That’ll be me someday. Dealing with all the scrapes kids got themselves into. He thought Paul had handled the whole thing very well, and he’d be sure to seek him out later this morning to let him know. He tried to imagine himself with a child that age, helping out with homework, giving advice, going fishing, riding, hiking, and teaching them all about the ranch. Dragging the crying kid to apologize for this or that. He saw himself teaching his young daughter how to get up on a horse, her hair blond like Cassidy’s, eyes dark like his. He saw himself helping his young son, his hair dark like Brandon’s, eyes big and hazel like Cassidy’s, with his math homework, then the three of them having dinner, walking the dog they’d adopt, talking about their days, sharing, laughing.
Fantasy? Or possible reality? He certainly hadn’t experienced days like that with his own parents. He didn’t remember his parents being married at all, though of course they had been. Maybe he was romanticizing a family scene because one didn’t exist in his head. Therefore, the Norman Rockwell version was easy to make up. For all Brandon knew, he’d be a mediocre dad and say, Sorry, I can’t teach you to ride today, I have to work. Sorry, I can’t help with long division, I need to make a business call.
Nah. Brandon wouldn’t be an “I’m too busy” dad. He’d be there one hundred percent, putting his child first. He’d felt that deeply from the get-go.
How can you be so sure you’ll love our baby if you can’t love your wife?
Cassidy’s words from last night, right before his dad’s text, slammed into his head. Was he romanticizing? Maybe Cassidy was right. If he couldn’t stand the thought of commitment, didn’t believe in a real marriage, what made him think he believed in the bonds of a parent and child?
Brandon stared out at the fence line, barely seeing ranch staff coming and going. He shivered as a chill snaked up his spine, though it was a perfect sixty-four-degree morning.
There was only one thing to do when Brandon’s head got all turned around like this. Work.
Kyle Fielding had lit a fire under Brandon to call Geoff Burris and, for that alone, the kid deserved to go to the holiday rodeo. He headed into the main house, glad no one was around, and wound his way to his office. He’d focus on his job and his schedule and the word love would disappear from his head. He picked up his cell phone and scrolled his contacts until he reached Geoff Burris.
Time to get this done.
He pressed Send and waited.
“Okay,” said a familiar deep voice, “my phone screen just told me Captain T was calling. I’m thinking the last time I had a captain named T was back in my sophomore year of high school, on the baseball team. Brandon Taylor?”
Brandon laughed. “I guess it’s been a while since we’ve talked. Fifteen years. Though I’ve followed your career every step of the way. I’m a major fan, Geoff.”
“Well, thanks. I’m doing what I love. What about you? I know from the rare times I get back to Bronco that you and your brothers all work for Taylor Beef at the family ranch. Is that where you saw yourself back in the day?”
Had he? Working for the family corporation had forever been expected, and despite Brandon always forging his own path, he’d simply assumed he’d take his place at Taylor Beef. Obligation? Real interest? Family ties? He wasn’t even sure he’d really ever thought about it, which was surprising in itself. Maybe it meant that the notion of family meant more to him than he’d been willing to consider. “I just saw myself working with horses, and I do spend a lot of time in our stables. Otherwise, I’m an executive VP for Taylor Beef. I like being part of the family business. Somehow I’m pretty good with number crunching.”
“My team has been alerting me to your calls. Sorry I haven’t personally called back. I’m pulled in a million directions every day and my schedule is nuts.”
Brandon had no doubt. “Yeah, I bet. In fact, the man you’ve become, the champion you are, and your ties to Bronco are the reasons it would mean so much to Taylor Beef to have you promote our company in our new ad campaign, especially during the November rodeo. I hear you might be doing some promo shots for the rodeo and local TV and radio spots soon, so I’m hoping when you’re in town, we can get together.”
“You saying you don’t have a date lined up for every night of the week, Taylor?” Geoff asked on a laugh. “You can’t tell me the Brandon Taylor has changed.”
“I want to say I haven’t. But things are complicated right now.”
“Oh? Complicated is interesting. But maybe not for a guy who’s used to playing the field. Someone’s got you all turned around, huh?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. But something is happening.” He pictured Cassidy, hands on her belly... Change the subject, Taylor, he told himself. He had no idea what he thought or felt when it came to Cassidy Ware. “Your social life must be pretty amazing.”
“I rarely have an evening to myself. Rodeos, promos, fundraisers, this event, that event. Everything seems to require a date, and yeah, there are plenty of very attractive women. Sometimes I love the life and sometimes I don’t.”
“I hear you,” Brandon said. “All I know is that life is full of wild surprises.”
Geoff let out a whistle. “Tell me about it.”
“How about if I tell you more about why you should sign with Taylor Beef?”
Geoff chuckled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. I’ve got five more minutes before I have to be at a press conference. Convince me right now to sign with you, and I’ll let you know if you did by end of the week.”
It was the only in he needed.
Brandon talked for a bit about what having a great man, hometown hero, and the roping champion of Montana as the Taylor Beef spokesman would mean to Brandon’s father and uncles. He rattled off Taylor Beef numbers, family history, name recognition, product excellence, and talked about how Taylor Beef and the Taylor Ranch helped out in the community with fundraisers that benefited underserved ranching families in Bronco. How the ranch worked with the young cowboys and cowgirls associations of the county. Then he spoke of what Geoff meant to the company, to the town, to adults and children alike, and he told him the story of Kyle Fielding and Starlight. He even mentioned the boy managing to choke Brandon up with that hero comment.
When he finally stopped talking, he was 99 percent sure he’d done all the convincing he’d needed. Geoff even asked for the Fieldings’ address to send them complimentary tickets and a T-shirt for both father and son. They ended the call, Geoff promising that his management team would be in touch by week’s end with a decision.
I’ve got this in the bag, Brandon thought. But that was always his problem. Overconfidence. Arrogance.
Nothing was guaranteed. Not signing Geoff Burris. Not getting Cassidy to agree to marry him. Not being a good father.
I’ll tell you what your problem is, Brandon Taylor, you don’t know how to love.
Elderly Winona Cobbs, with her snow-white long hair and purple cowboy hat, came to mind. He recalled her pronouncement before he’d snuck out of his brother’s wedding.
Fine, he didn’t know how to love. But you didn’t have to learn to love a baby. That was automatic. He was—there was his overconfidence again—99 percent sure. Your child had your heart the moment you met him or her. That was how life worked.
Not for his mother. Not for Cassidy’s father. But for most parents. Right?
Suddenly he wasn’t so confident. He had evidence that he was wrong. In his own immediate family. Cassidy’s, too.
He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk with a sigh.
Maybe he’d make an appointment at Wisdom by Winona. Ask a few questions. Talk through some of these burning issues. See what Winona said. If he couldn’t love, then maybe he had no business being anyone’s father.
Kind of late for that, he silently chided.
He was giving himself a headache. He thought
he’d known himself so well until the bombshell of all bombshells had dropped on his head. Yes, a sit-down with Winona Cobbs, local psychic, might be just what he needed.
* * *
At twelve thirty that afternoon, Brandon peered at the turquoise wooden shed in the yard of Bronco Ghost Tours. Stars and crescent moons were painted on the rough planks. A sign hung on the purple door: Wisdom by Winona. Below it was another sign: Moved Inside Bronco Ghost Tours ’Til Summer.
Brandon glanced up at the bigger building and headed inside. He saw Callie Sheldrick at the front desk, but she was on the phone explaining about the various tours customers could sign up for. Bronco had a legendary history, and Evan Cruise, his sister’s fiancé, had started a successful business that people flocked to. He held up a hand in greeting to Callie and she smiled. He peered at the doors down the hall. One was painted purple with crescent moons and stars. He warily walked over and knocked.
Winona Cobbs opened the door. Standing between two heavy purple drapes tied on each side, the elderly woman reminded him of an old-time rodeo queen. She wore a purple shirt with all sorts of colorful jewels on it, purple jeans, purple cowboy boots, and a purple turban on her head with a huge gold brooch in the shape of a crescent moon.
“Well, come on in,” she said.
He peered in past her. Wasn’t there a light in there? He stepped in and followed her through the drapes into a small room. Some illumination came from antique-looking lamps. The smell of incense infused the air.
“You may sit there,” she added, pointing at a faded pink wing chair across from a purple one, which she sat on. A small table was between them.
“So how does this work?” he asked. “Do you use a crystal ball?”
She didn’t respond. She was just staring at him. Not hard. No expression. Just staring. “Oh, Brandon. Brandon, Brandon, Brandon.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She reached into a purple tote bag and pulled out a piece of purple paper and a pen, then jotted something down. “Here.”
She slid the paper over to him. A scent wafted up to his nose. Lilac, maybe.
“‘Lewistown Community Center,’” he read. “‘Gwen and Paul Woodsley. This Thursday and Friday—9:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. Two hundred and fifty dollars per couple.’”
He looked up at Winona. “Uh, what’s this?”
“It’s a class for first-time parents,” she said, holding his gaze. “It covers pregnancy up to age two. Just right for you and Miss Ware.”
He could feel his mouth drop open. He studied Winona for a moment. She had to be the real deal. How else would she know?
“I suggest you head over to Bronco Java and Juice right now and tell Miss Ware that you think the two of you should attend the parenting class. There’s a lovely inn called the Blossom Bed and Breakfast where you can book a room for Thursday night. Tell the proprietor Winona sent you. She’ll take care of you two real nice.”
He tried to find words but his head was spinning. There was just too much to unpack here. “Let me ask you this, Miss Winona. You told me at my brother’s wedding that my problem is that I don’t know how to love. That may be true. So what’s the point of any of this? I’m going to mess things up with Cassidy and I’ll probably bomb at being a father, despite my intentions.”
“I also said that the universe has something in store for you.”
He hadn’t forgotten; he just hadn’t focused on that since it had sounded kind of silly. “I assumed the ‘something’ was the pregnancy. That I’m going to be a father.”
“That’s one of the somethings, yes.”
One of them? “What else?” he asked.
“Brandon, I’d like to tell you that everything is going to work out just fine for you. But when it comes to some people, they have to do the work first. You’re one of those people.”
“The work?” he repeated.
“The work. You’ve got to invest the time in yourself. If you want it, make it happen.”
He tried not to sigh. “I thought this was supposed to be a psychic reading. I’m really just interested in knowing the end result.”
A long-wrinkled finger came pointing at him. “You’re a fine man, Brandon Taylor.”
He waited. Surely that was the start of the sentence and more was coming. But Winona didn’t say anything.
“You’re a fine man,” she finally repeated, frustrating the hell out of him. “And your sister is a lovely person. Happy to have her join the family. She makes my dear great-grandson Evan very happy.” Winona stood.
He did, too. He’d go talk to Cassidy about the parenting class. Taking it certainly couldn’t hurt. He’d likely come out of it feeling more prepared for what was to come than just reading about fatherhood could do for him. He could ask his questions, get real answers, unlike the kind Winona gave, and learn something. And he and Cassidy would do it together; they needed to come at this more united than they were at the moment. There was tension between them and he didn’t like that.
He also liked the idea of staying overnight in Lewistown. Even in separate rooms, which he had no doubt she’d insist on. They could both use a couple of days away—for a lot of reasons.
He glanced at Winona, who was staring at him again, but this time, she wasn’t expressionless or scowling at him.
“By George, I think he’s got it,” she said on a chuckle.
He gave her wrinkled hand a gentle pat of thanks and got out of there fast.
Chapter Nine
Cassidy had never been a clock-watcher. But today, closing time couldn’t come fast enough. Since noon alone, it had been one little problem after another.
Two customers had gotten into a huge political argument and she’d had to ask them to take their ranting outside. She’d been met with applause from those who’d been listening to the raised voices. Then a toddler took his mother’s cream-cheese-slathered bagel half and slapped it, facedown, on a velvet love seat. Once Cassidy had gotten that all cleaned up, a man dropped his red berry smoothie on the floor, missing one of the rugs by a few inches. A little while later, Cassidy had heard barking and had beelined for the back door, where she’d earlier set down a plate of kibble for the stray who might be Maggie, the lost dog from Happy Hearts, in the hope of attracting her. But by the time she’d gotten there, the dog was gone. As was the kibble. Darn.
For the past fifteen minutes, at least, nothing was going wrong. Two women dressed to the nines came in and ordered pricey green juices, full of compliments for how fresh the offerings were. Now this was more like it. Bring on the compliments.
As Cassidy stepped back to chop and slice and drop the veggies in the blender, she heard one of the women say Brandon’s name. Naturally her ears perked right up. She moved around the side of the little island so she could eavesdrop better, knowing full well that she’d probably not like what she heard and should stand closer to the whirring blender.
“I still can’t believe Brandon ghosted me last summer,” the blonde said with a pout of her glossy lips. “We went out three times and he never called again. And trust me, I gave him reason to call.” She ran a hand down the length of her excellent body.
Ugh, why did Cassidy think she wanted to hear this slop? Knowing Brandon had dated half the town’s singles was bad enough. Listening to details of his sexcapades? No thanks. She moved closer to the blender.
And still heard every word.
Her brunette friend gave her a commiserating smile. “Men are such dogs. Did I tell you I dated Brandon, too?” she asked, a faux sheepish expression on her pretty face.
“What? After I did?”
“Well, you said it was over so... I ran into him at a fundraiser my PR firm was working. He is so damned hot I couldn’t help myself.”
Double ugh. Take your juices and go!
“How many times did you go out?” the blonde asked as Cassidy
came over with their orders, wishing she could plug her ears. Could this day get any worse?
“Twice. On our second date he took me to Coeur de l’Ouest, that excellent French restaurant just outside town, and he got all holier-than-thou because I told our waitress that the service was slow and that would be reflected in her tip. He had the nerve to say, ‘Oh, are you planning to pay for this dinner?’ We got into a huge argument and I huffed out.”
“He probably asked her out right after you left,” the blonde said, handing over her credit card.
Her friend nodded. “Right?”
Thank the heavens they took their juices to go. Cassidy had heard enough. Who hadn’t Brandon dated in Bronco? Who hadn’t he ghosted or dumped or pissed off in a fancy restaurant, even deservedly?
At least Brandon hadn’t been going to undertip the waitress. That did not seem like his style, slow service or not, which was rarely if ever the waitstaff’s fault.
Because he probably had wanted to ask her out, she thought with a scowl.
She wondered if she should even try chipping away at the bricks around his heart. The man was thirty-four and very likely set in his ways, used to living on his terms only, not having to account for anyone else. But now he did have someone else to account for: their child.
Chip away, she would. She owed it to herself and their baby to try. There was so much potential for them, if only he’d let her in. Maybe they’d be terrible together. Maybe they wouldn’t work and they’d become a statistic like the ones he liked to throw around. But maybe they’d be great together. She just wanted a chance.
Cassidy looked at the clock on the wall. One forty-five. She couldn’t wait to go upstairs, take a long, soothing shower, put on a face mask, and binge-watch the hot new regency romance series everyone was talking about. She was all caught up on her private baking orders, had started a nest egg and new business plan for her future expansion plans, and could just put her feet up and relax for the rest of the day. Ah. Just the thought of it made her feel better—and helped put Brandon Taylor, his trail of women and his antilove mindset out of her head.
The Most Eligible Cowboy Page 11