The Reluctant Rancher

“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

“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.