Colby (BBW Western Bear Shifter Romance) (Rodeo Bears Book 3) (21 page)

“So you’re telling me that I’m a dad?” Rock’s mouth fell open and he gaped around the room. “Seriously?”
 

Partridge nodded. “Correct,” he said. “You’re a father.”
 

Rock blinked. “Holy shit,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”
 

Partridge nodded again. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said smoothly.
 

Chapter One

Gemma Duval paused and took a moment to wipe the loose strands of hair away from her wide forehead. She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. Despite feeling more panicked than ever before, she still looked the same as she always had: heart-shaped face, dark brown hair streaked with blonde, soft grey eyes.
 

“Mom!” Arthur shrieked in his high chair. When Gemma looked at him, he grinned. “Party!”
 

“That’s right,” Gemma cooed. “Today’s your birthday, honey!”
 

Arthur waved his stubby arms in the air and grinned. He was clutching a spoon in his fist that was covered with globs of peanut butter and as he moved around, flecks of the peanut butter leapt skyward and plastered themselves all over the ceiling. Gemma rolled her eyes; she’d known ahead of time that single parenting would be a lot of work, but this was seeming like a lot, even for her usually-well-behaved Arthur.
 

“Honey, eat your breakfast,” Gemma said in a soft voice. She stepped closer to the high chair and took a critical look at her son. Even though he was only two, he looked much older – three or four at least. His thick brown hair was of a different texture than Gemma’s. It was rougher, curly, and wild. His golden eyes always reflected the light – even in a dark room – and she noticed that Arthur always seemed a little
too
aware of what was going on for a toddler. She told herself that he was just gifted, as soon as he was in school, they’d figure it out properly. But there were still some nights where Gemma felt restless, worrying about what exactly made her son different from the rest.
 

Parenthood was something Gemma had always wanted. Ever since she was little. When her girlfriends used to dress up for Halloween as witches and gypsies, Gemma always wanted to be a mother. Her own mother thought this was adorable, and would turn Gemma into a frumpy little hausfrau with plastic curlers and smeared lipstick, carrying a baby doll or three.
 

The urge hadn’t passed as Gemma had aged. In high school, she’d felt like the ugly duckling for far too long. In reality, Gemma was lovely: but her soft features and striking grey eyes weren’t appealing to boys of the same age. She watched miserably as all of her friends found dates and boyfriends, and desperately wanted the same for herself.
 

“Everything will be different in college,” Gemma’s sister Talia had told her, with a knowing look on her sharp face. Talia was three years older than Gemma, although it seemed to Gemma that Talia had a lifetime of experience. Talia was always the ‘cool’ sister, the first one to travel overseas, the one to get married before Gemma had ever had her first boyfriend. Gemma had desperately wanted to believe her: after all, wasn’t college where everyone was supposed to fall in love for the first time?
 

But it hadn’t happened in college, either. Gemma had studied archaeology and art history and despite her best efforts, the relationship with her male peers never went beyond study buddy. There was one night where Gemma dressed up to the nines and went to a bar for New Year’s Eve, desperate to find a guy who’d love her. But everyone was already paired off, and the only thing Gemma kissed at midnight was the lip of a shot glass.
 

She was miserable, but she decided that it probably wasn’t happening because she was trying too hard. “Everything will be better once you quit looking so desperate,” Talia said, in all of her infinite, divorced-lady wisdom. “I promise.”
 

So Gemma quit looking. Instead of haunting bars and coffee shops, she haunted the library and graduated Magna Cum Laude. Her professors, her parents, even Talia said they were all so proud of Gemma. But she still felt like a failure. “What’s wrong with me?” Gemma asked the mirror, every single night before she went to sleep. “Why isn’t it happening for me, like with everyone else?”
 

She’d decided that if she hadn’t met someone by the age of thirty, she’d go to a sperm bank and “pick a father.” The idea was scary, and something that Talia tried to talk her out of. But her mother had been supportive. She’d driven Gemma to the clinic in the wee hours of her 30
^th
birthday.
 

“Honey, this is going to be hard,” Gemma’s mother said. “You won’t have time for anyone but your child, not for years. Do you know how hard that is when you’re on your own?”
 

Gemma had stared at her mother. In a rare moment of bad temper, she’d snapped: “But I’m
already
doing everything on my own, aren’t I? How much harder can it be?”
 

In reality, it hadn’t been as hard as Gemma had feared. She’d adored being pregnant – schlepping around in cute maternity outfits and beaming at everyone who gazed at her belly. She’d felt like it suited her. For the first time in her life, she’d felt like she’d done something exactly right. Her friends at work offered pregnancy advice – books and DVDs and useful tidbits like, “you’re not really eating for two, you know. Try to keep your calorie intake close to normal.” Gemma took it all in stride, and for the first couple of months, nothing really extraordinary happened. Her lips swelled and her hair curled a little bit, and while she
felt
more attractive, that was no basis for what happened next.
 

Men couldn’t stay away from her. It was like the world had flipped upside down, or the poles had lost their polarity. Gemma didn’t get it; she was
pregnant
. Didn’t that mean to men that she was marked, somehow? Off limits? It was puzzling.
 

There was the time at the grocery store when Gemma was just beginning to show. She was reaching up high to the top shelf for a deluxe pack of her favorite cookies. Out of nowhere, a handsome guy with dark hair swooped in and grabbed them for her, delicately placing them in her cart.
 

“These are for you,” he’d said with a grin. “I know you were reaching for them.”
 

Gemma had blushed and stuttered and put a hand on her belly, gazing down shyly at the dirty tiled floor. “Thanks,” she’d murmured. “But I could have gotten them.”
 

“Can I take you out?” The man had pressed. His blue eyes stared into hers and Gemma felt a world of feeling that she’d never encountered.
 

“No,” she’d said – but it had taken some resistance, Gemma remembered. She wasn’t used to the attention of men, and it felt absolutely delicious.
 

“It’s
because
you’re pregnant,” Talia had said, rolling her eyes and kicking her feet up on the leather pouffe in front of Gemma’s couch. “It’s like they
know
they can’t have you, and they’re asking anyway.”
 

Gemma had pursed her lips and let her gaze fall to the magazine in her lap. “Maybe,” she’d said. There was something inside of her, like a little pinprick, that somehow didn’t want to let Talia get away with being right this time. It wasn’t just what Talia had said. Gemma couldn’t explain it, but deep down she knew: something had changed forever.
 

--

Now, the party was about to start and Gemma was still half-dressed. Even though it was her son’s birthday, she’d bought herself a new dress: a pink sundress with cream stripes on the skirt. It showed off her trim figure and made her look a little younger than her 32 years.
 

“You look great,” Talia said. She burst into the kitchen armed with two paper bags and her own son, Michael, trailing behind. He was only six months older than Arthur and the two boys were best friends.
 

“Thanks,” Gemma said. She blushed. She still wasn’t exactly used to compliments, even from her older sister. “And thanks again for picking up the food.”
 

“No sweat,” Talia replied. She set the paper bags down on the counter and began to unload: packs of pre-cut veggies with ranch dip, grocery store hot macaroni and cheese, and fried chicken. It all smelled amazing, and Gemma felt her stomach beginning to rumble. “When are the other rugrats showing up?”
 

Gemma laughed. “The party starts at two,” she said, frowning and glancing down at her watch. “And that damn clown was supposed to be here an hour ago! Part of the package was a special hour with the birthday boy,” she said, raising her eyebrows at her older sister.
 

Talia rolled her eyes. “They’re always late,” she said, looking down at the table and scooping Michael up in her arms. “Trust me. Want me to start putting this stuff out in the backyard?”
 

“Yes,” Gemma said. “Thank you so much!” She watched as Talia expertly maneuvered her way into the yard with a toddler in one hand and a tray full of snacks in the other.
 

“Mommy,” Arthur said loudly. He’d been silent for a long time. “Party!”
 

Gemma laughed. She walked over to the high chair and scooped him up in her arms. “Yes, baby,” she said, nuzzling her son’s sweet neck. It always smelled of talc and she loved having him in her arms. It was the most comforting thing in the world. “And it’s going to be so much fun!”
 

But three hours later, Gemma wasn’t having much fun at all. The clown hadn’t shown up – they’d had two very tense phone conversations where he yelled into the receiver that he was stuck in traffic and would likely be any minute now – and Gemma was starting to panic. At first, the party had gone well. The backyard was full of toddlers running around and shrieking with glee, their faces smeared with cake. The parents had all sat down to one side and exchanged catty looks about whose child was better. Gemma had served tea and lemonade and finally, in a fit of desperation, wine from a box that she’d been storing in the fridge for a few months.
 

“Is it wrong that I feel totally drunk?” Talia giggled and put her head on Gemma’s shoulder. Gemma was feeling tipsy herself, but more nervous. The energy of the toddlers was beginning to die down. The magic show was planned as the peak of the afternoon, and now that the clown hadn’t shown up, Gemma had no idea what she’d do to entertain twenty hot, riled up, smelly, sweaty little kids.
 

“Okay kids,” Gemma said loudly, clapping her hands together and stepping into the middle of the backyard. “We’re going to play a game.”
 

“Or we can do some magic tricks,” a deep male voice said. Gemma jumped a foot into the air out of surprise. She whirled around to see a tall guy with shaggy brown hair and golden eyes stepping away from the line of parents. “I’ve brought my kit with me, who wants to see?”
 

All of the kids roared and giggled, rushing towards the man. He gestured for them to sit and amazingly, they obediently fell into small piles on the grass in front of him. Gemma watched, bewitched, as he pulled a magic wand seemingly out of nowhere and waved it in the air.
 

“Abracadabra!” The man waved his arms in the air and suddenly, a bunch of silk scarves appeared high above him. The children all cheered as the scarves floated down into the air, and Gemma stared in amazement.
 

“How does he do that?” Gemma whispered into Talia’s ear. Talia brushed her sister away, like she was an annoying fly or a bug.
 

“I don’t know,” Talia said. She breathed heavily. “He’s gorgeous though, isn’t he?”
 

Gemma’s mouth went dry. She had noticed that one little thing. Plus, even though she was more than willing to chalk it up to the wine she’d drunk, she couldn’t help the feeling that the man was staring at her.
 

“And he’s staring at you, lucky,” Talia said enviously. Her face showed that she was green with envy. “Who is he?”
 

“I don’t know,” Gemma said. She furrowed her brow. “I guess he must have come with one of the kids. I’ve never seen him before, though.”
 

Talia laughed. “That’s so typical,” she tutted. “Men don’t really do that great a job raising their young, you know? You never see them. It’s always the moms who take their kids out. You can tell – when the kid fucks up, the Dad always thinks it cute. Mom wouldn’t take that shit, though.”
 

Gemma looked away. Her sister’s cynicism sometimes felt like too much for her to deal with. It was true that she didn’t know who the man was – and even though he wasn’t wearing a wedding band, she wasn’t holding out hope. She knew that he was probably just a dad of one of the kids that she’d never met; it
was
true that primarily mothers shuffled the kids around to various play-dates.
 

The kids were magnetized to the man. They couldn’t stop watching as he did a variety of tricks with the silk scarves and finally, a top hat with a real white rabbit. It had a twitching pink nose and soft ears. The man leaned down and set the bunny into Arthur’s lap.
 

“For the birthday boy,” he said with a flourish. “My gift to you.”