The Rancher’s Pregnancy Surprise (Billionaires of Evergreen, Texas)

Chapter One

ARE ALL BUS STATIONS like this?

The movies I've seen make them all look noisy, outdated, and criminally unhygienic. Or maybe I've simply been watching the wrong movies?

I press my fingers against my temples, trying to ease the forming headache. The truth is, I was looking forward to getting lost in a crowd. After what happened with Claude, anonymity sounds like paradise.

But instead, I end up with a bus station lobby—-all to myself.

The plush carpet absorbs the sound of my footsteps, and the rest of the bus station is just as surprisingly...fancy. Fluted wood paneling for walls. Mid-century sofas that are the very definition of tasteful luxury. And crystal chandeliers that cast down warm lighting that's almost hypnotic.

It's enough to have me fighting back a yawn...at nine in the morning. I'm only twenty-three, but here I am, acting like I'm three hundred and twenty.

Completing the portrait is a white-and-gold jukebox that hums softly in the corner, its lilting classical music streaming through the air like a lullaby. If not for the ticket machines and departure boards sleekly nestled into the walls, I'd be seriously worried I've accidentally trespassed into someone's chic country cottage.

Something about this place feels staged somehow.

Everything about it is either too quiet or too perfect, and the entire place actually smells like lavender, which even I know is unheard of for bus stations of any size. I know the company behind this is new and all, but there's just something about this place...

I can't quite put my finger on it, and I'm tempted to turn around and leave—

You gotta be smart about this, Cay.

—until I remember Claude's last words.

My stomach twists at the memory, bile rising in my throat. Two years of believing I was special, that what we had was real. Two years of giving him everything, only to discover all that we had was a lie.

'Are you really that dumb? I was faking it, Cay! Just fucking faking until I could fucking succeed where everyone else failed...'

The memory steels my resolve, and I march determinedly to the ticket machine. It's not like I have a choice, anyway. My old life is over. And it's time to focus on the new, I remind myself forcefully.

My heart thuds as I click on English and One-Way Trip on the choices provided by the ticket machine. It's my first time booking anything on my own, but it should be easy.

Right?

Not .

I stare in mute frustration at the screen. Shouldn't buying a bus ticket be something as simple as clicking on your departure and arrival stations from a drop-down menu? So why isn't Hartland, Wyoming one of my choices?

Story told me this was the best way to get there if I don't want to fly. And it's not that I don't want to, but—

Sheep, sheep, sheep.

Hearing an automated voice chime out "Welcome" as the lobby doors swoosh open tells me I'm no longer alone, and it only takes moments before I sense the newcomer lining up behind me.

Keep it together, Cay!

My fingers hover on the screen, but panic has zapped my brain into malfunctioning. I can't think, at all! Should I just choose any station in Wyoming in order to get out of the other person's way? I'm not used to inconveniencing other people like this—

"Anything I can help you with?"

The voice is deep but disarmingly gentle, with a faint Texan accent that immediately calls to mind cowboys of the Wild, Wild West. I'm sure he's nice and all, and that he probably means well, but—

"I'm fine, thank you."

My voice comes out frostier than Wyoming's winter. Once burned, twice shy, and I'd rather die on the lofty hills of my pride, thank you very—

"So...Hartland, isn't it?"

I barely manage to bite back my gasp. Seriously? He could've only known that by peeking at my phone over my shoulder, and I'm torn between giving him a piece of my mind and taking the higher road...like I've been taught to do my whole life.

I'm not used to any sort of confrontation, but since that's also the reason I found myself in my current mess, maybe it's time for me to change?

Reprimand or withstand?

I'm about to embark on a new chapter in my life, and doing everything like I usually do might not be the best way to survive. Maybe it's time I learn to—

Unbelievable!

I can no longer hold back my gasp as Mr. Improper comes right up to stand next to me, and— oh my gosh!

He's obviously lost all patience waiting for me to make up my mind, but that's absolutely not a valid reason to overtake me in line. I can practically feel myself burning up in righteous anger, but it's as if I'm invisible, with Mr. Improper busily pressing buttons on the screen.

There are only two of us in this station, for sheep's sake!

Would it kill him to wait for a few more minutes?

You gotta make a stand, Cay!

I gnaw on my lip while absently studying his blurred reflection on the ticket machine's glossy surface.

He's ridiculously tall, his frame ruggedly imposing, and is that a five o'clock shadow I'm barely seeing through the reflection?

My gaze flickers downwards, and it's my first time to see someone wearing a pair of honest-to-goodness cowboy boots, which he's paired with denims and a plaid shirt that's stretched taut over an impossibly broad—

Whoa, Cay!

Color suffuses my cheeks when I realize just how much time I've spent dissecting his looks. I wrench my gaze off him even as my pulse begins to race at his proximity.

What is wrong with me?

This man needs to be taught a lesson, but all my brain suddenly cares about is how he's making me feel. If I'm truly serious about turning a new leaf, then this is my chance to—

"Here you go."

—say thank you?

I stare dumbly at the ticket Mr. Might-Not-Be-Improper has placed in my hand. His fingers brush mine, and heat radiates up my arm from that simple touch. I catch a faint whiff of something expensive and masculine—sandalwood maybe, with hints of leather. It smells a lot like the cologne Claude uses but can't really afford—

Stop it, Cay!

I try slamming a door shut on all memories of my ex, but it's too late. He's all I can see, with his tousled dark locks, thrift-store sweaters, and oversized pants.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

I want to forget him so bad, but my mind isn't done torturing me, and more unwelcome memories flood my mind. Claude staring at me with eyes that I used to think were full of adoration...up until we had the Big One that ended it all.

Nothing between us was ever real!

Are you really that dumb?

I was faking it, Cay!

Just fucking faking until I could fucking succeed where everyone else—

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Oh, sheep.

It's the amusement lacing Mr. Might-Not-Be-Improper's words that get to me, the sound freeing me from my mental prison, and I realize in secret shame that I had lost myself in the past again.

"I'm sorry," I say jerkily.

"Via doesn't offer any direct routes to Hartland from San Antonio."

Was this what I failed to hear earlier?

"But when you get to Laramie, you can transfer to a local bus to Hartland."

Words of apology and gratitude stay stuck in my throat. Everything he's said and done has been nothing but helpful, but as much as I feel bad about misjudging him—

SHEEP!

His warm breath suddenly caresses my skin as he leans in, and I realize that no, I did not misjudge him at all, and oh my gosh, are those his lips actually brushing my ear?

"You're welcome, darling."

And just like that, my body betrays me. A shiver courses down my spine, and something warm and forbidden pools low in my belly. I've never felt this kind of immediate, visceral reaction to any man before—not even Claude during our first meeting.

I should be outraged. I should step away and make it clear this kind of forward behavior is unacceptable.

But I don't.

I stand frozen, caught between indignation and an unfamiliar, unwelcome desire that makes my heart race and my palms sweat.

And what terrifies me most?

The realization that a tiny, rebellious part of me hopes he doesn't stop.