A Cowboy Christmas

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.