White Collar Rancher (Part-time Cowboys #3)

Chapter 1

“ J ustin, you need to get to the emergency room.”

Priya’s direct tone cut through his quiet night streaming the fourth season of Longmire .

She was using her doctor’s tone. He teased her about it during each prenatal visit.

Priya was Maisy’s doctor and that helped take the sting out of each grueling appointment with the unstable, untrustworthy mom of his kid.

But the ER? Justin’s heart clawed into his throat. If Maisy was going into labor, she was supposed to be admitted to the maternity wing, not the ER.

“What’s wrong?” He was already off the couch, stuffing his feet into his dusty cowboy boots.

Forgoing a jacket, he banged out the front door.

The house would have to stay unlocked. He lived too far out of town for trespassers to be a problem, but it was habit from living in Denver.

Besides, his neighbors were all cousins and the land that bordered the back of his own property was his brother’s.

Priya’s curt words spurred him into a jog.

“Maisy’s sick and we’re taking the baby.

I don’t… I don’t know if she’s going to make it.

” The hitch nearly stopped him short. Priya was talking about Maisy, her friend since high school, and trying to hold it together.

The three of them had hung out together back then, but nowadays, they were only together during Maisy’s OB visits.

His ex was a scourge in his life, but he didn’t want harm to come to her, whether she was carrying his child or not.

“What’s going on, Priya?”

“I’ve got to go. Someone will explain when you arrive, but get here now.” The line went dead.

Hard reality sank in as he fired up his pickup and stomped on the gas.

Maisy was so sick they were delivering his son.

The trip was a blur. He had no idea what was going on and his mind conjured the worst, only he didn’t know what the worst was.

His baby wasn’t supposed to come for two weeks.

Maisy had refused to settle on a name—another controlling tactic of hers.

Her moods had been erratic throughout the pregnancy, swinging from saccharine sweet and apologetic for her outbursts to enraged and jealous that he refused to propose to her—or to even label her his girlfriend. Because she wasn’t.

She had been, then he’d discovered what a two-faced, mean-spirited woman she was and look at that. Now she was pregnant despite his religious use of condoms.

One weak moment when he’d turned to her after—

Well, thinking about his ex in Denver, who was living the good life with the other half of the company they’d built together, wasn’t going to help.

He’d made it through the last thirty-eight weeks telling himself that he’d endure Maisy for the baby.

But shifting from endurance to concern for the woman sent his mind spinning.

Priya hadn’t said an accident, or early labor, but sick.

What was she sick with? She’d been perfectly healthy three days ago at her last prenatal visit.

He swung into the hospital. The lot was sprinkled with cars, but the idea that he wasn’t the only one whose life was changing course tonight didn’t make him feel better.

He rushed inside, slipping through the sliding door the moment there was enough of a gap for him.

His boots echoed through the quiet entry.

Squinting against the shine of the fluorescent lights, he ignored the three other people in the waiting room.

They were scattered among the thirty empty chairs, hunched over or slouched in their seats.

He probably knew them, since he’d grown up in Moore, Minnesota, population just under five digits.

A young guy in maroon scrubs watched his approach from behind a wide desk with a plexiglass panel that reached to the ceiling. Justin went straight for the opening.

“Justin Walker.” He said it like his name was a password. Would he get in? He wasn’t Maisy’s significant anything, but surely baby daddy was enough.

The guy nodded. “Right. Dr. Patel’s expecting you, but she wants you to head to the surgical waiting room.”

The guy gave him directions, but all that registered was where he pointed. Justin spun on his heel and strode away. He’d been born in this hospital; surely he could find the way.

Two wrong turns later, he rounded a corner. The area was smaller than the ER waiting room. A coffee machine sat empty and the TV was off.

The sight flooded his system with dread. During one of Maisy’s appointments, Priya had explained that she could perform a C-section, even an emergency C-section, in Moore’s one and only hospital, but he’d never thought it would happen.

Maisy’s parents were tucked into a corner of the sparse waiting room. Their pale faces and red-rimmed eyes told him the news was not good.

Justin didn’t bother with formalities. Her parents weren’t his biggest fans and he had no idea what story Maisy was telling them. Was he a good guy or a bad guy to them? “What’s going on?”

Katherine Jorgenson sucked in a shaky breath and clutched her husband’s hand. “They, uh…they said she has meningitis and she’s not…she won’t…” Her head bowed, and sobs shook her shoulders.

Martin Jorgenson took over. There was no inflection in his tone. “She waited too long to come in, they said. They were losing her in the ER, but, um—” His face crumpled. “They’re saving the baby.”

Justin crouched in front of them. He stared at the floor. They’d been losing her in the ER when Priya had called. Understanding wasn’t coming easy. Maisy was Maisy. She was indomitable. He’d pondered her sanity several times over the last nine months, but she was too full of life to die.

He knew next to nothing about meningitis. Wasn’t it an infection in the spine or something? And deadly. He knew that much.

Katherine sniffled. “She complained about an ear infection, but she didn’t want to take meds. Afraid of hurting the baby. Wouldn’t listen—” She broke down again.

“The doctor said that this type of meningitis can start that way,” Martin filled in. “And it can move fast. And Maisy’s so stubborn.”

Justin bobbed his head and rose enough to sit adjacent to them. “The baby?”

“Isaiah’s heartbeat was strong,” Katherine replied. “Priya thinks he has a good chance.”

“Isaiah?”

Katherine shot him a confused glance as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Isaiah. Your son.”

“I… I didn’t realize she’d chosen a name.”

“Isaiah Martin Jorgenson.” Katherine cleared her throat. “Of course she mentioned putting Walker on the birth certificate if you decided to propose.”

That was never going to happen.

His world darkened and guilt flooded in. That was never going to happen if she was dead. Maisy couldn’t die. She was the mother of his child. He hadn’t planned for one second to leave her to raise their kid by herself. Never would he have thought that he’d be alone.

She couldn’t leave him to raise a kid by himself.

What did he know about babies? What did he know about raising a son whose mom had died giving birth to him?

He’d been prepared for talks about why Daddy and Mommy weren’t together, maybe defending his right to co-parent if she tried to play her games with… Isaiah.

He tested out the name.

His heart pounded. This wasn’t his life.

He’d moved back to Moore to slow down. Less world travel.

Less drama after he’d fallen stupidly in love only to get his company stolen, his heart ripped out, and his body driven into Maisy’s waiting embrace.

The move home was supposed to have stabilized his life, not upended it.

The door into the surgery unit opened. Priya’s normally warm brown eyes were destroyed.

Her expression was stoic, but she vibrated with restrained emotion.

The woman in front of him wanted so badly to break down, but she knew she couldn’t yet.

She wore the same maroon scrubs as the guy downstairs, and her rich black hair was bundled into a bun on top of her head.

Her thick, dark lashes only shadowed the depth of grief in her eyes.

The scrubs bothered him. Priya wasn’t a casual woman. She’d hadn’t been that way when they were kids, and during Maisy’s office visits, Priya always wore professional clothing underneath her pristine white lab coat.

Scrubs and athletic shoes. Funny how they cemented how serious this situation was.

Maisy was Priya’s best friend, though the last year and Maisy’s mental state had tested the bond. They weren’t close like they used to be. He’d gotten the impression that, like him, Priya was only committed to Maisy’s well-being during pregnancy and the baby’s health.

She met his gaze. Hers wavered like she wanted to look away. “Justin, your son is fine, but he’s being admitted to the NICU for a course of antibiotics.”

Her professional exterior fractured when she turned to the Jorgensons.

Katherine stood, pulling Martin up with her. “Isaiah’s sick?”

“He doesn’t appear to be,” Priya answered. “He’ll be monitored and have to stay admitted for the course of his antibiotics.” She swallowed hard. Her eyes brimmed with tears that spilled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Maisy didn’t make it.”

Katherine collapsed into Martin’s arms. They both sank to the floor.

Numbness crept over Justin’s body. Maisy was gone. Just like that. She’d never see their son. She’d never rock him to sleep. And she wouldn’t be there to raise him.

A warm hand gripped his arm. Priya. She’d been a lifeline through this drama. An old friend from high school, the calm and collected doctor, the voice of reason that kept Maisy from ruining her own life as she meddled in his.

“Go in. The nurses will direct you where to go.” She glanced at Maisy’s parents. “I’ll bring them back when they’re ready.”

He should stay. But while these parents had just lost their child, there was a child who had yet to meet his own parent.

Justin passed through the door. Faceless, nameless people in scrubs directed him in his daze until he was in front of a large set of windows overlooking a few scary contraptions that resembled plastic cages. One was surrounded by staff. He could barely make out the wiggling baby inside.

Isaiah. Isaiah Martin to be exact. The Jorgensons had lost Maisy.

Justin wasn’t going to change their grandson’s entire name.

But Isaiah’s last name would be Walker now.

It’d be easier, since he would be raising the boy.

That’d been a conflict he’d been prepared to lose.

Now it was a given. He felt no satisfaction at the victory.

A nurse popped out and walked him through the process of scrubbing in to go inside the NICU.

Once he was soaped, rinsed, and dried, she led him inside.

She rambled off details about how Isaiah should be able to stay in Moore since he was a healthy, full-term baby.

If he were to get sick like Maisy, they’d transport him to a bigger hospital.

But his boy had to go through a full round of treatment before he could go home. To Justin’s home.

Isaiah would stay with him.

Isaiah would stay. With him. Forever.

He stopped in front of the incubator they had Isaiah in. The nurse rattled off more instructions. He’d have to ask later what the hell she’d said.

As he gazed at a perfect little body and the cries reached his ears, he couldn’t pull himself out of his thoughts.

He wasn’t just hanging around to help Maisy with his son and fight for every visit he could get.

He was raising his son. Intuition told him that Maisy’s parents wouldn’t fight him.

At least not initially. They had a daughter to bury.

But he’d have to have a tough discussion with them about their expectations for their grandson. Sooner rather than later.

He reached through the circular door of the incubator and threaded a finger through Isaiah’s five perfect little digits. Wires were attached to his son’s chest and a line went through his umbilical stump. The tiniest diaper Justin had even seen wound around him.

The nurse was talking feedings now, but Justin wasn’t listening.

You and me, big guy. We’re going to get through this together.