“I just found out a little while ago. I’m going to be a father.”
Daphne was very slowly shaking her head. “Wow. Wow!”
“I know. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. Because I’m not freaking out. I mean I am, but not to the extent you’d expect.”
“Interesting,” she said, and he was aware that she was studying him. “And I didn’t even know you and Cassidy were a couple. How long have you been together?”
When you shared one thing you might as well let it all out, he reasoned. He explained about Jordan’s wedding. The stables. The champagne. Yada yada yada. Cassidy was pregnant.
Daphne was slowly shaking her head again, her blue eyes gleaming. “Wow. Wow!”
“I know,” he said.
“So...since you’re not even dating, what’s the plan?”
“I immediately suggested we get married. She said no. She doesn’t want to marry solely for the baby’s sake. She said the man she marries has to love her.”
“I’m with her,” Daphne said. “No offense.”
“Offense taken,” he said, staring at his sibling. “What about a smooth-running partnership based on respect, shared parenthood, friendship and responsibility? That’s a marriage that’ll last, Daph.”
She glanced at her twinkling engagement ring, then at him. “Marriages start with love. Everyone goes into it expecting the best.”
“How can you be so optimistic given who our parents are?” he asked.
“I’m not saying love isn’t kind of scary. Just that it’s worth it. I can’t wait to marry Evan next month. We’re going to grow old and gray together—I have no doubt about it.”
Scary? Brandon wasn’t scared of love. He’d tried, hadn’t he? Three serious relationships that had all ended miserably. If anything, thousand-year-old Winona Cobbs had been right to say he didn’t know how to love. Anymore, that was. But he fully intended to stay rusty in that department.
Except when it came to his baby. Surely that would come naturally. Right? He needed to read more of that book. There was probably a chapter or five all about that.
He felt his shoulders slump. “Doesn’t our family history make you...uneasy about it all?”
She surveyed the cats eating and checked off more boxes on her tablet, then turned it off and looked at him. “I’m not Mom. Or Dad. I make my own choices, blaze my own path.”
As another black cat wound between his legs, he nodded. “That you do, Daphne Taylor.” He kneeled down, setting the basket on the floor, and gave the cat a scratch on the head. He was done talking about this. Yes, he’d brought it up. He’d made a special trip over here. But he didn’t feel any more in control of his own life. Control. There was that word again. Ha—he could hardly be controlling if he didn’t even feel in control. Right?
A change of subject was definitely in order. “How do you not keep all these majestic creatures?” he asked, admiring the sleek cat.
Daphne smiled. “They have fun here. And I know they’ll all find loving homes soon. They always do. Even the prickly ones who hide when a potential adopter comes in.”
He gave the cat another scratch and stood. “I have this overwhelming urge to take care of Cassidy,” he said out of the clear blue.
“Well, given your role in the big news, I’m glad to hear that, Brandon.”
His role was father. Father. Daddy. He accepted the responsibility—absolutely. But the word itself still felt so strange applied to him. When would it feel more real? When would he be more comfortable?
“I just want to make everything easy for her,” he said, his gaze on an orange tabby playing with a piece of hay. “She’s pushing back. Isn’t that nuts? I can give her anything she wants or needs. She can have all the creature comforts and yet she insists on staying in her tiny apartment above the shop.”
Daphne smiled. “She’s independent. She’s been on her own since her mom died, has her own business.” She scooped up the basket. She studied him for a moment and then nodded, which meant she was about to lay some of her wisdom on him. He sorely needed it. “If you want a way in, find out what she really needs, Brandon. That’s how you make yourself indispensable to someone used to handling things herself.”
“What she needs? But she doesn’t seem to need anything.”
“We all need something. Even you. Find out what that is for Cassidy. Maybe you can’t provide it.”
“With my bank accounts? Of course I can.”
Daphne shook her head. “No, Brandon. I’m talking about the intangible.”
He threw up his hands, and Daphne grinned.
“Get to know her,” she added. “Start there. How about that?”
Get to know her. Yes, of course. He really didn’t know Cassidy very well, what made her tick, what she hated and loved.
What she needed.
It hit him like a lightning bolt. Suddenly he understood. What Cassidy needed had nothing to do with money or diapers or cribs. He had no idea what it was, but he could find out. Then he could really be there for her.
“What would I do without you, Daph?” Brandon asked, bending to give his sister a kiss on the cheek. He took the laundry basket from her. “I’ll pop this in on my way out. I have to learn how to do laundry sometime if I’m going to be someone’s father.”
Daphne gaped at him. “I think you’re gonna be just fine, Brandon.”
Maybe. Maybe not. Because the more he was getting used to thinking of himself as a dad, responsible for an innocent, precious child that he helped bring about, the more he wasn’t all that sure.
* * *
Ever since Brandon’s text had woken her from her nap on the sofa, Cassidy had been sitting with her laptop, feet up on the coffee table, a cup of herbal tea beside her knees, researching everything baby and motherhood. Including single motherhood. There were articles and blogs and book recommendations on the subject and everything she read had one thing in common: as a single mother, she would need a support system.
At first, she hadn’t put herself in the single mother camp. Yes, she was single and she’d be a mother. But her baby’s father was from the richest family in town, and whether she liked it or not, her baby would have everything he or she needed and then some. Cassidy might be independent and practical, but she wasn’t stupid or stubborn to the point that she’d turn down the basics she couldn’t afford on her own. She also had to consider that there were two parents here. She had her way and style and Brandon had his, and she needed to remember that she wasn’t the queen; they were equal partners as parents.
And Brandon had said, more than once, that he was fully committed to being the baby’s father. She wasn’t on her own. But some of the articles she read had interviews with single mothers who talked about the loneliness of it all, not having the emotional support of someone who loved you. Someone to truly lean on.
Cassidy had always filled her time with work and her friends, and volunteering and dreaming of growing her business. But sometimes, when she’d come home after a particularly hard day, she’d wish there was someone special waiting for her. Someone to massage her aching shoulders and to tell her she’d make her dreams come true, that she had what it took. She’d been that for herself for years, sometimes feeling empowered and sometimes feeling so alone she’d tear up. Maybe she’d been rationalizing the freedom and focus that being single gave her.
All night she’d thought about Brandon’s text, asking if she’d like anything from the gourmet place, if she had a craving for something, and she’d been so surprised and touched that she’d had a runaway fantasy for a good twenty minutes—of imagining them together. Really together. Like married. With a baby.
She could have that, if she wanted. The man had proposed. She could have the ring, and the husband, and a nice house and everything her baby could possibly want, including a large extended family. Hadn’t she very recently
told Brandon she wasn’t interested in marriage? That she didn’t believe in it? She didn’t know what she really felt and what she’d been rationalizing. What she did know was that with her mother and grandparents gone, and a couple of aunts and uncles scattered across the west, Cassidy was grateful that her baby would have all that family in the Taylors.
But she’d never been about pretending. She’d always been firmly rooted in reality. That was how her mother had raised her, and Cassidy appreciated it. Brandon might be kinder and more generous than she’d expected, but his proposal was...cold. What would be the point of marrying if there was no love? Love was the point.
Her phone pinged. A text from Brandon.
I got you some takeout from that place in Lewistown. Hungry?
Cassidy smiled and glanced at the clock. It was just after seven, and she was starving. I actually am, she texted back.
Be right there.
Fifteen minutes later, she buzzed him in and listened to his boots on the stairs up to the top floor. She stood in the doorway, ostensibly anticipating her deli feast but just as equally anticipating him.
She was just a little off-kilter emotionally speaking, so of course she wanted company. Company that was in the same position she was in: suddenly going to be a parent. She’d have to be careful not to get wrapped up in Brandon Taylor’s grand gestures.
There he was, holding two big plastic bags from Grammy’s Gourmet, one in each hand. For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, all of him. The broad shoulders, that gorgeous face with the dark twinkling eyes. He wore a green Henley shirt and faded low-slung jeans that were so sexy she swallowed. And his cowboy boots. She found them sexy, too.
“I didn’t know what your favorites were, so I got you a little of everything,” he said. “Grammy said everything would keep in the fridge for four days.”
“Did you actually ask her that?”
“Yes,” he said.
She grinned. “You keep surprising me, Brandon.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises.” He gave the bags a heft.
He came inside and headed to the kitchen, where he set the bags on the small round table. He took out so much food, she gasped. “Everything’s labeled. I got you four quarts of soup—potato leek, Hungarian mushroom, butternut squash and roasted vegetable. I also got a lasagna, a shepherd’s pie, a chicken potpie and two kinds of quiche. Also a cheesecake sampler. Oh, and a pound of ginger snaps. I remember when we dated a million years ago that ginger snaps were your favorite.”
Cassidy felt tears well in her eyes. A half hour ago, she’d been uncomfortably aware that she wanted this kind of TLC in her life, and here was Brandon—the last person she’d expect it from—providing it. “Thank you, Brandon. Beyond thoughtful.” She wanted to say more, but she was so touched, overwhelmed at his kindness, that she was a little speechless at the moment.
“So what are you in the mood for?” he asked.
She surveyed the crowded table. “Ever since you said chicken potpie, I’ve been craving it. I can taste the potatoes and carrots already.”
“Coming right up,” he said. “You go relax. Grammy gave me heating instructions for everything.”
She stared at him. Was he for real or working some angle? What, though?
Stop being so cynical and expecting the worst, she told herself. If a gorgeous, sexy man wants to take care of you for a change and heat up your chicken potpie, let him.
She sat back on the sofa, charmed by the sounds of lids opening and utensils clanking on a plate. Twenty minutes later, he came into the living room with a tray and set it on the coffee table. He’d even included the salt and pepper shakers and a glass of ice water.
“Bon appétit,” he said, sitting in the club chair adjacent to the sofa. “I snagged one of the ginger snaps for myself.”
She was surprised to see he hadn’t fixed himself a plate of something. “Not hungry?” she asked, the aroma of the chicken potpie making her mouth water.
He shook his head. “I ended up having a late lunch at my sister’s farm. Do you know Happy Hearts?”
“Of course. Daphne’s one of my best customers. Tries all my interesting vegetarian combos.”
“Speaking of vegetarian,” he said, “she insisted I try something called a seitan barbecue po’boy since she’d made one for herself earlier and had leftovers. It was so good, I had two of them, and I’m still stuffed. Seitan barbecue. We’re talking wheat meat, Cassidy. It shouldn’t be delicious, but it was.”
Cassidy laughed. “Well, if you liked that, I make some amazing smoothies with silken tofu. You should try one sometime. Now that you don’t have to avoid Java and Juice.” She dug her fork into the potpie and blew on the steaming mouthful, then ate. Scrumptious. “This is so good. Thanks, Brandon. I owe you.”
“So...does that mean you’ll consider my proposal?” he asked.
She gaped at him. “I meant a smoothie on the house or something. Not marriage.”
“I’ll wear you down,” he said, taking a bite of the cookie.
She froze, her fork midair. “Why do you want to? I mean, why do you want to get married? You don’t believe in the institution.”
“Because we have a different situation. We’re not two people in lust who think we’re going to last for the next sixty, seventy years. As I said, we’d be entering into a partnership based on shared commitment and responsibility to our baby. I believe in that.”
She poked her fork into a chunk of potato. Romantic. Real romantic. Then again, that was what he was going for—the opposite of romance. “So, let me get this straight. For the baby’s sake, for our partnership in raising our child, you’ll give up the possibility of meeting someone and falling in love and wanting to marry that person for all the right reasons?”
“My reasons for wanting to marry you are right,” he said. “But yes, I have no trouble kicking all that nonsense to the curb. Love doesn’t last. People change. Love fades or dies.”
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away fast. She wasn’t even sure why she’d gotten so triggered by what he’d said, but she thought it was because of how completely down on love he was. He really didn’t believe in it. And that was sad.
“Did you tell your sister that I’m pregnant?” she asked, taking another bite of the potpie even though her appetite was waning.
“I did. I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s your business, too, and I probably should have checked with you first. I did swear her to secrecy and Daphne can be trusted.”
She nodded. “It’s really early in the pregnancy, but if you want to tell your family, that’s fine.”
“How many people have you told?” he asked.
“None. Who would I tell?”
He stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“The first person I’d tell would be my mom, but I lost her five years ago. No dad to tell, and his family was never in my life. I do have a couple of aunts and cousins on my mom’s side, but they live far away and we’ve never been close.”
“Want some of my relatives?” he asked, his expression so soft on her that she had the urge to catapult herself into his arms for a hug. Just one hug to fortify her and she’d be okay again. “You can have my dad.”
She laughed. “I once heard Cornelius Taylor give someone holy hell in the middle of downtown Bronco Heights. A man in a Range Rover wanted to make a right turn on red while an elderly woman was in the crosswalk and going too slow for the jerk. Boy, did your father let loose on him and his lack of respect. Cornelius took that lady’s arm and helped her across the street, shooting daggers at the Range Rover dude.”
“Really? Huh. My dad can occasionally surprise me. I wouldn’t think he’d notice, let alone help anyone cross a street. No one would call him champion of the underdog. Particularly if the underdog is his own daughter. Do you know he’s still mad at her for
daring to leave home to start an animal sanctuary? ‘How dare she mock the family business!’ he bellows at least once a day. It’s been six years. Get the hell over it, Dad.”
“She’s his only daughter,” Cassidy said. “Surely he’s supportive of her no matter what.”
“Nope. He won’t even acknowledge her. Turns and walks away anytime he sees her in town.”
Cassidy gasped. “That’s awful.”
“That’s family,” he said. “The good, the bad and the really ugly. No one can count on anything in this world. I mean, we both know that. We learned at very early ages that even your own parent can walk out on you. My mom. Your dad.” He shook his head.
Cassidy put her fork down. She nodded; the long-running on-and-off ache in her chest fully in On mode. “I don’t know which is worse. A dad walking away from his young child and never looking back? Or a dad who’s been there the whole time but then turns his back because he doesn’t like your choices—choices that not only hurt no one, particularly him, but help so many.”
“Both bad,” he said. He turned slightly, staring out the window where a big oak was just visible in the moonlight.
She studied him, and he seemed lost in thought. She wanted to ask what he was thinking about, to get him talking about the sore spots their conversation seemed to rub raw, but from his expression, she knew that would be a mistake.
“Well,” he said, standing, “I’d better get going.”
No, don’t leave, she wanted to say. She longed to jump up and hug him.
“You okay, Brandon?” He was all tied up in knots over his family history—past and present. She understood, but if even Daphne, who’d experienced both a mother walking out and her father turning his back, could open herself up to love and believe in it, surely Brandon could.
Then again, she’d known siblings who were night-and-day different, so much so, she wouldn’t have believed they’d been raised in the same home by the same parents.
“Okay as ever,” he finally said, but she didn’t understand what that meant.
The Most Eligible Cowboy Page 6