Cassie's Cowboy Daddy

“She’s happy, all right.” His hands propped on his hips, Logan turned to face his friend. “Happy to get her hands on my ranch.”

“It’s as much hers as it is yours.”

Logan winced as his sore muscles tightened further. “I didn’t see any of the Hastings family anywhere near here when the temperature dipped down to twenty below last winter and we had to chop holes in the ice for the cattle to get water.” He pointed toward the window. “Or two years ago, when lightning touched off the fire that swept down the mountains into the valley. There wasn’t one of them here busting their asses to help us save the house and barns.”

“I know,” Hank agreed. “But, legally, she is an equal partner in the Lazy Ace.”

“I don’t give a damn about legalities,” Logan said through gritted teeth. He ran his hand over the aching knot at the back of his neck.

Hank had no way of knowing Logan’s plan, or that if Logan was successful in his bid to obtain all of the ranch, then Hank would gain an interest in the enterprise. Logan owed it to him for the loyalty and years of hard work Hank had invested in the Lazy Ace. But if Logan couldn’t get Cassie Wellington to sell him her share, all his carefully laid plans would go to hell in a handbasket.

“I have to figure a way to get her to sell out and leave,” he muttered.

“I like havin’ ladies and babies around,” Hank said happily. “It dresses up this old place right nice.”

Glaring at his lifelong friend, Logan tightened the towel at his waist. “You know, old buddy, the only thing softer than your heart is your head.”

“I can’t help it,” Hank said. The man’s wide grin irritated the hell out of Logan. “When it comes to women and cute little kids—”

“Your common sense takes a hike.” Logan marched back to his chair and plopped down. Propping his elbows on the desktop, he buried his head in his hands. “What the hell could old Silas have been thinking when he left his share of the ranch to a woman? He knew how remote this place is. And how dangerous it can be at times.”

“Maybe the old codger wanted the two families to merge,” Hank suggested.

Logan jerked his head up. “Before that happens, Murray Parkinson’s jackass will sprout wings and fly. You know how I feel about having a woman underfoot all the time.”

“Especially one as pretty as Cassie?”

Logan ground his teeth, then lied right through them. “She’s not that good-looking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s not,” Logan insisted.

“If you say so,” Hank said, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Before Logan could decide whether to defend himself further or just give up and choke Hank, a soft female voice outside the closed door announced, “Gentlemen, dinner’s ready.”

Surprised, Logan and Hank looked at each other, then at the closed door.

“Are you sure you don’t want her stickin’ around?” Hank asked, jumping to his feet. “We ain’t had a decent meal around this place in a month of Sundays.”

“Don’t let Tucker hear you say that,” Logan said, heading for the door. “He might just up and quit.”

“I don’t care if he does.” Hank shouldered past Logan to bolt out the door into the hall. “Ol’ Tuck used to be pretty fair as bunkhouse cooks go. But since he got too vain to buy himself a pair of glasses, we’ve been eatin’ stuff a starvin’ dog would turn down.”

Logan nodded and started toward the stairs. “The other day I caught him trying to make a cake from a feed-store receipt. I had the devil’s own time trying to convince him it wasn’t a recipe.”

While Hank headed for the kitchen like a man possessed, Logan took the stairs two at a time. After quickly exchanging the towel for jeans and a chambray shirt, he entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

Stopping abruptly, he barely managed to keep from gaping at the unfamiliar sight. It looked like an all-out female invasion. Bright clothing added splashes of color to the normally somber room as the Widow Wellington and her friend milled around his table and fussed over the girl babies riding their hips. Feminine voices replaced the usual silence and Logan was more than a little irritated that he found the sound a pleasant variation.

He shook his head when he watched Hank set up two high chairs. The man looked disgustingly happy.

Hank glanced up and grinned as he set the chairs at the end of the table. “It sure was nice of these ladies to fix our supper after bein’ on the road for the last two days. Wasn’t it, Logan?”

All eyes turned to solemnly stare at him. Even the copper-haired babies.

When he walked to the head of the large oak table, the widow set a plate of sandwiches on the recently polished surface. “Mr. Murdock, this is my friend, Ginny Sadler. She’ll be staying with us for a few days.” The look she gave him clearly challenged any objections he might have. Then she pointed to the identical babies, adding, “And these are my daughters, Kelsie and Chelsea.”

The blonde she’d called Ginny smiled weakly and edged her way toward Hank.

Logan nodded his acknowledgment, but his grim stare remained fixed on the widow and the domestic picture laid out before him. She looked at home in his kitchen, and she’d apparently already started nesting. He wouldn’t have believed the old table could shine up that nicely.

He flicked a frilly piece of cloth from his spot at the table, sending it skittering across the shiny surface. “Where the devil did that come from?”

“I brought it with me,” she replied, returning the offending object to its place. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a linen napkin.”

“Not on my table,” Logan growled. He seated himself, then once again pushed the cloth aside. “You’re on a working ranch in the middle of Wyoming, lady, not some fancy restaurant.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she said calmly.

He watched her place the babies in their chairs. Then in one smooth motion she replaced his napkin and plopped a set of silverware on top of it, as if that ended any further protest he might have.

Logan knew he was being unreasonable, but with each passing second he could feel his blissful bachelor existence slipping further away. He wasn’t accustomed to having females, and especially one with babies, in his home. And the Widow Wellington appeared to be one of the worst of her gender.

He could tell by just looking at her that she’d make demands and all kinds of things would change. For as long as she and her brood stayed on the Lazy Ace, she’d expect him to watch his language when a graphic, heartfelt cussing would feel good—help him put things in perspective. And he for damned sure wouldn’t be able to sit around in his underwear and watch television anymore, either. Not that he practiced that particular habit all that often, but just knowing he couldn’t had him lamenting the loss.

Good thing the master bedroom had a half bath. At least he wouldn’t have her glaring daggers at him when he left the toilet seat up.

Frowning, Logan took a bite from his sandwich and watched the women laugh at something Hank said. Unlike his friend, Logan had no intention of letting some woman lead him around like a puppy on a string. He’d seen that happen to some of his neighbors in the Rancher’s Emporium down in Bear Creek. While their women tried on clothes in the dressing rooms, the men stood around holding prissy little handbags in their big brawny fists, discussing the advantages of artificial insemination over a good breeding bull. The big galoots didn’t even have enough sense to look as if they found the experience humiliating.

“Logan?” Hank waved his hand in front of Logan’s face. “I asked if you found any signs of the cougar Ray reported seeing up in the high pastures while you were on your camping trip.”

Snapped out of his dismal speculation, Logan shook his head and swallowed what tasted like sawdust slapped between two slices of bread. “I tracked him all over the northwestern quadrant, but never did catch sight of him. When I reached the waterfall at the end of Shadow Valley, the tracks disappeared.”

“Do you have a lot of trouble with wild animals?” Cassie inquired.

He watched her spoon some of the nastiest-looking green stuff he’d ever seen from small jars and into the babies’ eager mouths. It looked as if their supper wasn’t any more palatable than his. So much for the widow’s cooking.

“Well, do you?”

“Huh?

“I asked if you have a lot of trouble with wild animals.”

He studied her curious expression. Maybe if he mentioned a wild animal or two, she’d decide it was far too dangerous for her and her kids and take off like a coyote with a buttful of buckshot.

“Sometimes,” Logan said slowly.