Cassie's Cowboy Daddy

Remembering the feel of being pressed against all that hard sinew made her cheeks burn and toes curl inside her tennis shoes. “Logan? Murdock?”

“In the flesh,” Hank said, dissolving into another fit of laughter.

Cassie’s best friend, Ginny Sadler, stepped from behind Hank to stare at the man claiming to be Logan Murdock. “Oh, dear heavens! I thought you said he was as old as your uncle Silas.”

“You can’t possibly be Mr. Murdock,” Cassie insisted, hoping this was some sort of joke. “He’s away from the ranch and I happen to know he’s elderly.”

“Well, you couldn’t possibly be the Widow Wellington,” he said. The man’s gaze traveled in a leisurely way from the top of her head to her well-worn shoes. “You don’t look old enough to be married, let alone widowed.” Frowning at the continued wails of her unhappy daughters, he asked, “Is that yours?”

“Yes.” Cassie turned to Ginny. “Would you mind checking on the twins for me?”

His disbelieving gaze zeroed in on her waist. “If you’ve had twins, I’m the king of Siam.”

“Aren’t you a little far from home, Your Highness?” When a dull red flush made its way from his neck to the roots of his hair, she smiled, satisfied that the “king” was as royally disconcerted by the whole situation as she was.

Hank laughed so hard he had to lean against the cabinets. “This is better than the time we greased down Gabe’s saddle with axle grease and watched him go shootin’ off the other side when he tried to mount up.”

Eyeing his foreman, Logan breathed a heavy sigh and began to chuckle. “I have to admit, you really outdid yourself this time, Hank. You really had me going there for a minute.”

Hank glanced at Cassie, her obvious displeasure erasing all traces of his amusement. Logan felt the knot in his gut tighten considerably.

“Uh…Logan, she is Cassie Wellington, your new business partner.”

Logan’s smile vanished, but he refused to give up hope. “You’ve had your fun, but the game’s over.” He pointed to the woman calling herself the Widow Wellington. “As soon as they’re ready, drive all of them down to Bear Creek. They can play jokes on someone else.”

She shook her head. “This is no joke. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“My partner’s name is Cassandra.” He knew as soon as he blurted out the irrational statement he was grasping at straws. But desperation was beginning to claw at him.

“Everyone calls me Cassie. My full name is Cassandra Hastings-Wellington.”

Logan felt his control of the situation take a nosedive, and that sinking feeling that always accompanied a lost cause began to settle in his gut. The Widow Wellington wasn’t at all what he’d expected when he first heard about Silas Hastings’s death and the naming of the man’s heir.

She was supposed to be a widow, for Pete’s sake. Logan had naturally envisioned a matronly, grandmother type with a big heart and a girth to match.

But the woman’s light pink T-shirt, tucked into snug-fitting jeans, emphasized a waist he could wrap his hands all the way around. And the enticing flare of her slim hips was light-years away from matronly. He had a hard time believing she’d had one baby, let alone a set of twins.

The stranglehold he had on the towel made his fingers cramp. He’d judge her to be somewhere in her mid-twenties and much too pretty for his peace of mind. Those green eyes of hers were the color of new spring grass—all fresh and sweet. And her creamy complexion just begged for his touch.

His palm started itching to do just that. He rubbed his hand against the plush towel in an effort to make the sensation go away.

There were two kinds of women—free spirits and nesters. A free spirit lived for the moment and demanded no more of a man than he was ready—or willing—to give. And that was just the type of woman Logan preferred.

But a nester was an entirely different breed. They wanted stability and long-range promises. They wanted a home that wasn’t to hell and gone from civilization and all the conveniences that went with it. Unfortunately, his new business partner had nester written from the top of her pretty little head all the way to her tattered tennis shoes.

Sweat beaded Logan’s forehead. The Widow Wellington represented a little over five feet of sexy temptation he’d rather not have around testing his willpower. Or reminding him of what he had to deny himself for the Lazy Ace.

He’d learned the hard way that the land was just too harsh for the fairer sex. Too remote. After making a fool of himself ten years ago, he’d successfully avoided Cassie Wellington’s kind and the commitments they put such stock in. And come hell or high water, that’s just the way he wanted it to remain—the way it had to remain.

“I don’t give a damn what you say, lady. You will be leaving as soon as possible.”

She propped her doubled fists on her shapely little hips. The action once again drew his attention to the narrowness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts. He almost groaned.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said stubbornly. “My daughters and I will stay as long as we darn well please. My uncle’s will plainly stated that I own half of this ranch and half of the ranch house. It’s as much mine as it is yours, buster.”

“Like hell!” His stiff back forgotten, Logan spun around and once again had to grab the towel as he headed for his office. But when he reached the hall, he stopped abruptly and turned to glare at Hank. “If you can tear yourself away, I’d like to see you in the study. You owe me some answers. And they’d better be damned good.”

Cassie stared at Logan’s retreating back a moment before she leveled her own irritated gaze on Hank. “When I called last week to inquire about moving here, you said Mr. Murdock had been alone for so many years that our presence would be good for him, that we were just what he needed to give him a new lease on life. That and the photo I have led me to believe he was an older gentleman. Why didn’t you tell me he was younger than Uncle Silas?”

Hank’s smile faded and he shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m…uh, real sorry if you feel I misled you, ma’am. I sure didn’t mean to. I just figured you knew he was a lot younger than your uncle.”

Cassie shook her head and walked over to the cabinet where she’d set her handbag when she’d first entered the house. Searching inside the leather tote, she pulled out a picture of two men standing under the Lazy Ace Cattle Company sign that hung over the entrance to the ranch. She handed it to Hank. “Read the caption on the back.”

“Logan Murdock and Silas Hastings. Joint owners. Fall 1954.” Hank nodded. “This explains the confusion. Logan was named after his grandpa. That’s him in the picture with your uncle. They were both in their early thirties when it was taken.”

Cassie tried to swallow the panic threatening to break through. Logan Murdock wasn’t the kind, elderly gentleman she’d envisioned. He’d turned out to be a ruggedly handsome, thirty-something hunk with an attitude.

Ginny returned from checking on the twins, her eyes wide. “What on earth are you going to do now, Cassie? You and the girls can’t possibly stay here.”

Dazed, Cassie looked around the room. The house was perfect for raising children and so much nicer than the cramped apartment they’d left behind in St. Louis. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of for the twins.

She straightened her shoulders. She’d fought one man for their very existence. She wasn’t afraid to fight another for their future.

“Come on, Ginny,” she said, walking to the door. “We need to unload the car.”

Her friend hurried to keep up with her. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes, I can,” Cassie said, determination filling her soul.

“He’s not going to like it,” Ginny warned.

“That’s his problem.” Cassie stepped out onto the porch and watched an eagle flying high above the valley. “I’m not letting some arrogant cowboy deprive my daughters of what’s rightfully theirs. We’re staying, and Logan Murdock will just have to learn to live with it.”

Two

“Dammit all, Hank!” Logan glared at the man closing the office door. “How the hell did this happen?”

Hank calmly walked over and sat down in the leather chair in front of Logan’s desk. “Not more than half an hour after you took off for that campin’ trip last Friday, she called to say she and her babies would be movin’ here.”

Unable to sit still, Logan rose from the desk chair and stalked over to the huge picture window. Pride filled him as he surveyed his land. Bathed by the early-autumn sun, the dried grass spread out like a golden carpet and the aspens ringing the valley shuddered from the winds of the changing season. He watched a bald eagle trace lazy circles in the cloudless blue sky. Dammit, this land belonged to him.

“You didn’t even try to discourage her, did you?”

“Nope,” Hank said, sounding unrepentant.

Logan felt a vein in his temple begin to throb as he glared over his shoulder. “Why not?”

Hank stared at his boot tops, then, shrugging, met Logan’s gaze. “She sounded so happy about it, I couldn’t tell her not to move here.”