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“What’s he gone and done now?” Listening to her customers vent was part of the job. Cassidy mixed the hair color, then cleaned her trimming scissors while Mabel droned on.
“He’s refusing to allow Harriet and her new husband to join us for Christmas dinner.”
“I thought Buford liked your sister.”
“It’s husband number four he hates.”
Harriet exchanged husbands as often as women switched lipstick colors.
“Mitchell’s a lawyer.” Mabel twisted in the chair and said, “You know how much Buford hates lawyers.”
Poor Buford. He’d earned a reputation of having the highest percentage of nonconvictable arrests during his tenure on the force. Cassidy changed the subject. “How do you like teaching Sunday school?”
“Aside from a few rambunctious boys the kids are well-behaved. They need a substitute teacher for the first-grade class if you’re interested.”
“Not right now, Mabel.” Cassidy had stopped attending church months ago after her mother had stood up in front of the entire congregation and announced that if she didn’t go to the bathroom right then she’d pee her pants.
While Mabel chatted about the children’s holiday play, Cassidy slipped on a pair of latex gloves and worked the blue dye into Mabel’s hair, then set the timer for an extra ten minutes and placed a magazine in her lap. “I need to check on Mom.”
When Cassidy entered the trailer and peeked around the kitchen doorway, she discovered her mother fast asleep in the recliner. Relieved, Cassidy poured a glass of lemonade for her customer, then returned to the shed.
“Thank you, dear.” After a sip, Mabel said, “I hear there’s a new doctor in Midland who specializes in brain problems like your mother’s.”
“Really?” Old people were afraid if they spoke the word Alzheimer’s out loud they’d contract the dreaded disease.
“I’ll find out his name before my next hair appointment.”
“That’d be great, thanks.” Her mother’s insurance didn’t cover experimental tests or medicines. Cassidy had spent hours on the phone with insurance representatives, each call ending with “I wish there was more we could do, but unfortunately…”
The timer dinged and Cassidy rinsed the dye from Mabel’s hair. Next, she trimmed the ends, then retrieved a pink plastic tub of rollers from the storage cabinet. She’d put in the final roller when a truck pulled alongside the Lincoln.
“Why, it’s Logan Taylor,” Mabel said.
The cowboy sported the same somber expression he’d worn earlier in the day when Cassidy had stopped by his ranch.
“How long have you been cutting his hair?” The gleam in Mabel’s eyes warned Cassidy not to say too much, lest she give the woman the idea that she and Logan had a thing going—which they didn’t.
“Logan isn’t one of my clients.” Mabel opened her mouth, but Cassidy cut her off. “Time for the dryer.”
“Hello, Logan.” Mabel wiggled her fingers in the air.
Feeling Mabel’s eyes on her, Cassidy offered a weak smile.
Logan cut through the yard, stopping outside the shed doors. “Mrs. Wilson,” he greeted the older woman. Then his gaze shifted to Cassidy. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” She tucked Mabel’s head under the dryer, flipped the switch to high and lowered the hood. Hoping the noise would drown out whatever Logan had to say, she stepped outside the shed.
His shadow fell over her like a dark, menacing storm cloud. He didn’t speak, which gave her a chance to study him—shaggy, dark hair, cheeks covered in beard stubble and dark smudges beneath his brown eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed his unkempt appearance earlier?
Because you had other things on your mind.
“About that night…” He removed his Stetson and twirled it around his middle finger. “I had too much to drink—”
“That’s why I drove you home.” That was the truth—sort of.
The cowboy hat spun faster. “So…did I or did you…”
“Neither actually.” He hadn’t asked her to stay nor had he asked her to leave. She hadn’t offered to stay nor had she offered to leave. “It just happened.”
Her heart ached at the abject misery in the man’s eyes. The fact that he failed to remember their lovemaking should have hurt or angered her, but she felt only sympathy for him.
“I thought you should know about the baby.” She sucked in a quiet breath. “In case you wanted to be involved in the pregnancy.” She’d hoped, prayed, fantasized that Logan would step up to the plate and be a father to their child, regardless of his feelings toward her.
His gaze wandered around the yard. “Are you…”
The words were barely a whisper and Cassidy had trouble hearing above the hum of the hair dryer. “What did you say?”
Right then Mabel shut off the dryer at the same time Logan raised his voice. “Are you sure the baby’s mine?”
Mabel gasped.
Cassidy stared in shock.
Logan groaned.
Oops. The cat was out of the bag.
Chapter Two
The blood drained from Cassidy’s face, leaving her skin as white as the siding on the trailer. She swayed to the left, then to the right. Fearing she’d topple, Logan grabbed her arm and hauled her to the trailer steps a few feet away. “Put your head between your knees.” He pressed his hand against the back of her neck, ignoring the silky texture of her hair.
“Oh, dear. You’re feeling poorly.” Mrs. Wilson rushed to Cassidy’s side, her plastic cape flapping in the air.
“I’m fine,” Cassidy mumbled between her legs.
Logan’s nose curled at the smell of ammonia rising from the older woman’s head. No wonder Cassidy felt sick—breathing toxic fumes all day.
“Listen, dear. I’ll leave and—”
“Give me a minute, Mabel.”
“If you’re sure…” Mrs. Wilson retreated to the shed and ducked her head beneath the dryer.
“I’ll get you some water.” Logan stepped past Cassidy and entered the trailer’s kitchen, then searched the cupboards for a drinking glass.
“Cassidy? Are you makin’ all that racket?”
Crap. “It’s Logan Taylor, Mrs. Ortiz.” He poked his head around the doorway. “Cassidy needs a drink of water.”
“Oh.” The older woman glanced across the room. “I don’t know where Cassidy is.”
“She’s outside.” He resumed his search.
A few seconds later…“Cassidy? You makin’ all that racket in there?”
“Logan Taylor, ma’am.” He wondered if Cassidy’s mother knew about the baby. Logan found a glass, ran the cold tap, then headed outside. “Here.” He handed Cassidy the drink, before retreating to the bottom of the steps.
“I don’t bite.” She flashed a crooked smile.
If not for the pasty color of her complexion, he’d have two-stepped toward his truck and gotten the heck out of Dodge. “Do you need me to take you to a doctor?”
The smile vanished. “I don’t need you to do anything, Logan.”
Fearing his presence upset her, he said, “Maybe we should talk later.”
Cassidy glanced at Mrs. Wilson. “That might be best.”
How long did old biddy hair take to style?
“Give me a couple of hours,” Cassidy said, reading his mind.
He doubted Mrs. Wilson had enough hair on her head to require two hours of teasing. The former schoolteacher flipped off the dryer and began removing her curlers. “I’ll take you out to dinner later,” he said.
Color flooded Cassidy’s cheeks. “You’re asking me out on a date?”
A date? He’d already gotten her pregnant, wasn’t it a little late for a date? “Uh…” He shook his head. “I was thinking along the lines of a business meeting.” He didn’t dare become too friendly with Cassidy—she was just too attractive for his peace of mind.
“Oh.” The light faded from her eyes and he felt as if he’d kicked a puppy across the barnyard. “Thanks, but I can’t leave Mom here by herself.”
Recalling the odd way Cassidy’s mother had behaved a few minutes ago, he asked, “Is your mother ill?”
“For goodness sake, Logan.” Mrs. Wilson formed a capital letter A with her fingers. “Sonja’s…”
He stared at the older woman, not having a clue as to what she meant.
“Mom’s got Alzheimer’s,” Cassidy explained.
Alzheimer’s? He hadn’t heard. Because he’d kept to himself for so long the only person he had any meaningful conversations with was Fletcher. “I’ll bring supper here.” Logan came up with a mental list of local restaurants and bars. “Tacos sound okay?” Cassidy pressed her fingertips to her mouth and shook her head.
Bethany had suffered morning sickness at all times of the day—that was the only part of pregnancy Logan understood. His wife had always lost the baby before the queasiness abated. He noticed a grill near the tree. “How about steaks on the cooker?”
Cassidy sat up straighter. “Steak sounds good.”
With a nod he left. And didn’t look back.
As soon as he cleared the trailer park and merged onto the highway to Junket, Logan eased up on the accelerator. Cassidy’s face flashed before his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings by questioning whether or not the baby was his.
He’d known deep in his gut that he was the father—but he’d held out hope he wasn’t. Cassidy’s pregnancy made him feel as if he’d betrayed Bethany’s memory. She’d tried for years to have a baby and Cassidy had gotten pregnant during a one-night stand—none of it made sense.
Learning Mrs. Ortiz had Alzheimer’s had taken Logan by surprise and confirmed how little he knew about Cassidy’s life. Cassidy had been two years behind him in school. He remembered her as a cute, shy girl he’d once helped to collect the contents of her purse after it had spilled in the hallway. He couldn’t recall if she’d dated much—he’d been too wrapped up in Bethany to pay attention to other girls.
Cursing, he gripped the wheel tighter. He intended to offer financial assistance with raising the baby but nothing more. He’d figured Cassidy would have plenty of help from family and friends. Now he questioned how she’d manage her hair salon, care for an ailing mother and cope with a new baby.
You could shoulder some of the burden.
Logan’s subconscious slammed on the brakes. Cassidy was a sexy, beautiful woman. Spending time with her would sorely test his determination to keep his hands to himself. He blamed his elevated testosterone levels around her on the fact that he hadn’t had a normal sex life in years.
Each time Bethany had become pregnant, the bedroom door had closed in his face. She’d been terrified intercourse would cause a miscarriage. As soon as she’d recovered from the inevitable miscarriage he’d been allowed back into the bedroom for stud duty. When Bethany had finally carried a baby through the first trimester, Logan knew he wouldn’t have sex again until after the baby had been born. When Cassidy had walked into Billie’s Roadhouse, Logan had been celibate almost a year.
Aside from his celibacy issues, Logan had kept a dirty little secret. Ever since that September night he and Cassidy had ended up in bed together, he’d fantasized about making love to her—most likely because he didn’t remember the details of the first time. He’d woken the morning after to her feminine scent on his bed sheets. He’d noticed the towels on the bathroom floor but hadn’t remembered taking a shower. A week later he’d discovered a pair of black panties beneath the bed. He’d meant to toss the scrap of lace into the burn barrel—instead he’d stuffed the lingerie in his sock drawer.
After his talk with Cassidy at dinner, Logan intended to keep his distance. He hated to get her hopes up that he’d hang around for the long haul. Cassidy was young and beautiful and sexy. One day she’d find a man who’d marry her despite having a child—Logan’s child.
He concentrated on the ribbon of winding road, refusing to contemplate Cassidy falling in love with another man.
Especially when a tiny part of him wanted to be that guy.
“PLEASE WEAR THE YELLOW BLOUSE.” Cassidy hovered in the doorway of her mother’s bedroom. “Logan will be here any minute for supper.” And my mother is still walking around the house in her bra.
“I don’t want Logan to eat with us.”
“An hour ago you were excited about having company. Don’t you remember?” Cassidy muttered a curse beneath her breath. Would she ever learn to quit saying remember? Sometimes the word upset her mother—other times being reminded of her memory loss didn’t faze Sonja.
“Where’s my blue shirt? I like the blue shirt.” Her mom searched through the nightstand drawer instead of the closet. “Oh, look, Cassidy. Here’s my cream.” She held up a tube of hand lotion. At the end of every day Cassidy searched the trailer until she found the lotion and returned it to the nightstand.
“You smeared frosting on the blue shirt when you decorated the cookies.” Remember.
“What cookies?”
Ignoring the question, Cassidy helped her mother slip into the yellow blouse, then grabbed her hand and led her to the recliner in the living room. “Your show is on.”
“Oh, good.” Her mother pointed the remote at the TV and changed channels every thirty seconds.
Meanwhile Cassidy snuck into the bathroom to brush her teeth, powder her nose and dab a light pink gloss on her lips. She refused to acknowledge how hurt she’d been when Logan had asked if she was certain he had fathered her baby.
The rumble of a truck engine met her ears and she hurried outside. Dusk had descended over the trailer park, and the Millers’ Christmas lights blinked on and off, reminding Cassidy again that she needed to decorate before Christmas passed her by.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the living-room curtains flutter in Alice and Betty’s trailer. Because of her mother’s dementia, Cassidy never invited men over. By morning the news of Logan’s visit—twice in one day—would have swept through town like a summer wildfire.
Junket was ripe for a new scandal. The last time folks wagged their tongues had been when Fletcher McFadden had filed for divorce from the local banker’s daughter after she’d admitted to an affair with a famous bull rider. The Junket Journal had carried the story on the front page.
Cassidy was well on her way to becoming Junket’s new tabloid tale. Not thirty minutes after Mrs. Wilson left this afternoon, Cassidy’s phone had rung off the hook—suddenly everyone needed a trim or color. She’d booked twelve appointments for the following week. At least she had a few days to prepare before she was bombarded with questions.
Is Logan really the father of your baby?
How long have you two been dating?
And questions they didn’t dare ask…Did you have an affair with Logan before Bethany died?
