A Cowboy's Duty

by Marin Thomas

  “I want a quiet, family-only ceremony.” Dixie shoved her empty bowl across the table and suppressed the growing anxiety that she’d made a mistake in agreeing to a wedding date. Then she remembered the shower she and Gavin had shared two days ago and her heart sighed.

  “What’s up with the dreamy look on your face?” Conway poured himself a mug of coffee and joined Dixie at the table.

  “Sleepy, not dreamy. I wish I could catch a nap before heading into Yuma to open the shop.”

  “How come Gavin left early this morning?”

  Gavin had slept on the sofa and risen at the crack of dawn. She smiled at the memory of him sneaking into her bedroom and waking her with a kiss and a whispered, “I’ll call you later.”

  “Gavin’s off rodeoing.”

  “Where? The next event’s in Casa Grande.”

  “He mentioned California.” Dixie assumed Gavin needed some space before they got married in a couple of weeks and she also appreciated the breathing room.

  “When will he be back?” Conway asked.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter. You can call him for his opinion on wedding themes.”

  Themes? “Conway, what are you up to?”

  “Your wedding has to have a theme and since you own a soap shop I thought we’d use bubbles.”

  Dixie sputtered. “Bubbles?” Good Lord, if Conway gave each guest a bottle of bubbles the inside of the church would look like a wash machine gone wild.

  “No bubbles,” she said. “Besides, we don’t have the money for anything extravagant, so the guest list is limited to a handful.”

  Conway frowned. “I suppose that means the reception has to be at the farm?”

  “We’ll clean the barn and set up tables in there. Cook barbecue and—”

  Conway snapped his fingers. “A pig roast—what a great idea, sis.”

  “No pigs on a spit!” She winced and lowered her voice. “Pulled-pork barbecue.”

  “What’s going on?” Porter strolled over to the fridge. “Who drank all the juice?” He swished the half inch of orange liquid in the plastic container.

  “Sorry,” Dixie said. “I gave up soda until after the baby’s born.”

  Merle joined his siblings in the kitchen. “Are you going to breast-feed?”

  The kitchen was becoming much too crowded. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Besides, this wasn’t a conversation sisters had with brothers.

  “If you breast-feed, you can’t eat junk food.” Merle grabbed several slices of white bread to go with his morning coffee. “You have to eat healthy stuff.”

  “Since when have you become an expert on lactating women’s diets?” she asked as Merle dunked a piece of bread in his coffee, then shoved the sopping mess into his mouth and grinned.

  “When do you have time to shop for a wedding dress?” Conway asked.

  “I plan to wear Grandma’s.” The plain, unadorned silk had aged to a beautiful ivory color and was lovingly packed in a box beneath her bed.

  “What about bridesmaids?” Conway said. “Gavin’ll have groomsmen plus a best man.”

  “Who’s Gavin gonna pick for a best man?” Merle asked.

  Conway scribbled a note on the pad of paper in front of him. “I bet he picks Johnny.”

  “Who’s picking Johnny for what?” Willie joined his siblings.

  “Best man,” Porter answered.

  “Hold on everyone.” Dixie scooted her chair back and stood. “Gavin and I aren’t having a big wedding. Johnny will give me away but no bridesmaids or groomsmen.”

  “Why’s everyone in the kitchen?” Buck came in from the wash porch.

  Porter, Conway, Willie and Merle pointed at Dixie. “We’re trying to plan a wedding but she’s putting up a stink,” Conway said.

  “It’s my wedding. I can put up a stink if I want to.”

  “Cold feet?” Buck’s quiet voice silenced her brothers.

  “No.” Maybe. “Conway thinks I need a fancy-schmancy wedding and I want to keep things simple.” She didn’t dare tell her brothers that one of the reasons she didn’t care for an extravagant affair was because she didn’t want Gavin believing she was head-over-heels about him—just in case things didn’t work out and they parted ways after the baby was born.

  Her brothers’ gazes swung to Buck, waiting for his response. “Dixie’s the bride. She has the final say.”

  “Thank you, Buck. You’re my favorite brother.” She placed her juice glass in the sink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.” She stepped outside and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with cool morning air. She loved the month of October—daytime highs in the eighties and nighttime lows in the sixties—perfect sleeping weather. October made suffering through the unbearable heat of Arizona summers worthwhile. As soon as she got in her truck and cranked the engine she flipped on the radio, hoping the noise would block out her concerns over marrying Gavin.

  No such luck.

  Gavin’s arguments in favor of marrying were sound—she was all in favor of him being involved in their child’s life, but recognized from her mother’s experience that a man and woman living together for the sake of a child always led to a breakup. Dixie didn’t want to suffer the same heartache and bouts of depression her mother had endured as a result of failed relationships.

  Then don’t let Gavin steal your heart.

  Too late. After all he’d done for her, there was no way Dixie could not love the man—at least a little.

  Feel appreciation and gratitude, but stop there.

  No can do. Their lovemaking had touched her deeply and convinced her that Gavin cared about her—how much, time would tell. The one thing that saved her from a panic attack was the knowledge that if Gavin tired of her or decided he wanted out of the marriage, she retained the gift shop in Yuma. As long as she had a means of supporting herself and the baby she’d survive without Gavin.

  Dixie’s cell rang. Keeping one eye on the road she stuck her hand into her purse and rummaged through the contents until her fingers bumped the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me.”

  Her heart stuttered at the sound of Gavin’s sexy voice. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. Just calling to see how things are going with you.”

  “Fine.” Dixie smiled. “Where are you?”

  “Chula Vista.”

  “You’re rodeoing there?”

  “No. Passing through. I’ll be in San Dimas this weekend.”

  Because she was content working in her store each day, it didn’t bother Dixie a bit that Gavin would spend the week traveling through California.

  “I might look up a few army buddies while I’m out here.” He cleared his throat. “How are the wedding plans going?”

  “Fine.”

  Silence followed by, “Let me know if you need any money.”

  Gavin had already done more than enough and Dixie would not ask him to help pay for a wedding. “My brothers want to know if you’ll be picking a best man.” Dixie winced as soon as she asked the question. She hadn’t meant to remind Gavin of the loss of his best friend.

  “I don’t have anyone in mind for a best man.”

  “That’s fine because I’m not having a maid of honor.” Shannon was the only friend she’d consider asking and Shannon was in Florida for who knew how long.

  “Dixie, you don’t have to—”

  “No, it’s all right, Gavin.”

  “I’ve got to go. Traffic is a nightmare.”

  “Okay. And, Gavin...thank you—” she swallowed the lump in her throat that formed when she thought of his generosity “—for buying the shop.”

  “Talk to you later.”
/>   The call cut off and Dixie felt a keen sense of loss. She slowed down as she drove through Stagecoach and shifted her thoughts to the gift shop and brainstorming ideas to increase sales and publicity.

  * * *

  “WHERE THE HELL HAVE you been, Tucker?”

  Gavin grinned in the cowboy ready area at the San Dimas Western Days Rodeo in San Dimas, California. “What’s the matter, Murray, afraid I’ll win?”

  Fellow bareback rider Ryan Murray snorted. “Army man, I can beat you with both hands tied behind my back.”

  Gavin shook hands with Murray—the wiry cowboy reminded him of Nate—always teasing people. “I had business to take care of in Arizona.” Gavin dropped his gear bag.

  “Thought maybe you had an epiphany and realized you weren’t a bona fide bareback rider.”

  A group of competitors nearby chuckled and tipped their hats to Gavin. He’d missed sparring with the guys when he’d taken a break from the circuit to help Dixie with the store. “Why’ve you been hanging out in Arizona?” A cowboy named Pete Santali invited himself into the conversation. Santali was a bull rider who’d joined the circuit right out of high school and had yet to finish higher than tenth in a rodeo.

  “You recall the Canyon City Rodeo in Arizona this past July?” Gavin spoke to the men.

  “Sure. I rode Caramel Delight and he kicked my butt into the stands,” Santali said.

  “Remember the female bull riding event?”

  “Hell, yes! Prettiest dang girls I ever seen ride bulls.” Murray spit tobacco juice at the ground. “You hook up with one of them beauties?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I’m engaged to Dixie Cash.”

  Murray whistled between his teeth. “Man, are you crazy? I sure as hell wouldn’t want the Cash cowboys as brothers-in-law.”

  “They’re not so bad.” Gavin took comfort in knowing that while he was on the road, the brothers would be there to help Dixie if she needed anything.

  “You gonna keep rodeoing after you marry?” Santali asked.

  “Not sure.” The past week he’d enjoyed being by Dixie’s side and as far as small towns went, Stagecoach wasn’t bad. Commuting into Yuma for a job wouldn’t bother him—not if Dixie worked in her gift shop. He liked the idea of meeting her for lunch or dropping into the store to check on her and the baby during the day.

  “When’s the wedding?” Santali asked. “We invited?”

  “Nope. We’re having a family-only ceremony next month.”

  “You gonna look for a real job?” Murray asked.

  “Eventually.”

  Santali chuckled. “Hell, I wouldn’t know where to apply if I had to get a real job.”

  “I’ve got experience with water reclamation projects,” Gavin said. “I’m hoping to find work with the city of Yuma.”

  “Good luck to you, man.” Murray shook Gavin’s hand and Santali did the same, and then the cowboys walked off.

  Gavin approached chute eight and studied his draw—a horse named Tiny Dancer—when the gelding bucked, he gave the illusion of walking on air. The horse had a fifty-fifty win streak going so Gavin had a shot of making it to eight. He rummaged through his gear bag and removed his rope and glove. The announcer droned on about the winners of the bareback event from the previous year’s rodeo. Gavin appreciated that the announcer attempted to make the event sound important or relevant to the current rodeo standings, but the truth was the cowboys riding today weren’t good enough to compete for the bigger purses. The Western Days rodeo was comprised of young hotheads trying to gain experience, old has-beens who refused to hang up their ropes and Gavin—guys whose lives were in limbo.

  “Next up is Gavin Tucker! He’s riding Tiny Dancer!”

  Gavin stuffed his hand into his riding glove, then climbed the chute rails and settled on the gelding’s back. He played with his grip on the rope handle, trying not to overthink his ride. He’d gotten caught up in attempting to predict a horse’s moves before the chute door opened and the horse never performed as expected—most of the time Gavin sailed through the air after a few bucks.

  One more twist of the rope and he nodded to the gateman. Tiny Dancer vaulted into the arena. Gavin rode out the first three bucks in succession and then the gelding got serious and added a spin to his repertoire of moves. Gavin—cocky from three seconds of success—sailed over the horse’s head. He landed on the ground, skidding across the dirt on his stomach then came to a stop in a tangle of arms and legs. The fans’ lukewarm applause embarrassed him as he crawled to his knees and retrieved his hat.

  “Tucker,” Santali hollered when Gavin stepped behind the chutes. “Hope you make a better husband than you do a rodeo cowboy.”

  So did Gavin.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Dixie, I’ve got to have another bar of that romance soap you sold me last week.” Mildred Hinkle marched through the gift shop and stopped in front of the counter where Dixie rang up a customer. “You’ll want another bar of that one.” Mildred pointed to the pink-wrapped soap among the woman’s purchases. “Use it to wash your delicates and I guarantee your husband will notice.”

  The customer nodded and Dixie added another bar from the romance collection. “That will be twenty-eight dollars and thirty-six cents.” She ran the woman’s credit card through the machine, then handed her a receipt to sign. “The bottom one is yours.”

  “Thank you for the recommendation.” The woman smiled at Mrs. Hinkle.

  “Happy to help.”

  If Dixie didn’t know better, she’d swear sourpuss Mildred had become Ms. Congeniality. Left alone with the old woman she said, “I’m glad your husband approves of the soap.”

  “He more than approves.” Mildred winked. “He came to bed before the ten o’ clock news every night this week. Hasn’t done that in seventeen years.”

  Dixie swallowed a chuckle. “I’m working on a new Thanksgiving soap—citrus spice.” She motioned for Mildred to follow her into the kitchen at the back of the store. Each night Dixie stayed late to make soap after the shop closed—better to keep busy than sit at home and think of Gavin. She expected to miss him, but hadn’t anticipated her every other thought to focus on him... What was he doing? Who was he with? Was he thinking of her?

  Gavin had made a habit of phoning Dixie in the evenings to wish her good-night. He had no idea that when she answered his calls she was on the road driving back to Stagecoach. She didn’t tell him she’d worked late, knowing he’d disapprove of her driving home alone at night. Or he’d insist she wasn’t getting enough rest. Dixie had agreed to a wedding—not to having Gavin dictate her every move.

  Mildred studied the bowls of spices and herbs on the kitchen table while Dixie fetched the sample soap and waved it beneath Mildred’s nose.

  “Lovely...almost good enough to eat. Is that nutmeg?”

  “Yes.” Dixie held up a leaf and a pumpkin-shaped mold. “Which one do you prefer?”

  “Both. Have you thought of adding additional shapes like gourds and Indian corn? A bowl of harvest-scented soaps would make a terrific holiday display.”

  “That’s a great idea. Thank you, Mrs. Hinkle.”

  Mildred glanced at the wall clock. “I’d better return to my store.”

  Dixie followed her to the front door, happy to see another customer come into the shop. She hoped the steady stream of clientele this week foreshadowed the upcoming holiday spending habits of the locals and tourists.

  “Where’s that handsome young man who helped you during your grand opening?”

  “Gavin’s rodeoing.”

  Mildred’s gaze narrowed. “Oh, he’s one of those cowboys?” She waggled a finger in front of Dixie’s face. “You best keep an eye on him, dear.” She leaned closer. “I know from experience that traveling men stray.”

  Dix
ie watched Mildred cross the street and walk up the block to her store. She considered the older woman’s words, then discarded them. Gavin wasn’t the kind of man to stray. She honestly believed when he’d proposed to her—yes, for the sake of the baby—that he planned to honor their marriage vows. Honorable intentions aside, there was the chance that after the baby was born and they set up house and established a routine that their relationship might hit a bump in the road.

  There was no guarantee she and Gavin and the baby would remain a family forever, but she had to try—for the baby’s sake and her sake. She’d rather live with the stigma of a divorce than hear gossip about her being an unwed mother. A tramp. Or worse—that she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps.

  “Let me know if I can answer any questions.” Dixie smiled at her customer.

  “I’m just browsing, thank you.”

  A dull twinge spread through Dixie’s stomach—the third one in as many hours. She pressed her fingers against her side and returned to the kitchen. She shouldn’t have eaten the pickle that came with the tuna sandwich she’d ordered from the deli.

  * * *

  “GAVIN! WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Gavin’s mother hugged the life out of him while he stood on the welcome mat outside her apartment.

  “Miss me?” Gavin teased.

  “Of course.” She tugged him inside and shut the door. A baritone woof greeted him.

  “Hey, Barney.”

  “Barney’s disappointed you’re not Ricardo asking us to join him and Chica on a walk.”

  “So it’s like that between you and Ricardo?” Gavin tossed his Stetson on top of his mother’s coffee table, removed his phone from his pocket and turned off the ringer before sitting on the couch next to the old bulldog. He scratched Barney behind the ears.

  “Ricardo and I are friends. Nothing more.” His mother retrieved a can of Gavin’s favorite cola from the fridge.

  “What’s the expiration date on this?”

  “Ha-ha. Maybe you should visit your mother more often.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll make you a sandwich—”

  “No thanks, Mom. I ate on the way into town.”