The Reluctant Rancher
The Reluctant Rancher
Leigh Riker
She can't stay for long…She just needs a place to hide. Now. Pregnant and on the run, Blossom Kennedy jumps at the opportunity to work as a caregiver to an injured, elderly rancher. While she tends to the man, his handsome grandson takes over at the Circle H. Logan Hunter is tough, loyal and a wonderful father to his young son. But Blossom needs a port in a storm more than she needs love, and soon enough she'll be moving on. Unless she's somehow stumbled into the exact place she and her unborn child are supposed to be…by Logan's side.
She can’t stay for long
She just needs a place to hide. Now. Pregnant and on the run, Blossom Kennedy jumps at the opportunity to work as a caregiver to an injured, elderly rancher. While she tends to the man, his handsome grandson takes over at the Circle H. Logan Hunter is tough, loyal and a wonderful father to his young son. But Blossom needs a port in a storm more than she needs love, and soon enough she’ll be moving on. Unless she’s somehow stumbled into the exact place she and her unborn child are supposed to be...by Logan’s side.
“The farther west I travel, the more...open I feel. Less closed in.”
Logan couldn’t help but smile. “That’s how I feel when I’m flying.”
“You’re a pilot?”
“Private jets. Experimental sometimes—but mostly redesigns.” Until he got his promotion. Then his assignments would become way more interesting.
“A test pilot,” Blossom said. “No wonder you don’t seem that happy to be here.”
He looked outside the barn at that big blue sky. “Got me,” he said.
“I think I know how you feel. Flying high must seem like being a bird. I suppose if I reached California, I’d feel positively free.” She didn’t sound that convinced. “Or maybe,” she added with that look again, “I’ll just run out of road.”
He didn’t want to care, but still he had to ask.
“Blossom, what are you running from?”
Dear Reader (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0),
How much fun can a writer have? I loved fitting all the pieces together for The Reluctant Rancher. As a bonus, I got to write about cowboys—always a favorite!
In his “real life,” Logan Hunter is a test pilot who needs an upcoming promotion with higher pay so he can fight for custody of his young son. But when the grandfather who raised Logan gets hurt on the family ranch, Logan becomes a temporary cowboy again.
He’s not looking for love. And Blossom Kennedy, the caregiver he hires to help out, is clearly on the run. She won’t stay long and neither will he. But, of course, love has its own plans for these two.
I hope you’ll enjoy this ride on the Circle H ranch, where the buffalo still roam. And there’s more good news: The Reluctant Rancher is the first book in my new miniseries, Kansas Cowboys.
Happy reading!
Leigh
The Reluctant Rancher
Leigh Riker
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LEIGH RIKER, like many dedicated readers, grew up with her nose in a book. This award-winning, USA TODAY bestselling author still can’t imagine a better way to spend her time than to curl up with a good romance novel—unless it is to write one! She’s a member of the Authors Guild, Novelists, Inc. and Romance Writers of America. When not writing, she’s either in the garden, watching movies funny and sad, or traveling (for research purposes, of course). With added “help” from her mischievous Maine coon cat, she’s now at home working on a new novel. She loves to hear from readers. You can find Leigh on her website, leighriker.com (http://www.leighriker.com), on Facebook at leighrikerauthor (https://www.facebook.com/LeighRikerAuthor/) and on Twitter, @lbrwriter (https://twitter.com/lbrwriter).
To
Aidan, Kaitlyn, Jackson and Lily, my youngest loves...
Contents
Cover (#u93ac4b3d-b40d-5c7d-a615-f4ddb1458d13)
Back Cover Text (#u0b5969ab-ab30-5f4b-ba46-4f4c09b51e53)
Introduction (#u8f4a2df5-e6d4-5731-aefb-f3333bdb8454)
Dear Reader (#u5c27965f-66f8-5830-8b15-d30723a8da24)
Title Page (#u53fb48b7-10e6-53c2-9483-20556d112d94)
About the Author (#u95d48d40-151d-5544-b949-ba099faf7ab8)
Dedication (#u37c4eca9-1e7c-51ad-9300-fe98a0cb6c52)
CHAPTER ONE (#u87ed2abf-841b-5ff0-80ce-befa486c713a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u08da956d-f549-5786-a3c0-7641928c30ec)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue14e3fab-5cb3-5f9e-a567-fd872c9209bc)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u2ca23f75-7ab6-522a-af71-485c3feee2e9)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4c1d8080-41d7-568e-a3b5-9ac775696a6b)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
“THIS ONE HAD better be good,” he said.
Because being a cowboy—or a nursemaid—wasn’t in Logan Hunter’s plan.
His black Stetson cocked at an angle, he narrowed his eyes at the distant plume of dust rising off the dirt access lane to the ranch. The Circle H was cut off—literally, in bad weather—from the road by half a mile. One reason he didn’t want to be here, especially in spring when he knew the rains would come. Staring across the wide expanse of land, which looked as flat as an old mare’s shank, he studied the fast-approaching car.
Logan wished he were in a car and headed the other way. Three years after the nasty divorce that had turned him into a hard man, he was still dealing with the fallout when his grandfather got hurt. He was more than willing to come back here and help Sam—he’d raised Logan and his brother after all—but April was the busy season. He couldn’t run the ranch and care for Sam at the same time. He needed more help. Fast.
Certainly his brother hadn’t stepped up to the plate. Sawyer hadn’t even answered his calls. Everything was up to Logan, at least for now.
Still watching the lane, he scooped up the tortoiseshell kitten that had kept twining around his feet. Cradling the little cat, Logan propped a shoulder against the front porch post and listened to her purr. He was a sucker for animals, with one exception.
Bison.
Why couldn’t his granddad run cattle like everybody else?
The car barreled into focus, gathering speed the closer it came, as if someone was chasing the driver. The broken-down sedan crunched to a stop in the gravel by the front steps, and Logan envisioned another frustrating go-round with the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency’s latest candidate. The male caregiver he’d asked for was a rare commodity in the middle of Kansas, so he’d been told.
He didn’t want excuses. The driver’s door opened and disappointment swamped him. Logan didn’t want another woman in the house—in his life either. Then the dust cloud settled and he really saw her. As she climbed out of the car, the denim ball cap she wore snagged on the door frame. The hat flopped off into the dirt, and a riot of russet curls spilled free. That bright hair bobbed everywhere. Hidden behind huge sunglasses, her eyes could be any color, but her chin hitched upward in her heart-shaped face and his stomach clenched.
He might have been a fool at twenty-three, but at thirty-two he knew better.
The woman’s clothing was something else. Baggy top, baggy pants, both in dark colors, which shouldn’t have made her look attractive, but did.
She pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were brown, like the plain grass in winter, yet he saw something deep within them. Despair? Fear? He couldn’t tell.
But her voice held firm. “Mr. Hunter?”
“Yep.” From his casual stance against the post, he gave her his best strong, silent cowboy stare. “You’re looking at him.”
She took a breath. “I thought I’d never get here.”
“So did I.” Idly, he stroked the kitten. He’d waited most of the afternoon for this newest applicant.
She glanced behind her at the long drive. “Well. This is Kansas.” Suddenly, she grinned up at him from the bottom step. “I feel like I’m in The Wizard of Oz before the tornado whisked Dorothy away. Not much out here, is there?”
“Not much.” Logan had almost flinched. He didn’t need any reminders of the ranch’s isolation.
“I was sure I was lost. Even your driveway goes on forever.” She shot another look over her shoulder. Who was she expecting to see?
Logan exaggerated a drawl. “Well, that’s the thing about Kansas. Straight roads. You can just keep goin’. Even fall asleep if you want, then wake yourself up when you get here—or there.”
Her smile faded. Worrying her lower lip, she took a step backward toward her car. Logan couldn’t blame her. He wanted to run, too, and never come back. This was the place where he’d lost his parents, then his wife, his marriage. And, nearly, his child.
“So,” she said, “this must be the Circle H.”
“That’s what the sign says.”
She tilted her head to study him. “That sign at the end of your road is hanging by a thread. It wouldn’t take a minute to put it back up.”
“That part of your job description?”
“No,” she said, looking away. “I imagine it’s part of yours.”
“Look, we have ten thousand acres here. Miles and miles of fence line. Two men quit this morning, the cook three days ago.” Thanks to Sam’s grumpiness. “Things keep going this way, we won’t need a sign except one that says For Sale.” Her mouth fell open. “On top of that—”
“Logan, where are you?”
It was uncanny timing. His grandfather’s voice blasted from his upstairs bedroom down the steps and through the screen door onto the porch. It happened about ten times a day. He’d always been difficult, but since his accident...
Sam was making a real racket now. Banging on his tray, probably, with the spoon he’d thrown at Logan earlier because he didn’t like canned stew for lunch. Stroking the kitten he still held, he stood frozen. If Sam continued to be the worst patient in medical history, Logan might never be able to get any work done. Or leave. He had to hire help. Right now anyone would do.
“Coming!” he called and then studied the woman. “You still want this job?”
She returned his hard stare. “I’m not sure yet. But I do need it.”
Well, at least she’d made herself clear. He couldn’t keep from asking.
“That bad?”
She bent to pick up her ball cap. “Even worse.”
Logan took another look. None of his business. Whatever had caused that haunted expression deep in her warm brown eyes, he shouldn’t care. Still, he could recognize the same look he often saw in his own mirror. Trapped, it said. So maybe she could help out for a few days until he found a man to replace her.
“Come on. We’ll find out what Sam wants,” he said. “He’ll size you up then we’ll decide.” He added, “Call me Logan.”
She sent the little cat a smile, not him. “Blossom Kennedy.”
Logan peeled away from the porch post, set the kitten down with a gentle pat on her rump and watched her tumble down the steps then scamper away toward the barn. Feeling Blossom Kennedy’s gaze on him, he resettled his Stetson and headed inside.
Blossom followed.
“I’m told the senior Mr. Hunter is sweet,” she said, as if to convince herself that everyone on the Circle H didn’t have the disposition of a billy goat.
Logan couldn’t help a wolfish grin. “Let’s see how long you think that.”
* * *
BECAUSE SHE HAD no other choice, Blossom trailed Logan Hunter up the steps to the second floor of the sprawling house. Really, with that dark hair and those broad shoulders, he was something to look at. Too bad she wasn’t interested, even for the brief time it would take him to fire her. And oh, she’d seen that intent in his dark blue eyes.
The man himself was like a bruise: black hat, midnight eyes, blue jeans and ebony boots. Her first sight of him, holding that kitten, hadn’t matched what she’d been told by the woman at the agency. Or rather, warned about. She bit back a sigh.
Considering her life experience so far, she should hate men. This one wasn’t very friendly, even if his shoulders did look just right for leaning on. But Blossom wouldn’t lean, or cry. That was behind her now. She would try to become a stronger person who relied on herself.
“Has your father been sick long?” she asked, wondering why he’d called Sam by his first name. The agency hadn’t given her any details. All the woman had said was that the owner of the Circle H needed in-home care.
“He’s my grandfather—stepgrandfather, actually. When my folks died, my grandmother was already a widow herself. This ranch—which my dad had run for her—belonged to my family. Then she married Sam and he took over. They raised me here on the Circle H. Sam adopted me.” He kept going up the steps. “He’s not sick. He broke his leg in three places.” Logan sighed. “He cracked his skull. And to complicate matters, he had an intracranial bleed.”
Logan didn’t trip over the big word, which made her unsteady stomach churn. Maybe she should have thought twice before signing on with the Mother Comfort agency, which had admittedly been a last resort. As she’d heard often enough, she was no homemaker. She was surely no nurse. Frankly, she didn’t know what she was. Out of money and stranded in the nearby town of Barren, Blossom had largely faked her experience on the agency application.
“He came home from the hospital a few days ago,” Logan went on, “but his memory’s not so good. He gets confused.”
Predictably, her heart melted. “Poor man.”
“Don’t feel sorry for him. He needed his head examined.”
At his dry tone, Blossom couldn’t resist. She made a face at Logan’s back. If she didn’t need this job so badly, she wouldn’t work for a man who didn’t have so much as a soft spot for his own grandfather. Or was he smiling? She couldn’t see his expression.
They’d just reached the top of the stairs when a crash sounded, and Logan lit off down the hall. He flung open the door of the end room and sent his black hat sailing onto the nearest chair, where it settled perfectly, like a lasso around a calf’s neck.
“Still alive, I see,” he said, his tone gruff. “You’re not safe even from yourself.”
Blossom followed him into the room, a sinking feeling in her uneasy stomach. Maybe she’d bitten off more here than she could chew—as usual.
An older man who didn’t fit her idea of an invalid, except for the large cast on his right leg, sat in the middle of the hardwood floor rubbing his head. “Didn’t you hear me call?” Whipcord lean, he looked like a much younger person than she’d envisioned, and his dark hair had only a few broad streaks of gray. He peered around Logan, who had knelt in front of him. “Who’ve you got there? You finally get some sense and answer that ad I picked out for you in the paper?”
“No,” he said. “She’s from the agency.”
“The Department of Agriculture? Well, I’ve got something to say to—”
“Not the government, the health care people.” His voice had gentled, the same way he’d treated the kitten.
“I don’t need health care,” his grandfather said.
Logan searched his limbs, probably for more fractures, then his head for lumps. He stared into his grandfather’s eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Samuel...uh, Hunter.”
Logan didn’t look happy with the hesitant answer. “I can’t leave you alone for fifteen minutes. You know how dizzy you get when you try to stand up. Where did you think you were going?” He tugged lightly on his arm. “Come on, now. I’ve got you. Let’s get you back in bed.”
“I’m dizzy because I was in bed. All day,” Sam said, still studying Blossom. “I told you those ads would pay off.”
“Forget the singles ads.”
Sam snorted. “I may have smashed my head, but you don’t know the first thing that’s good for you. One bad experience, you don’t stay off the horse—”
“Are we talking about you or me now?”
Sam sagged onto the bed, his face white. He gazed at Blossom again. “Come over here, girl. Let me get a better look at you. My eyes don’t work so good these days, but I sure do like what I can see, which is two of you.”
Startled, she stepped closer to the bed. In her view he was a dear, all right. Crusty as the outside of a loaf of country bread, but with a soft center that she favored in bread and in people for that matter. Was that why she’d been called a pushover? She glanced out the window, past the lace curtains blowing in the breeze, to make sure the coast was still clear.
“You’ve had a bad time,” she said.
He grinned. “Not that bad, it turns out. I sure know how to pick ’em.”
“Sam,” Logan muttered.
“We’re going to get on just fine,” he continued as if Logan hadn’t spoken. His blue eyes twinkled. “What kind of cook are you?”
“A...reluctant one.” She wanted to stay, to help, but she couldn’t fib anymore. She’d used up her quota on the agency application.
Blossom waited for Logan to take her arm and steer her down the stairs to her car right that moment, but instead, he sighed then let Sam continue the interview.
“Can you keep house?”
“If I have to.” She added, “I try.” That was one thing you could say about her.
Sam smiled. “A clean rag, some lemon oil...there’s nothing to it.”
“You never cleaned house in your life,” Logan pointed out.
“And we have a laundry setup on the back porch.”
“No, it’s in the basement.” Logan was standing by the door now.
“I guess I can figure out a washing machine,” she said, giving in to a smile, “as long as it’s not the old-fashioned wringer kind or a washboard. And takes quarters.”
Sam cackled. “You got a good sense of humor. I like that.” He glanced at Logan. “This house could use a few laughs.” His sharp gaze pinned her like a butterfly to a mounting board. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine last month.”
He sank back against his pillows. “You want babies?”
Logan shifted his weight. “All right, Sam. Time for you to sleep.”
“I don’t need a nap. I’m ready for supper.” He paused. “As long as it’s not more canned stew—and I don’t want some TV dinner tonight either. No one ever called me picky but...” He pointed at her. “While you’re at it, make me some decent lemonade.”
“If life hands you lemons...” she said, which was the story of her life.
Blossom actually believed the old saying, but she’d think about the disaster she’d made of things so far, and about her dubious future, later.
She was already half in love with Logan’s grandfather. Better still, the isolated Circle H offered a temporary hiding place.
* * *
“WHAT IS THIS stuff I’m supposed to eat?”
Logan stared at the yellow glop on his plate. After calling the Mother Comfort agency to say Blossom could stay temporarily but to keep looking for a male replacement, he’d left her to Sam for the rest of the day. Because bison rarely had trouble giving birth, Logan had watched half a dozen cows safely deliver the first spring babies in six far-off pockets of the ranch. He’d brooded the whole time.
That haunted look in Blossom’s eyes was enough to bring a man to his knees. Determined to suppress the disturbing thought, he’d ridden home near sundown hoping for some peace of mind and a hot, home-cooked meal. Not too much to ask, was it?
He could hardly blame Sam for complaining about the stew. Logan had fixed too many skimpy frozen dinners in the past few days, too many cans of mediocre chili. He’d had to admit it would be nice not to have to rustle up something himself.
Now he couldn’t identify anything on his plate except the rice, if that’s what it was, under all that goop. The two cowhands who lived at the Circle H were eating dinner here tonight. Another pair had gone home to their families, and another couple worked only as needed. Seated at the long plank table that, to his surprise, was set with his mother’s best china, Willy and Tobias made curious sounds.
“Madras curry,” Blossom finally said from behind a pitcher of flowers at the opposite end of the table, her head bent over her dish, her russet curls shining in the overhead light. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, which seemed to be a habit of hers whenever things weren’t going well.
“You mean like a plaid shirt?”
“It’s a province in India.”
Logan didn’t consider himself to be an ignorant man. But in his regular job as a test pilot he flew mostly local flights around Wichita and it had been a long time since geography class. Still, he’d also served time in the military and now watched Jeopardy some nights to keep aware of the world beyond this place.
“I know where India is,” he said at last, glancing at the two cowboys, who were trying not to laugh. They kept sneaking looks at Blossom, too, but for some reason he didn’t want them to notice her like that.
“You know about Madras, do you, Willy?”
“Sure. I’ve ate curry. Before that restaurant in town with the bead curtains closed last year.”
Willy, a rough-hewn six foot four with dishwater blond hair and hands like shovels, hadn’t lifted his fork. Any other night he would have been done by now, his plate all but licked clean. Logan had assumed Willy was a meat-and-potatoes man like him. He was clearly lying to please Blossom Kennedy.
She raised her head. “Try it,” she told Logan. “It won’t kill you.”
Tobias, the other cowhand, eyed his plate.
“Your cooking come with a guarantee, Miss Blossom?”
She half smiled. “I guarantee it’ll fill your stomach.”
“Good enough,” Tobias said, then dug in to his food.
His balding crown glowed like a pearl on his lowered head. Both men were eating now. What about Sam? Logan cocked one ear but heard only silence from the second floor. It wasn’t like his grandfather to remain so quiet. Frowning, he pushed rice around. “Did Sam eat this?”
“Without a word,” she informed him.
“You don’t say.”
“Yes. I am saying, Mr. Hunter.” So they were back to that again. Two bright flags of color appeared on her cheeks, but her voice stayed soft as if she was afraid of offending him too much. “I should think, after the day’s work you put in out there—” she waved toward the darkened window “—you’d eat anything that didn’t move, especially when you didn’t have to heat it yourself.” Despite the brave words, her eyes held that uncertain look again. “If you don’t like it, there’s sliced turkey in the refrigerator, a ripe tomato and some bread. You can make yourself a sandwich.”
Or go hungry, her tone implied. Like a traitor, his stomach grumbled. At the sound, Willy snickered and Logan glared at him. His men hunched over their plates, forks flying. Tobias even smacked his lips. If he said one word, Logan would fire him. Or think about it anyway. He’d taken enough jabs in the past three years since his divorce. He wouldn’t be laughed at.
He picked up his fork and took a tentative bite then another. If he didn’t look at the stuff, he could get it down at least. With an audible gulp, he swallowed. Fire hit his throat, and he grabbed his water, which Blossom had served in his mother’s wedding crystal. Logan emptied the glass, certain steam was coming from his ears.
“What’s in here?” he managed, eyes watering.
“Curry powder, of course. The hot kind, too.”
Logan glanced around the table but didn’t see the same reaction from Tobias or Willy. Both men were shoveling in food as if they’d skipped breakfast and lunch, which Logan knew they hadn’t. Wait a minute. Had Blossom given him an extra dose of curry powder?
“What makes it so yellow?” It looked almost orange.
“The turmeric—it’s one of the spices—and some saffron, too.”
“I thought that was a color.”
“It’s also a spice, from which the color got its name. It comes from the stigmas of crocuses.”
He grunted, not wanting to be impressed by her knowledge. Stigmas? He didn’t want to be eating flowers.
“Where’d you learn to make curry? In fact, where’d you find any curry powder? I doubt it was in the pantry here.”
“My father was in the service. We moved around a lot. I brought this curry powder with me,” she said. “It was a special order from overseas.”
“I bet.”
He leaned on his forearms, eyes fixed on a point just north of his plate so he wouldn’t have to look at what passed for his meal tonight, or at Blossom. Those frozen TV dinners had been the best part of his week after all. Miss World Traveler was different, all right. Maybe that explained her weird, shapeless clothes.
After his throat stopped burning, Logan managed to finish the curry. He imagined a woman like Blossom Kennedy must love tofu.
Her red curls had grown even springier from the humidity in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to think about her hair right now. Or anytime. He needed to make it clear that he was the boss here. “Next time—if it wouldn’t be too much to ask—I’d like a nice thick steak, some home fries and a pile of green beans.” He sent her a thin smile. “I’m partial to green. Never cared much for yellow.”
All she said was “You’ll learn to love it.”
Logan tried to shut out the choked-off laughter from the two cowhands. A couple of comedians. He’d deal with Tobias and Willy later. But he wondered what had put that haunted look in Blossom’s eyes and, never mind her other travels, why she was clearly on the run.
CHAPTER TWO (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
LATER THAT NIGHT Blossom surveyed her temporary bedroom. She’d made it through dinner, even held her own with Logan Hunter, although it would be an understatement to say her new boss wasn’t impressed by her cooking. She’d tried to make the meal special with lacy place mats and the few flowers she’d found in the neglected garden, but it had been Willy and Tobias who kept up the conversation.
At least she’d managed to wash the dishes without breaking any of Logan’s best family china.
By the half-open window she plopped down in an old rocking chair. Its wooden arms were worn to a smooth patina that soon warmed under her hands, and the nighttime breeze smelled of grass and animals. Blossom breathed deep. The aroma was better than perfume to her. She’d never had a home like this, but oh, more than anything she wanted one. Her bedroom. The chintz curtains weren’t her style, nor was the fading forget-me-not wallpaper, but tonight she had a job—if only she could do it to Logan’s satisfaction. Something she’d never been able to do with Ken.
Blossom put a hand over her heart, making sure the treasure she’d put there was still safely tucked away. She should feel peaceful tonight, but of course she didn’t. As clear and sharp as broken glass, she recalled how quickly Ken had changed from the attentive boyfriend who said he loved her into the coldhearted fiancé who seemed to hate her.
Not all men, she kept telling herself, had his mercurial temper. Just the ones she’d known. She hadn’t seen that in Logan—yet—but then men like Ken and her father never showed their true colors until it was too late.
Blossom slipped a hand under her oversize shirt to touch the small picture she’d hidden in her bra. Carefully, she withdrew it then held it near the light to study the creased, blurred sonogram image in black-and-white, trying to make out a tiny hand here, a foot there.
She saw no need to tell Logan about her baby. If she could keep from getting fired for even one week, she would take her pay and hit the road again.
Every week, every mile down the road from Pennsylvania to Kansas, every awful job she’d taken to stay alive and protect her unborn baby, took her that much farther from Ken. She had to keep going.
She held the picture to her chest and began to hum, as if the baby she carried was already here in this safer place, his or her sweet, warm body against hers.
Blossom shut her eyes. Tonight she was in a nice, if a bit old-fashioned, room in a wide-windowed, airy house in the middle of nowhere. A house that only needed a woman’s touch—even hers—to feel homey again. Once she got the hang of it, this job wouldn’t be half-bad. And while she was here, Blossom meant to do it well. As well as she could anyway.
Comforting herself, she rocked and sang.
About a little baby...and a mother who’d buy her a mockingbird.
* * *
IN THE DARK Logan listened to the soft melody that drifted from the upstairs window. He pushed the front porch glider with one sock-covered foot. For years it had had the same creak, even before his parents had died, and even when his grandmother was still alive, but he wouldn’t oil it. Neither would Sam. Everything in this house had its own special sound by now, and he didn’t see any reason to paint the metal swing while he was here either. A few rust spots sure wouldn’t ruin his faded work jeans. No problem.
But Blossom? She had trouble—big trouble—written all over her. And that was a problem he didn’t need.
Hours after he’d choked down that too-hot curry, he was still seeing her at his grandmother’s table tonight using his mother’s things. She’d looked more at home there on her first night than any of Mother Comfort’s other candidates would have in a dozen years. No, she’d looked relieved.
Sure, she was pretty enough—although he’d never been drawn to redheads before—but what really got to him was that lost look about her. And if he kept seeing her as an appealing woman, a woman in need, rather than an employee...
Logan wasn’t looking for love. Blossom, on the other hand, looked as if she’d found it then lost it somehow and wouldn’t be the same until it was in her grasp again.
He had enough to worry about. One day he’d been in Wichita about to flight-test a sweet new jet, vying for the promotion he badly needed—the one with better pay that would allow him to fight his ex-wife for joint custody of their now six-year-old son. The next morning he’d been back on the Kansas plains, a temporary cowboy again.
The soft tune floated down to him once more from the window, and the glider jerked to a stop. He should be inside going over the ranch accounts, because no way could Sam do them right now. With his mind on some other planet, he couldn’t be trusted to make any decisions. Instead, Logan had been sitting out here alone in the blackness with a sweet song for company, thinking sad thoughts about his broken marriage and the child he seldom saw.
Upstairs Blossom was buying a diamond ring for some baby she sang to.
He wouldn’t fall for Blossom Kennedy. If she thought he’d missed the travel plans that shone in her eyes, she was mistaken. She wouldn’t stay long.
Neither would he.
* * *
“GIRL, SET YOURSELF down a spell. You haven’t stopped moving all morning.”
Sam’s blue eyes sparkled, all the more vibrant in his pinched white face as he lay back against the fresh sheets Blossom had just put on his bed. She elevated Sam’s head on a stack of pillows and tucked an old but hand-sewn quilt around him. Dull sunlight streamed through his bedroom windows, which were filmed with dust, and Blossom made a mental note to wash them.
“Rest,” she said. “Your grandson won’t thank me for making you more tired this morning than you were when I got here yesterday.”
Sam grunted. “What I’m tired of is being in this bed.”
“Logan is right. The more you rest, the quicker you’ll heal.”
“What’s that?” he said. “Another old wives’ saying?”
She smiled. “I don’t know any old wives.”
Sam snorted. “That was good lemonade you made for dinner last night. Tart but just sweet enough.” He grinned. “Too bad my pucker was wasted. Some woman missed the best kiss of her life.”
Blossom laughed. “You’re bad.” Gathering up his used sheets, she walked to the door. He looked pale to her, and although his running conversation had been sprinkled with corny jokes while she cleaned his room, she sensed he wasn’t quite himself. Blossom could read moods as fast as any high-speed computer could crunch numbers. “You take a short nap and when you wake up, I’ll have lunch ready.”
He straightened. “More of your curry?”
“There’s none left.” She raised her eyebrows. “The other men took care of that. And you,” she added. Last night Sam had eaten two helpings.
“Not Logan,” he guessed.
“He finished his dinner, too, but he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Fussy eater. Always has been.” Sam shook his head then seemed to think better of it. He rubbed one hand over his forehead. “That boy didn’t eat anything but grilled cheese sandwiches until he was ten years old. Then came beef—when I still ran cattle like his daddy and grandpa before me. Even then, he still wouldn’t touch anything that didn’t start out bawling, on four hooves, right here on the Circle H.” He paused. “Far as I’m concerned, my bison now are better than beef. They yield less fat and more protein. But Logan won’t even try the meat.”
We’ll see about that. “He needs to expand his horizons.”
Sam’s expression turned wistful. “I wish I could have seen him choke down that curry. I heard Tobias and Willy laughing all the way up here.”
Blossom didn’t miss his underlying message.
“You can join us for dinner as soon as that dizziness goes away. I’ll save your place at the head of the table.”
He fell back against the pillows again, as if the spinning in his brain had gotten worse, and Blossom felt her heart clench.
“I am kind of tired,” he admitted. “Too much thinkin’ yesterday. I’ll rest my eyes to get ready for lunch. Don’t tell me what it is. Surprise me.”
Blossom had no idea what to serve, or if Logan and his men would come back to the house for the noon meal. Maybe she should ask him to approve her menu—as soon as she made one. With a last glance at Sam, who had turned his face away, she stepped out into the hall.
“Olivia?” The unfamiliar name stopped her, the bundle of sheets in her arms. “Thanks. Makes a man proud to have a daughter-in-law like you. Now, if you and Logan can just set your minds to giving me a few more great-grandkids...”
He trailed off and Blossom’s heart sank. He’d mistaken her for his daughter-in-law. Yesterday he’d thought she’d come to the ranch in answer to some singles ad. When Logan had asked him his name, Sam had stopped to think. He was clearly disoriented, at least part of the time, but she wouldn’t make things worse by pointing that out and upsetting him.
“We’re working on it” was all she said.
With her cheeks feeling flushed, Blossom carried the old bedding down the stairs, through the front parlor and the dining room, and on into the kitchen. She dropped the pile down the laundry chute.
More great-grandkids, Sam had said, which implied there was at least one already. Blossom hadn’t seen any children and certainly no wife for Logan. So where was Olivia?
None of that was her concern. As long as Sam got well enough so he could leave his bed, she’d feel she’d done her job here. It was the least she could do in return for finding this brief refuge at the Circle H.
The sunny morning and the vast expanse of land isolating her here on the ranch lifted her spirits. If she could find Logan, she’d ask about the lunch menu she didn’t have yet. While she was at it, she’d tell him about the incident with Sam.
* * *
LOGAN WAS IN a corral on the far side of the barn, trying to keep from getting his head kicked in like Sam. He’d rather be mucking stalls because, oddly, that chore was his favorite—if he had one here. As a kid he’d sure spent enough time at it. Logan had lived on the Circle H from birth until he left to join the service. With a pitchfork in his hand, he still liked to let his mind drift, to pretend he was really where he wanted to be, back flying a jet. Sometimes he even whistled to himself as he worked. But if he couldn’t cut short the brief leave of absence he’d taken from his job, this unplanned stay on the ranch could threaten his pending promotion. He wasn’t whistling now. No pitchfork either.
“Stand still,” Logan told the shaggy bison bull calf he’d been trying to doctor for an infection. The stubborn weanling had turned over a bucket of warm water, splashing Logan’s boots. He’d just bent over the bull’s hoof again, one foreleg trapped between his thighs to steady it, when Blossom suddenly appeared. The startled bison knocked Logan on his backside in the dirt.
“Hey!” he yelled, when he knew better than to shout or move fast around the touchy bison. Struggling for breath, Logan picked himself up, dusted himself off and glared at Blossom over the corral fence. “You live on a ranch, you learn to be careful. Hear me?”
Blossom froze like some ice sculpture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Oh, no. There was that lowered head again, and her gaze had shifted away.
“It’s okay,” he said in a softer tone. “No harm done.”
Or would the new ache in his hip turn into something worse by nightfall? Getting hurt on a ranch with danger all around was par for the course.
“These bison are ornery critters, easily spooked,” he said.
Wide-eyed and white-faced, Blossom stood stock-still by the rail. He had started toward her, afraid she might faint, when from behind the bull rushed past him, almost flattening Logan again. For one second he thought it meant to crash through the fence and run right over her. Instead, it thrust its broad, runny nose at her through the boards with a lowing sound like a whiny toddler. It hadn’t liked being separated from its mother, and the cow was pacing back and forth along the side of the corral that edged the far pasture.
To her credit, Blossom didn’t scream.
She held one hand to the gap between the boards and let the bison sniff her.
“What a cute boy you are,” she crooned, as if she were still singing that lullaby from last night.
Logan was so surprised he was speechless. “I wouldn’t say ‘cute,’” he finally said. “He nearly stomped me into the ground. I don’t mean to criticize, Blossom, but these animals aren’t pets. And they don’t normally like people much.”
He’d already rescued the tortoiseshell kitten from the bison’s hooves twice today. The fool cat followed him everywhere. Logan had been forced to shut her in the tack room. Maybe for Blossom’s own safety he should lock her in there, too.
But he couldn’t seem to move. “I’ll be,” he said.
That bison calf looked all moon-eyed.
He sure seemed to like Blossom.
Logan couldn’t take his eyes off her either. “I’d ease away from that fence before the calf takes a mind to hurt you. You never can tell what they’re going to do. And even this one is stronger than you might think. Ask my grandfather if you don’t believe me.”
“He only wants a little affection,” she said.
Did she mean the calf, or Sam?
“Still, I wouldn’t—”
He didn’t get the rest out. The bull calf shoved its huge shaggy head into the stout fence—and splintered several planks. Before Logan could react, the bison pushed his whole upper body toward Blossom.
“Whoa, Nellie!” he yelled. “Blossom, head for the barn.” The much bigger bison cow was bawling her head off now. “I’ll open the gate to the pasture so he can rejoin his mama.”
Logan didn’t wait to see whether Blossom followed his order. As soon as the far gate opened, the calf whirled around then thundered toward freedom.
With a sigh of relief that no one had been killed, Logan went after Blossom. He found her standing in the barn aisle, talking to one of the horses in its stall. Cyclone, the big black colt Sam had bought months ago.
“Watch it. He nips,” Logan told her, though bite was more appropriate.
Horse or bison, they were tame only as long as they wanted to be. Strange, how unafraid she seemed of these animals when one look from Logan could make her shy away as if she were about to bolt.
“I’m sorry about—out there,” she said. “You’re okay?”
“Fine.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed him limping across the barnyard.
“Nellie?” She quirked an eyebrow. “That’s his name?”
Logan blinked. “No, this is Cyclone.”
“I meant the little buffalo.”
He did a double take. “Blossom, we don’t name these bison.” He suspected Sam sometimes did, and so had he during his 4-H years of raising beef calves for the summer fair, but Logan refused to personalize them now. By fall some of the herd would become pricey burgers—something he didn’t like to think about—on the menu at a fancy restaurant in Dallas, LA or Chicago.
And Logan would be back in Wichita. Flying again. He wasn’t about to make any more personal connections to this place.
“Maybe you should name them.” Her mouth tightened. “Instead, you shouted at him, scared him.”
Logan shook his head. “He could’ve killed you—and you feel sorry for him?”
“Yes. What did you do to him? It wasn’t just me. It must have been something to make him want to knock you over like that.”
Her tone told him he’d only confirmed her worst opinion of him. The knowledge should keep him clear of any involvement he might be tempted into, but she was easy to look at, and in that moment the sweet smell of her shampoo teased his nose with the clean, fresh scent of outdoors.
“He has a hoof abscess. I was treating it. He didn’t want me to.” That pretty much summed things up.
“You’re wrong.”
He rubbed his neck. “You have to show an animal like that who’s the boss. He’s wild, Blossom—dangerous.” He paused. “How do you think Sam wound up in bed with that busted leg and his head all mixed up?”
“Not from a baby like him,” she insisted.
“You’re wrong.” He repeated her accusation. “Sam got between that same calf and his mama. She flung him like a rag doll up against a tree. By the time he landed, he was in a world of hurt.” He paused. “The bruises were just the start. I don’t want you to end up the same.”
Now it was Blossom who blinked. “Well. Thank you for your concern.”
As if no one else had ever cared about her.
Exasperated, Logan planted both hands on his hips. Heedless of his warning, she had slipped her hand through the bars to pet Cyclone’s neck. The colt all but purred like a cat. “He has a lot of promise but no common sense,” Logan said.
“He’s like the bison baby. He’ll never learn to be gentle if he’s...”
“Mistreated?” The word had just popped into his head.
“Punished.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m the bad guy here?”
He turned away. And nearly tripped over the tortoiseshell kitten. How had she gotten out of the tack room?
He eyed Blossom. “You again?”
“I was looking for you. I heard her crying. So I let her out.”
Logan picked up the cat, who instantly nestled into the crook of his neck. “Just so you know. I didn’t touch that calf except to help him. I’d never touch this horse in anger.”
“They won’t respond to threats either.”
“Ah,” Logan muttered. “I see. You decided to work on this ranch, so you stopped at some bookstore on the way and bought a copy of The Horse Whisperer. Or The Cat Whisperer. No, there’s probably a Bison Whisperer, too.” Putting the kitten down, he gave Blossom a pointed look. “I have news for you. Sometimes—like when you’re about to get kicked—that touchy-feely stuff doesn’t work, city girl.”
Still shaken from his near brush with serious injury, he tried to stare her down. Finally, she glanced away, her gaze following the kitten as she meandered down the barn aisle. From the bend of Blossom’s slender neck, he realized she must consider herself akin to the bison calf. Mistreated. Was that the expression he kept seeing in her eyes?
He knew little about her. He wanted it to stay that way.
The kitten disappeared around the corner, probably headed for a hay bale and a nap. And Blossom was gazing past Logan, out the barn doors. She stared at the long driveway, as she often did.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry I put you in danger. I am a city girl.”
He tried to lighten the moment. “Let me guess. New York? Boston?”
“Philly,” she admitted. “City of Brotherly Love.”
Logan nearly missed her subtle change of tone. She’d seemed so cheerful earlier, yesterday, too, and even at dinner last night. He didn’t want to see that other look in her eyes or hear the trembling words that spoke of some deep hurt. He had enough troubles of his own and all the responsibility he could handle.
She took a breath. “The farther west I travel, the more...open I feel. Less closed in somehow.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s how I feel when I’m flying.”
“You’re a pilot?”
“Private jets. Experimental sometimes—but mostly redesigns.” Until he got his promotion. Then his assignments would become way more interesting.
“A test pilot,” she said. “No wonder you don’t seem that happy to be here.”
He looked outside the barn at that big blue sky. “Got me,” he said.
“I think I know how you feel. Flying high must seem like being a bird. I suppose if I reached California, I’d feel positively free.” She didn’t sound that convinced. “Or maybe,” she added with that look again, “I’ll just run out of road.”
He didn’t want to care, but still he had to ask.
“Blossom, what are you running from?”
CHAPTER THREE (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
ON HER WAY back to the house, Blossom shook so hard her teeth clacked together. But she forced herself not to run. She could sense Logan staring at her from the barn doorway, but she wouldn’t let him see that he’d frightened her. Reminded her of why she was running.
She hated feeling afraid.
There was no need to be scared. She’d finally found a place where she wouldn’t startle awake each night to find herself in yet another cheap motel room. Lying in the dark, listening to the rush of traffic on the road, clutching a musty blanket to her throat, her other hand on her stomach, waiting for that sharp pounding at the flimsy door.
Mornings had rarely been better. Over breakfast whenever she could afford a meal, Blossom planned the next leg of what she liked to think of as her journey to freedom. In the past month she’d changed cars three times, paying cash so Ken couldn’t track the transaction. Each “bargain” buy had cost less than the last, and she’d bought from people who didn’t worry about such minor things as a title transfer, but she’d kept moving even when she was cold, hungry, out of hope, out of money...and always afraid.
Shivering in her loose chinos and big shirt, she climbed the back steps to the house. She’d changed her style, too, thrown away the bright clothes she preferred and all the designer labels Ken had bought her. She didn’t want to be noticed anymore like some shiny trophy, didn’t want to be “seen.”
Then why this heart-pounding sense of alarm now, this leaden feel to her limbs?
In the kitchen she dropped onto a chair, still cold and shaking and in darkness even though the room was bathed in sunlight. She should be thankful. Today she wasn’t on some back road to avoid the highways, praying her old sedan would make it to the next stop.
She propped her elbows on the kitchen table, buried her face in her hands. Yet she was afraid and Logan had seen through her.
And with that, she was back in Philly again in Ken’s condo with the bathroom door lock that didn’t work when she needed it most...remembering all the things she couldn’t seem to do right, no matter how she tried to forget.
The memories shrieked through her mind like tires on wet pavement, like her life was then, skidding out of control...
* * *
“YOU WOULDN’T LAST a day without me.”
Looming over her, Ken shook a paper in Blossom’s face. Through a tangle of curls she stared up at him, wondering what she’d done this time. Every night before he came home from work, she hurried around the condo, changing the king-size sheets, taking care to make crisp hospital corners that were folded and tucked in just so, as her father and Ken had taught her to do, then checking the pots on his fancy stove to make sure she didn’t let their meal burn or boil over and create another mess.
“I haven’t done anything!” she insisted.
“You can’t even remember to pay a parking ticket. This citation was written a month ago—and you hid it in my glove compartment!”
Oh, God. She’d forgotten. She’d borrowed Ken’s car while hers was at the Lexus dealer’s to be washed and waxed. She’d gone to a doctor’s appointment, which he didn’t know about. Ever since she’d used the home pregnancy-test kit, Blossom couldn’t seem to find the right time to tell him.
“Ken, I’ll pay it tomorrow.”
“Do you know how important I am in this burg? You’ll pay it now! Before word gets around that I’m engaged to a scatterbrain.”
Blossom frowned. Who would tell anyone about the ticket but him? But then, as he’d said often enough, Ken did have a reputation to safeguard. He was a successful real estate developer. He knew everyone—and everyone knew him. It was Blossom who’d become invisible without quite knowing how it happened.
As if he’d fired a starting gun for a race, she streaked for the living room, her entire being focused on the checkbook in his desk drawer. She needed to fix this, to make Ken smile again. He was right. She’d been careless, and not for the first time. She was stupid, useless, worthless...
She was halfway across the room when he jerked her around.
“In person. You get down to the police station. Now.” His hands tightened on her upper arms, his face red.
She didn’t dare to meet his gaze. He’d also taught her not to look directly at him, which he saw as some kind of challenge to his authority. “Ken, I’d have to go to the courthouse instead. I had ten days to pay by mail but that’s already passed.”
“Then do it. Now,” he repeated. “Didn’t you hear me?”
He would have shaken her, but Blossom managed to free herself from his painful grasp. Keeping pace with her, he pushed her toward the front door. “How long do you think you’d survive on your own without me to fix your messes? Huh?”
Her shoulders slumped. What had she done to make their relationship so miserable? She wanted to curl inside herself, to disappear. How could she feel this bad when, as he often reminded her, she was lucky to live in this luxury high-rise with a wraparound terrace and a view of the whole city? All of Philadelphia at her feet, he liked to say. But she could no longer remember even a simple dinner or special occasion that didn’t end up spoiled—Christmas, her birthday, the anniversary of the day they’d met, their engagement—she couldn’t remember a kind word or a loving touch, only her relentless wrongdoing, his sudden outbursts, the screaming nerves inside her. And now she had another life to worry about. Above all, to protect. No, she couldn’t tell him.
For her baby’s sake, she needed to escape.
* * *
PUSHING THE PAINFUL memories aside, Blossom brushed stray curls off her cheeks. She hugged herself tight and stared out the kitchen window. Logan’s voice had been harsh for an instant just like Ken’s. Hear me? they’d both said. Why be surprised? She knew men—her father, too—and what they were capable of, how easily they could cause hurt.
She wasn’t about to let that happen now, not with her baby to consider. The day after Ken had gone crazy about the parking ticket, Blossom had run. Such a simple thing shouldn’t have mattered, but for her it had been the last straw.
She straightened, remembering it was time for lunch. She’d meant to ask Logan what to fix and tell him about Sam’s confusion. Again, she’d done the wrong thing with the bull calf. But he’d also said, I don’t want you to end up the same. To be hurt.
A brief sense of calm settled over her. Yes, the Circle H provided a good place to hide, and for a moment today Logan had seemed to care about her, which might just be the most frightening thing of all. She wouldn’t trust him. Yet his very strength, that hard edge that let him shout at a bison baby—he’d corrected her about the proper term—might ironically protect her, if it came to that.
If Ken found her here before she could run.
* * *
BLOSSOM WAS CLEARING the breakfast dishes from the table the next morning when she glanced out the window and felt her heart stop. A sleek silver pickup was pulling up near the back door. It didn’t look familiar, which shouldn’t surprise her. She didn’t know anyone here, and the only vehicles she recognized belonged to Logan or the half-dozen ranch hands the Circle H employed. But could it be a rental?
Her legs went weak. Her pulse thudded. Had Ken found her already? A door slammed. A second later she heard footsteps coming up onto the porch. It couldn’t be, yet...
She hadn’t seen Logan since breakfast. They’d said only a few words to each other since yesterday. Except for Sam upstairs in bed now, she was alone in the house. Helpless. Her sedan was parked out front. Where were her keys? Blossom fumbled through her pockets—and with a cry of relief found them. Could she reach her car in time?
Before she could think to run in that direction, the back door flew open, and a small blond boy in jeans and cowboy boots burst into the kitchen.
Blossom sagged against the nearest counter. The truck didn’t belong to Ken. Besides, he’d likely rent a flashy sedan. Still, she tensed again at the deep voice that came from behind the boy.
“Nicholas Hunter, slow down.” A man whose hair was a shade darker than the child’s had obviously tried to make his voice sound scolding but he couldn’t hide a grin. “Sorry,” he told Blossom with a tip of his straw cowboy hat. “He gets a bit excited about the Circle H.” He held out a hand. “I’m Grey Wilson, a neighbor.”
“Blossom.” Without adding her last name, she glanced at the little boy, who was scaling the counter to reach a high cupboard. “Is he...?”
“Safe?” Grey snagged an arm around the boy’s waist. “Never. At least to hear his mama tell it. Nick, get down.”
He wriggled but Grey held fast.
“Be careful now—you’ll fall and break something. Like Grandpa Sam.”
“My arm?” Nick landed on the floor with a giggle. “A kid at school fell out of a tree. He has a cool cast and everybody drew on it. It’s really green.”
The back door opened again. A smile tugging at his mouth, his eyes alight, Logan stepped inside. He must have recognized Grey’s truck. But then Logan saw Nick and stiffened. He pulled off his Stetson and eyed Grey with a familiar, less than welcoming expression.
“Uh-oh,” Grey murmured. “Looks like somebody got up on the wrong side of the bunk.” He added, “We can’t stay long but I brought you a present.”
“You mean me?” With a hopeful look, Nick glanced at Logan. “I’m a present?” He took a step then stopped, and his gaze fell. “Hi, Daddy,” he said.
Logan cleared his throat before he reached out a hand to ruffle Nick’s hair. “Hi, buddy.” He frowned at Grey over Nick’s head. “This’ll make his mother real happy.”
So this was Logan’s son, the great-grandchild Sam had referenced yesterday, confusing her with Olivia. Not that anyone would readily see a strong family resemblance, except for their eyes, between father and son. Logan’s hair was dark; Nick’s was lighter. She imagined Olivia, who must be Logan’s ex-wife, was blond, too.
“Mommy doesn’t know we’re here,” Nick said.
Grey groaned. “Nick, I thought you and I agreed that sometimes we men have to stick together. Little secrets don’t harm anyone.”
His mouth tight, Logan strode over to the coffeemaker. “Don’t tell him that.” The dark brew had been sitting in the pot for hours while he fed horses and did other morning chores, but its bitterness and acidity didn’t seem to bother him. He gulped down half a mugful in one long swallow.
“What?” Grey looked wounded. “I bring your kid to see you and all I get’s a lesson in manners?”
“No, in ethics.”
Nick’s sunny smile had dimmed. He sent Blossom a shy look then rummaged through a fruit bowl on the counter for a banana. She tensed even more. She didn’t expect to be noticed—she was just one of the hired help here—but no wonder poor Nick looked more than uncomfortable. Logan’s reaction had unsettled her, too. He was all but standing at attention now. Avoiding another glance at Nick.
This was no surprise, in a way, to Blossom. Her father had never been one to fold her in a warm embrace or to make her laugh at some silly joke. She’d been grateful whenever he simply ignored her. A best-case scenario for Blossom. But she’d seen the quick flash of joy in Nick’s eyes then the way he’d retreated, as if knowing his hug wouldn’t be welcome. And that his daddy wouldn’t respond except for that light pass of a hand over Nick’s hair.
Logan turned to Blossom. “My ex-brother-in-law,” he said with a gesture at Grey. “Blossom’s taking care of Sam.”
“Howdy, ma’am.”
“I’m learning on the job,” she said.
After that, there was an awkward silence. Blossom didn’t think about herself, but she couldn’t take another second of Nick’s disappointment or Logan’s coolness. She’d had enough of that in her time. And at Nick’s age, she had still craved her father’s love.
She held out a hand. “Nick, would you like to come with me? I need to gather some eggs.”
With a whoop of delight, Nick grasped her fingers then pulled her out the back door away from the two men in the kitchen. Blossom could understand that. How many times had her father rejected her, or hastened to correct something she’d done wrong? Ken had taken that to another level.
This was not a happy situation either. Apparently, she and the bison baby weren’t the only ones who irritated Logan.
Why feel drawn to a man she couldn’t trust and might easily fear? A man who didn’t seem to connect with his own son?
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL’S wrong with you?” Grey asked as soon as the back door had closed behind Blossom and Nicky.
Frowning, Logan didn’t answer. His throat felt too tight to speak, and what could he say? He wanted to be angry with Grey because he’d had no warning of this visit—a rare thing these days. Instead of a heads-up, he’d walked from the barn to the house and into this kitchen, and there was Nicky. Right where he’d belonged until a few years ago.
As a baby in his high chair, a toddler running around under Libby’s feet, a chattering three-year-old who’d let everyone in the house know his opinions, he’d giggled and cried in this very room and even thrown temper tantrums, kicking his legs on the floor as if he were determined to be in charge of all the adults. He’d banged a spoon against his tray at the end of this table, flinging oatmeal everywhere.
Logan was still in shock. He watched Grey pull out a chair at the table. He’d been blindsided, yet at the same time...he didn’t often get to see Nicky. Grey sat, eyeing him with disapproval, which Logan supposed he deserved.
“I thought you’d be happy to see him without Olivia riding herd on him.”
Logan couldn’t fault her for trying to coddle Nicky or to keep him safe, even keep him away from Logan, after what had happened. In her view he hadn’t been much of a father, and Logan couldn’t disagree.
“I am happy to see him.” Except it hurts more each time I do. Logan was missing out on Nicky’s growing up. His son changed by the day, it seemed, and a few minutes ago a real kid, not the newborn baby or toddler imp he remembered, had walked into the house. “But Olivia—Libby’s—gonna be madder than a bull in a rodeo ring when she finds out you shanghaied Nicky and brought him over here. You know how she feels about the Circle H.” About me.
But what if she hadn’t come to hate the ranch, and him? To blame him? Maybe they’d still be rubbing along, raising their son in Wichita together as they’d planned. Instead, Logan’s time with Nicky had become increasingly rare. He’d tried to tell himself maybe that was for the best. For now. He didn’t want to confuse Nicky any more than he must already be after the divorce.
Grey stretched out his legs and stared down at his boots. “It’s time she changed her mind. But I’m the first to admit, my sister can be as stubborn as a too-big calf trying to get born.”
As stubborn as me. That had been one problem between them.
“She won’t change her mind.”
“Then you’ll have to change yours. Logan, the divorce papers got signed, what, three years ago? Nick’s not a baby anymore. He needs his daddy, too.”
“Libby got custody,” he said. And because of the reason she’d left him, Logan hadn’t given her much of a fight. He’d regretted that ever since. Once his promotion came through—which meant getting back to Wichita as soon as possible—he’d be able to afford a lawyer, sue for joint custody this time. Settle the matter at last.
“You have visitation rights. Why don’t you use ’em more often?”
He looked away. “Well, she doesn’t make that easy. If Nicky doesn’t have a school event, a kids’ party, anywhere else he has to be, then he’s sick or it’s a school night or something else. He hasn’t been to my place in Wichita in almost a year. Besides, I won’t be here long this time.”
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.
“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.”
Lightly, she put a hand on his shoulder then lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek so quickly her lips barely touched his face before she drew away. She’d misjudged him. His afternoon beard had felt like sandpaper, its texture so rough beneath her softer lips.
Blossom’s mind had gone numb. But her stomach had settled.
His muscled strength was something to rely on yet to be wary of.
Still, underneath beat the heart of a good man. She knew that now.
Too bad she couldn’t trust him.
* * *
BLOSSOM DIDN’T COME to the table for dinner that night. Logan ate alone. From upstairs he could hear her talking to Sam, eating with him instead.
Willy and Tobias were nowhere to be seen. Logan had had words with the two cowhands—bison hands, he ought to say—that first night after dinner, and both of them had been avoiding him ever since. He’d never seen two men volunteer faster to ride fence today to keep out of his way. Probably they were at the bunkhouse heating up a big can of spaghetti or ravioli. He hadn’t meant to sound harsh. But their teasing, their looks at Blossom had gotten to him and he’d lost his temper.
His mood was always precarious when he was at the ranch. He couldn’t seem to forget he’d nearly lost Nicky here. He had lost Libby, not that his marriage had ever been one made in heaven. She felt the same, he supposed.
He dug into the casserole Blossom had served before she slipped away upstairs. No steak again tonight. Mac and cheese? At least there was no way she could ruin that. The way he criticized her cooking, no wonder she preferred his grandfather’s company. Even though he and Blossom had gotten along pretty well earlier in the barn while he sewed up the kitten, and she’d surprised him with that quick kiss, she’d pulled back right after.
His face still burned. But it was their conversation he missed now.
When the landline rang, he jumped up from his seat. Any interruption from his train of thought, even a telemarketing call at dinnertime, would be almost welcome.
“Circle H,” he answered, ready to hang up at the latest sales pitch.
“Hey, brother.” To his amazement, Sawyer had finally called him back, and Logan fought another familiar twist of loss inside. How long had it been since they were in the same place at the same time? Since they’d talked the way they used to?
“I’ve been trying to get through to you for the better part of a week.”
As usual, Sawyer sounded unconcerned. “What’s up?”
“Sam busted his leg. Bad,” Logan said. “He was in the hospital for a few days, had surgery and now he’s confined to his room. Picture that.” He explained about the bleed and concussion that had rattled Sam’s brain and messed with his sense of balance. “Where are you?”
“Here and there.”
Logan rolled his eyes. Sawyer was always vague. About everything. It had been too long since they were boys, growing up on the Circle H after their dad and mom had died, learning from Sam how to be men. They’d been even closer than most brothers, inseparable as kids.
“You might think about coming back now and then.” He couldn’t bring himself to say home. The two of them hadn’t seen each other since Logan had married Libby.
“I’m sure you can handle things.”
“That’s it?” He had the sense Sawyer was about to hang up first.
“You’re the big brother. You’re in Kansas. I’m not.”
“I’m older by less than five minutes,” he reminded Sawyer. “We could really use some help here, Tom.” Sawyer didn’t laugh at the old nickname he’d been taunted with as a kid. It was as if he’d put their past behind him and moved on, determined to make a life for himself anywhere else. He’d cut all ties—which wasn’t that different from Logan’s plans. Yet he was the one here now. “I thought you liked horses and cows and getting your boots dirty.”
“Don’t own a pair of boots anymore.”
“Sawyer. Look.” He glanced at his plate of cold macaroni and cheese and wondered why Blossom was still upstairs. “I’m almost at the end of my rope. Sam’s not easy to keep down—you ought to know that—and I should be in Wichita. I’m up for a promotion there.”
“Hope you get it.”
“If I don’t show up soon, they’ll give it to someone else.” His worst rival.
“You’re the big captain of the skies. Took off first chance you got. You left me holding the bag then, Logan. You think I’ve forgotten that?”
“No,” he admitted. He’d come back after the service to marry Libby, and Sawyer had left. “But this is now.”
“I bet Sam hasn’t even mentioned my name. Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m busy with...whatever I’m busy with, so the answer’s no.” He paused. “Hire somebody.”
“I did. She’s temporary—and she’s a caregiver, not a cowhand.”
“Neither am I.”
“Sawyer—”
“Don’t,” he said. “I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t help.”
“Right back at you. And don’t try that ‘we’re twins’ bit with me, okay? I haven’t had a spooky twinge about you in years. I don’t know when you’re sick or you’re in trouble at the stick of some jet. You don’t know when I’m—” He broke off. “Ah, hell. Good that you’re still walking around. Tell Sam I said hey.”
“Sawyer...”
But the phone had gone dead in his hand.
“Is something wrong?” Blossom said from the kitchen doorway.
Yeah, there was. He just didn’t know what where his brother was concerned. Sawyer had been hiding something. I’m busy with...whatever I’m busy with. He turned to find Blossom holding a tray of dirty dishes and cutlery. If he wasn’t mad at Sawyer, even worried about him, he would have grinned. Sam had cleaned his plate again. He really liked Blossom’s cooking.
“My brother,” he finally said. “We don’t have much in common these days.”
“Is he coming home?”
“Because of Sam?” When she nodded, he said, “Nope. He’s busy.”
She looked shocked. “Too busy to visit his injured grandfather?”
“So he says.”
“I don’t think I’d like him, then.” Taking care not to come too close to Logan, she lugged the tray to the sink. He offered to take it from her, but she only stepped aside with a murmured “I’ve got it.” She pursed her lips as she began to rinse the dishes. “My dad was a difficult man, but if we needed him, he tried to be there.” She paused. “The trouble with that, he was often deployed somewhere—and couldn’t come.”
“Families can be tough.”
“Tell me.” Blossom loaded the dishwasher and smiled over one shoulder. “But I have good news. I let Sam sit in a chair tonight to eat dinner and when I helped him up, he barely stumbled.”
“Let us pray,” Logan said, although he couldn’t see Sam taking over the ranch again any time soon. Which made him all the more frustrated with Sawyer. At the least they could have taken turns on the Circle H—and Logan wouldn’t have to risk his promotion. His chance to fight for shared custody of Nicky.
“How’s the kitten doing?” he asked.
He’d seen Blossom hurry out to the barn several times since that afternoon. Although he’d fed the kitten, even stuck around to scratch her under the chin and talk a bit, Blossom acted as if the cat was in an ICU and needed constant care.
She blushed. “You saw me.”
“She doing all right, in your professional opinion?”
“Fine,” she said. “You did a good job with her stitches.”
“They won’t win her any beauty contests, but they’ll work.”
Blossom hesitated. “We should probably take her to the vet’s anyway,” she said. “I mean I could. Tomorrow. If that’s okay with you.”
“No need,” he said. “Unless it’s an emergency—which this isn’t—or something we can’t treat, we don’t bother the vet. Saves the ranch money, too. But I do have to go into town tomorrow.” Then Logan heard himself say, “You want to go with me? While I’m at the ag store for supplies, you can buy groceries and whatever else you’d like. I know the ranch can seem a lonely place for a woman.”
She didn’t answer at first. He shouldn’t have said anything.
Logan passed her the detergent for the dishwasher.
Maybe he hadn’t made himself clear. She needed to know he wasn’t putting any moves on her, just offering her a ride into Barren.
“About earlier today in the barn—”
“I shouldn’t have kissed your cheek,” she said, then in the next breath, “Yes. I’d like to go to town with you tomorrow.”
His insides unwound. “Okay, then. We’ll leave around nine.”
“I’ll fix breakfast,” she said. “A nice omelet.”
Logan nearly groaned aloud. At the table the mac and cheese, never his favorite, had congealed on his plate. He doubted her version of a Western omelet, which he normally liked, would be either.
“Let me buy you an early lunch instead,” he told her.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
LOGAN LEANED AGAINST the side of his truck and checked his watch again. Blossom was late. Then he glanced up and saw her coming from the barn.
“Sorry,” she said with a little duck of her head and no eye contact.
Ah, he thought. “The kitten.”
It was obvious by now that she’d formed an attachment to the little cat.
“I checked on her when I fed the horses at six,” he said with a smile. “We need to coordinate our schedules.”
Without another word Blossom climbed into the truck. She sat as far away from him as possible, pressed against the passenger door. In the driver’s seat Logan hit the locks, and she startled, almost lifting off her perch.
“Can’t have you falling out into the road,” he said, shifting into gear. They were soon down the long drive and onto the main road, and Logan breathed his usual sigh of relief. The ranch always made him feel as if he were locked up in solitary confinement. It was one reason he’d asked Blossom to join him today. He imagined she might feel the same.
Logan didn’t want to examine the other reason.
Yet as he drove toward town, his gaze kept straying to her. He could still feel that briefest touch of her lips to his face yesterday. To Blossom it had meant nothing, he supposed, no more than a friendly gesture—as if to say she knew how hard Nicky’s surprise visit had been for him—but it had been a while since a woman had touched him even like that.
He ran through an imaginary preflight checklist to refocus his thoughts and tried to keep his eyes on the road instead of on Blossom.
Neither spoke until they were at the edge of town.
“The kitten needs a name,” she said.
He could tell she’d been turning that subject over in her mind the whole way, as if she’d decided it was the only safe topic they might discuss. “Thought we agreed. We don’t name the animals.”
“I bet Sam does.”
“Yeah, well,” he conceded. “But barn cats are different.”
“I know. They don’t always stay around. Maybe they would,” she added, “if they did have names. If they felt a part of the ranch instead of just coming and going.”
Like me, he thought.
Logan glanced at her again—and nearly rear-ended the car in front of him on Main Street. The big flashy SUV likely belonged to a spring tourist who didn’t know it sometimes snowed here even in April or one of the wealthy out-of-towners who’d settled in Barren in one of those monstrous log homes on ten-acre “ranches” that made them feel like true Westerners.
“Are you really talking about the cats?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Philadelphia,” he said, swinging the truck into an angled parking spot that had just opened up halfway down the street. “You left home. For some reason.”
“I wanted to see the world,” she said, but Logan didn’t believe her. According to Blossom herself, she’d already seen plenty of it.
In front of the ag store, he cut the engine. “All right, we’ll save that for later. I’m going in here to order supplies, get some feed. The market’s right across the street. When you’re done with the groceries, I can roll over to pick you up.”
“How long?”
“An hour, maybe? Like a lot of guys I tend to get lost in the aisles, trying out this gadget and that.” His mind should be on getting back to Wichita, not on farm equipment or a woman he had no business even thinking about except, he reminded himself, as an employee.
Or maybe he was just delaying their return to the ranch.
And the isolation that always reminded him of losing the people he loved.
“I might have another errand to do,” she said.
“Take your time.”
* * *
IT TOOK BLOSSOM a while to reach the far end of Main Street, not because the street was that long but because she kept stopping to look in store windows. And to bask in the spring sunshine, letting the still-cool air blow through her hair.
She glanced back toward the agriculture store. Logan had disappeared inside.
The little town of Barren was a far cry from Philly—it was no more than this one street and a few surrounding blocks, from what she’d seen—and most of the area’s population probably lived on ranches like the Circle H. That suited Blossom just fine. She was anonymous here, another bonus.
A smile crossed her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ken here in his fancy suit that had cost thousands of dollars, his silk ties and custom-made white shirts, not to mention his pricey shoes. He’d stick out all right. The local dress code seemed to be jeans and boots and, of course, the ubiquitous cowboy hat.
Logan hadn’t worn one today, but then he didn’t seem to consider himself a cowboy. A jet pilot, he’d told her, and his job was as far from ranching as she was from Philadelphia and Ken. No wonder Logan looked uncomfortable on the Circle H.
In front of a pet store, she gazed at the window display. A red dog collar studded with silver adorned the neck of a stuffed black-and-white border collie. A herding dog. Blossom had seen several of them at the Circle H but only from a distance. We don’t name the animals. They weren’t family pets any more than the little no-name kitten was, at least in Logan’s view.
Unable to resist, Blossom stepped inside the store. From the cat department in the rear, she bought a couple of toys—a mouse with catnip inside, a fishing-pole type thing with feathers at the end—then a dish with a goldfish design and, finally, a small pink beaded collar with a bell to warn the birds.
Outside again, she strolled along the paved walkway, humming to herself.
A few doors down, a children’s apparel shop looked too enticing to be passed by, even when she shouldn’t keep Logan waiting. He’d said not to hurry, but Ken had been good at laying traps like that to spring on her without warning.
Carrying her pet-store bag, she went in.
“Good morning.” A clerk came forward. “May I help you find something?”
“Oh, no. Thank you. Is it all right if I just look around?”
The woman smiled. “Of course. Take your time,” she said as Logan had.
Blossom wasn’t used to dallying. With her father she didn’t dare, and when Ken said jump, she’d asked how high—at least in her mind. Her daily routine in Philly had come to be very structured and, ultimately, confining. She’d even quit her first job there to have more time at “home” to meet Ken’s demanding standards, and it wasn’t often—or hadn’t been until now—that she could simply enjoy part of a morning doing what she liked.
The clerk, who trailed her through the shop, clearly wanted to chat. She had no other customers. Or did she expect Blossom to shoplift from one of the displays? In the next instant she had her answer.
“Do you live here?” the woman asked. “I haven’t seen you before.”
And in small towns, people noticed. She’d gathered that right away from a few curious glances she’d gotten on the street. Blossom would bet the woman knew everyone around here by name.
“I’m passing through,” she admitted with a twinge of regret. What if she’d grown up in a town like this one on a ranch like the Circle H? In a house she could truly call her own?
She explored a rack of oh-so-small baby clothes mostly in blue then, moving on, a set of cream-colored shelves that held silver mugs, little spoons and picture frames. The baby in one photograph made her heart turn over. “What a sweet face,” she said to the clerk, who was still hovering nearby.
“That’s my niece, actually. I wanted to show off this frame in a more personal way. Usually, my stock comes with inserted photos of complete strangers who stare out at me all day. Barren is a close-knit town. People like to make a connection. Isn’t she cute? If you’re not looking for baby boy things, we have some adorable new dresses over there on the far wall.” She waited only a second before asking, “Are you having a little girl?”
As if by instinct, Blossom’s hand went to her stomach. Was she showing already? She hadn’t thought so. It wouldn’t do for word to get around town that she was pregnant. Certainly, she hadn’t told Logan. Or even Sam. Her job at the Circle H seemed precarious enough. She’d be here only a short time, and she’d seen Logan with Nick. She doubted he’d welcome the idea of a baby there.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “I, um, have a friend who is.”
The clerk raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
“Let me show you.”
As the woman pulled out one after another of the most beautiful baby dresses, Blossom all but melted into a puddle on the floor.
She fingered the embroidered hem of a too-cute-for-words gingham sundress. “Pink still seems to be very popular.”
“Purple, too,” the clerk agreed. “Or should I say lavender?”
But it was the tiniest things that called to Blossom. She drifted toward a white basket heaped with layette items from receiving blankets to booties before her gaze fell on an artfully stacked pile of baby hats on the same table.
“The hospital in Kansas City orders these for the newborns,” the clerk told her. “Parents like them for home, too. We have some really nice ones.”
Blossom picked up a multicolored cap in pink and blue and yellow that covered all the bases. To her delight it had an interwoven cowboy/cowgirl motif. “Maybe my friend would like this.”
“I’m sure she would. That’s one of our new designs.”
Blossom couldn’t leave the store without buying something, having taken up the sales associate’s time, and the tiny cap warmed her heart. It didn’t cost that much, which seemed to disappoint the saleswoman but suited Blossom’s budget, and Ken wasn’t here to tell her she didn’t need it.
Moments later she was on the sidewalk again with another bag to carry.
At the end of the street she hurried into the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency, her original destination.
“Hi, Blossom.” At the reception desk in the front room, an attractive dark-haired woman had been typing on the computer. When she glanced up, a slight frown crossed her face. “Everything all right on the Circle H?”
Not really. She’d stepped over a boundary with Logan yesterday because of that kiss, and on the way into town she hadn’t known what to say to him. “Fine,” she said, struggling to remember the woman’s name. A few days ago she’d helped Blossom fill out her application.
“I had a terrible time finding someone for Logan. I’m glad you filled the bill.”
“I’m not sure about that but—” She didn’t go any further. “I wanted to ask about my pay. I wasn’t sure of the arrangement.”
The woman’s frown deepened. “The agency collects the money from a client, we take our commission for placing you, then cut a check.” She paused. “It’s not Friday so I can’t pay you yet for the week. But don’t worry. The Hunters always meet their bills and if they didn’t—”
“I’m not worried.” Which was a lie for a different reason. “But...could I get cash instead?”
“That’s not our usual policy.” She hesitated again. “If it’s inconvenient for you to come to town again, we could do direct deposit at your bank.”
Blossom’s pulse skipped. That was even worse. There was no way she’d open a bank account. She wouldn’t give Ken a trail to follow. She’d already made one slip soon after she left Philadelphia. “Not cash then?”
“I can check with my accountant.” She gave Blossom an encouraging smile. “Or I could mail the check to you.”
“No, I’ll come in on Friday.” If she lasted that long before she had to move on again.
Shifting her packages, Blossom finally remembered the woman’s name was Shadow. Her brown gaze was very direct. “Is there a problem, Blossom?”
“No, of course not. I like the Circle H,” she said, which was true. “I was just wondering. Please ask your accountant.”
Her heart was still thumping by the time she finally finished the grocery shopping. The ranch cupboards and pantry, the huge double freezer, held plenty of food so she didn’t need much, but a few items had been missing for the dinner she planned to make tonight. Assuming she could think straight by then. A check? Up until now she’d worked for cash doing odd jobs or waiting tables whenever she ran out of money.
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Leigh Riker
She can't stay for long…She just needs a place to hide. Now. Pregnant and on the run, Blossom Kennedy jumps at the opportunity to work as a caregiver to an injured, elderly rancher. While she tends to the man, his handsome grandson takes over at the Circle H. Logan Hunter is tough, loyal and a wonderful father to his young son. But Blossom needs a port in a storm more than she needs love, and soon enough she'll be moving on. Unless she's somehow stumbled into the exact place she and her unborn child are supposed to be…by Logan's side.
She can’t stay for long
She just needs a place to hide. Now. Pregnant and on the run, Blossom Kennedy jumps at the opportunity to work as a caregiver to an injured, elderly rancher. While she tends to the man, his handsome grandson takes over at the Circle H. Logan Hunter is tough, loyal and a wonderful father to his young son. But Blossom needs a port in a storm more than she needs love, and soon enough she’ll be moving on. Unless she’s somehow stumbled into the exact place she and her unborn child are supposed to be...by Logan’s side.
“The farther west I travel, the more...open I feel. Less closed in.”
Logan couldn’t help but smile. “That’s how I feel when I’m flying.”
“You’re a pilot?”
“Private jets. Experimental sometimes—but mostly redesigns.” Until he got his promotion. Then his assignments would become way more interesting.
“A test pilot,” Blossom said. “No wonder you don’t seem that happy to be here.”
He looked outside the barn at that big blue sky. “Got me,” he said.
“I think I know how you feel. Flying high must seem like being a bird. I suppose if I reached California, I’d feel positively free.” She didn’t sound that convinced. “Or maybe,” she added with that look again, “I’ll just run out of road.”
He didn’t want to care, but still he had to ask.
“Blossom, what are you running from?”
Dear Reader (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0),
How much fun can a writer have? I loved fitting all the pieces together for The Reluctant Rancher. As a bonus, I got to write about cowboys—always a favorite!
In his “real life,” Logan Hunter is a test pilot who needs an upcoming promotion with higher pay so he can fight for custody of his young son. But when the grandfather who raised Logan gets hurt on the family ranch, Logan becomes a temporary cowboy again.
He’s not looking for love. And Blossom Kennedy, the caregiver he hires to help out, is clearly on the run. She won’t stay long and neither will he. But, of course, love has its own plans for these two.
I hope you’ll enjoy this ride on the Circle H ranch, where the buffalo still roam. And there’s more good news: The Reluctant Rancher is the first book in my new miniseries, Kansas Cowboys.
Happy reading!
Leigh
The Reluctant Rancher
Leigh Riker
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LEIGH RIKER, like many dedicated readers, grew up with her nose in a book. This award-winning, USA TODAY bestselling author still can’t imagine a better way to spend her time than to curl up with a good romance novel—unless it is to write one! She’s a member of the Authors Guild, Novelists, Inc. and Romance Writers of America. When not writing, she’s either in the garden, watching movies funny and sad, or traveling (for research purposes, of course). With added “help” from her mischievous Maine coon cat, she’s now at home working on a new novel. She loves to hear from readers. You can find Leigh on her website, leighriker.com (http://www.leighriker.com), on Facebook at leighrikerauthor (https://www.facebook.com/LeighRikerAuthor/) and on Twitter, @lbrwriter (https://twitter.com/lbrwriter).
To
Aidan, Kaitlyn, Jackson and Lily, my youngest loves...
Contents
Cover (#u93ac4b3d-b40d-5c7d-a615-f4ddb1458d13)
Back Cover Text (#u0b5969ab-ab30-5f4b-ba46-4f4c09b51e53)
Introduction (#u8f4a2df5-e6d4-5731-aefb-f3333bdb8454)
Dear Reader (#u5c27965f-66f8-5830-8b15-d30723a8da24)
Title Page (#u53fb48b7-10e6-53c2-9483-20556d112d94)
About the Author (#u95d48d40-151d-5544-b949-ba099faf7ab8)
Dedication (#u37c4eca9-1e7c-51ad-9300-fe98a0cb6c52)
CHAPTER ONE (#u87ed2abf-841b-5ff0-80ce-befa486c713a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u08da956d-f549-5786-a3c0-7641928c30ec)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue14e3fab-5cb3-5f9e-a567-fd872c9209bc)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u2ca23f75-7ab6-522a-af71-485c3feee2e9)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4c1d8080-41d7-568e-a3b5-9ac775696a6b)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
“THIS ONE HAD better be good,” he said.
Because being a cowboy—or a nursemaid—wasn’t in Logan Hunter’s plan.
His black Stetson cocked at an angle, he narrowed his eyes at the distant plume of dust rising off the dirt access lane to the ranch. The Circle H was cut off—literally, in bad weather—from the road by half a mile. One reason he didn’t want to be here, especially in spring when he knew the rains would come. Staring across the wide expanse of land, which looked as flat as an old mare’s shank, he studied the fast-approaching car.
Logan wished he were in a car and headed the other way. Three years after the nasty divorce that had turned him into a hard man, he was still dealing with the fallout when his grandfather got hurt. He was more than willing to come back here and help Sam—he’d raised Logan and his brother after all—but April was the busy season. He couldn’t run the ranch and care for Sam at the same time. He needed more help. Fast.
Certainly his brother hadn’t stepped up to the plate. Sawyer hadn’t even answered his calls. Everything was up to Logan, at least for now.
Still watching the lane, he scooped up the tortoiseshell kitten that had kept twining around his feet. Cradling the little cat, Logan propped a shoulder against the front porch post and listened to her purr. He was a sucker for animals, with one exception.
Bison.
Why couldn’t his granddad run cattle like everybody else?
The car barreled into focus, gathering speed the closer it came, as if someone was chasing the driver. The broken-down sedan crunched to a stop in the gravel by the front steps, and Logan envisioned another frustrating go-round with the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency’s latest candidate. The male caregiver he’d asked for was a rare commodity in the middle of Kansas, so he’d been told.
He didn’t want excuses. The driver’s door opened and disappointment swamped him. Logan didn’t want another woman in the house—in his life either. Then the dust cloud settled and he really saw her. As she climbed out of the car, the denim ball cap she wore snagged on the door frame. The hat flopped off into the dirt, and a riot of russet curls spilled free. That bright hair bobbed everywhere. Hidden behind huge sunglasses, her eyes could be any color, but her chin hitched upward in her heart-shaped face and his stomach clenched.
He might have been a fool at twenty-three, but at thirty-two he knew better.
The woman’s clothing was something else. Baggy top, baggy pants, both in dark colors, which shouldn’t have made her look attractive, but did.
She pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were brown, like the plain grass in winter, yet he saw something deep within them. Despair? Fear? He couldn’t tell.
But her voice held firm. “Mr. Hunter?”
“Yep.” From his casual stance against the post, he gave her his best strong, silent cowboy stare. “You’re looking at him.”
She took a breath. “I thought I’d never get here.”
“So did I.” Idly, he stroked the kitten. He’d waited most of the afternoon for this newest applicant.
She glanced behind her at the long drive. “Well. This is Kansas.” Suddenly, she grinned up at him from the bottom step. “I feel like I’m in The Wizard of Oz before the tornado whisked Dorothy away. Not much out here, is there?”
“Not much.” Logan had almost flinched. He didn’t need any reminders of the ranch’s isolation.
“I was sure I was lost. Even your driveway goes on forever.” She shot another look over her shoulder. Who was she expecting to see?
Logan exaggerated a drawl. “Well, that’s the thing about Kansas. Straight roads. You can just keep goin’. Even fall asleep if you want, then wake yourself up when you get here—or there.”
Her smile faded. Worrying her lower lip, she took a step backward toward her car. Logan couldn’t blame her. He wanted to run, too, and never come back. This was the place where he’d lost his parents, then his wife, his marriage. And, nearly, his child.
“So,” she said, “this must be the Circle H.”
“That’s what the sign says.”
She tilted her head to study him. “That sign at the end of your road is hanging by a thread. It wouldn’t take a minute to put it back up.”
“That part of your job description?”
“No,” she said, looking away. “I imagine it’s part of yours.”
“Look, we have ten thousand acres here. Miles and miles of fence line. Two men quit this morning, the cook three days ago.” Thanks to Sam’s grumpiness. “Things keep going this way, we won’t need a sign except one that says For Sale.” Her mouth fell open. “On top of that—”
“Logan, where are you?”
It was uncanny timing. His grandfather’s voice blasted from his upstairs bedroom down the steps and through the screen door onto the porch. It happened about ten times a day. He’d always been difficult, but since his accident...
Sam was making a real racket now. Banging on his tray, probably, with the spoon he’d thrown at Logan earlier because he didn’t like canned stew for lunch. Stroking the kitten he still held, he stood frozen. If Sam continued to be the worst patient in medical history, Logan might never be able to get any work done. Or leave. He had to hire help. Right now anyone would do.
“Coming!” he called and then studied the woman. “You still want this job?”
She returned his hard stare. “I’m not sure yet. But I do need it.”
Well, at least she’d made herself clear. He couldn’t keep from asking.
“That bad?”
She bent to pick up her ball cap. “Even worse.”
Logan took another look. None of his business. Whatever had caused that haunted expression deep in her warm brown eyes, he shouldn’t care. Still, he could recognize the same look he often saw in his own mirror. Trapped, it said. So maybe she could help out for a few days until he found a man to replace her.
“Come on. We’ll find out what Sam wants,” he said. “He’ll size you up then we’ll decide.” He added, “Call me Logan.”
She sent the little cat a smile, not him. “Blossom Kennedy.”
Logan peeled away from the porch post, set the kitten down with a gentle pat on her rump and watched her tumble down the steps then scamper away toward the barn. Feeling Blossom Kennedy’s gaze on him, he resettled his Stetson and headed inside.
Blossom followed.
“I’m told the senior Mr. Hunter is sweet,” she said, as if to convince herself that everyone on the Circle H didn’t have the disposition of a billy goat.
Logan couldn’t help a wolfish grin. “Let’s see how long you think that.”
* * *
BECAUSE SHE HAD no other choice, Blossom trailed Logan Hunter up the steps to the second floor of the sprawling house. Really, with that dark hair and those broad shoulders, he was something to look at. Too bad she wasn’t interested, even for the brief time it would take him to fire her. And oh, she’d seen that intent in his dark blue eyes.
The man himself was like a bruise: black hat, midnight eyes, blue jeans and ebony boots. Her first sight of him, holding that kitten, hadn’t matched what she’d been told by the woman at the agency. Or rather, warned about. She bit back a sigh.
Considering her life experience so far, she should hate men. This one wasn’t very friendly, even if his shoulders did look just right for leaning on. But Blossom wouldn’t lean, or cry. That was behind her now. She would try to become a stronger person who relied on herself.
“Has your father been sick long?” she asked, wondering why he’d called Sam by his first name. The agency hadn’t given her any details. All the woman had said was that the owner of the Circle H needed in-home care.
“He’s my grandfather—stepgrandfather, actually. When my folks died, my grandmother was already a widow herself. This ranch—which my dad had run for her—belonged to my family. Then she married Sam and he took over. They raised me here on the Circle H. Sam adopted me.” He kept going up the steps. “He’s not sick. He broke his leg in three places.” Logan sighed. “He cracked his skull. And to complicate matters, he had an intracranial bleed.”
Logan didn’t trip over the big word, which made her unsteady stomach churn. Maybe she should have thought twice before signing on with the Mother Comfort agency, which had admittedly been a last resort. As she’d heard often enough, she was no homemaker. She was surely no nurse. Frankly, she didn’t know what she was. Out of money and stranded in the nearby town of Barren, Blossom had largely faked her experience on the agency application.
“He came home from the hospital a few days ago,” Logan went on, “but his memory’s not so good. He gets confused.”
Predictably, her heart melted. “Poor man.”
“Don’t feel sorry for him. He needed his head examined.”
At his dry tone, Blossom couldn’t resist. She made a face at Logan’s back. If she didn’t need this job so badly, she wouldn’t work for a man who didn’t have so much as a soft spot for his own grandfather. Or was he smiling? She couldn’t see his expression.
They’d just reached the top of the stairs when a crash sounded, and Logan lit off down the hall. He flung open the door of the end room and sent his black hat sailing onto the nearest chair, where it settled perfectly, like a lasso around a calf’s neck.
“Still alive, I see,” he said, his tone gruff. “You’re not safe even from yourself.”
Blossom followed him into the room, a sinking feeling in her uneasy stomach. Maybe she’d bitten off more here than she could chew—as usual.
An older man who didn’t fit her idea of an invalid, except for the large cast on his right leg, sat in the middle of the hardwood floor rubbing his head. “Didn’t you hear me call?” Whipcord lean, he looked like a much younger person than she’d envisioned, and his dark hair had only a few broad streaks of gray. He peered around Logan, who had knelt in front of him. “Who’ve you got there? You finally get some sense and answer that ad I picked out for you in the paper?”
“No,” he said. “She’s from the agency.”
“The Department of Agriculture? Well, I’ve got something to say to—”
“Not the government, the health care people.” His voice had gentled, the same way he’d treated the kitten.
“I don’t need health care,” his grandfather said.
Logan searched his limbs, probably for more fractures, then his head for lumps. He stared into his grandfather’s eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Samuel...uh, Hunter.”
Logan didn’t look happy with the hesitant answer. “I can’t leave you alone for fifteen minutes. You know how dizzy you get when you try to stand up. Where did you think you were going?” He tugged lightly on his arm. “Come on, now. I’ve got you. Let’s get you back in bed.”
“I’m dizzy because I was in bed. All day,” Sam said, still studying Blossom. “I told you those ads would pay off.”
“Forget the singles ads.”
Sam snorted. “I may have smashed my head, but you don’t know the first thing that’s good for you. One bad experience, you don’t stay off the horse—”
“Are we talking about you or me now?”
Sam sagged onto the bed, his face white. He gazed at Blossom again. “Come over here, girl. Let me get a better look at you. My eyes don’t work so good these days, but I sure do like what I can see, which is two of you.”
Startled, she stepped closer to the bed. In her view he was a dear, all right. Crusty as the outside of a loaf of country bread, but with a soft center that she favored in bread and in people for that matter. Was that why she’d been called a pushover? She glanced out the window, past the lace curtains blowing in the breeze, to make sure the coast was still clear.
“You’ve had a bad time,” she said.
He grinned. “Not that bad, it turns out. I sure know how to pick ’em.”
“Sam,” Logan muttered.
“We’re going to get on just fine,” he continued as if Logan hadn’t spoken. His blue eyes twinkled. “What kind of cook are you?”
“A...reluctant one.” She wanted to stay, to help, but she couldn’t fib anymore. She’d used up her quota on the agency application.
Blossom waited for Logan to take her arm and steer her down the stairs to her car right that moment, but instead, he sighed then let Sam continue the interview.
“Can you keep house?”
“If I have to.” She added, “I try.” That was one thing you could say about her.
Sam smiled. “A clean rag, some lemon oil...there’s nothing to it.”
“You never cleaned house in your life,” Logan pointed out.
“And we have a laundry setup on the back porch.”
“No, it’s in the basement.” Logan was standing by the door now.
“I guess I can figure out a washing machine,” she said, giving in to a smile, “as long as it’s not the old-fashioned wringer kind or a washboard. And takes quarters.”
Sam cackled. “You got a good sense of humor. I like that.” He glanced at Logan. “This house could use a few laughs.” His sharp gaze pinned her like a butterfly to a mounting board. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine last month.”
He sank back against his pillows. “You want babies?”
Logan shifted his weight. “All right, Sam. Time for you to sleep.”
“I don’t need a nap. I’m ready for supper.” He paused. “As long as it’s not more canned stew—and I don’t want some TV dinner tonight either. No one ever called me picky but...” He pointed at her. “While you’re at it, make me some decent lemonade.”
“If life hands you lemons...” she said, which was the story of her life.
Blossom actually believed the old saying, but she’d think about the disaster she’d made of things so far, and about her dubious future, later.
She was already half in love with Logan’s grandfather. Better still, the isolated Circle H offered a temporary hiding place.
* * *
“WHAT IS THIS stuff I’m supposed to eat?”
Logan stared at the yellow glop on his plate. After calling the Mother Comfort agency to say Blossom could stay temporarily but to keep looking for a male replacement, he’d left her to Sam for the rest of the day. Because bison rarely had trouble giving birth, Logan had watched half a dozen cows safely deliver the first spring babies in six far-off pockets of the ranch. He’d brooded the whole time.
That haunted look in Blossom’s eyes was enough to bring a man to his knees. Determined to suppress the disturbing thought, he’d ridden home near sundown hoping for some peace of mind and a hot, home-cooked meal. Not too much to ask, was it?
He could hardly blame Sam for complaining about the stew. Logan had fixed too many skimpy frozen dinners in the past few days, too many cans of mediocre chili. He’d had to admit it would be nice not to have to rustle up something himself.
Now he couldn’t identify anything on his plate except the rice, if that’s what it was, under all that goop. The two cowhands who lived at the Circle H were eating dinner here tonight. Another pair had gone home to their families, and another couple worked only as needed. Seated at the long plank table that, to his surprise, was set with his mother’s best china, Willy and Tobias made curious sounds.
“Madras curry,” Blossom finally said from behind a pitcher of flowers at the opposite end of the table, her head bent over her dish, her russet curls shining in the overhead light. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, which seemed to be a habit of hers whenever things weren’t going well.
“You mean like a plaid shirt?”
“It’s a province in India.”
Logan didn’t consider himself to be an ignorant man. But in his regular job as a test pilot he flew mostly local flights around Wichita and it had been a long time since geography class. Still, he’d also served time in the military and now watched Jeopardy some nights to keep aware of the world beyond this place.
“I know where India is,” he said at last, glancing at the two cowboys, who were trying not to laugh. They kept sneaking looks at Blossom, too, but for some reason he didn’t want them to notice her like that.
“You know about Madras, do you, Willy?”
“Sure. I’ve ate curry. Before that restaurant in town with the bead curtains closed last year.”
Willy, a rough-hewn six foot four with dishwater blond hair and hands like shovels, hadn’t lifted his fork. Any other night he would have been done by now, his plate all but licked clean. Logan had assumed Willy was a meat-and-potatoes man like him. He was clearly lying to please Blossom Kennedy.
She raised her head. “Try it,” she told Logan. “It won’t kill you.”
Tobias, the other cowhand, eyed his plate.
“Your cooking come with a guarantee, Miss Blossom?”
She half smiled. “I guarantee it’ll fill your stomach.”
“Good enough,” Tobias said, then dug in to his food.
His balding crown glowed like a pearl on his lowered head. Both men were eating now. What about Sam? Logan cocked one ear but heard only silence from the second floor. It wasn’t like his grandfather to remain so quiet. Frowning, he pushed rice around. “Did Sam eat this?”
“Without a word,” she informed him.
“You don’t say.”
“Yes. I am saying, Mr. Hunter.” So they were back to that again. Two bright flags of color appeared on her cheeks, but her voice stayed soft as if she was afraid of offending him too much. “I should think, after the day’s work you put in out there—” she waved toward the darkened window “—you’d eat anything that didn’t move, especially when you didn’t have to heat it yourself.” Despite the brave words, her eyes held that uncertain look again. “If you don’t like it, there’s sliced turkey in the refrigerator, a ripe tomato and some bread. You can make yourself a sandwich.”
Or go hungry, her tone implied. Like a traitor, his stomach grumbled. At the sound, Willy snickered and Logan glared at him. His men hunched over their plates, forks flying. Tobias even smacked his lips. If he said one word, Logan would fire him. Or think about it anyway. He’d taken enough jabs in the past three years since his divorce. He wouldn’t be laughed at.
He picked up his fork and took a tentative bite then another. If he didn’t look at the stuff, he could get it down at least. With an audible gulp, he swallowed. Fire hit his throat, and he grabbed his water, which Blossom had served in his mother’s wedding crystal. Logan emptied the glass, certain steam was coming from his ears.
“What’s in here?” he managed, eyes watering.
“Curry powder, of course. The hot kind, too.”
Logan glanced around the table but didn’t see the same reaction from Tobias or Willy. Both men were shoveling in food as if they’d skipped breakfast and lunch, which Logan knew they hadn’t. Wait a minute. Had Blossom given him an extra dose of curry powder?
“What makes it so yellow?” It looked almost orange.
“The turmeric—it’s one of the spices—and some saffron, too.”
“I thought that was a color.”
“It’s also a spice, from which the color got its name. It comes from the stigmas of crocuses.”
He grunted, not wanting to be impressed by her knowledge. Stigmas? He didn’t want to be eating flowers.
“Where’d you learn to make curry? In fact, where’d you find any curry powder? I doubt it was in the pantry here.”
“My father was in the service. We moved around a lot. I brought this curry powder with me,” she said. “It was a special order from overseas.”
“I bet.”
He leaned on his forearms, eyes fixed on a point just north of his plate so he wouldn’t have to look at what passed for his meal tonight, or at Blossom. Those frozen TV dinners had been the best part of his week after all. Miss World Traveler was different, all right. Maybe that explained her weird, shapeless clothes.
After his throat stopped burning, Logan managed to finish the curry. He imagined a woman like Blossom Kennedy must love tofu.
Her red curls had grown even springier from the humidity in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to think about her hair right now. Or anytime. He needed to make it clear that he was the boss here. “Next time—if it wouldn’t be too much to ask—I’d like a nice thick steak, some home fries and a pile of green beans.” He sent her a thin smile. “I’m partial to green. Never cared much for yellow.”
All she said was “You’ll learn to love it.”
Logan tried to shut out the choked-off laughter from the two cowhands. A couple of comedians. He’d deal with Tobias and Willy later. But he wondered what had put that haunted look in Blossom’s eyes and, never mind her other travels, why she was clearly on the run.
CHAPTER TWO (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
LATER THAT NIGHT Blossom surveyed her temporary bedroom. She’d made it through dinner, even held her own with Logan Hunter, although it would be an understatement to say her new boss wasn’t impressed by her cooking. She’d tried to make the meal special with lacy place mats and the few flowers she’d found in the neglected garden, but it had been Willy and Tobias who kept up the conversation.
At least she’d managed to wash the dishes without breaking any of Logan’s best family china.
By the half-open window she plopped down in an old rocking chair. Its wooden arms were worn to a smooth patina that soon warmed under her hands, and the nighttime breeze smelled of grass and animals. Blossom breathed deep. The aroma was better than perfume to her. She’d never had a home like this, but oh, more than anything she wanted one. Her bedroom. The chintz curtains weren’t her style, nor was the fading forget-me-not wallpaper, but tonight she had a job—if only she could do it to Logan’s satisfaction. Something she’d never been able to do with Ken.
Blossom put a hand over her heart, making sure the treasure she’d put there was still safely tucked away. She should feel peaceful tonight, but of course she didn’t. As clear and sharp as broken glass, she recalled how quickly Ken had changed from the attentive boyfriend who said he loved her into the coldhearted fiancé who seemed to hate her.
Not all men, she kept telling herself, had his mercurial temper. Just the ones she’d known. She hadn’t seen that in Logan—yet—but then men like Ken and her father never showed their true colors until it was too late.
Blossom slipped a hand under her oversize shirt to touch the small picture she’d hidden in her bra. Carefully, she withdrew it then held it near the light to study the creased, blurred sonogram image in black-and-white, trying to make out a tiny hand here, a foot there.
She saw no need to tell Logan about her baby. If she could keep from getting fired for even one week, she would take her pay and hit the road again.
Every week, every mile down the road from Pennsylvania to Kansas, every awful job she’d taken to stay alive and protect her unborn baby, took her that much farther from Ken. She had to keep going.
She held the picture to her chest and began to hum, as if the baby she carried was already here in this safer place, his or her sweet, warm body against hers.
Blossom shut her eyes. Tonight she was in a nice, if a bit old-fashioned, room in a wide-windowed, airy house in the middle of nowhere. A house that only needed a woman’s touch—even hers—to feel homey again. Once she got the hang of it, this job wouldn’t be half-bad. And while she was here, Blossom meant to do it well. As well as she could anyway.
Comforting herself, she rocked and sang.
About a little baby...and a mother who’d buy her a mockingbird.
* * *
IN THE DARK Logan listened to the soft melody that drifted from the upstairs window. He pushed the front porch glider with one sock-covered foot. For years it had had the same creak, even before his parents had died, and even when his grandmother was still alive, but he wouldn’t oil it. Neither would Sam. Everything in this house had its own special sound by now, and he didn’t see any reason to paint the metal swing while he was here either. A few rust spots sure wouldn’t ruin his faded work jeans. No problem.
But Blossom? She had trouble—big trouble—written all over her. And that was a problem he didn’t need.
Hours after he’d choked down that too-hot curry, he was still seeing her at his grandmother’s table tonight using his mother’s things. She’d looked more at home there on her first night than any of Mother Comfort’s other candidates would have in a dozen years. No, she’d looked relieved.
Sure, she was pretty enough—although he’d never been drawn to redheads before—but what really got to him was that lost look about her. And if he kept seeing her as an appealing woman, a woman in need, rather than an employee...
Logan wasn’t looking for love. Blossom, on the other hand, looked as if she’d found it then lost it somehow and wouldn’t be the same until it was in her grasp again.
He had enough to worry about. One day he’d been in Wichita about to flight-test a sweet new jet, vying for the promotion he badly needed—the one with better pay that would allow him to fight his ex-wife for joint custody of their now six-year-old son. The next morning he’d been back on the Kansas plains, a temporary cowboy again.
The soft tune floated down to him once more from the window, and the glider jerked to a stop. He should be inside going over the ranch accounts, because no way could Sam do them right now. With his mind on some other planet, he couldn’t be trusted to make any decisions. Instead, Logan had been sitting out here alone in the blackness with a sweet song for company, thinking sad thoughts about his broken marriage and the child he seldom saw.
Upstairs Blossom was buying a diamond ring for some baby she sang to.
He wouldn’t fall for Blossom Kennedy. If she thought he’d missed the travel plans that shone in her eyes, she was mistaken. She wouldn’t stay long.
Neither would he.
* * *
“GIRL, SET YOURSELF down a spell. You haven’t stopped moving all morning.”
Sam’s blue eyes sparkled, all the more vibrant in his pinched white face as he lay back against the fresh sheets Blossom had just put on his bed. She elevated Sam’s head on a stack of pillows and tucked an old but hand-sewn quilt around him. Dull sunlight streamed through his bedroom windows, which were filmed with dust, and Blossom made a mental note to wash them.
“Rest,” she said. “Your grandson won’t thank me for making you more tired this morning than you were when I got here yesterday.”
Sam grunted. “What I’m tired of is being in this bed.”
“Logan is right. The more you rest, the quicker you’ll heal.”
“What’s that?” he said. “Another old wives’ saying?”
She smiled. “I don’t know any old wives.”
Sam snorted. “That was good lemonade you made for dinner last night. Tart but just sweet enough.” He grinned. “Too bad my pucker was wasted. Some woman missed the best kiss of her life.”
Blossom laughed. “You’re bad.” Gathering up his used sheets, she walked to the door. He looked pale to her, and although his running conversation had been sprinkled with corny jokes while she cleaned his room, she sensed he wasn’t quite himself. Blossom could read moods as fast as any high-speed computer could crunch numbers. “You take a short nap and when you wake up, I’ll have lunch ready.”
He straightened. “More of your curry?”
“There’s none left.” She raised her eyebrows. “The other men took care of that. And you,” she added. Last night Sam had eaten two helpings.
“Not Logan,” he guessed.
“He finished his dinner, too, but he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Fussy eater. Always has been.” Sam shook his head then seemed to think better of it. He rubbed one hand over his forehead. “That boy didn’t eat anything but grilled cheese sandwiches until he was ten years old. Then came beef—when I still ran cattle like his daddy and grandpa before me. Even then, he still wouldn’t touch anything that didn’t start out bawling, on four hooves, right here on the Circle H.” He paused. “Far as I’m concerned, my bison now are better than beef. They yield less fat and more protein. But Logan won’t even try the meat.”
We’ll see about that. “He needs to expand his horizons.”
Sam’s expression turned wistful. “I wish I could have seen him choke down that curry. I heard Tobias and Willy laughing all the way up here.”
Blossom didn’t miss his underlying message.
“You can join us for dinner as soon as that dizziness goes away. I’ll save your place at the head of the table.”
He fell back against the pillows again, as if the spinning in his brain had gotten worse, and Blossom felt her heart clench.
“I am kind of tired,” he admitted. “Too much thinkin’ yesterday. I’ll rest my eyes to get ready for lunch. Don’t tell me what it is. Surprise me.”
Blossom had no idea what to serve, or if Logan and his men would come back to the house for the noon meal. Maybe she should ask him to approve her menu—as soon as she made one. With a last glance at Sam, who had turned his face away, she stepped out into the hall.
“Olivia?” The unfamiliar name stopped her, the bundle of sheets in her arms. “Thanks. Makes a man proud to have a daughter-in-law like you. Now, if you and Logan can just set your minds to giving me a few more great-grandkids...”
He trailed off and Blossom’s heart sank. He’d mistaken her for his daughter-in-law. Yesterday he’d thought she’d come to the ranch in answer to some singles ad. When Logan had asked him his name, Sam had stopped to think. He was clearly disoriented, at least part of the time, but she wouldn’t make things worse by pointing that out and upsetting him.
“We’re working on it” was all she said.
With her cheeks feeling flushed, Blossom carried the old bedding down the stairs, through the front parlor and the dining room, and on into the kitchen. She dropped the pile down the laundry chute.
More great-grandkids, Sam had said, which implied there was at least one already. Blossom hadn’t seen any children and certainly no wife for Logan. So where was Olivia?
None of that was her concern. As long as Sam got well enough so he could leave his bed, she’d feel she’d done her job here. It was the least she could do in return for finding this brief refuge at the Circle H.
The sunny morning and the vast expanse of land isolating her here on the ranch lifted her spirits. If she could find Logan, she’d ask about the lunch menu she didn’t have yet. While she was at it, she’d tell him about the incident with Sam.
* * *
LOGAN WAS IN a corral on the far side of the barn, trying to keep from getting his head kicked in like Sam. He’d rather be mucking stalls because, oddly, that chore was his favorite—if he had one here. As a kid he’d sure spent enough time at it. Logan had lived on the Circle H from birth until he left to join the service. With a pitchfork in his hand, he still liked to let his mind drift, to pretend he was really where he wanted to be, back flying a jet. Sometimes he even whistled to himself as he worked. But if he couldn’t cut short the brief leave of absence he’d taken from his job, this unplanned stay on the ranch could threaten his pending promotion. He wasn’t whistling now. No pitchfork either.
“Stand still,” Logan told the shaggy bison bull calf he’d been trying to doctor for an infection. The stubborn weanling had turned over a bucket of warm water, splashing Logan’s boots. He’d just bent over the bull’s hoof again, one foreleg trapped between his thighs to steady it, when Blossom suddenly appeared. The startled bison knocked Logan on his backside in the dirt.
“Hey!” he yelled, when he knew better than to shout or move fast around the touchy bison. Struggling for breath, Logan picked himself up, dusted himself off and glared at Blossom over the corral fence. “You live on a ranch, you learn to be careful. Hear me?”
Blossom froze like some ice sculpture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Oh, no. There was that lowered head again, and her gaze had shifted away.
“It’s okay,” he said in a softer tone. “No harm done.”
Or would the new ache in his hip turn into something worse by nightfall? Getting hurt on a ranch with danger all around was par for the course.
“These bison are ornery critters, easily spooked,” he said.
Wide-eyed and white-faced, Blossom stood stock-still by the rail. He had started toward her, afraid she might faint, when from behind the bull rushed past him, almost flattening Logan again. For one second he thought it meant to crash through the fence and run right over her. Instead, it thrust its broad, runny nose at her through the boards with a lowing sound like a whiny toddler. It hadn’t liked being separated from its mother, and the cow was pacing back and forth along the side of the corral that edged the far pasture.
To her credit, Blossom didn’t scream.
She held one hand to the gap between the boards and let the bison sniff her.
“What a cute boy you are,” she crooned, as if she were still singing that lullaby from last night.
Logan was so surprised he was speechless. “I wouldn’t say ‘cute,’” he finally said. “He nearly stomped me into the ground. I don’t mean to criticize, Blossom, but these animals aren’t pets. And they don’t normally like people much.”
He’d already rescued the tortoiseshell kitten from the bison’s hooves twice today. The fool cat followed him everywhere. Logan had been forced to shut her in the tack room. Maybe for Blossom’s own safety he should lock her in there, too.
But he couldn’t seem to move. “I’ll be,” he said.
That bison calf looked all moon-eyed.
He sure seemed to like Blossom.
Logan couldn’t take his eyes off her either. “I’d ease away from that fence before the calf takes a mind to hurt you. You never can tell what they’re going to do. And even this one is stronger than you might think. Ask my grandfather if you don’t believe me.”
“He only wants a little affection,” she said.
Did she mean the calf, or Sam?
“Still, I wouldn’t—”
He didn’t get the rest out. The bull calf shoved its huge shaggy head into the stout fence—and splintered several planks. Before Logan could react, the bison pushed his whole upper body toward Blossom.
“Whoa, Nellie!” he yelled. “Blossom, head for the barn.” The much bigger bison cow was bawling her head off now. “I’ll open the gate to the pasture so he can rejoin his mama.”
Logan didn’t wait to see whether Blossom followed his order. As soon as the far gate opened, the calf whirled around then thundered toward freedom.
With a sigh of relief that no one had been killed, Logan went after Blossom. He found her standing in the barn aisle, talking to one of the horses in its stall. Cyclone, the big black colt Sam had bought months ago.
“Watch it. He nips,” Logan told her, though bite was more appropriate.
Horse or bison, they were tame only as long as they wanted to be. Strange, how unafraid she seemed of these animals when one look from Logan could make her shy away as if she were about to bolt.
“I’m sorry about—out there,” she said. “You’re okay?”
“Fine.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed him limping across the barnyard.
“Nellie?” She quirked an eyebrow. “That’s his name?”
Logan blinked. “No, this is Cyclone.”
“I meant the little buffalo.”
He did a double take. “Blossom, we don’t name these bison.” He suspected Sam sometimes did, and so had he during his 4-H years of raising beef calves for the summer fair, but Logan refused to personalize them now. By fall some of the herd would become pricey burgers—something he didn’t like to think about—on the menu at a fancy restaurant in Dallas, LA or Chicago.
And Logan would be back in Wichita. Flying again. He wasn’t about to make any more personal connections to this place.
“Maybe you should name them.” Her mouth tightened. “Instead, you shouted at him, scared him.”
Logan shook his head. “He could’ve killed you—and you feel sorry for him?”
“Yes. What did you do to him? It wasn’t just me. It must have been something to make him want to knock you over like that.”
Her tone told him he’d only confirmed her worst opinion of him. The knowledge should keep him clear of any involvement he might be tempted into, but she was easy to look at, and in that moment the sweet smell of her shampoo teased his nose with the clean, fresh scent of outdoors.
“He has a hoof abscess. I was treating it. He didn’t want me to.” That pretty much summed things up.
“You’re wrong.”
He rubbed his neck. “You have to show an animal like that who’s the boss. He’s wild, Blossom—dangerous.” He paused. “How do you think Sam wound up in bed with that busted leg and his head all mixed up?”
“Not from a baby like him,” she insisted.
“You’re wrong.” He repeated her accusation. “Sam got between that same calf and his mama. She flung him like a rag doll up against a tree. By the time he landed, he was in a world of hurt.” He paused. “The bruises were just the start. I don’t want you to end up the same.”
Now it was Blossom who blinked. “Well. Thank you for your concern.”
As if no one else had ever cared about her.
Exasperated, Logan planted both hands on his hips. Heedless of his warning, she had slipped her hand through the bars to pet Cyclone’s neck. The colt all but purred like a cat. “He has a lot of promise but no common sense,” Logan said.
“He’s like the bison baby. He’ll never learn to be gentle if he’s...”
“Mistreated?” The word had just popped into his head.
“Punished.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m the bad guy here?”
He turned away. And nearly tripped over the tortoiseshell kitten. How had she gotten out of the tack room?
He eyed Blossom. “You again?”
“I was looking for you. I heard her crying. So I let her out.”
Logan picked up the cat, who instantly nestled into the crook of his neck. “Just so you know. I didn’t touch that calf except to help him. I’d never touch this horse in anger.”
“They won’t respond to threats either.”
“Ah,” Logan muttered. “I see. You decided to work on this ranch, so you stopped at some bookstore on the way and bought a copy of The Horse Whisperer. Or The Cat Whisperer. No, there’s probably a Bison Whisperer, too.” Putting the kitten down, he gave Blossom a pointed look. “I have news for you. Sometimes—like when you’re about to get kicked—that touchy-feely stuff doesn’t work, city girl.”
Still shaken from his near brush with serious injury, he tried to stare her down. Finally, she glanced away, her gaze following the kitten as she meandered down the barn aisle. From the bend of Blossom’s slender neck, he realized she must consider herself akin to the bison calf. Mistreated. Was that the expression he kept seeing in her eyes?
He knew little about her. He wanted it to stay that way.
The kitten disappeared around the corner, probably headed for a hay bale and a nap. And Blossom was gazing past Logan, out the barn doors. She stared at the long driveway, as she often did.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry I put you in danger. I am a city girl.”
He tried to lighten the moment. “Let me guess. New York? Boston?”
“Philly,” she admitted. “City of Brotherly Love.”
Logan nearly missed her subtle change of tone. She’d seemed so cheerful earlier, yesterday, too, and even at dinner last night. He didn’t want to see that other look in her eyes or hear the trembling words that spoke of some deep hurt. He had enough troubles of his own and all the responsibility he could handle.
She took a breath. “The farther west I travel, the more...open I feel. Less closed in somehow.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s how I feel when I’m flying.”
“You’re a pilot?”
“Private jets. Experimental sometimes—but mostly redesigns.” Until he got his promotion. Then his assignments would become way more interesting.
“A test pilot,” she said. “No wonder you don’t seem that happy to be here.”
He looked outside the barn at that big blue sky. “Got me,” he said.
“I think I know how you feel. Flying high must seem like being a bird. I suppose if I reached California, I’d feel positively free.” She didn’t sound that convinced. “Or maybe,” she added with that look again, “I’ll just run out of road.”
He didn’t want to care, but still he had to ask.
“Blossom, what are you running from?”
CHAPTER THREE (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
ON HER WAY back to the house, Blossom shook so hard her teeth clacked together. But she forced herself not to run. She could sense Logan staring at her from the barn doorway, but she wouldn’t let him see that he’d frightened her. Reminded her of why she was running.
She hated feeling afraid.
There was no need to be scared. She’d finally found a place where she wouldn’t startle awake each night to find herself in yet another cheap motel room. Lying in the dark, listening to the rush of traffic on the road, clutching a musty blanket to her throat, her other hand on her stomach, waiting for that sharp pounding at the flimsy door.
Mornings had rarely been better. Over breakfast whenever she could afford a meal, Blossom planned the next leg of what she liked to think of as her journey to freedom. In the past month she’d changed cars three times, paying cash so Ken couldn’t track the transaction. Each “bargain” buy had cost less than the last, and she’d bought from people who didn’t worry about such minor things as a title transfer, but she’d kept moving even when she was cold, hungry, out of hope, out of money...and always afraid.
Shivering in her loose chinos and big shirt, she climbed the back steps to the house. She’d changed her style, too, thrown away the bright clothes she preferred and all the designer labels Ken had bought her. She didn’t want to be noticed anymore like some shiny trophy, didn’t want to be “seen.”
Then why this heart-pounding sense of alarm now, this leaden feel to her limbs?
In the kitchen she dropped onto a chair, still cold and shaking and in darkness even though the room was bathed in sunlight. She should be thankful. Today she wasn’t on some back road to avoid the highways, praying her old sedan would make it to the next stop.
She propped her elbows on the kitchen table, buried her face in her hands. Yet she was afraid and Logan had seen through her.
And with that, she was back in Philly again in Ken’s condo with the bathroom door lock that didn’t work when she needed it most...remembering all the things she couldn’t seem to do right, no matter how she tried to forget.
The memories shrieked through her mind like tires on wet pavement, like her life was then, skidding out of control...
* * *
“YOU WOULDN’T LAST a day without me.”
Looming over her, Ken shook a paper in Blossom’s face. Through a tangle of curls she stared up at him, wondering what she’d done this time. Every night before he came home from work, she hurried around the condo, changing the king-size sheets, taking care to make crisp hospital corners that were folded and tucked in just so, as her father and Ken had taught her to do, then checking the pots on his fancy stove to make sure she didn’t let their meal burn or boil over and create another mess.
“I haven’t done anything!” she insisted.
“You can’t even remember to pay a parking ticket. This citation was written a month ago—and you hid it in my glove compartment!”
Oh, God. She’d forgotten. She’d borrowed Ken’s car while hers was at the Lexus dealer’s to be washed and waxed. She’d gone to a doctor’s appointment, which he didn’t know about. Ever since she’d used the home pregnancy-test kit, Blossom couldn’t seem to find the right time to tell him.
“Ken, I’ll pay it tomorrow.”
“Do you know how important I am in this burg? You’ll pay it now! Before word gets around that I’m engaged to a scatterbrain.”
Blossom frowned. Who would tell anyone about the ticket but him? But then, as he’d said often enough, Ken did have a reputation to safeguard. He was a successful real estate developer. He knew everyone—and everyone knew him. It was Blossom who’d become invisible without quite knowing how it happened.
As if he’d fired a starting gun for a race, she streaked for the living room, her entire being focused on the checkbook in his desk drawer. She needed to fix this, to make Ken smile again. He was right. She’d been careless, and not for the first time. She was stupid, useless, worthless...
She was halfway across the room when he jerked her around.
“In person. You get down to the police station. Now.” His hands tightened on her upper arms, his face red.
She didn’t dare to meet his gaze. He’d also taught her not to look directly at him, which he saw as some kind of challenge to his authority. “Ken, I’d have to go to the courthouse instead. I had ten days to pay by mail but that’s already passed.”
“Then do it. Now,” he repeated. “Didn’t you hear me?”
He would have shaken her, but Blossom managed to free herself from his painful grasp. Keeping pace with her, he pushed her toward the front door. “How long do you think you’d survive on your own without me to fix your messes? Huh?”
Her shoulders slumped. What had she done to make their relationship so miserable? She wanted to curl inside herself, to disappear. How could she feel this bad when, as he often reminded her, she was lucky to live in this luxury high-rise with a wraparound terrace and a view of the whole city? All of Philadelphia at her feet, he liked to say. But she could no longer remember even a simple dinner or special occasion that didn’t end up spoiled—Christmas, her birthday, the anniversary of the day they’d met, their engagement—she couldn’t remember a kind word or a loving touch, only her relentless wrongdoing, his sudden outbursts, the screaming nerves inside her. And now she had another life to worry about. Above all, to protect. No, she couldn’t tell him.
For her baby’s sake, she needed to escape.
* * *
PUSHING THE PAINFUL memories aside, Blossom brushed stray curls off her cheeks. She hugged herself tight and stared out the kitchen window. Logan’s voice had been harsh for an instant just like Ken’s. Hear me? they’d both said. Why be surprised? She knew men—her father, too—and what they were capable of, how easily they could cause hurt.
She wasn’t about to let that happen now, not with her baby to consider. The day after Ken had gone crazy about the parking ticket, Blossom had run. Such a simple thing shouldn’t have mattered, but for her it had been the last straw.
She straightened, remembering it was time for lunch. She’d meant to ask Logan what to fix and tell him about Sam’s confusion. Again, she’d done the wrong thing with the bull calf. But he’d also said, I don’t want you to end up the same. To be hurt.
A brief sense of calm settled over her. Yes, the Circle H provided a good place to hide, and for a moment today Logan had seemed to care about her, which might just be the most frightening thing of all. She wouldn’t trust him. Yet his very strength, that hard edge that let him shout at a bison baby—he’d corrected her about the proper term—might ironically protect her, if it came to that.
If Ken found her here before she could run.
* * *
BLOSSOM WAS CLEARING the breakfast dishes from the table the next morning when she glanced out the window and felt her heart stop. A sleek silver pickup was pulling up near the back door. It didn’t look familiar, which shouldn’t surprise her. She didn’t know anyone here, and the only vehicles she recognized belonged to Logan or the half-dozen ranch hands the Circle H employed. But could it be a rental?
Her legs went weak. Her pulse thudded. Had Ken found her already? A door slammed. A second later she heard footsteps coming up onto the porch. It couldn’t be, yet...
She hadn’t seen Logan since breakfast. They’d said only a few words to each other since yesterday. Except for Sam upstairs in bed now, she was alone in the house. Helpless. Her sedan was parked out front. Where were her keys? Blossom fumbled through her pockets—and with a cry of relief found them. Could she reach her car in time?
Before she could think to run in that direction, the back door flew open, and a small blond boy in jeans and cowboy boots burst into the kitchen.
Blossom sagged against the nearest counter. The truck didn’t belong to Ken. Besides, he’d likely rent a flashy sedan. Still, she tensed again at the deep voice that came from behind the boy.
“Nicholas Hunter, slow down.” A man whose hair was a shade darker than the child’s had obviously tried to make his voice sound scolding but he couldn’t hide a grin. “Sorry,” he told Blossom with a tip of his straw cowboy hat. “He gets a bit excited about the Circle H.” He held out a hand. “I’m Grey Wilson, a neighbor.”
“Blossom.” Without adding her last name, she glanced at the little boy, who was scaling the counter to reach a high cupboard. “Is he...?”
“Safe?” Grey snagged an arm around the boy’s waist. “Never. At least to hear his mama tell it. Nick, get down.”
He wriggled but Grey held fast.
“Be careful now—you’ll fall and break something. Like Grandpa Sam.”
“My arm?” Nick landed on the floor with a giggle. “A kid at school fell out of a tree. He has a cool cast and everybody drew on it. It’s really green.”
The back door opened again. A smile tugging at his mouth, his eyes alight, Logan stepped inside. He must have recognized Grey’s truck. But then Logan saw Nick and stiffened. He pulled off his Stetson and eyed Grey with a familiar, less than welcoming expression.
“Uh-oh,” Grey murmured. “Looks like somebody got up on the wrong side of the bunk.” He added, “We can’t stay long but I brought you a present.”
“You mean me?” With a hopeful look, Nick glanced at Logan. “I’m a present?” He took a step then stopped, and his gaze fell. “Hi, Daddy,” he said.
Logan cleared his throat before he reached out a hand to ruffle Nick’s hair. “Hi, buddy.” He frowned at Grey over Nick’s head. “This’ll make his mother real happy.”
So this was Logan’s son, the great-grandchild Sam had referenced yesterday, confusing her with Olivia. Not that anyone would readily see a strong family resemblance, except for their eyes, between father and son. Logan’s hair was dark; Nick’s was lighter. She imagined Olivia, who must be Logan’s ex-wife, was blond, too.
“Mommy doesn’t know we’re here,” Nick said.
Grey groaned. “Nick, I thought you and I agreed that sometimes we men have to stick together. Little secrets don’t harm anyone.”
His mouth tight, Logan strode over to the coffeemaker. “Don’t tell him that.” The dark brew had been sitting in the pot for hours while he fed horses and did other morning chores, but its bitterness and acidity didn’t seem to bother him. He gulped down half a mugful in one long swallow.
“What?” Grey looked wounded. “I bring your kid to see you and all I get’s a lesson in manners?”
“No, in ethics.”
Nick’s sunny smile had dimmed. He sent Blossom a shy look then rummaged through a fruit bowl on the counter for a banana. She tensed even more. She didn’t expect to be noticed—she was just one of the hired help here—but no wonder poor Nick looked more than uncomfortable. Logan’s reaction had unsettled her, too. He was all but standing at attention now. Avoiding another glance at Nick.
This was no surprise, in a way, to Blossom. Her father had never been one to fold her in a warm embrace or to make her laugh at some silly joke. She’d been grateful whenever he simply ignored her. A best-case scenario for Blossom. But she’d seen the quick flash of joy in Nick’s eyes then the way he’d retreated, as if knowing his hug wouldn’t be welcome. And that his daddy wouldn’t respond except for that light pass of a hand over Nick’s hair.
Logan turned to Blossom. “My ex-brother-in-law,” he said with a gesture at Grey. “Blossom’s taking care of Sam.”
“Howdy, ma’am.”
“I’m learning on the job,” she said.
After that, there was an awkward silence. Blossom didn’t think about herself, but she couldn’t take another second of Nick’s disappointment or Logan’s coolness. She’d had enough of that in her time. And at Nick’s age, she had still craved her father’s love.
She held out a hand. “Nick, would you like to come with me? I need to gather some eggs.”
With a whoop of delight, Nick grasped her fingers then pulled her out the back door away from the two men in the kitchen. Blossom could understand that. How many times had her father rejected her, or hastened to correct something she’d done wrong? Ken had taken that to another level.
This was not a happy situation either. Apparently, she and the bison baby weren’t the only ones who irritated Logan.
Why feel drawn to a man she couldn’t trust and might easily fear? A man who didn’t seem to connect with his own son?
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL’S wrong with you?” Grey asked as soon as the back door had closed behind Blossom and Nicky.
Frowning, Logan didn’t answer. His throat felt too tight to speak, and what could he say? He wanted to be angry with Grey because he’d had no warning of this visit—a rare thing these days. Instead of a heads-up, he’d walked from the barn to the house and into this kitchen, and there was Nicky. Right where he’d belonged until a few years ago.
As a baby in his high chair, a toddler running around under Libby’s feet, a chattering three-year-old who’d let everyone in the house know his opinions, he’d giggled and cried in this very room and even thrown temper tantrums, kicking his legs on the floor as if he were determined to be in charge of all the adults. He’d banged a spoon against his tray at the end of this table, flinging oatmeal everywhere.
Logan was still in shock. He watched Grey pull out a chair at the table. He’d been blindsided, yet at the same time...he didn’t often get to see Nicky. Grey sat, eyeing him with disapproval, which Logan supposed he deserved.
“I thought you’d be happy to see him without Olivia riding herd on him.”
Logan couldn’t fault her for trying to coddle Nicky or to keep him safe, even keep him away from Logan, after what had happened. In her view he hadn’t been much of a father, and Logan couldn’t disagree.
“I am happy to see him.” Except it hurts more each time I do. Logan was missing out on Nicky’s growing up. His son changed by the day, it seemed, and a few minutes ago a real kid, not the newborn baby or toddler imp he remembered, had walked into the house. “But Olivia—Libby’s—gonna be madder than a bull in a rodeo ring when she finds out you shanghaied Nicky and brought him over here. You know how she feels about the Circle H.” About me.
But what if she hadn’t come to hate the ranch, and him? To blame him? Maybe they’d still be rubbing along, raising their son in Wichita together as they’d planned. Instead, Logan’s time with Nicky had become increasingly rare. He’d tried to tell himself maybe that was for the best. For now. He didn’t want to confuse Nicky any more than he must already be after the divorce.
Grey stretched out his legs and stared down at his boots. “It’s time she changed her mind. But I’m the first to admit, my sister can be as stubborn as a too-big calf trying to get born.”
As stubborn as me. That had been one problem between them.
“She won’t change her mind.”
“Then you’ll have to change yours. Logan, the divorce papers got signed, what, three years ago? Nick’s not a baby anymore. He needs his daddy, too.”
“Libby got custody,” he said. And because of the reason she’d left him, Logan hadn’t given her much of a fight. He’d regretted that ever since. Once his promotion came through—which meant getting back to Wichita as soon as possible—he’d be able to afford a lawyer, sue for joint custody this time. Settle the matter at last.
“You have visitation rights. Why don’t you use ’em more often?”
He looked away. “Well, she doesn’t make that easy. If Nicky doesn’t have a school event, a kids’ party, anywhere else he has to be, then he’s sick or it’s a school night or something else. He hasn’t been to my place in Wichita in almost a year. Besides, I won’t be here long this time.”
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.
“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.”
Lightly, she put a hand on his shoulder then lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek so quickly her lips barely touched his face before she drew away. She’d misjudged him. His afternoon beard had felt like sandpaper, its texture so rough beneath her softer lips.
Blossom’s mind had gone numb. But her stomach had settled.
His muscled strength was something to rely on yet to be wary of.
Still, underneath beat the heart of a good man. She knew that now.
Too bad she couldn’t trust him.
* * *
BLOSSOM DIDN’T COME to the table for dinner that night. Logan ate alone. From upstairs he could hear her talking to Sam, eating with him instead.
Willy and Tobias were nowhere to be seen. Logan had had words with the two cowhands—bison hands, he ought to say—that first night after dinner, and both of them had been avoiding him ever since. He’d never seen two men volunteer faster to ride fence today to keep out of his way. Probably they were at the bunkhouse heating up a big can of spaghetti or ravioli. He hadn’t meant to sound harsh. But their teasing, their looks at Blossom had gotten to him and he’d lost his temper.
His mood was always precarious when he was at the ranch. He couldn’t seem to forget he’d nearly lost Nicky here. He had lost Libby, not that his marriage had ever been one made in heaven. She felt the same, he supposed.
He dug into the casserole Blossom had served before she slipped away upstairs. No steak again tonight. Mac and cheese? At least there was no way she could ruin that. The way he criticized her cooking, no wonder she preferred his grandfather’s company. Even though he and Blossom had gotten along pretty well earlier in the barn while he sewed up the kitten, and she’d surprised him with that quick kiss, she’d pulled back right after.
His face still burned. But it was their conversation he missed now.
When the landline rang, he jumped up from his seat. Any interruption from his train of thought, even a telemarketing call at dinnertime, would be almost welcome.
“Circle H,” he answered, ready to hang up at the latest sales pitch.
“Hey, brother.” To his amazement, Sawyer had finally called him back, and Logan fought another familiar twist of loss inside. How long had it been since they were in the same place at the same time? Since they’d talked the way they used to?
“I’ve been trying to get through to you for the better part of a week.”
As usual, Sawyer sounded unconcerned. “What’s up?”
“Sam busted his leg. Bad,” Logan said. “He was in the hospital for a few days, had surgery and now he’s confined to his room. Picture that.” He explained about the bleed and concussion that had rattled Sam’s brain and messed with his sense of balance. “Where are you?”
“Here and there.”
Logan rolled his eyes. Sawyer was always vague. About everything. It had been too long since they were boys, growing up on the Circle H after their dad and mom had died, learning from Sam how to be men. They’d been even closer than most brothers, inseparable as kids.
“You might think about coming back now and then.” He couldn’t bring himself to say home. The two of them hadn’t seen each other since Logan had married Libby.
“I’m sure you can handle things.”
“That’s it?” He had the sense Sawyer was about to hang up first.
“You’re the big brother. You’re in Kansas. I’m not.”
“I’m older by less than five minutes,” he reminded Sawyer. “We could really use some help here, Tom.” Sawyer didn’t laugh at the old nickname he’d been taunted with as a kid. It was as if he’d put their past behind him and moved on, determined to make a life for himself anywhere else. He’d cut all ties—which wasn’t that different from Logan’s plans. Yet he was the one here now. “I thought you liked horses and cows and getting your boots dirty.”
“Don’t own a pair of boots anymore.”
“Sawyer. Look.” He glanced at his plate of cold macaroni and cheese and wondered why Blossom was still upstairs. “I’m almost at the end of my rope. Sam’s not easy to keep down—you ought to know that—and I should be in Wichita. I’m up for a promotion there.”
“Hope you get it.”
“If I don’t show up soon, they’ll give it to someone else.” His worst rival.
“You’re the big captain of the skies. Took off first chance you got. You left me holding the bag then, Logan. You think I’ve forgotten that?”
“No,” he admitted. He’d come back after the service to marry Libby, and Sawyer had left. “But this is now.”
“I bet Sam hasn’t even mentioned my name. Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m busy with...whatever I’m busy with, so the answer’s no.” He paused. “Hire somebody.”
“I did. She’s temporary—and she’s a caregiver, not a cowhand.”
“Neither am I.”
“Sawyer—”
“Don’t,” he said. “I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t help.”
“Right back at you. And don’t try that ‘we’re twins’ bit with me, okay? I haven’t had a spooky twinge about you in years. I don’t know when you’re sick or you’re in trouble at the stick of some jet. You don’t know when I’m—” He broke off. “Ah, hell. Good that you’re still walking around. Tell Sam I said hey.”
“Sawyer...”
But the phone had gone dead in his hand.
“Is something wrong?” Blossom said from the kitchen doorway.
Yeah, there was. He just didn’t know what where his brother was concerned. Sawyer had been hiding something. I’m busy with...whatever I’m busy with. He turned to find Blossom holding a tray of dirty dishes and cutlery. If he wasn’t mad at Sawyer, even worried about him, he would have grinned. Sam had cleaned his plate again. He really liked Blossom’s cooking.
“My brother,” he finally said. “We don’t have much in common these days.”
“Is he coming home?”
“Because of Sam?” When she nodded, he said, “Nope. He’s busy.”
She looked shocked. “Too busy to visit his injured grandfather?”
“So he says.”
“I don’t think I’d like him, then.” Taking care not to come too close to Logan, she lugged the tray to the sink. He offered to take it from her, but she only stepped aside with a murmured “I’ve got it.” She pursed her lips as she began to rinse the dishes. “My dad was a difficult man, but if we needed him, he tried to be there.” She paused. “The trouble with that, he was often deployed somewhere—and couldn’t come.”
“Families can be tough.”
“Tell me.” Blossom loaded the dishwasher and smiled over one shoulder. “But I have good news. I let Sam sit in a chair tonight to eat dinner and when I helped him up, he barely stumbled.”
“Let us pray,” Logan said, although he couldn’t see Sam taking over the ranch again any time soon. Which made him all the more frustrated with Sawyer. At the least they could have taken turns on the Circle H—and Logan wouldn’t have to risk his promotion. His chance to fight for shared custody of Nicky.
“How’s the kitten doing?” he asked.
He’d seen Blossom hurry out to the barn several times since that afternoon. Although he’d fed the kitten, even stuck around to scratch her under the chin and talk a bit, Blossom acted as if the cat was in an ICU and needed constant care.
She blushed. “You saw me.”
“She doing all right, in your professional opinion?”
“Fine,” she said. “You did a good job with her stitches.”
“They won’t win her any beauty contests, but they’ll work.”
Blossom hesitated. “We should probably take her to the vet’s anyway,” she said. “I mean I could. Tomorrow. If that’s okay with you.”
“No need,” he said. “Unless it’s an emergency—which this isn’t—or something we can’t treat, we don’t bother the vet. Saves the ranch money, too. But I do have to go into town tomorrow.” Then Logan heard himself say, “You want to go with me? While I’m at the ag store for supplies, you can buy groceries and whatever else you’d like. I know the ranch can seem a lonely place for a woman.”
She didn’t answer at first. He shouldn’t have said anything.
Logan passed her the detergent for the dishwasher.
Maybe he hadn’t made himself clear. She needed to know he wasn’t putting any moves on her, just offering her a ride into Barren.
“About earlier today in the barn—”
“I shouldn’t have kissed your cheek,” she said, then in the next breath, “Yes. I’d like to go to town with you tomorrow.”
His insides unwound. “Okay, then. We’ll leave around nine.”
“I’ll fix breakfast,” she said. “A nice omelet.”
Logan nearly groaned aloud. At the table the mac and cheese, never his favorite, had congealed on his plate. He doubted her version of a Western omelet, which he normally liked, would be either.
“Let me buy you an early lunch instead,” he told her.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u39d010e6-3a19-590a-a0de-a6d8e4da3ca0)
LOGAN LEANED AGAINST the side of his truck and checked his watch again. Blossom was late. Then he glanced up and saw her coming from the barn.
“Sorry,” she said with a little duck of her head and no eye contact.
Ah, he thought. “The kitten.”
It was obvious by now that she’d formed an attachment to the little cat.
“I checked on her when I fed the horses at six,” he said with a smile. “We need to coordinate our schedules.”
Without another word Blossom climbed into the truck. She sat as far away from him as possible, pressed against the passenger door. In the driver’s seat Logan hit the locks, and she startled, almost lifting off her perch.
“Can’t have you falling out into the road,” he said, shifting into gear. They were soon down the long drive and onto the main road, and Logan breathed his usual sigh of relief. The ranch always made him feel as if he were locked up in solitary confinement. It was one reason he’d asked Blossom to join him today. He imagined she might feel the same.
Logan didn’t want to examine the other reason.
Yet as he drove toward town, his gaze kept straying to her. He could still feel that briefest touch of her lips to his face yesterday. To Blossom it had meant nothing, he supposed, no more than a friendly gesture—as if to say she knew how hard Nicky’s surprise visit had been for him—but it had been a while since a woman had touched him even like that.
He ran through an imaginary preflight checklist to refocus his thoughts and tried to keep his eyes on the road instead of on Blossom.
Neither spoke until they were at the edge of town.
“The kitten needs a name,” she said.
He could tell she’d been turning that subject over in her mind the whole way, as if she’d decided it was the only safe topic they might discuss. “Thought we agreed. We don’t name the animals.”
“I bet Sam does.”
“Yeah, well,” he conceded. “But barn cats are different.”
“I know. They don’t always stay around. Maybe they would,” she added, “if they did have names. If they felt a part of the ranch instead of just coming and going.”
Like me, he thought.
Logan glanced at her again—and nearly rear-ended the car in front of him on Main Street. The big flashy SUV likely belonged to a spring tourist who didn’t know it sometimes snowed here even in April or one of the wealthy out-of-towners who’d settled in Barren in one of those monstrous log homes on ten-acre “ranches” that made them feel like true Westerners.
“Are you really talking about the cats?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Philadelphia,” he said, swinging the truck into an angled parking spot that had just opened up halfway down the street. “You left home. For some reason.”
“I wanted to see the world,” she said, but Logan didn’t believe her. According to Blossom herself, she’d already seen plenty of it.
In front of the ag store, he cut the engine. “All right, we’ll save that for later. I’m going in here to order supplies, get some feed. The market’s right across the street. When you’re done with the groceries, I can roll over to pick you up.”
“How long?”
“An hour, maybe? Like a lot of guys I tend to get lost in the aisles, trying out this gadget and that.” His mind should be on getting back to Wichita, not on farm equipment or a woman he had no business even thinking about except, he reminded himself, as an employee.
Or maybe he was just delaying their return to the ranch.
And the isolation that always reminded him of losing the people he loved.
“I might have another errand to do,” she said.
“Take your time.”
* * *
IT TOOK BLOSSOM a while to reach the far end of Main Street, not because the street was that long but because she kept stopping to look in store windows. And to bask in the spring sunshine, letting the still-cool air blow through her hair.
She glanced back toward the agriculture store. Logan had disappeared inside.
The little town of Barren was a far cry from Philly—it was no more than this one street and a few surrounding blocks, from what she’d seen—and most of the area’s population probably lived on ranches like the Circle H. That suited Blossom just fine. She was anonymous here, another bonus.
A smile crossed her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ken here in his fancy suit that had cost thousands of dollars, his silk ties and custom-made white shirts, not to mention his pricey shoes. He’d stick out all right. The local dress code seemed to be jeans and boots and, of course, the ubiquitous cowboy hat.
Logan hadn’t worn one today, but then he didn’t seem to consider himself a cowboy. A jet pilot, he’d told her, and his job was as far from ranching as she was from Philadelphia and Ken. No wonder Logan looked uncomfortable on the Circle H.
In front of a pet store, she gazed at the window display. A red dog collar studded with silver adorned the neck of a stuffed black-and-white border collie. A herding dog. Blossom had seen several of them at the Circle H but only from a distance. We don’t name the animals. They weren’t family pets any more than the little no-name kitten was, at least in Logan’s view.
Unable to resist, Blossom stepped inside the store. From the cat department in the rear, she bought a couple of toys—a mouse with catnip inside, a fishing-pole type thing with feathers at the end—then a dish with a goldfish design and, finally, a small pink beaded collar with a bell to warn the birds.
Outside again, she strolled along the paved walkway, humming to herself.
A few doors down, a children’s apparel shop looked too enticing to be passed by, even when she shouldn’t keep Logan waiting. He’d said not to hurry, but Ken had been good at laying traps like that to spring on her without warning.
Carrying her pet-store bag, she went in.
“Good morning.” A clerk came forward. “May I help you find something?”
“Oh, no. Thank you. Is it all right if I just look around?”
The woman smiled. “Of course. Take your time,” she said as Logan had.
Blossom wasn’t used to dallying. With her father she didn’t dare, and when Ken said jump, she’d asked how high—at least in her mind. Her daily routine in Philly had come to be very structured and, ultimately, confining. She’d even quit her first job there to have more time at “home” to meet Ken’s demanding standards, and it wasn’t often—or hadn’t been until now—that she could simply enjoy part of a morning doing what she liked.
The clerk, who trailed her through the shop, clearly wanted to chat. She had no other customers. Or did she expect Blossom to shoplift from one of the displays? In the next instant she had her answer.
“Do you live here?” the woman asked. “I haven’t seen you before.”
And in small towns, people noticed. She’d gathered that right away from a few curious glances she’d gotten on the street. Blossom would bet the woman knew everyone around here by name.
“I’m passing through,” she admitted with a twinge of regret. What if she’d grown up in a town like this one on a ranch like the Circle H? In a house she could truly call her own?
She explored a rack of oh-so-small baby clothes mostly in blue then, moving on, a set of cream-colored shelves that held silver mugs, little spoons and picture frames. The baby in one photograph made her heart turn over. “What a sweet face,” she said to the clerk, who was still hovering nearby.
“That’s my niece, actually. I wanted to show off this frame in a more personal way. Usually, my stock comes with inserted photos of complete strangers who stare out at me all day. Barren is a close-knit town. People like to make a connection. Isn’t she cute? If you’re not looking for baby boy things, we have some adorable new dresses over there on the far wall.” She waited only a second before asking, “Are you having a little girl?”
As if by instinct, Blossom’s hand went to her stomach. Was she showing already? She hadn’t thought so. It wouldn’t do for word to get around town that she was pregnant. Certainly, she hadn’t told Logan. Or even Sam. Her job at the Circle H seemed precarious enough. She’d be here only a short time, and she’d seen Logan with Nick. She doubted he’d welcome the idea of a baby there.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “I, um, have a friend who is.”
The clerk raised one eyebrow but said nothing.
“Let me show you.”
As the woman pulled out one after another of the most beautiful baby dresses, Blossom all but melted into a puddle on the floor.
She fingered the embroidered hem of a too-cute-for-words gingham sundress. “Pink still seems to be very popular.”
“Purple, too,” the clerk agreed. “Or should I say lavender?”
But it was the tiniest things that called to Blossom. She drifted toward a white basket heaped with layette items from receiving blankets to booties before her gaze fell on an artfully stacked pile of baby hats on the same table.
“The hospital in Kansas City orders these for the newborns,” the clerk told her. “Parents like them for home, too. We have some really nice ones.”
Blossom picked up a multicolored cap in pink and blue and yellow that covered all the bases. To her delight it had an interwoven cowboy/cowgirl motif. “Maybe my friend would like this.”
“I’m sure she would. That’s one of our new designs.”
Blossom couldn’t leave the store without buying something, having taken up the sales associate’s time, and the tiny cap warmed her heart. It didn’t cost that much, which seemed to disappoint the saleswoman but suited Blossom’s budget, and Ken wasn’t here to tell her she didn’t need it.
Moments later she was on the sidewalk again with another bag to carry.
At the end of the street she hurried into the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency, her original destination.
“Hi, Blossom.” At the reception desk in the front room, an attractive dark-haired woman had been typing on the computer. When she glanced up, a slight frown crossed her face. “Everything all right on the Circle H?”
Not really. She’d stepped over a boundary with Logan yesterday because of that kiss, and on the way into town she hadn’t known what to say to him. “Fine,” she said, struggling to remember the woman’s name. A few days ago she’d helped Blossom fill out her application.
“I had a terrible time finding someone for Logan. I’m glad you filled the bill.”
“I’m not sure about that but—” She didn’t go any further. “I wanted to ask about my pay. I wasn’t sure of the arrangement.”
The woman’s frown deepened. “The agency collects the money from a client, we take our commission for placing you, then cut a check.” She paused. “It’s not Friday so I can’t pay you yet for the week. But don’t worry. The Hunters always meet their bills and if they didn’t—”
“I’m not worried.” Which was a lie for a different reason. “But...could I get cash instead?”
“That’s not our usual policy.” She hesitated again. “If it’s inconvenient for you to come to town again, we could do direct deposit at your bank.”
Blossom’s pulse skipped. That was even worse. There was no way she’d open a bank account. She wouldn’t give Ken a trail to follow. She’d already made one slip soon after she left Philadelphia. “Not cash then?”
“I can check with my accountant.” She gave Blossom an encouraging smile. “Or I could mail the check to you.”
“No, I’ll come in on Friday.” If she lasted that long before she had to move on again.
Shifting her packages, Blossom finally remembered the woman’s name was Shadow. Her brown gaze was very direct. “Is there a problem, Blossom?”
“No, of course not. I like the Circle H,” she said, which was true. “I was just wondering. Please ask your accountant.”
Her heart was still thumping by the time she finally finished the grocery shopping. The ranch cupboards and pantry, the huge double freezer, held plenty of food so she didn’t need much, but a few items had been missing for the dinner she planned to make tonight. Assuming she could think straight by then. A check? Up until now she’d worked for cash doing odd jobs or waiting tables whenever she ran out of money.
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Leigh Riker
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: She can′t stay for long…She just needs a place to hide. Now. Pregnant and on the run, Blossom Kennedy jumps at the opportunity to work as a caregiver to an injured, elderly rancher. While she tends to the man, his handsome grandson takes over at the Circle H. Logan Hunter is tough, loyal and a wonderful father to his young son. But Blossom needs a port in a storm more than she needs love, and soon enough she′ll be moving on. Unless she′s somehow stumbled into the exact place she and her unborn child are supposed to be…by Logan′s side.