Outside, the storm raged on.
He felt restless and in a perfect world would have saddled his paint, Lucky, to go help his dad and brother. But the odds of finding them in this whiteout were slim to none, which landed him stuck in his yellow cage.
Needing a male perspective, he called Logan. The team was off for another week. Knowing his friend, he was either sleeping, playing PS4 or deep into strip beach bingo with some hottie he’d picked up at Tipsea’s, the local SEAL hangout.
“Dude.” Logan answered after the third ring. “I was just on a Yuengling and chip run for a ‘Call of Duty’ marathon—saw a pregnant chick at Food Lion and thought of you. How’s it going?”
“Tiff’s last words to me were Get out.” What Rowdy wouldn’t give for just one of their fave local beers.
“Damn. You’ve always got game. If you’re not getting action with your own baby momma, there’s no hope for the rest of us schmucks.”
“Ha ha.” Rowdy walked to the room’s picture window and pressed his forehead to the cool glass. “What should I do?”
“All women are suckers for presents. I say buy her a bunch of flowers and pickles and ice cream—whatever pregnant chicks like.”
“Have you seen the flower assortment up here? This is North Dakota we’re talking about. There might be a couple wilted red truck-stop roses, but that’s about it.”
“You’re making excuses, man. I’m telling you, buy her something nice. Works every time.”
Rowdy grimaced.
He’d have gotten better advice from his horse.
Should he have called Duck? Nah. Rowdy didn’t need another lecture on the virtues of being a family man. He was a soldier. It was the only thing he knew how to do.
After a few minutes’ more small talk with Logan, he hung up to pace.
In a roundabout way, maybe Logan’s idea wasn’t so bad. Rowdy just needed to take that gifting to the next level.
How many times had Tiffany mentioned that she’d intended to show him houses? He could stay in the navy for only so long and, after retirement, had always planned on returning home. He had money stashed away. What if he went ahead and bought a retirement cabin now? Not only would Tiffany get the commission, but he’d have all that house-hunting time with her to foster goodwill.
Heck, she and his son could even stay in the place when he was deployed. His mom would be close enough to check on her—as would her own mother and grandmother.
From where he was standing, the idea looked like a win-win.
So much so that he headed back downstairs for his hat, coat, boots and keys.
After a little legwork netted him Tiffany’s grandmother’s address, he announced his new plan to his mom. She gave him grief about driving in the storm, but he was a SEAL.
No way would he be stopped by a little snow...
* * *
“OHMYGOSH!” GIGI STEPPED back from the front door to allow space for a snow-covered man to stumble inside Pearl’s foyer. “You must be freezing. Get in here. I’m not accustomed to welcoming strange men into my home, but in this case, it’s the only charitable thing to do.” Once he was inside, she shut the door on a growling north wind and blowing snow. “Tiffany! Mother!”
“I’m right here,” Tiffany said from behind her mom. “There’s no need to shout.” Especially since this man was no stranger, but Rowdy.
“You stupid man.” Tiffany took his hat and coat, hanging them on the brass rack at the base of the stairs. Both of his personal items were snow crusted. “Why are you out in this storm? More importantly, what are you doing here?”
Mr. Bojangles yapped at Rowdy’s boots.
“I—I got a g-great idea.” His teeth chattered so bad he could hardly speak. Ice crystals clung to his stubble and his cheeks had turned an alarming red.
“You know him?” Gigi asked.
“Yes.” Tiffany would have loved telling a little white lie, but apparently Rowdy’s determination outweighed her imagination.
“You never told me you had a suitor.” Gigi beamed as if she’d been handed the keys to the Dallas Galleria Neiman Marcus. “How very nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Gregoria Hastings-Lawson, but my friends call me Gigi.”
“Mom, could you please find some towels.”
“Oh, of course.” She scampered off.
The dog licked from the rapidly forming snow puddle on the entry hall floor.
With her buttinsky mother temporarily out of the way, Tiffany snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Rowdy, sit down and take off your wet boots—then let’s get you in front of the fire.”
He shivered too hard to be of much use, so she pushed him onto a small wood bench, then struggled to remove his icy cowboy boots for him.
“You do know you’re crazy?” she scolded. “I had a tough time getting home after we talked, and that was pushing three hours ago. We’re supposed to get twenty inches by morning.”
“Swell...” His grin raised all manner of havoc in her tummy. For a woman who’d sworn off men, this was not a welcome development. “If we’re snowed in together, we’ll have plenty of time to come up with a game plan for keeping our baby.”
“You’re my future grandson’s father?” Poor Gigi was past due for her Botox. How did Tiffany know? Because her mother’s eyebrows rose an inch! “Why didn’t you say so? But after you answer that, how about telling me where you’ve been. And then get this fool idea out of my daughter’s head about giving my grandson up for adoption. A child doesn’t need money to be loved. Tiffany’s daddy grew up right here in Maple Springs and look how well he turned out—well, aside from his temporary setback. But—”
“Mom, please stay out of this.”
“I will not.”
“What’s all the commotion?” Pearl wandered into the fray. She wore a quilted pink housecoat, slippers and a pink shower cap over her rollers, and her face was white with face cream. “Ooooh, how nice. Last thing I expected was to find a hottie in the house.”
Tiffany closed her eyes, praying when she opened them, she’d find herself awaking from a bad dream. No such luck.
As if knowing he’d just made significant forward momentum in his mission, Rowdy delivered his stupid-handsome grin to all of the ladies, then held out his hand to her grandmother. “You must be Miss Pearl? My momma said she’s never tasted a finer pumpkin pie than the one you made for the garden club’s fall bake sale.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?” Pearl held his hand way longer than Tiffany deemed necessary. “If you don’t mind my asking, who is your mother?”
“Patsy Jones. I’m her youngest, Rowdy. You’ve probably met my big brother, Carl? He helps my dad with our ranch and is married to a real sweetheart—Justine. She’s a part-time teller down at First Trust Bank.”
“Goodness gracious, what a small world. I’ve had my savings and checking accounts there for going on forty years. Now, since I’m older than dirt but not dumb as a box of rocks, what is this I heard about you being the father of my great-grandson. Is this true?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He had the audacity to meet Tiffany’s stare. “But I swear on my own grandmother’s grave, I only recently heard of your beautiful granddaughter even being pregnant. I’m in the navy and have been overseas. But as soon as I got the news, I caught a flight, and here I am. Just this morning, I proposed to your granddaughter—told her if she wanted, I’d make an honest woman of her, but she flat turned me down.”