The Reluctant Rancher

“Blood! Yuck.”

Blossom drew him against her side, hiding his face against the slight swell of her stomach that would soon become impossible to disguise no matter how loose her clothes were.

Logan straightened. “She has a nasty gash on her rear leg, but we’ll fix that right up. Don’t worry, Nicky.”

Blossom supposed the sight of blood was nothing new to a rancher—even a reluctant one—who delivered calves and such, but to Nick it seemed a major catastrophe. He was turning whiter by the second.

Grey reappeared with the pan of water. “Crisis under control?”

Logan indicated the kitten. “I have some patching up to do. Nicky may be better off with you.”

“Come on, then, little cowboy,” Grey said, his eyes soft. “Let’s check on your grandpa before I take you home to see what your mama’s up to.”

“But I wanna see the kitten get better!”

Blossom saw a strange expression cross Logan’s face.

He cleared his throat. “You go ahead, buddy. Do as I tell you.”

Nick’s face was tear streaked, dirt smeared, and her heart turned over. How could Logan bear to be separated from this child? She knew she could never be apart from her baby the way Logan was.

She met Nick’s gaze. “I’ll help your daddy with the kitten. All right?”

He thought a moment. “Will you call me at my uncle Grey’s house when she’s better? It’s the Wilson Cattle Company,” he added solemnly, as if Blossom wouldn’t know where to find him.

“Of course I will.”

Nick flung both arms around her neck and buried his face against Blossom’s throat. Then as quickly as he’d hugged her, he turned and ran down the aisle to his uncle.

“Grey.” Logan’s voice echoed through the barn.

“I’ll take good care of him for you.”

Logan nodded but that was all. Seeming unaware of Blossom, he watched the two walk toward the house, a look on his face that she could only term anguished.

Logan’s relationship with Nick puzzled her. Right now she could see the rigid set of his shoulders, the hard line of his jaw as if he were gritting his teeth.

Logan had finally stopped staring after Nick and Grey. “Let’s take her into the tack room,” he said.

The small area was lined with saddle racks and bridle hooks. In one corner a pile of patterned blankets smelled faintly of damp wool.

Blossom might know little about homemaking or caregiving, but she knew nothing about ranch life. Yesterday she’d startled the bison calf into knocking Logan off his feet. Interested today in the neglected garden behind the house, she’d forgotten to collect the eggs with Nick.

While she cuddled the kitten to her chest, Logan gathered supplies.

“This cat just used up one of her nine lives.” He set the pan of water down on a tack trunk. A small bottle poked from his rear jeans pocket.

“I’ve never owned a pet. My father didn’t like animals, probably because he couldn’t always control them. I thought cats landed on their feet.”

“Their instincts are good, and their reflexes, but they can get hurt bad—killed—if they fall a shorter distance. They don’t have time or enough space on the way down to twist their bodies and land upright. Like a gymnast. Don’t know where she fell from, but she must have bounced off those hay bales in the aisle. They cushioned her landing or she wouldn’t be talking to us now. The impact or something she hit on the way down must have split her leg open.”

Blossom sat on the trunk and held the kitten even closer as if to protect her the way she had Nick. And would her own child.

“Where’s her mother? She seems young to be on her own.”

“Gone.”

Her heart lurched. “She’s an orphan?”

“No, her mama drifted off a few weeks ago, probably looking for love again.” He half smiled. “Barn cats are fickle.” Logan squatted in front of Blossom. “Turn her around so I can see what I’m doing.”

He dipped a clean cloth in water and dabbed at her rear leg. The cat howled but Blossom held her steady. His midnight-blue gaze intent on the task, Logan made a second pass at the wound then prized the bottle from his rear pocket.

Blossom watched him work. “These past few days have been something. You should have DVM after your name.” Doctor of veterinary medicine.

“Running a ranch demands all kinds of skills. Mine are a bit rusty.”

Blossom didn’t have talents. He hadn’t liked the Greek gyro she’d made yesterday for lunch. And she’d never asked him about the menu.

After pouring disinfectant on the wound, he glanced up.

“What do you think?”

“Looks good.”

“She’d heal better with a few stitches, though. Let me get a needle.”

When he returned, her stomach felt queasy at the thought of sewing flesh.

She studied Logan’s bent head as he shaved off some fur, blocking her view of the kitten on her lap. She held on, gently, yet for dear life, watching his lean face mere inches from her stomach. The man had great cheekbones. She had to fight the foolish urge to comb her fingers through his dark hair, to touch his shadowed jawline.

His very concentration moved her, sent an unexpected rush of longing through her. Must be hormones, she thought. Pregnancy unbalanced a woman’s emotions big-time. So did Logan’s tenderness.

She didn’t realize the job was done until he sat back on his heels and flexed his shoulders.

He studied Blossom. “Okay? You look a little green.”

“I would never make a good nurse,” she said.

“You did fine.” He stroked the kitten, his fingers brushing Blossom’s hand. “We’ve done our part, little girl. Now we just need to...” He stood then glanced around. “Let’s use one of these horse blankets to make her a bed. She can rest here in the tack room. Then she won’t be tempted to run around.”

“I’ll bring her some water.”

“I’ll fix kitten chow for her later.” He looked at Blossom and broke the mood between them as abruptly as Ken might have done. “Don’t you have to cook dinner? And see to Sam?”

But this time Blossom wasn’t fooled.

“Logan.” It was the first time she’d used his given name and he stiffened, as if he expected some blow. She knew all about that. Still holding the kitten, she rose to face him. His gruffness with Sam, his sternness with her about the bison calf and the horse, his seeming indifference to Nick, were only a pose. To protect himself? Yet he’d also taken great care to shelter his son from the kitten’s wounds. He’d spoken gently to him just the way he’d softened his voice with Sam that first day. “You’re a fraud,” she said, “but in a good way.”