown horse, “and Val,” he added, pointing to a brown and white horse.

“Val?”

“Valentine,” he

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