A Cowboy Christmas

“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 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.”