A Father's Promise
3/5
()
About this ebook
Big John Paladin thought it was easier to wrestle an angry bull than diaper one tiny infant. But since his wife left, the rancher had turned his talents to "baby wrangling." John knew his son needed more than a gruff cowboy's care. He needed a mother––and he deserved the best.
Dana Dixon was shocked. How dare John Paladin ask her for help when almost a year ago he'd run from her––into the arms of another woman! But how could she turn away a child with eyes so like the man she had once loved? And probably loved still...
Helen R. Myers
Helen R. Myers is a Texan by choice, and when not writing, she's spoiling her four rescued dogs. A avid follower of the news and student of astrology, she enjoys comparing planetary aspects with daily world events. To decompress, she experiments with all forms of gardening and cooking with the produce she raises. You can contact her through her website at helenr.myers.com.
Read more from Helen R. Myers
Lost Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Surprise of Her Life Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Holiday to Remember Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It Started with a House.... Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Hope's Child Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It's News to Her Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Final Stand Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Almost a Hometown Bride Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5After That Night... Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDaddy On Demand Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBeloved Mercenary Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Last Man She'd Marry Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5What Should Have Been Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Man To Count On Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Holiday To Remember Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIt's News To Her Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to A Father's Promise
Titles in the series (21)
Instant Father Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDaniel's Daddy Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Father's Promise Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Father In The Making Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Father's Vow Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Father For Always Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIntroducing Daddy Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDaddy Lessons Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Mad For The Dad Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWelcome Home, Daddy! Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDaddy By Decision Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Rugged Ranchin' Dad Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Billionaire's Baby Chase Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5My Baby, Your Son Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWanted: One Son Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMystery Man Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWife Without A Past Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5The Cowboy, The Baby And The Bride-To-Be Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5One Man's Promise Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDr. Dad To The Rescue Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFirst Time, Forever Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
Related ebooks
One Mother Wanted Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Another Woman's Son Rating: 2 out of 5 stars2/5Cowboy Comes Back Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHis Diamond Bride Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Cowboy's Pride Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wife For Hire Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsStranger At The Door Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMy Babies and Me Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsWelcome Home, Daddy! Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsAccidental Hero Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Deal with Di Capua Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Bridesmaid's Gifts Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Her Pregnancy Bombshell Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Breaking Hearts Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIsland of Secrets: An Anthology Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Taming The Texas Tycoon Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFinding Family Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sheltered In His Arms Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Night We Met Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Surrogate Wife Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsStrategy For Marriage Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Marriage On The Rebound? Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBreak Free to Deceive: Escape From Reality Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5Finding Hope Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFor Their Baby Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A Mistletoe Proposal Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Always A Mother Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Anything, Any Time, Any Place Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Bride Said, 'surprise!' Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsTrust A Cowboy Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
Contemporary Romance For You
Animal Farm Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Ugly Love: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Icebreaker: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It Ends with Us: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Hopeless Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The True Love Experiment Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Maybe Someday Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It Starts with Us: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5November 9: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Heart Bones: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Finding Cinderella: A Novella Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wildfire: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Spanish Love Deception: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5All Your Perfects: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Before We Were Strangers: A Love Story Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wallbanger Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ruin Me Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Confess: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Beautiful Disaster: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Maybe Not: A Novella Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Something Borrowed: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Slammed: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Point of Retreat: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Without Merit: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Beautiful Bastard Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Swear on This Life: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Finding Perfect: A Novella Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Intense: Erotic Short Story Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This Girl: A Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for A Father's Promise
2 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
A Father's Promise - Helen R. Myers
Chapter One
He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for any of it. Even so, John Paladin carried his ten-day-old son out of Dusty Flats Community Hospital with the same brisk step that he’d entered, and tugged his Stetson and blue denim jacket farther over and around the baby to protect him from the driving wind and rain.
Hang tough, pardner,
he muttered, squinting against the sharp needles that still managed to angle under the wide brim and prick at his face. It’ll get worse before it gets better.
After hearing what he had inside, and considering the prospects for their future, it seemed about the only thing he could promise.
The wind lashed harder at them. Damn, but it was cold, he thought, and it wasn’t even November yet. By the look of things, he and every other west Texas cattle rancher had a heckuva winter ahead of them. If they didn’t float away first. Dusty Flats
his soggy boots. The community had already surpassed its yearly rainfall average back in August; no telling what the rest of fall would bring.
But at the moment he had more important things to worry about, and he no longer had the stamina to take on more than one calamity at a time. It was just as well that there was nothing he could do about the weather; right now he faced the challenge of a lifetime—getting his boy back to the ranch, then changing and feeding him.
All right, so he figured he could handle the first task, regardless of the gusting wind that kept trying to knock him off his feet. But the rest…the rest turned his insides into quivering jelly.
It was all those instructions the nurses had spewed at him like that last adding machine he’d had that would churn out a half mile of paper whenever it got stuck in some crazy mode. Sure, he understood that they’d needed their bit of fun. Even as he’d been walking through the front door they’d determinedly escorted him like some military color guard, calling out advice and loading him down with enough booklets and junk to keep him reading until Thanksgiving. But he wasn’t in any shape to retain any of that book—learned nonsense. His mind was already so cluttered, he’d forgotten half of what he’d been told. Besides, even a grown man could starve to death if he had to read through the pamphlets jammed in his pockets before he was allowed to cook himself something to eat. A tiny scrap of stuff like his boy would be plumb out of luck.
Worst of all, though, were the directions about changing the kid’s diaper and giving him a bath.
Don’t you worry about a thing, Big John. You’ll get the hang of it.
Now, Big John, it’s not as though you’ll have to worry about him kicking or biting like one of those beef critters of yours.
There’s just something about them being your own that makes it easier, Big John.
Bull. Not one of those women had listened, really listened to what he’d been trying to tell them. What did any of them know about how it was going to be for him? The way he figured it, caring for babies was as natural to women as stringing a barbed-wire fence was to him. But he knew nothing about fueling up anything this small, let alone dealing with cleaning out the rascal’s oil pan or anything.
From inside the wool cocoon and the down vest he’d wrapped the boy in, he heard a tiny protest. Jeez, he thought, could the kid be suffocating? Maybe everyone had been wrong about covering his face. Or maybe he was holding him too tight and smushing his toothpick-fine bones. Maybe the wind was getting at him and sucking the very breath out of the little guy. Blast it all, the head nurse had been right—he should never have taken the boy out in such conditions in the first place.
His heart beat a frantic tattoo as he accelerated his pace—but he didn’t quite break into a run. Better not risk it, he thought. The rain had turned everything slick, and the soles of his leather boots didn’t have good traction on asphalt. If he fell, he could make mush out of the chick-pea in his arms.
How the devil could those women have told him that the child was going to grow up every bit as big as him? What did they see that he couldn’t?
He finally reached his mud-splattered pickup truck. "Now, comes the next easy part," he grumbled to himself as he opened the driver’s door.
Once again he had to secure the infant in a vehicle that wasn’t prepared for a virtual newborn. He respected and approved of the recent law that made seat belts mandatory. However, when he’d first carried his boy out to the truck, he’d realized accommodating that regulation was going to be a challenge, considering the danged buckle was nearly as big as his baby’s head. Too late he’d remembered the proper infant carrier that should have been purchased ages ago. But between problems with Celene, and his unusually heavy work load at the Long J, the last thing on his mind had been shopping excursions, let alone buying a bunch of baby things.
If only Celene had shown a little initiative, an ounce of concern sometime during her pregnancy and gone out to get a few things on her own. Heck, that’s why he’d bought her a car in the first place! But, no. After putting him through seven different kinds of hell insisting only a certain sports model and color would do, regardless of how impractical both were in their area, she’d left the iridescent pink thing virtually untouched.
Until this morning.
Just thinking of the times he’d suggested she make an excursion into town or to the mall in Abilene, made his blood steam all over again. He’d even gone so far as to offer her his credit card, for pity’s sake! But she’d merely glared at him over the top of her latest soap opera magazine, then settled deeper under her bed covers.
So sue me,
he muttered to the bundle of blue he set on the front seat. I tried.
That earned him another, louder wail.
He snorted. Wail, nothing. He’d heard the rodents snared in the barn squeak louder. But the fragile sound still managed to fill him with a dread no mouse ever did.
Okay…okay, squirt. I’m working on it.
He scrunched his bulk into the cab, and drew the door closed behind him. At least that got them out of the weather. Maneuvering in the cramped space proved awkward, though someone of his proportions would find just about any vehicle smaller than a C-130 or an aircraft carrier a tight fit. Swearing as he struck his already throbbing elbow against the steering wheel, he jerked the brochures from his pockets.
I feel like a wilting peacock,
he muttered, throwing them onto the floorboard. Then he leaned over to pick up the makeshift car seat he’d inadvertently knocked down there when they’d first arrived.
He’d come up with the invention while eyeing the contents in the back of the cab. Experience had taught him to carry everything back there, things no self-respecting rancher would find himself without: rope, chains, wrenches, hammers, nails, jumper cables…and a case of oil. It had been that box that had grabbed his attention. Not the most attractive or sterile thing known to man, but damned if it didn’t represent the best brand of motor lubricant money could buy. Most importantly, all he’d had to do was cut one end—a foot flap, he’d dubbed it with some amusement—and the fit had been perfect.
He’d dumped the twelve plastic bottles onto his tools, and then on impulse he’d also snatched up the blanket that he kept back there. Using the wool cover as an external buffer, and the vest as a mattress, he’d stuffed John, Jr. inside, until he’d been as snug as a tick on a dog.
It worked well enough for the drive down here, so it’ll do for the trip back,
he told his son, repeating the process. "No way I can shop with you under wing and the weather plotting against me."
It took him almost five minutes—ten less than the first time. Even so, by the time he’d finished he was sweating more than a hog in an auction pen. But worry and caution aside, he eventually had the boy strapped in, grateful that no one was around to point out how the whole contraption looked about as sturdy as a bag of marshmallows.
Don’t worry about it,
he assured the calmer bundle inside. I’ve already got strict orders from all of your self-appointed godmothers to drive as though I was carrying a load of nitro.
As if he’d needed the reminding, he thought, somewhat disgruntled. He maneuvered his large frame back behind the steering wheel, only to have to twist again to dig his keys from his hind pocket. It was just the two of them now. His son was the most important thing in his life. If he’d had any doubts before, Celene’s latest stunt made that fact abundantly clear.
He did, however, wish that he could have gotten John, Jr. admitted here at the hospital for a day or two, until he’d tracked down the exasperating woman and gotten things between them settled once and for all. But all the nurses had certified him as crazy.
This ain’t no hotel, Big John.
You can’t desert your son in his hour of need, Mr. Paladin.
Beast.
Oh, yes. They’d laid it on thick and heavy.
Not even his longtime friend, Bud—Sheriff Bud Hackman today since he’d been summoned by Juanita, the head nurse in pediatrics, who on behalf of all her new mothers seemed to hate men in general—could resist pointing out that he should have known better than to even consider doing such a thing. You abandon this boy and go after that woman, Big John, I ain’t gonna have no choice but to recommend he be made a ward of the court.
Let the big oaf try to set foot on the Long J again. The only welcome he’ll get is a butt full of buckshot,
John growled, taking a grim pleasure in visualizing the scene.
Maybe it had been unusual to suggest the hospital care for his son in his absence. But where was their understanding, their sensitivity, their compassion? He’d been driven to these straits. He was riding a long trail of bad luck—had been ever since he’d behaved irresponsibly during his trip to Abilene and had gotten himself saddled with a pregnant bride some eight months ago. All he was trying to do was buy himself some time to straighten out the mess.
Who cares what they think,
he muttered aside to his wide-eyed passenger. We don’t need them, do we? We’ll work things out for ourselves. For now, though, you might as well kick back and catch up on some shut-eye. It’s a thirty-mile trip back home. No need for both of us to end up stressed out and ornery.
He started the truck, shifted into Drive and, because the lot was almost empty as usual, drove forward to cut a wide U-turn toward the nearest exit. Because the weather was having a decided effect on visibility, when he reached the stop sign and saw that his windows were fogging up, he quickly switched on the defroster. After the mist cleared away, he looked up and down the empty road once, twice, then added a third glance for good measure.
That’s when it struck him that this behavior was totally out of character for him, and it told him just how deeply he’d been rattled. Dusty Flats might be the county seat, he reminded himself as he gripped the wheel and turned onto the street, but in a town with a population under fifteen hundred, bad weather had a tendency to keep folks at home. There wasn’t exactly a need to act as though he were driving on a sixteen-year-old’s hardship permit. Thirty and responsible—regardless of what those uniformed viragoes had accused him—he’d never had a wreck in his life. He could do this, he told himself.
You can’t do this, and you know it.
He did, however, manage to make the turn. He even drove a few miles without breaking into a cold sweat. But by the time he got to the farm-to-market road that angled off toward his ranch, he found himself setting his right hand on the seat in front of the baby and driving twenty miles an hour under the legal limit. Completely logical, he told himself. He was still calm. This was merely in case someone came barreling out of nowhere and aimed straight into them.
Before he reached the next intersection, however, he had to pull over to the shoulder. Reduced to a shaking mass, he actually felt as though he might have to get out of the car and lose the coffee and biscuit that was all he’d ingested since rising before dawn. Him. Big John Paladin. The rancher who’d outraced tornadoes and had outlasted droughts since taking over the Long J Ranch at the unheard of age of twenty-six.
How he wished he could blame his condition on the shock over what Celene had done. But he would be lying if he tried. He was angry—angry,