Читать книгу A Cowboy Christmas - Ann Major, Ann Major - Страница 11

“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.”

Logan believed the second voice belonged to Mrs. Gilbert, the local school-board president. The woman had a nasty habit of butting into people’s private affairs. “That poor man drags himself around town like a beaten dog.”

Jeez, did he look that pathetic?

“I bet Cassidy’s hoping to trap Logan into marrying her.” Mrs. Gilbert lowered her voice and Logan edged toward the end of the aisle. “You know Cassidy’s mother had her out of wedlock.”

If he didn’t acknowledge that he was the father of Cassidy’s baby folks would believe the worst of her.

“Sonja did just fine raising Cassidy on her own,” Helga said.

“I wouldn’t doubt she’s looking for a handout.”

Handout? Logan recalled Cassidy’s face as she told him she didn’t need his help.

“If Cassidy’s pregnant she’ll expect our understanding not our censure.” At least Helga possessed a little compassion.

“I don’t know how that girl manages. Wilma stopped by for tea this morning and said Cassidy had to drive Sonja into Midland for another doctor’s appointment today.”

“Cassidy takes good care of her mother. Can’t find fault with her for that.”

Logan had heard enough. Cassidy didn’t deserve to be talked about. “Afternoon, ladies.” He walked up the aisle.

Helga’s face flushed beet-red and Mrs. Gilbert’s mouth sagged open—wide enough to see the silver fillings in her bottom molars.

“What brings you by this afternoon, Logan?” Helga smoothed a hand down the front of the white smock she wore over her long-sleeved blouse.

He lifted the shaving supplies in his hand.

“I’d better go.” The school-board president flashed a nervous smile.

“Before you leave, Mrs. Gilbert, I’d like to set the record straight.” The old biddy’s eyes rounded. “The rumors are true. I’m the father of Cassidy’s baby.” He glanced at both women. “You’ll see that the correct information makes the rounds, won’t you?”

Mrs. Gilbert nodded, then scurried off.

Helga wrung her hands. “That was rude of us. I’m sorry for gossiping.”

Ignoring the apology, he asked, “Where can I find a blow-up snowman like the one next to the checkout counter up front?”

“We’ve got several in the storeroom.”

If Logan intended to change Cassidy’s we-don’t-need-your-help attitude, he’d best do so bearing gifts.

WHAT IN THE WORLD?

Cassidy parked the car and gaped at her trailer—lit up like a cheap motel off the Las Vegas strip.

“Look, Cassidy. Isn’t that pretty?” Her mother leaned forward and stared out the windshield.

Strands of colored lights outlined the trailer, its windows and the door. More lights had been wound around the porch rails, down the steps and stretched along the short sidewalk like an airport runway. And icicle lights hung from the gutters. She hadn’t remembered buying those last year, but maybe she had.

The large red and white peppermint lollipops she’d purchased during the after-Christmas sales were stuck in the ground along the edge of the grass and white lights had been wrapped around the sticks. Rudolph stood in the middle of the yard with his blinking red nose. Every few seconds he turned his head and pawed the ground. Her Christmas wreath made of miniature Santa Clauses hung on the door and one made of wrapped gift boxes decorated the front window.

The carport next door was empty. As soon as her neighbors arrived home she’d thank them. Betty and Alice must have dug out the Christmas boxes from underneath the trailer right after Cassidy had left to take her mother to the doctor’s earlier in the day.

Cassidy got out of the car, then froze when her gaze swept the side yard. Forgetting her mother for the moment, she stared at the glittering display. White lights circled the trunk of the cherry tree. Lighted blue balls the size of cantaloupes hung from the lower branches—another bargain from last year. Cassidy’s hair-cutting shed sported more icicle lights and—whoa, where had that come from? A life-size inflatable snowman with a plastic scarf fluttering around its neck stood next to the back door.

Pure happiness filled Cassidy and she laughed with joy. The snowman was gaudy and big and she loved it. Christmas was her favorite holiday, but this year she struggled with the blues because of her pregnancy. She wanted the baby—that had never been the issue. But the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy had dampened her usual excitement for the holiday. She owed her neighbors a big hug for putting the Merry back into her Christmas.

An hour later her mother was settled in bed with a stack of magazines, which she’d read until she fell asleep. Cassidy slipped on a sweater and sat on the porch steps, watching the twinkling blue balls twirl in the breeze. The doctor appointment hadn’t gone well. Her mother had enough wits left about her to realize Dr. Klinger had been testing her memory. When he’d asked Sonja’s opinion of the new president, she said, “What do you think of the new president?”

When asked the day of the week…

“I’m retired. Every day is Saturday.”

In the end the verdict had been the same—medication wasn’t slowing the progression of the disease. Her mother’s memory continued to deteriorate.

Eyes welling with tears, Cassidy rested her hand against her stomach. She’d hoped for better news. Not only did she not have her mother to lean on during this pregnancy but her mother would never know her grandchild in the traditional sense. Dr. Klinger had warned Cassidy that Sonja might feel threatened by the baby and become more cantankerous.

When they’d left the office, the doctor had given Cassidy information on convalescent homes specializing in the care of Alzheimer’s patients. Her mother’s retirement fund would cover three years at the most, then she’d have to transfer to a facility subsidized by Medicare and forfeit her social security check.

Logan said he’d help.

With the baby, not her mother.

An image of Logan filled her mind. The man was a looker. If they had a son, he’d grow up to be tall and strong like Logan. A daughter would be the perfect height—somewhere between Cassidy’s five-feet five and Logan’s six-foot whatever. Whether girl or boy they’d have brown eyes and dark hair.

The other night Cassidy’s heart had ached at the despair in Logan’s eyes when he’d insisted he wanted nothing to do with raising their child. Instead of her pregnancy making Logan happy, she suspected her condition simply brought up sad memories for him.

The cowboy had made it clear he wouldn’t be pushed into doing anything he didn’t want to do—well, neither would she. She’d meant what she’d said—she didn’t need Logan. Her mother had managed without a man. Raised Cassidy without the help of a husband or grandparents. Cassidy would do the same for her child.

The sound of crunching gravel caught her attention. Betty and Alice had arrived home. She walked to the front yard where she found the women admiring the trailer. “I can’t thank you enough for doing such an incredible job decorating.”

“We didn’t string the lights.” Betty peeked at the side yard. “Alice, come see this.”

The ladies ooh’d and ahh’d.

Bewildered, Cassidy trailed after the women. “You didn’t buy the snowman?”

They shook their heads.

Then who? She supposed any of her neighbors might have fixed up the yard since they all knew where she stored the decorations. “Maybe the Millers felt bad that they beat me to the punch.”

The older women smiled.

“What?” Cassidy asked.

Alice giggled. “I think we know who did this.”

“Who?”

“That nice young man you invited over for supper a few nights ago.” Betty winked, then nodded to Cassidy’s stomach and whispered, “The baby’s father.”

“Logan?” No. Logan wouldn’t do this. Not after she’d insisted she didn’t want his help.

If it was Logan…Why? Had he changed his mind about being involved in her and the baby’s life? Or was this favor done out of guilt because he intended to keep his distance?

“How did the doctor visit go?” Betty asked.

“He said I should consider putting Mom in a home sooner rather than later.”

“For heaven’s sake. Sonja’s not that bad. She hasn’t started the trailer on fire.” Betty quirked a pencil-thin eyebrow. “Has she?”

“No, but the doctor warned that Mom might become jealous and hurt the baby.”

“We’ll help, dear,” Alice said. “We’ll watch the baby while you cut hair.”

“Or,” Betty added. “We’ll keep Sonja occupied when you need time alone with the baby.”

Tears stung Cassidy’s eyes. The women’s generosity humbled her. “Thank you. I’d like to keep Mom with me as long as possible.”

“When is your due date?” Alice asked.

“Early June. I’m scheduled for an ultrasound on Friday. I’ll know for sure after that.”

“We’ll sit with Sonja while you go to the appointment,” Betty said.

“I’d planned to bring Mom with me.”

“No, no, dear. That’s a special time for you and the baby’s father.”

Her and Logan? Cassidy hadn’t thought to tell Logan about the ultrasound.

Betty cleared her throat. “He is going with you, isn’t he?”

“Of course.” She crossed her fingers inside the pocket of her sweater. She didn’t have the energy to explain her relationship with Logan—whatever it was—to her neighbors. “I’m getting chilled. I think I’ll go inside.”

The women murmured good-night and walked off.

Tomorrow Cassidy would drive out to Logan’s ranch and thank him for the snowman and for hanging her Christmas lights. Depending on her reception she might even mention the ultrasound.

LOGAN HAD JUST STEPPED OUT of the shower when Twister’s bark alerted him that he had company. Probably Fletcher. Needing advice on how to handle the situation with Cassidy, Logan had left a message on his friend’s cell to stop by when he had a minute.

In truth, he was surprised Fletcher hadn’t phoned as soon as he’d heard the gossip that Logan had fathered Cassidy’s baby. Then again his buddy might have been too busy with his new online love interest to pay attention to the latest hearsay.

After toweling dry he slipped on jeans and socks, then shoved his feet into his boots. He hurried into the bedroom and grabbed a clean shirt from the closet. Thrusting his arms through the sleeves he hustled downstairs. “’Bout time you showed your ugly—” he opened the door “—Cassidy.”

She stood on the front porch, a tentative smile lighting her face. Then her gaze shifted to his chest—his naked chest. He heard a tiny gasp of air escape her mouth. Logan swallowed a groan. No sense denying they were attracted to each other—the two feet of space separating them sizzled. All Cassidy had to do was breathe and Logan’s hormones went haywire.

“I came at a bad time.” The statement left her mouth in a husky murmur, the sound familiar to the whiskey-laced voice he heard in his dreams. His attention shifted from her mouth to the baby-blue sweater hugging her breasts—breasts he’d already seen, touched and kissed—but damned if he could remember.

“Sorry.” He fumbled with his shirt snaps. “I mucked out horse stalls this morning and…” He sounded like a bumbling idiot.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stepped aside and she slipped past him, the scent of her shampoo teasing his nose. Today she wore her hair in a ponytail, making her appear almost too young to be having a baby. His baby.

Her gaze roamed the entryway, zeroing in on the dust bunnies in the corners. Aside from washing the bed sheets once a week and cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, the house had remained untouched since his wife’s death. He supposed if Cassidy intended to visit on occasion he ought to run the vacuum more than once every six months.