He reached for her hand. “Well, I’m here for you, Cassidy. One hundred percent. Anything you need, say the word. I’m going to be someone’s father—and I’m going to take that very seriously.”
Tears stung her eyes and she looked down at her berry smoothie. Her father hadn’t felt that way. But her baby’s father did. Her hand went to her belly and she wanted to whisper, Hear that, boo?
“I’m going to be someone’s father,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Wow.”
She smiled for the first time since seeing the orange check mark. “I’m going to be someone’s mother.”
He leaned over and pulled her into a hug, and she went willingly into his arms, all her fear and worry disappearing as he tightened his hold on her. The moment he let go, all the scary emotions were back.
That made her even more unsettled. She seemed to need Brandon. His steady strength in the face of shocking news, his declaration to be there for both her and their baby, the comfort of his arms around her.
And because he was being so damned wonderful, she’d start relying on him.
A knock sounded at the door and a group of teens appeared, pointing at the Closed sign. “Sorry, we’re closed,” she called out and the group left.
“I forgot to lock up,” she said.
“Why don’t we go somewhere more private to talk?” he suggested. “Where do you live, anyway?”
“There are two apartments upstairs. I’m on the top floor. We can talk there. I just need to clean up.”
“I’ll help,” he said, standing and rolling up his sleeves as he headed behind the counter.
Who are you and what have you done with the real Brandon Taylor? she wanted to say. The arrogant rich boy who grew up with a silver spoon and gets whatever he wants because of his looks and family name. But she realized she didn’t really know Brandon at all and hadn’t in fifteen years.
She was beginning to like this Brandon a little too much.
* * *
“Well, you’ll have to move,” Brandon said as he surveyed the tiny space that Cassidy called home. “This place is too small for one person, forget adding a baby.”
He’d estimate the apartment was seven hundred square feet, if that. There was a galley kitchen that two people couldn’t pass each other in, a small living room, a bedroom, a small spare room without a closet and a bathroom with a very old and tired tiled floor. The place was functional, but that was about it. No charm, no character—and not enough room for a child.
Cassidy lifted her chin. “I happen to like my apartment. It’s plenty big enough for me, and a baby barely takes up any room. I’ll just move my desk from the spare room to my bedroom or the living room and set up the baby’s things to make a nursery.”
He poked his head into the minuscule spare room, which currently held a narrow desk and chair. “How is a crib going to fit in here?”
She came up behind him and peered in. For a second, he was distracted by the scent of her perfume, something light and flowery. “I only need a bassinet to start. They’re pretty small—like the baby that will sleep inside.”
What else did babies need? He wasn’t sure. Did he even know anyone with a baby? He tried to picture a furnished nursery.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember being very young and his dad telling him, Jordan and Daphne that he was on the way back to the hospital to bring home their stepmother, Tania, and their new twin baby brothers, Dirk and Dustin. When they’d arrived, Brandon, Jordan and Daphne had followed their dad and Tania into the enormous nursery that had two of everything. Brandon tried to picture what had been in that room.
He’d never forget the cribs—sleigh-style polished wood stenciled with the twins’ names, each with a Taylor Beef cattle logo beside it. There were a few huge stuffed animals, including a giraffe whose head was practically at the ceiling. Two plush blue-and-white rocking chairs.
“Ah—you’ll need a rocking chair,” he said. “No way will a rocking chair fit in here.”
“I’m not sure I need a rocking chair at all,” she countered. “The sofa will suffice. Or I can just rock the baby as I stand.”
He looked from the room to Cassidy. “You’ll need a dresser. A dresser won’t fit in here. And what about a bookshelf to hold the baby’s books?”
“Brandon, I’m not even one month along. The baby’s not reading yet.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“Spoken like a man who’s never had to make do.” She crossed her arms over her chest, chin lifted again.
He tilted his head. “Cassidy, you don’t have to make do. You can move right into one of the furnished guesthouses on the Taylor Ranch. I’ll have everything you need for you and the baby delivered immediately.”
She stepped back and shoved her hands in the pockets of her white jeans. “Brandon, that’s very generous of you and all, but I’m fine right here.”
“Are you?” he asked, eyeing the place. The wood floors were scuffed and the apartment looked tired and old. Cassidy had done what she could—there was a plush sofa and an area rug and some framed vintage posters. But still. “I mean, when you’re nine months along and can’t turn around in that narrow kitchen...”
“I’ve been living here for five years,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again. “This is home. Sorry it’s not good enough for a Taylor.” She turned away, and he immediately felt like a heel.
“Cass, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pick apart your home. But right now, I’m looking at it from a different perspective—the home of the mother of my baby. I just want you to have everything. I want our baby to have everything.”
She turned back to him, her expression softening—for just a moment. “Well, I do appreciate that. I mean, it’s very nice that you feel that way. But our baby doesn’t need everything.”
“Were you always so stubborn?” he asked.
“Were you always so controlling?” she countered.
Knife to the heart. He could feel his frown deepening. Call him what you want, but never call him controlling, like his father. That was going too far.
“I see I hit a nerve,” she said.
Yeah, you did, he wanted to say. But he was too stung and proud for that. Controlling. Him? How was wanting the best for her and their baby being controlling? Brandon was nothing like Cornelius Taylor.
He moved into the living room, shaking off the unsettling comparison. “I think we should make a list of what we’ll need for the baby. If you insist on staying here, we’ll need two of everything since he or she will have two homes.”
Now she was frowning. “Wait a minute. Two homes?”
“You said no to marrying me, so yes, two homes. Yours and mine. I figure we’ll split the week. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. We won’t need anything for quite a while.”
“Way ahead of yourself,” she agreed with a nod.
“Don’t mind me, Cassidy. I think I’m just trying to wrap my mind around this as we go. Maybe it just hasn’t been enough time for me to process it, so I’m throwing everything out there, trying to understand what needs to be done.”
“Maybe when it does sink in, the reality of it, you won’t even want to be involved,” she said.
He stared at her—hard. “Not going to happen. I told you, I take this responsibility very seriously.”
She stared back harder, but now there was something he couldn’t quite name in her expression, in her eyes. She seemed to be trying to figure him out.
“Look, I found out I was pregnant an hour ago and four seconds later, I called you. We both need to process.” She let out a yawn. “I definitely need a nap. Could be a side effect of pregnancy, but I was up till the wee hours doing a couple of test recipes for birthday cakes. Thanks to your brother’s wedding, my side business is picking up serious steam.”
“Side business
?”
“Specialty cakes,” she said. “Birthday parties, weddings. I did a seven-year-old’s birthday cake for a prominent Bronco Heights family. They wanted seven layers, one for each year, each layer with a different filling—and the cake in the shape of a race car. When they said they needed it in two days and I had to turn it down, which killed me, they offered me three hundred dollars to do it. Three hundred dollars! Can you believe that?”
“Actually, yes. My father does stuff like that all time. ‘I want it now and I’ll pay for it.’ That’s Cornelius Taylor’s motto.”
“Is it yours?” she asked.
“No! Of course not. Well, I mean, if there’s something important I must have, of course I’m willing to pay to make it happen.”
She smiled. “I see.”
He did not like the direction this conversation was going. He was nothing like his father.
“Tell me more about your side business,” he suggested as she dropped down on the sofa, curling her legs up to her side.
He remembered coming into the stables the night of Jordan’s wedding and seeing those legs. The legs that had started it all.
“Well, I’m trying to think of a way to put the two together,” she explained. “The cake business with expanding Bronco Java and Juice. Or maybe it’s two separate entities. I’m not sure yet.”
“Or you could move into a bigger shop with a baker’s kitchen. You already sell baked goods, so that would be a natural expansion. You’ve already built a great reputation and a name for yourself in both areas.”
She smiled, but then it faded. “A bigger location will mean a lot more seven-layer birthday cakes. I do have two wedding cake orders that’ll help that dream along.”
“And I can help,” he said. “We can start scouting bigger locations in the morning.”
The legs unfurled and she straightened, one eyebrow raised. “Because I’m having your baby?”
“Well, yes. I’m here to help.”
The legs curled back underneath her. “Brandon, I appreciate that you’re generous. But I’ve been on my own a long time and I can take care of myself. I can make my own dreams come true.”
Ah, he’d offended her at her core, but he hadn’t meant to. He sat beside her, took her hands and held them. “I admire you, Cassidy. I might think you’re crazy and stubborn, but I admire your independence. You’re your own woman.”
“I am,” she said, then yawned again. She leaned back a bit so he had to let go of her hand, and she pulled the fleece throw over her and laid her head on the armrest. “I’m so sleepy.”
“I’ll let you get some rest.” He smoothed the top of the throw and reached over to kiss her cheek.
“You’re different than I thought,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?” he asked, not sure he wanted her to answer that.
But she was already asleep.
Chapter Four
After leaving Cassidy’s apartment—reluctantly, since he’d just wanted to sit there as she napped and let the news permeate his very thick skull—Brandon found himself driving aimlessly around town. Now that he was alone, stone-cold fear skittered up his spine and goose bumps broke out on his arms. He was going to be a dad? Someone’s father? Him? Brandon was a serious enough guy, was responsible for millions of dollars at Taylor Beef, but the concept of being a helpless, dependent little being’s father was scarier than it had first seemed when he was still with Cassidy. Maybe because he wasn’t physically alone in the parenthood; Cassidy was the other half of that equation. But now, alone in his silver truck, he’d never felt so unsure of himself.
I need info, he thought. Information and facts. He didn’t feel like going back to the ranch and using his computer because if he ran into his father, Brandon might spontaneously combust. The words I am not like Dad echoed through his head. Not that Cornelius didn’t have his good points. But he was a know-it-all about everything, including his children’s lives, and he added conflict by just being himself. Brandon did not want to be that kind of father.
But that was the question. Could a man be what his child needed instead of the fully formed person he already was? Could Brandon put his child’s heart, mind and soul first? He had no idea how that worked. He’d always lived by the adages “trust your instincts” and “go with your gut.” But what if his instincts were way off when it came to child-rearing? What if he’d be a terrible father? He didn’t know anything about babies or children. He was about to pull over and type How to be a Good Dad into his phone’s search engine, but who could read that tiny type?
Ah—he knew where he needed to go. A destination that would give him a good half hour to drive with purpose and end up exactly where he needed to be—in a bookstore.
He didn’t bother blasting music on the way to Lewistown; he let himself sit with the startling revelation that he, Brandon Taylor, was going to be a father in eight months. That he shared this enormous responsibility with Cassidy Ware, a woman he’d had very little contact with since high school. You’ll study up, you’ll be on surer footing, he told himself as he arrived in Lewistown, a much bigger town than Bronco.
He found a bookstore and headed in, relieved that parenthood had its own section and he didn’t have to ask for help. Um, hi, do you have a book about babies for the very clueless? He plucked out titles that sounded helpful, then put most back after flipping through them. Some had so much information jammed into the pages, including sidebar lists and illustrations that Brandon’s head had started to spin. Others seemed to be written in a baby jargon he couldn’t decipher. Then he found exactly what he looking for: Baby 101 for the First-Time Father: Navigating the Unknown of a Pregnant Partner and Baby’s First Year.
He’d breathed a sigh of relief, bought two copies in case he accidentally left one somewhere, and sat in his truck in the parking space, reading. “‘You’ve got nine months till the baby is a living, breathing, crying, pooping part of your life. But your pregnant partner is the one carrying the baby. Check out the chart on pages 21–22 for a fetus’s week-by-week development and you’ll have a better understanding of just what’s going on in that growing belly. Pregnancy is exhausting and exhilarating. Be there for your partner...’”
Yes, that was it. He couldn’t do anything for the baby yet; he or she wouldn’t be here for months. But he could be there for Cassidy, as he’d told her he would be. He pulled out his phone and texted her.
Have any cravings? I’m in Lewistown and parked right in front of a gourmet takeout. Want some pickles? Their menu board lists some great-sounding soups.
She texted back immediately.
I was asleep till the phone chime from your text woke me.
She added an emoji of a smiley face yawning.
He winced. A being-there-for-her fail. Do not wake up the exhausted pregnant woman!
He waited a beat for her to text what food she wanted since she was now awake, but five minutes later, he was still waiting. “Guess she fell back to sleep,” he said to his phone.
He let the window down, the perfect midsixties breeziness and bright September sunshine a balm. He glanced at the book he’d set on the passenger seat. Suddenly he was exhausted.
What he needed was to talk to someone, someone he could trust, share this with and get some guidance from a person who actually knew him.
His sister.
Thirty minutes later he was back in Bronco, pulling into the Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary. Happy Hearts was a registered charity animal rescue that helped farm and companion animals through rescue, adoption and education. Potbellied pigs, sheep, dogs and cats, and lots of farm animals called the place home. He texted Daphne to see if she was free to talk for a minute. She texted back that she was in the cat barn, that it was feeding time and he was just in time to help.
That was how he found himself setting down bowls of wet cat food and kibble on little mats
against the walls of the adoption barn. One slinky black cat was more interested in sniffing his shoe than the food. He kneeled to give the cat a scratch on her back. She eyed him and then padded over to a bowl.
His sister, in her usual jeans and Happy Hearts long-sleeved T-shirt, her long strawberry-blond hair in a ponytail, tossed him a smile and then surveyed the room. She jotted down notes about who wasn’t eating and which cats still needed their special diet, then looked at him. “Can we talk and work at the same time?” she asked. “I can hand out the bland diets while you collect kitty blankies for a load of laundry.”
“Absolutely,” he said, grabbing a basket in the corner, surprised when a striped gray cat jumped out and gave him a dirty look before curling up on a hay bale.
Daphne laughed. “You never know where you’ll find a furry creature around here.”
He started collecting the small blankets and stuffing them in the basket. Daphne sure worked hard. She had volunteers to help, but the cat barn alone was a ton of work. Then there was the dog section, and the farm animals, and who knew what else was living out its best life at Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary, in peace and harmony. He was pretty sure there was even a very old reindeer.
“I have news,” he said. “But I have to swear you to secrecy, Daphne. I need your solemn oath. Not a word to anyone.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Jessica’s pregnant?”
He tilted his head. Jessica? His father’s third wife was not pregnant. At least, Brandon didn’t think so. Then again, she was considerably younger than their dad, so anything was possible.
“Not Jessica. Cassidy Ware.”
“Cassidy from Java and Juice?” Daphne asked, checking off cat names on her tablet. “What does that have to do with y—” Before she could even finish the word you, his sister’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh. Brandon, are you saying that you’re going to make Dad a grandfather before any of us? Are you kidding me?”
The Most Eligible Cowboy Page 5