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Are you and Logan getting married?
“Hi,” she greeted Logan when he approached the porch.
He set the grocery bag on the step. “Hungry?” The one word sent shivers down her spine. His deep voice reminded her of the husky endearments he’d whispered the night they’d made love.
“Starved.”
“If you tell me where the charcoal is, I’ll start the grill.”
“A bag of briquettes and lighter fluid is beneath the trailer.” She pointed to a section of aluminum skirt that housed a storage compartment. “I’ll turn on the outdoor lights.”
Cassidy grabbed the grocery bag and retreated inside. She flipped the light switch, then carried the groceries into the kitchen where she noticed the name Bibby’s on the bag. Cassidy and her mother never splurged at the local meat market and delicatessen. She traveled into Midland to shop at a discount grocery store chain. The bag contained steaks, twice-baked potatoes and a package of Caesar salad with dressing. She preheated the oven, then cracked open the window to allow fresh air in.
“Are you digging out her Christmas decorations, young man?”
Oh, dear. Cassidy peeked between the blinds and spotted her neighbors standing in their backyard.
“No, ma’am. We’re grilling steaks tonight.”
“Oh. I’d hoped you might be helping Cassidy string Christmas lights on her trailer,” Alice said.
“She’s usually the first resident to decorate for the holidays.” Betty chimed in. “Her trailer always looks so pretty.”
“She didn’t—”
“Cassidy has the cutest little Rudolph with a flashing red nose.” Alice wiggled her nose and giggled.
“Maybe she’s feeling too poorly to fuss over Christmas.” Betty crossed her arms over her chest. “With her being in the family way.”
The gossip had already been to town and back. If the cousins knew about her pregnancy, so did everyone in the trailer park.
Logan rubbed his neck, which Cassidy guessed was hot enough to ignite without the aid of lighter fluid.
“So Cassidy invited you over for supper?” Alice asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s about time she entertained a man.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. She lived in a trailer, not a bordello.
“Betty, when’s the last time Cassidy had a man over?”
“Gosh, I can’t remember. A year ago?”
Ugh. Her life was so pathetic.
The bag of briquettes in one hand and lighter fluid in the other, Logan said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to fire up the grill.”
“Enjoy your evening. Oh, and Mr. Taylor,” Alice said. “If Sonja puts up a fuss send her over here. She likes our fish aquarium.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After Logan headed to the other side of the yard, Cassidy closed the window and watched him fuss with the grill. He’d changed clothes since he’d left her place this afternoon. His gray chambray shirt had navy piping across the yoke and pearl snaps up the front. He wore well-worn Wranglers and brown ropers—the quintessential cowboy. And she suspected Logan was a take-charge kind of guy.
Deciding to leave him in peace, Cassidy slipped the potatoes into the oven to warm. Her mother entered the kitchen, stopped in the middle of the room and stared into space, her brain struggling to recall why she stood there.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“Oh, hi, honey. When did you get home?”
“A little while ago.” The same fifty or so questions over and over. Day after day. Week after week. There were times Cassidy wanted to cry. To bawl like a baby. Times she yearned to lash out at her mother…ignore her mother…or leave her mother on someone else’s doorstep. Then her mother would smile and say a kind word and Cassidy would feel like the worst daughter in the world for her uncharitable thoughts. “Would you set the table for three?”
Her mother retrieved the plates, then gasped. “That man is setting our tree on fire.”
Flames shot sky high from the small grill. It was a miracle the cooker hadn’t melted. She poked her head out the door. “The hose is on the other side of the trailer.”
Logan almost smiled and the gesture tugged at her heart. “Got carried away with the lighter fluid.” Then he asked, “Steaks ready?”
Ready? Oops, she’d forgotten to season them. She shut the door and tore the butcher paper from the meat, then muttered out loud, “Where’s the garlic salt?”
“Juan loved garlic.”
Juan was Cassidy’s father.
Alzheimer’s hadn’t tarnished her mother’s memory of Juan—a man Cassidy had never met. Some days her mother would go on forever about the love of her youth. Cassidy couldn’t care less about her father. She searched the cupboard, found steak seasoning and sprinkled the spice over the meat. Grabbing a pair of tongs, she said, “Be right back.”
“Here.” She offered the plate to Logan. A rich, spicy scent—his cologne—competed with the smell of lighter fluid lingering in the air.
His fingers slid over her hand when he took the plate and she had to force herself to release the dish as memories of those same hands caressing her breasts…her thighs…her…“Nice of you to bring a steak for Mom,” she said, slamming the door on the x-rated thoughts.
He shrugged off her gratitude.
Cassidy sensed Logan was a nice, decent man. For the baby’s sake she was glad.
“Mom makes people uncomfortable. I hope she doesn’t offend you tonight.”
“How long has she been this way?” he asked.
Sonja Ortiz’s health had begun deteriorating after Cassidy graduated from high school. “For a while. The last two years have been especially trying. Eventually I’ll have to put her in a home.”
“I’m sorry.” Compassion shone in his brown eyes.
“Now more than ever I wish my mother wasn’t ill.” Cassidy glanced over her shoulder at the trailer. “She’d have been thrilled to pieces to be a grandmother.”
“About the baby…”
She should have kept her mouth shut—at least until they’d eaten.
“I’m more than willing, in fact, I insist on helping you out financially. But—”
Her breath caught in her lungs. The stark pain in his gaze proved how much the news of her pregnancy had shaken him. An overwhelming sense of sadness filled her. “You don’t want to raise this child.”
“No.”
Compassion battled anger. She’d never been in Logan’s shoes. Never loved someone and then had that love ripped from her arms the way his wife and their baby had been taken from him.
“We’ll be fine on our own, Logan.” The words sounded bold and brave but Cassidy’s insides shook. How on earth would she handle caring for an infant, cutting hair every day and watching over her mother? Mom managed and you will, too. “I told you about the baby because you had a right to know.” She searched his expression but his face remained composed, no hint that her words affected him one way or the other. “The potatoes will be done in ten minutes.” She left the brooding cowboy in peace.
Ten minutes later—not a second sooner—Logan rapped on the door and stepped into the kitchen. He set the steaks on the counter.
“What would you prefer to drink?” she asked. “We have red wine.” Her mother’s favorite. “Or soda or bottled water.”
“Water’s fine.”
“Have a seat.” She placed the drinks on the table. “Time for supper, Mom.” Cassidy cut her mother’s steak into bite-size pieces and poured dressing on the salad, aware of Logan’s eyes following her movements.
Cassidy dug into her potato as she stewed over Logan’s announcement that he wouldn’t be involved in their baby’s life. Yes, her mother had raised her without a father and she was a well-adjusted young woman—in her opinion. But she wanted better than that for her child. She wanted her little boy or girl to know the love of a mother and a father.
When Logan still hadn’t touched his food, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Shouldn’t we wait for your mother?”
“I gave up forcing her to come to the table. She’ll eat when she’s ready.”
Logan picked at his meal, ruining Cassidy’s appetite. She set her fork and knife aside. “I get not wanting anything to do with me, Logan. I’m a big girl. I know there weren’t any feelings involved in what we…did.” She cleared her throat and continued. “But I don’t understand how you can walk away from your own child.”
“I’m not walking away. I said I would help financially.”
Tired and frustrated, she lashed out. “How do you plan to ignore a child who’ll grow up right under your nose?” She had no plans to leave Junket. This was home.
He shoved his chair away from the table and headed for the door.
Great. She’d pushed him too far. “So that’s it? You’ll send a check in the mail once a month?”
Hand on the doorknob, he said. “That’s all I have to offer.”
There went all her pie-in-the-sky dreams of her child having a real family. “You know what, Logan? Never mind. Never mind the money. Never mind me. Never mind the baby. We don’t need your help.”
The muscle along his jaw pulsed in anger. After a moment, he opened the door and walked out, leaving Cassidy the last word.
And the last regret.
Chapter Three
“What am I going to do about her, Twister?”
Her meaning Cassidy.
His deaf companion chased his tail, ignoring the cattle grazing nearby. “No comment, eh?” Logan sat astride his horse staring at the sea of yellow grass ending at the horizon. He clicked his tongue. The horse moved forward and Twister raced off in a different direction.
Logan had been checking for breaks in the fence line since dawn—three hours ago. The flat-for-as-far-as-the-eye-could-see terrain and a lonely wind whistling in his ears created perfect contemplating conditions. And contemplate he did.
Three days had passed since Cassidy Ortiz had dropped the bomb that he was about to become a father. Logan had yet to wrap his brain around the news. He hadn’t meant to hurt Cassidy when he’d confessed he had no intention of becoming involved in their child’s life, but her shocked expression said he’d failed miserably.
Spotting a broken wire, Logan stopped the horse and retrieved the tools tied to the saddle. A few months ago he’d considered replacing this section of fence, which ran along the western border of the ranch, but he’d gotten sidetracked nursing a sick cow. Now he didn’t dare waste money on new barbed wire when he’d soon have to fork over a monthly child-support check.
Cassidy said to never mind about the money—remember?
Ignoring the voice in his head playing devil’s advocate, Logan used the fence stretcher to pull the two broken ends of barbed wire taut, then fed the lines into a Gripple. The small metal cylinder prevented the wires from slipping back out. Satisfied with his handiwork, he rode on.
Cassidy hadn’t asked for a handout but the income from her hair salon wouldn’t cover the added expenses associated with raising a kid—diapers, baby formula, clothes, toys, doctor visits…college. Things he and Bethany had discussed, anticipated, then tried to forget with each failed pregnancy. Bethany’s and his baby’s deaths had gutted Logan. The only thing he had left to give was his money.
Tell Cassidy why you can’t be the child’s father.
After Bethany’s death he’d written off marriage and children for good. He’d had his chance at family and he’d blown it. Not even Pastor Ferguson had been able to convince Logan that Bethany and the baby were in a better place. How was dead better?
Cassidy has no one to turn to.
Although Logan’s intention had been to spare himself more emotional grief by staying on the fringes, deep in his gut he admitted he couldn’t stand by and not lift a finger to help.
For months he had hardened himself from the inside out—insulating his heart and soul against the pleasures of life. Not until he’d sat down at the kitchen table in Cassidy’s trailer had he realized the depth of his loneliness. The warmth of her home had wrapped around his cold heart and squeezed. Despite his reservations he’d do his best to be there for Cassidy and the baby.
“Looks like we’re done here, Twister.” An hour later both horse and dog had been fed, watered and settled in the barn. Twister preferred sleeping outside year-round and Logan had made up a bed of hay for the animal in one of the empty horse stalls.
There were a hundred chores that needed doing, but he hadn’t been able to shake the restless feeling plaguing him since supper at Cassidy’s trailer. Screw the chores. He showered and changed clothes, then grabbed the truck keys and headed into town.
With a population under three hundred the town wasn’t much more than a map dot. One four-way stop. Two historical buildings—the feed store, which had been around since 1864, and the bank, circa 1923. Baker’s Drugstore, now owned by the Polanskis managed to stay in business, but Maria’s Cantina had gone under. Two bars—Davies on the corner and the Tap House across the street from the bank were the local watering hole. A lone barbershop. Crusty’s Pizza. There were two blocks of residential homes but many of the locals who didn’t ranch lived in the same trailer park as Cassidy on the outskirts of town and worked at the fertilizer factory located between Junket and Midland.
The town council had voted on new Christmas decorations last year and Logan noticed the wreaths that now hung from the lamp posts along the sidewalk. The posts themselves had been wrapped with white lights and large red pots filled with poinsettias sat on the corners of both sides of the street.
He parked in front of the drugstore and went inside. The cow bell attached to the door handle announced his presence. He heard female voices and recognized one of them as the store owner’s—Helga Polanski. He headed for the beauty department where Helga stocked the men’s razor blades and shaving cream. As he searched for his brand, the women’s voices grew louder.
“I can’t believe Cassidy Ortiz is pregnant.”
“Well now, it’s best not to jump to conclusions,” Helga said.
“Mabel Wilson claims Logan asked Cassidy if the baby was his.”
Logan’s ears burned.
“What did she say?” Helga asked.
“Mabel said Cassidy got to feelin’ poorly and had to sit down before she gave him an answer.”
“See there. We don’t know for sure whose baby it is.”
“Logan’s had a rough time.”
