A Cowboy Christmas

“Hello, Cassidy.”

“Hi, Betty.”

Betty’s cousin, Alice, appeared. “Sonja’s been inside the whole time you were gone.”

“Mom’s frosting Christmas cookies. We’ll bring a dozen over later today.”

The little old ladies had claimed to be related when they’d moved into the park eight years ago, but no cousins Cassidy knew held hands like her neighbors. She didn’t care what kind of relationship the women had. After Cassidy’s mother had been officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two years ago, Betty and Alice had offered to keep an eye on Sonja when Cassidy ran errands. She owed her neighbors a debt of gratitude.

When Cassidy entered the trailer, she found her mother exactly where she’d left her—sitting at the card table in front of the TV. Pieces of broken cookie littered the tabletop and smears of colored frosting marred her mother’s blouse.

“Who’s that?” her mother called, gaze glued to the TV.

“It’s me, Mom.” She approached the table and inspected the cookies. “I like that one.” She pointed at the snowflake coated with an inch of silver-colored sugar crystals.

“I made that for you.” Her mother smiled.

“Mmm.” Cassidy took a bite and choked on the sweetness. When her mother’s attention drifted to her favorite game show, Cassidy went into the kitchen, tossed the rest of the cookie into the trash and checked the clock. She had fifteen minutes to prepare for Mrs. Wilson’s hair appointment. “I’ll be in the salon if you need me, Mom.”

Cassidy went outside to the shed, propping the doors open with potted plants. She’d saved her paychecks from a chain hair salon she’d worked at in Midland for two years to buy the aluminum building and beauty-shop equipment. Then she’d paid a fortune for a plumber to hook up a sink. She used extension cords and an outlet strip to plug in the hair dryers and curling irons and the two lamps she’d set on end tables. Between her mother’s social security checks and Cassidy’s income from styling hair they managed to make ends meet.

Her mother had been forced into early retirement because of health problems and so far Cassidy hadn’t had to touch a dime of her mother’s savings—money Sonja had set aside during the twenty-five years she’d worked at the fertilizer factory between Junket and Midland. Cassidy would use that money to put her mother in a home when the time arrived that she needed constant care.

Mrs. Wilson pulled up in her Lincoln Town Car. “Right on time, Mabel.” The retired schoolteacher was never late.

Mabel set her purse on the loveseat Cassidy had found in a secondhand store the previous summer. “How’s Sonja?”

“Mom’s doing well.” She refrained from discussing her mother’s worsening condition. If people learned how quickly Sonja’s disease was progressing they’d encourage Cassidy to put her in a home sooner rather than later.

“Go a little darker on the rinse, dear. I don’t want the color to fade before the Smith’s party on the eighteenth.”

After months of pleading with the older woman to experiment with a different hair color, Cassidy had given up. Mabel insisted on using old-fashioned blue hair rinse. Cassidy draped a cape across Mabel’s shoulders. “How’s Buford?” Her husband had retired from the state highway patrol this past summer.

“He’s being an ass.”

“What’s he gone and done now?” Listening to her customers vent was part of the job. Cassidy mixed the hair color, then cleaned her trimming scissors while Mabel droned on.

“He’s refusing to allow Harriet and her new husband to join us for Christmas dinner.”

“I thought Buford liked your sister.”

“It’s husband number four he hates.”

Harriet exchanged husbands as often as women switched lipstick colors.

“Mitchell’s a lawyer.” Mabel twisted in the chair and said, “You know how much Buford hates lawyers.”

Poor Buford. He’d earned a reputation of having the highest percentage of nonconvictable arrests during his tenure on the force. Cassidy changed the subject. “How do you like teaching Sunday school?”

“Aside from a few rambunctious boys the kids are well-behaved. They need a substitute teacher for the first-grade class if you’re interested.”

“Not right now, Mabel.” Cassidy had stopped attending church months ago after her mother had stood up in front of the entire congregation and announced that if she didn’t go to the bathroom right then she’d pee her pants.

While Mabel chatted about the children’s holiday play, Cassidy slipped on a pair of latex gloves and worked the blue dye into Mabel’s hair, then set the timer for an extra ten minutes and placed a magazine in her lap. “I need to check on Mom.”

When Cassidy entered the trailer and peeked around the kitchen doorway, she discovered her mother fast asleep in the recliner. Relieved, Cassidy poured a glass of lemonade for her customer, then returned to the shed.

“Thank you, dear.” After a sip, Mabel said, “I hear there’s a new doctor in Midland who specializes in brain problems like your mother’s.”

“Really?” Old people were afraid if they spoke the word Alzheimer’s out loud they’d contract the dreaded disease.

“I’ll find out his name before my next hair appointment.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Her mother’s insurance didn’t cover experimental tests or medicines. Cassidy had spent hours on the phone with insurance representatives, each call ending with “I wish there was more we could do, but unfortunately…”

The timer dinged and Cassidy rinsed the dye from Mabel’s hair. Next, she trimmed the ends, then retrieved a pink plastic tub of rollers from the storage cabinet. She’d put in the final roller when a truck pulled alongside the Lincoln.

“Why, it’s Logan Taylor,” Mabel said.

The cowboy sported the same somber expression he’d worn earlier in the day when Cassidy had stopped by his ranch.

“How long have you been cutting his hair?” The gleam in Mabel’s eyes warned Cassidy not to say too much, lest she give the woman the idea that she and Logan had a thing going—which they didn’t.

“Logan isn’t one of my clients.” Mabel opened her mouth, but Cassidy cut her off. “Time for the dryer.”

“Hello, Logan.” Mabel wiggled her fingers in the air.

Feeling Mabel’s eyes on her, Cassidy offered a weak smile.

Logan cut through the yard, stopping outside the shed doors. “Mrs. Wilson,” he greeted the older woman. Then his gaze shifted to Cassidy. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” She tucked Mabel’s head under the dryer, flipped the switch to high and lowered the hood. Hoping the noise would drown out whatever Logan had to say, she stepped outside the shed.

His shadow fell over her like a dark, menacing storm cloud. He didn’t speak, which gave her a chance to study him—shaggy, dark hair, cheeks covered in beard stubble and dark smudges beneath his brown eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed his unkempt appearance earlier?

Because you had other things on your mind.

“About that night…” He removed his Stetson and twirled it around his middle finger. “I had too much to drink—”

“That’s why I drove you home.” That was the truth—sort of.

The cowboy hat spun faster. “So…did I or did you…”

“Neither actually.” He hadn’t asked her to stay nor had he asked her to leave. She hadn’t offered to stay nor had she offered to leave. “It just happened.”

Her heart ached at the abject misery in the man’s eyes. The fact that he failed to remember their lovemaking should have hurt or angered her, but she felt only sympathy for him.

“I thought you should know about the baby.” She sucked in a quiet breath. “In case you wanted to be involved in the pregnancy.” She’d hoped, prayed, fantasized that Logan would step up to the plate and be a father to their child, regardless of his feelings toward her.

His gaze wandered around the yard. “Are you…”

The words were barely a whisper and Cassidy had trouble hearing above the hum of the hair dryer. “What did you say?”

Right then Mabel shut off the dryer at the same time Logan raised his voice. “Are you sure the baby’s mine?”

Mabel gasped.

Cassidy stared in shock.

Logan groaned.

Oops. The cat was out of the bag.

Chapter Two

The blood drained from Cassidy’s face, leaving her skin as white as the siding on the trailer. She swayed to the left, then to the right. Fearing she’d topple, Logan grabbed her arm and hauled her to the trailer steps a few feet away. “Put your head between your knees.” He pressed his hand against the back of her neck, ignoring the silky texture of her hair.

“Oh, dear. You’re feeling poorly.” Mrs. Wilson rushed to Cassidy’s side, her plastic cape flapping in the air.

“I’m fine,” Cassidy mumbled between her legs.

Logan’s nose curled at the smell of ammonia rising from the older woman’s head. No wonder Cassidy felt sick—breathing toxic fumes all day.

“Listen, dear. I’ll leave and—”

“Give me a minute, Mabel.”

“If you’re sure…” Mrs. Wilson retreated to the shed and ducked her head beneath the dryer.

“I’ll get you some water.” Logan stepped past Cassidy and entered the trailer’s kitchen, then searched the cupboards for a drinking glass.

“Cassidy? Are you makin’ all that racket?”

Crap. “It’s Logan Taylor, Mrs. Ortiz.” He poked his head around the doorway. “Cassidy needs a drink of water.”

“Oh.” The older woman glanced across the room. “I don’t know where Cassidy is.”

“She’s outside.” He resumed his search.

A few seconds later…“Cassidy? You makin’ all that racket in there?”

“Logan Taylor, ma’am.” He wondered if Cassidy’s mother knew about the baby. Logan found a glass, ran the cold tap, then headed outside. “Here.” He handed Cassidy the drink, before retreating to the bottom of the steps.

“I don’t bite.” She flashed a crooked smile.

If not for the pasty color of her complexion, he’d have two-stepped toward his truck and gotten the heck out of Dodge. “Do you need me to take you to a doctor?”

The smile vanished. “I don’t need you to do anything, Logan.”

Fearing his presence upset her, he said, “Maybe we should talk later.”

Cassidy glanced at Mrs. Wilson. “That might be best.”

How long did old biddy hair take to style?

“Give me a couple of hours,” Cassidy said, reading his mind.

He doubted Mrs. Wilson had enough hair on her head to require two hours of teasing. The former schoolteacher flipped off the dryer and began removing her curlers. “I’ll take you out to dinner later,” he said.

Color flooded Cassidy’s cheeks. “You’re asking me out on a date?”

A date? He’d already gotten her pregnant, wasn’t it a little late for a date? “Uh…” He shook his head. “I was thinking along the lines of a business meeting.” He didn’t dare become too friendly with Cassidy—she was just too attractive for his peace of mind.

“Oh.” The light faded from her eyes and he felt as if he’d kicked a puppy across the barnyard. “Thanks, but I can’t leave Mom here by herself.”

Recalling the odd way Cassidy’s mother had behaved a few minutes ago, he asked, “Is your mother ill?”

“For goodness sake, Logan.” Mrs. Wilson formed a capital letter A with her fingers. “Sonja’s…”

He stared at the older woman, not having a clue as to what she meant.

“Mom’s got Alzheimer’s,” Cassidy explained.

Alzheimer’s? He hadn’t heard. Because he’d kept to himself for so long the only person he had any meaningful conversations with was Fletcher. “I’ll bring supper here.” Logan came up with a mental list of local restaurants and bars. “Tacos sound okay?” Cassidy pressed her fingertips to her mouth and shook her head.

Bethany had suffered morning sickness at all times of the day—that was the only part of pregnancy Logan understood. His wife had always lost the baby before the queasiness abated. He noticed a grill near the tree. “How about steaks on the cooker?”

Cassidy sat up straighter. “Steak sounds good.”

With a nod he left. And didn’t look back.

As soon as he cleared the trailer park and merged onto the highway to Junket, Logan eased up on the accelerator. Cassidy’s face flashed before his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings by questioning whether or not the baby was his.

He’d known deep in his gut that he was the father—but he’d held out hope he wasn’t. Cassidy’s pregnancy made him feel as if he’d betrayed Bethany’s memory. She’d tried for years to have a baby and Cassidy had gotten pregnant during a one-night stand—none of it made sense.

Learning Mrs. Ortiz had Alzheimer’s had taken Logan by surprise and confirmed how little he knew about Cassidy’s life. Cassidy had been two years behind him in school. He remembered her as a cute, shy girl he’d once helped to collect the contents of her purse after it had spilled in the hallway. He couldn’t recall if she’d dated much—he’d been too wrapped up in Bethany to pay attention to other girls.

Cursing, he gripped the wheel tighter. He intended to offer financial assistance with raising the baby but nothing more. He’d figured Cassidy would have plenty of help from family and friends. Now he questioned how she’d manage her hair salon, care for an ailing mother and cope with a new baby.

You could shoulder some of the burden.

Logan’s subconscious slammed on the brakes. Cassidy was a sexy, beautiful woman. Spending time with her would sorely test his determination to keep his hands to himself. He blamed his elevated testosterone levels around her on the fact that he hadn’t had a normal sex life in years.

Each time Bethany had become pregnant, the bedroom door had closed in his face. She’d been terrified intercourse would cause a miscarriage. As soon as she’d recovered from the inevitable miscarriage he’d been allowed back into the bedroom for stud duty. When Bethany had finally carried a baby through the first trimester, Logan knew he wouldn’t have sex again until after the baby had been born. When Cassidy had walked into Billie’s Roadhouse, Logan had been celibate almost a year.

Aside from his celibacy issues, Logan had kept a dirty little secret. Ever since that September night he and Cassidy had ended up in bed together, he’d fantasized about making love to her—most likely because he didn’t remember the details of the first time. He’d woken the morning after to her feminine scent on his bed sheets. He’d noticed the towels on the bathroom floor but hadn’t remembered taking a shower. A week later he’d discovered a pair of black panties beneath the bed. He’d meant to toss the scrap of lace into the burn barrel—instead he’d stuffed the lingerie in his sock drawer.

After his talk with Cassidy at dinner, Logan intended to keep his distance. He hated to get her hopes up that he’d hang around for the long haul. Cassidy was young and beautiful and sexy. One day she’d find a man who’d marry her despite having a child—Logan’s child.

He concentrated on the ribbon of winding road, refusing to contemplate Cassidy falling in love with another man.

Especially when a tiny part of him wanted to be that guy.

“PLEASE WEAR THE YELLOW BLOUSE.” Cassidy hovered in the doorway of her mother’s bedroom. “Logan will be here any minute for supper.” And my mother is still walking around the house in her bra.

“I don’t want Logan to eat with us.”

“An hour ago you were excited about having company. Don’t you remember?” Cassidy muttered a curse beneath her breath. Would she ever learn to quit saying remember? Sometimes the word upset her mother—other times being reminded of her memory loss didn’t faze Sonja.

“Where’s my blue shirt? I like the blue shirt.” Her mom searched through the nightstand drawer instead of the closet. “Oh, look, Cassidy. Here’s my cream.” She held up a tube of hand lotion. At the end of every day Cassidy searched the trailer until she found the lotion and returned it to the nightstand.

“You smeared frosting on the blue shirt when you decorated the cookies.” Remember.

“What cookies?”

Ignoring the question, Cassidy helped her mother slip into the yellow blouse, then grabbed her hand and led her to the recliner in the living room. “Your show is on.”

“Oh, good.” Her mother pointed the remote at the TV and changed channels every thirty seconds.

Meanwhile Cassidy snuck into the bathroom to brush her teeth, powder her nose and dab a light pink gloss on her lips. She refused to acknowledge how hurt she’d been when Logan had asked if she was certain he had fathered her baby.

The rumble of a truck engine met her ears and she hurried outside. Dusk had descended over the trailer park, and the Millers’ Christmas lights blinked on and off, reminding Cassidy again that she needed to decorate before Christmas passed her by.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the living-room curtains flutter in Alice and Betty’s trailer. Because of her mother’s dementia, Cassidy never invited men over. By morning the news of Logan’s visit—twice in one day—would have swept through town like a summer wildfire.

Junket was ripe for a new scandal. The last time folks wagged their tongues had been when Fletcher McFadden had filed for divorce from the local banker’s daughter after she’d admitted to an affair with a famous bull rider. The Junket Journal had carried the story on the front page.

Cassidy was well on her way to becoming Junket’s new tabloid tale. Not thirty minutes after Mrs. Wilson left this afternoon, Cassidy’s phone had rung off the hook—suddenly everyone needed a trim or color. She’d booked twelve appointments for the following week. At least she had a few days to prepare before she was bombarded with questions.

Is Logan really the father of your baby?

How long have you two been dating?

And questions they didn’t dare ask…Did you have an affair with Logan before Bethany died?

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.

“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.”