Travis John.
He smiled, turning away from the window, savoring the image of a screwed-up little face framed by wispy feathers of auburn hair. His namesake. Lordy, the thought sent a proud shiver down his spine. It was almost like being a daddy.
Or, at least, it was as close as Travis would ever get, since fatherhood had been crossed off his list a long, long time ago. Kids were too special, too vulnerable to be stuck with a broken-down rodeo bum—Peggy Saxon’s decisive voice boomed into his mind. I take umbrage at the term ‘bum.’ You’re a fine man, and I won’t allow you to make light of yourself.
Properly chastised—again—he felt himself flinch, then grin stupidly into the darkness. No one had ever scolded him for thinking too little of himself. Truth was, he kind of liked it, liked the spitfire spunk in Peggy Saxon’s eyes as she’d stood up to him without a second thought. Most women were kind of wishy-washy, always trying to please a man, butter him up with wiles and such. Not Peggy. She wasn’t afraid to stand up in a man’s face and tell him what was on her mind. Travis liked that.
And he liked her, too. Feisty women intrigued him. He admired their spunk and independence. Most of all, he liked that they didn’t need him.
Not that he minded helping folks out now and again, but he didn’t want to be needed, to be smothered by the clingy weakness of those who didn’t have enough gumption to face the world on their own.
Peggy Saxon wasn’t like that, he decided. She was a tough woman, and smart, too. He liked the way she spoke, using educated speech the way rich folks used money—by tossing it around without a worry in the world. He admired that, admired her. There was just one small problem. Travis couldn’t seem to get the gutsy little redhead out of his mind. For a man who’d already taken the road as his lady, that was bothersome. And it was scary.
Chapter Four
On Monday morning, Peggy had just finished stuffing a plethora of complimentary baby supplies into a brown paper tote when a soft knock caught her attention.
Travis Stockwell hovered in the open doorway with one hand behind his back and the other clutching a bouquet of flowers. He hesitated, entering only when invited by Peggy’s bright smile. “‘Morning, ma’am.” He shuffled his feet, glanced down at the colorful flowers as if seeing them for the first time, then extended them awkwardly. “I thought these might brighten your day some.”
She took them gently, reverently, taking time to inhale the sweet fragrance of budding yellow roses nested in a cloud of white baby’s breath. “They’re lovely,” she murmured, touched by the simple gesture and genuinely surprised because she hadn’t expected to see Travis Stockwell again, hadn’t seen him since Saturday evening. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He shrugged and flexed his free hand a moment before tucking his thumb in a belt loop beside a silver buckle embossed with the outline of a bucking horse. “All new mommies deserve flowers, you more than most.”
Cradling the cellophaned bouquet, Peggy regarded the lanky cowboy with gratitude. Thankfully, he was too much a gentlemen to point out the obvious fact that she had no one else to bring her flowers, or to offer congratulations on the birth of her babies. “I appreciate this more than you know, Travis. Thank you.”
His smile was quick, nervous, positively devastating—a flash of white teeth, a sexy sparkle that lit his dark eyes like amber flame. Peggy sucked in a breath, licked her lips, lowered her gaze and noticed a furry gray tube protruding from the crook of his arm. She blinked. “What in the world…?”
Travis followed her gaze. “Oh, almost forgot.” Grinning proudly, he held out two of the most adorable stuffed elephants she’d ever seen. One of the creatures wore a squishy blue velour cowboy hat. The other wore a pink one. “For the babies,” he explained when she simply stood there laughing. “Kids like stuffed animals.”
She covered her quivering mouth. “So I’ve heard.”
Frowning, he raised the blue-hatted elephant to stare into its beady black eyes. “Shucks, Homer, I think the lady’s making sport of you.”
Peggy could barely contain herself. “Homer?”
“Yes’m, and this here—” he held up the pink-hatted animal “—is Bertha. They’re twins, you see, so I thought it was, you know, appropriate.”
“Oh, yes, quite appropriate,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. “It’s just that I’ve never seen an elephant wearing a Stetson.”
He looked stung. “They’re Texas elephants, ma’am.”
“Ah, well, that explains it.”
“Yes’m.”
“Are you from Texas, Travis?”
“Born and raised,” he replied, setting the furry toys on the bed. “Been gone a long time, though.” Before Peggy could follow up with another question about her new friend’s past, he nodded at the open valise. “Looks like you’re all packed.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. I just have to call a cab….” She angled him a look and found him grinning at her.
He clicked his boot heels together. “At your service, ma’am.”
She smiled and heaved a soft sigh. “Peggy, remember?”
“Yes’m, Peggy.”
“Hello-o-o!” A cheery nurse strode into the room with a wriggling bundle tucked in each crooked arm. “Are we all ready to go home?”
Peggy brightened, reaching out to take her blinking little daughter from the nurse. “Yes, all ready. Hello, sweetheart,” she cooed, tickling her daughter’s feather-soft cheek. “Mommy loves you.” Virginia peered up as if trying to focus. She yawned, which tickled Peggy immensely. “I think she knows me.”
“Of course she does, dear. You’re her mommy.” The nurse turned to Travis, eyed him quickly, then held out little Travis. “Here you go, Dad.”
Travis’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He took a quick step backward, locking his hands behind his back. “Uh, thank you, ma’am, but I, uh—” his frantic gaze scraped the room “—I might squash him or something.”
Peggy took pity on the poor fellow. “Mr. Stockwell is a friend,” she explained to the nurse, who promptly raised a brow. Peggy adjusted Ginny’s wrapping and reached out with her free arm. “I’ll take T.J.”
Travis lit up. “T.J.?”
“Umm.” Peggy cradled her sleepy son beside his bright-eyed sister. “Using initials as a nickname is quite the rage these days. I think it suits him, don’t you?”
“Sure does,” he agreed, eyeing the infant with an almost parental pride. “Sounds real manly.”
“Manly, hmm? Then, perhaps I should reconsider.”
The edge on her voice took them both by surprise, and she immediately softened the comment. “It just seems a bit premature to project my son into a state of divine machismo before he can even burp by himself.”
“Yes, ma’am—ah, Peggy. Kids need a chance to be kids, and that’s a fact.” He tipped his hat back, regarding her intently.
Peggy strongly suspected that he’d have said more about her apparent aversion to manliness had the maternity nurse not been flitting around the room, ears tweaked, eyes sparkling with interest.
When an awkward silence indicated that there would be no further discussion on the subject, the nurse sighed and rubbed her hands together. “All right, then. I presume the doctor has already discussed postpartum care and so forth. Do you have any other questions?”