The Reluctant Rancher

Grey shook his head. “You might try reestablishing a relationship with your kid before he leaves home at eighteen.”

“That wouldn’t please Libby either.” And he wouldn’t share his plans with Grey, who might tip her off before he was ready to take her back to court. “I won’t see Nicky used in a game of ping-pong between us.”

Grey pushed back from the table. “How long are you two going to battle because of that crazy storm? It’s not as if there isn’t at least one blizzard every winter or a flood out here in spring sometimes, and you always made it through.” His jaw hardened. “I can’t believe you’re still blaming yourself. Even the emergency crews couldn’t get through.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Logan would never forget the helplessness he’d felt then, the fear. Never again. Not on his watch.

When the rains had hit, Nicky was already sick. Then he’d spiked a high fever. You have to get him to the hospital, Libby had pleaded with him by phone because Logan had been in Wichita. And the long driveway to the ranch, always a washout in such storms, was impassible. Trapped at the house...

“He had pneumonia, it turned out. Nicky could have died.”

“But he didn’t,” Grey pointed out. “How many times do I need to tell you and Libby he’s a tough little kid?” With a faint smile, he gestured. “You should have seen him climb that cupboard today.” He paused. “He was after his dinosaur mug in the upper cabinet. He doesn’t have the same bad memories you and Libby do of this place, Logan.”

She’d left the Circle H a few days later, just gathered up all her things and Nicky’s, his toys and games, and moved out. Her first stop had been Grey’s adjacent ranch, which sat at the crossroads much closer to the main road. It didn’t have the same long driveway the Circle H did, but she hadn’t stayed there long either before she’d rented a house in town.

“What do you want from me? I’m paying support. I meet my obligation every month—and risk my neck to do it, not that I don’t love flying,” he added. He wished it was that simple. “Libby hasn’t lacked for anything. Neither has Nicky.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Logan merely gazed at him.

The pain inside squeezed, hard again. “Know what she told me the last time we spoke? She said Nicky has her, and Nicky has you. And that’s all he needs. She doesn’t want him here, Grey, and she doesn’t want me...there.”

“In town or at my ranch? I own Wilson Cattle. I’m the boss there, not Libby—even when she still has a family share.” He shifted. “Man, you and I go back a long way, and my sister doesn’t tell me who my friends are. You’re welcome anytime. You know that.”

Logan stared at the floor, his throat closed. You and Nicky are welcome here, too, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Grey stood up. “I guess you both like it this way then, huh? You know what? This reminds me of my own childhood. I was shuttled between my parents after their divorce like some bag of laundry—a piece of property.”

“I know, Grey. I don’t like this either.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry I stopped by. You were right. All I’ve done is give Nick a hundred questions to keep asking, and now I’ll have Libby yelling at me.”

“Grey.”

His friend held up a hand as if to ask for a truce. And changed the subject.

“By the way. That pretty woman in this kitchen when we got here—Blossom-something?” He raised an eyebrow. “If you ignore those ratty clothes and the startled deer-in-the-headlights look, she’s—I mean, what’s that all about?”

“I wouldn’t know.” So Grey had seen the fearfulness in Blossom, too. Her appeal.

“Maybe you should find out.”

“Maybe neither of us will be here that long.”

Grey ignored him. “Does Sam like her?”

“Yeah.” That was putting it mildly. “He’s called down the stairs for her every five minutes since she got here. He raves about her, but I don’t want him getting too attached.”

“You like her?”

Logan didn’t have to answer. The back door banged open, and Nicky charged in with Blossom in pursuit. Her cheeks looked pink and she wore a bent yellow daffodil in the top button of her floppy denim shirt. Nicky’s eyes were as big as the headlights on Logan’s huge pickup.

“Daddy! Uncle Grey! Come quick!” Tossing the words over his shoulder, Nicky ran out again. “Hurry, a kitty...we gotta save ’im!”

Blossom disappeared, too, the screen door slamming behind her.

“Well?” But Grey was already headed outside, as if Logan’s help wasn’t something he could count on. The decision on his character seemed unanimous. “You coming or not?”

CHAPTER FOUR (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)

“IS HE HURT BAD, BLOSS’M?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. I hope your daddy will.”

They were on their knees in the barn aisle beside the tortoiseshell kitten, the one she’d seen with Logan that first day. Now as he entered with Grey, Nick clapped both hands over his ears to shut out the cat’s cries of distress.

Blossom had put the kitten in an old bushel basket—the kind used to haul peaches or apples—with a scrap of horse blanket she’d found in the tack room, but she hadn’t assessed the kitten’s injuries.

“Okay, what happened?” Logan asked.

Nick hung over the basket. “It fell.”

If she didn’t miss her guess, he was more than halfway to crying. Blossom was surprised he’d held out this long. Now if only his father didn’t make things worse...

Bending down, Logan flicked the blanket aside. The chubby kitten gazed up at him as if in mute appeal, golden eyes blinking a clear message, Please help me.

Logan sat back on his heels. “Nicky, maybe you should wait in the house.”

“I wanna stay here. And make ’im better.”

Blossom gave in to a weak smile. Logan’s son had his strong will.

Logan looked up at Grey. “Get me some warm water and a clean rag,” he said, “please,” then watched Grey go into the tack room.

“Did this kitty break its leg?” Nick asked. “Like Grandpa?”

Blossom said, “The kitten was limp when we found her, unconscious.”

“I think she had the wind knocked out of her. That ever happen to you, Nicky?” Logan asked the question without looking at his son. “Happened to me just yesterday.”

“But you’re okay now?”

“Sure.” He laid the cat in his palm and examined her thoroughly from her head to her four tiny paws. They had pink pads and looked as tender as a newborn baby’s feet would be. “Nothing broken so far.” He glanced at Blossom. “You weren’t here when it happened?”

Nick answered. “No, me and Bloss’m were in the garden. We picked flowers but there weren’t very many. Then she saw clovers coming up in the yard and we picked them, too. I wanted to give ’em to my horses. Here,” he added, “not at Uncle Grey’s. But when we got to the barn...” He swiped at his first tears.

Logan touched the cat’s rear leg, and the kitten yowled then bit him. Logan jerked back. His mouth opened but nothing came out. He must have thought better of uttering an oath in front of his son. But when he held up his injured finger, Nick recoiled.