A Cowboy Christmas. Ann Major
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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