A Cowboy Christmas. Ann Major
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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?
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