Read Online The Cowboy's Secret Baby: BWWM Cowboy Pregnancy Romance (Young Adult First Time Billionaire Steamy African American) by Christin Jensen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christin Jensen
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‘grin and bear it’ attitude. They smiled for all photographers and refused to answer any questions from anyone.
At first, the county and state authorities had tried to pressure Professor Santana about leasing her chicken house to a notorious Unwed Mother. Farris Croxton had promptly bought the acre property and deeded it to Clarice as executrix for their as yet unborn son. - That resulted in another flurry of pictures. There was also an amusing idea floated to buy up unused chicken houses for the housing of destitute single mothers.
For the most part, the horse breeding fraternity stood solidly by Two Flags Stables. After all, most horse aficionados had skeletons in their own closets that nobody wanted tumbling loose. Croxton’s own staff policed their grounds thoroughly, so the paparazzi could only hope to catch photos of the fornicator at public affairs.
One result of all this publicity was that many enticing invitations made their way to Two Flags Stables. Farris pulped them for use in the barn cats’ litter boxes. Though publicly handling his slings and arrows well, Farris had become more solitary as time went on. He worked hard with his horses and had fewer words than usual for people, even the McGees.
Alone at night, Farris masturbated into a heavy-duty plastic bag and tried to remember the joyous release he had felt inside Clarice’s pliant, wet abdomen. – The memory proved impossible for him to recapture. Even more impossible to recall was the fulfilled, happy feeling he had experienced in her very presence.
The truth was, as Farris’ psychiatrist had explained in some detail, he had fucked up in a major way. Life had opened a window for him, and he and Clarice between them had managed to close it. In his most despairing moments, Farris wondered if he should have sent a hit man (assuming he could find one who wasn’t undercover law enforcement) to take care of Marion Saxe. Immediately, his mind rejected this. Killing was never a real solution; Marion would always exist in Clarice’s head, even when she herself was dead and buried.
The days were long, and the nights were worse, but Farris kept on keeping on with a dogged persistence. He was punctual in every appointment with his psychiatrist, but resisted the notion of taking a tranquilizer to tame his depression. Dina McGee made him specialized herbal teas instead.
Clarice, in the meantime, was feeling like a badly blown up balloon. She had stopped trying to look attractive for the intrusive photographers; looking attractive simply encouraged them. Clarice rarely went out these days. Her half-brother Angus, who had transferred to Sewanee in case she needed him, always drove her to doctor’s appointments.
Angus Pirtle was rather an endearing young man, Clarice thought. He had swiftly made friends with Patrick Underhill, her lawyer, and happily served as her liaison with Farris’ detectives. Angus also had considerable skill as a cartoonist and frequently had her laughing at his cock-eyed take on various tabloid stories in which she was featured.
Chapter 11
While Farris was suffering his deepest depression, Terry McGee was very surprised to see him answer the business office phone one night. Farris spoke briefly into the receiver and then hung up, turning to McGee.
“That was Clarice’s natural father,” he explained, as though communication was normal for him. “Pirtle’s in Lexington and plans to drive down tomorrow afternoon. We are to expect a purple Chrysler.”
McGee winced. “Either he got to the rental counter late, or else he wants to make sure we recognize him and let him in. Did he say what he wants?”
“I imagine he wants us to put our heads together to establish a suitable estate for my son,” Farris replied, with more energy than he had shown among humans for ages. “The man is a trust officer; he does estate planning. – I’ll be glad to be doing something
At first, the county and state authorities had tried to pressure Professor Santana about leasing her chicken house to a notorious Unwed Mother. Farris Croxton had promptly bought the acre property and deeded it to Clarice as executrix for their as yet unborn son. - That resulted in another flurry of pictures. There was also an amusing idea floated to buy up unused chicken houses for the housing of destitute single mothers.
For the most part, the horse breeding fraternity stood solidly by Two Flags Stables. After all, most horse aficionados had skeletons in their own closets that nobody wanted tumbling loose. Croxton’s own staff policed their grounds thoroughly, so the paparazzi could only hope to catch photos of the fornicator at public affairs.
One result of all this publicity was that many enticing invitations made their way to Two Flags Stables. Farris pulped them for use in the barn cats’ litter boxes. Though publicly handling his slings and arrows well, Farris had become more solitary as time went on. He worked hard with his horses and had fewer words than usual for people, even the McGees.
Alone at night, Farris masturbated into a heavy-duty plastic bag and tried to remember the joyous release he had felt inside Clarice’s pliant, wet abdomen. – The memory proved impossible for him to recapture. Even more impossible to recall was the fulfilled, happy feeling he had experienced in her very presence.
The truth was, as Farris’ psychiatrist had explained in some detail, he had fucked up in a major way. Life had opened a window for him, and he and Clarice between them had managed to close it. In his most despairing moments, Farris wondered if he should have sent a hit man (assuming he could find one who wasn’t undercover law enforcement) to take care of Marion Saxe. Immediately, his mind rejected this. Killing was never a real solution; Marion would always exist in Clarice’s head, even when she herself was dead and buried.
The days were long, and the nights were worse, but Farris kept on keeping on with a dogged persistence. He was punctual in every appointment with his psychiatrist, but resisted the notion of taking a tranquilizer to tame his depression. Dina McGee made him specialized herbal teas instead.
Clarice, in the meantime, was feeling like a badly blown up balloon. She had stopped trying to look attractive for the intrusive photographers; looking attractive simply encouraged them. Clarice rarely went out these days. Her half-brother Angus, who had transferred to Sewanee in case she needed him, always drove her to doctor’s appointments.
Angus Pirtle was rather an endearing young man, Clarice thought. He had swiftly made friends with Patrick Underhill, her lawyer, and happily served as her liaison with Farris’ detectives. Angus also had considerable skill as a cartoonist and frequently had her laughing at his cock-eyed take on various tabloid stories in which she was featured.
Chapter 11
While Farris was suffering his deepest depression, Terry McGee was very surprised to see him answer the business office phone one night. Farris spoke briefly into the receiver and then hung up, turning to McGee.
“That was Clarice’s natural father,” he explained, as though communication was normal for him. “Pirtle’s in Lexington and plans to drive down tomorrow afternoon. We are to expect a purple Chrysler.”
McGee winced. “Either he got to the rental counter late, or else he wants to make sure we recognize him and let him in. Did he say what he wants?”
“I imagine he wants us to put our heads together to establish a suitable estate for my son,” Farris replied, with more energy than he had shown among humans for ages. “The man is a trust officer; he does estate planning. – I’ll be glad to be doing something
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