Logan's Luck (Last Chance Book 4)

by Lexi Post

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned over his arm forcing him to pull his hand away from the colt to catch her before she tumbled into the corral. The movement hurt, but it was nothing to what he’d feel if she fell.

  The colt raised its head at the same time Charlotte reached out and her hand brushed its coat. As she waved her hand up and down at the surprise contact, squealing with delight, the colt bounded away.

  Logan stifled a chuckle, not wanting his ribs to hurt anymore then they already did from his daughter’s antics. He readjusted her, settling her back onto his good arm. “Wait until daddy teaches you to ride. Then you will be really happy.”

  Charlotte started to push up and down. “Ride horzie.”

  He turned back toward the house. “Yes, you will get to ride your horsey, but first you will need to name it. Not everyone is happy with Charlotte’s Horse as a name.”

  Charlotte didn’t pay any attention. She’d twisted around and watched her horse from over his shoulder.

  He walked into the unusually quiet house. Gram was still in Prescott with her sick friend and Trace hadn’t arrive yet.

  Since he was almost worthless in helping around the ranch, he planned to spend the whole day with Charlotte.

  He brought her into the kitchen and settled her into her highchair. He should probably wake up Dillon, but he was enjoying his time alone with Charlotte too much. Grabbing her dry oat cereal, he dropped a handful onto her tray. She immediately put pieces in her mouth, and he surreptitiously pulled the teddy from the tray and set it on the shelf behind her.

  Scrambled eggs with cheese was one of her favorite meals, so he took out a bowl and started cracking eggs.

  “More, da-da.” Charlotte banged her tray with her hands.

  He looked over his shoulder to find her tray empty. Wiping his hands, he poured out more cereal then went back to preparing the eggs. Rifling through the fridge, he found bacon and leftover potatoes from dinner the night before. Pulling them out along with half of a large onion, he started on hash browns.

  A piece of cereal pinged the stove where he cooked, and he turned.

  Charlotte laughed. “More, da-da.”

  He stepped to his left to grab the cereal and his boot crunched beneath him. “What?” Looking down, he found cereal all over the floor. “Charlotte, you don’t throw your food.”

  His perfect daughter hit him in the face with another cereal piece. He scowled. “No.”

  A pop from the bacon forced him to turn back to the food he cooked. He waited until everything was done then he turned off the burners under the pans and wiped his hands on a towel. Moving to his daughter’s tray, which still held a few cereal missiles, he scooped them up and threw them in the trash.

  “Bad da-da. More.”

  “No, no more. Your food is not a toy.” He moved to the closet and pulled the broom out, sweeping up the cereal and disposing of it.

  “Da-da more! More! More!”

  He pulled a chair up to her and gave her his full attention. “Charlotte was a bad girl.” He kept his tone even and calm.

  She looked at him and shook her head. “No. Da-da bad. More.”

  “Charlotte, food is for eating not throwing.” He frowned at her, wanting her to understand this was an important lesson.

  She stared at him and her bottom lip started to quiver.

  Ah hell. He wanted to lift her up and hug her, but she’d never learn that way. “If I give you more, will you eat?” He took a fork from the table and motioned with it.

  Her lip stopped and she gave him that far off stare as her mind worked. “Eat.”

  He smiled. “Good girl.”

  Getting up, he put a small amount of the eggs on her baby plate and blew on it to cool it off.

  “Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat.” She was back to banging on her tray.

  He set a plate of food at his seat then brought her dish. Sitting next to her, he scooped eggs into his mouth. “Hmmm, good.”

  She watched him then picked up her eggs with her hand and stuffed them in her mouth. “Hmmm.”

  He almost choked on his laugh, but quickly squelched it for both his rib’s sake and his daughter’s sake.

  “What smells so good?” Dillon strode into the kitchen, his short black hair sticking up, his gray sweat pants hanging below his waist and no shirt.

  “It’s breakfast, but you’re not getting any until you put on a shirt.”

  His cousin stopped, his hand on the cabinet handle. “What do you mean, put on a shirt? I always eat breakfast in sweats.”

  Logan gave him a frown. “Not in this house. I have a young daughter growing up here. So if you want some of the breakfast I cooked, you put on a shirt. Might as well comb your hair while you’re at it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Completely.”

  “Okay, okay.” Dropping his hand from the cabinet door, he turned around and headed down the hallway.

  Logan grinned as he heard Dillon running up the stairs. His food must smell exceptionally good.

  He returned his attention to Charlotte who promptly asked for more eggs. Checking the floor around her and seeing none there, he scooped another spoonful onto her plate and cooled them before giving them to her.

  “Now, can I eat?” Dillon walked back into the room, a black t-shirt with some rock band Logan never heard of plastered across the front.

  Since the logo only had a name and a white convertible, he didn’t find it objectionable. Though the convertible just reminded him of what would happen today. “Go ahead, but leave some for Trace. I’m sure he’ll want to eat when he gets here.”

  “Got it.” Dillon moved to the stove.

  Having his cousin show up could actually benefit Last Chance since he was of so little use with his broken ribs at the moment. “You’re timing is perfect. Trace and I talked it over and we need you to keep Cyclone busy.”

  Dillon piled his plate with eggs. “That’s the Clydesdale, right? The one that needs special attention?”

  “Yes. In addition to attention and finding things for him to hall, his feathered feet need to be cleaned of any mud.”

  His cousin nodded. “I can do that, though I doubt he’ll be seeing much mud around here.”

  There was that. “I’d also appreciate it if you could take Black Jack out for a ride, that is if you don’t have any long-term effects from your crash.”

  Dillon kept his eyes on the food, adding strips of bacon to his plate. “Just a couple sore muscles. Better if I move around anyway.”

  Logan tried to imagine what his Aunt Bev could have done to piss off the second of her two sons so much that he’d leave their horse ranch.

  At New Year’s, before Cole and Lacey’s surprise wedding, his aunt was still trying to get Cole interested in a wealthy woman she’d brought to the party with her, even though she knew Cole was engaged. “So, what did your mother pull this time?”

  Dillon sat down with a heaping plate of eggs, bacon and hash browns. “Let’s just say she went too far. When I refused to do what she wanted, she threatened to take the horses away. I told her to take her fucking ranch and shove it.”

  “Watch your mouth.” He looked at his daughter who held her eggs in her hand.

  “Luck. Luck.”

  He swallowed hard. “That’s right. Daddy has terrible luck.”

  “Lucky da-da.” She stuffed another handful of eggs into her mouth and grinned.

  He smiled at her before turning back to Dillon to scowl.

  “Sorry. I’m not used to having kids around. I’ve been hanging out with too many cowboys. I’ll try to be careful.”

  His cousin did look apologetic. “You do that.” He returned his attention to his own eggs, his mind racing. Would Kylie swear in front of their daughter? Would she even care? He liked having Gram in Charlotte’s life because she was a good role model, but Kylie could undo everything Gram did.

  For the second time, he wished it had been Jenna who gave birth to his daughter. If that
were true, they wouldn’t have fought over having Charlotte’s mother in her life.

  Then again, Jenna would have never left her child on his doorstep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenna pulled into the parking area behind her office and turned off Whisper’s truck. The breech cow delivery had been touch and go and very messy. She smelled of blood and guts and her belly balked. She’d always known she’d have calls like today’s, but she didn’t know she’d be making them in such a frazzled state of mind.

  Yesterday on her drive home, she’d become more and more angry at Logan. The man was a stubborn ass, refusing to see the other side of an issue. He was completely blinded by his fatherhood.

  She knew what it was like growing up without a mom. Not being able to talk to anyone, especially a parent, about female things like her periods, sex, or even just what color dress would look good with her complexion. She’d avoided her prom to skirt all those topics.

  But it was more than that. There was nothing like a mother’s love. She remembered her mom giving her hugs, telling her stories before she went to bed, and brushing her hair. Those mother-daughter times were just as special as father-daughter times…at least until she was seven. Part of her wanted to argue on behalf of Charlotte, but the other half wanted to argue for herself and her right to have an opinion without being shut off and cast away.

  Then she’d arrived home and crawled into bed. That’s when her heart broke. He didn’t say it, but it was obvious he was done with her, and she cried herself to sleep.

  Now, she just wanted to curl up in a ball and forget the world existed, but that wasn’t her lot in life. She had a job to do, and it was an emotionally rewarding one if not always financially so. The Last Chance was her financial lifeline and she refused to give it up because Logan couldn’t see past his own nose.

  As her anger resurfaced, her focus became sharper. “You ready to see, Connie?” She looked at Butterball, who wagged his tail every time she spoke. “Or do you want to bite Logan’s leg with your sharp teeth?”

  Butterball wagged his tail again.

  She grinned. Mr. Erickson must have known what he was doing when he gave her the dog. Just having Butterball around in her lonely, hectic life was a huge help to her psyche. “Okay, let’s go see how the rest of the menagerie is doing.”

  Jumping out, she walked around to the passenger door and lifted Butterball down then grabbed her bag from the floor of the front seat. She walked to the back entrance and easily slipped into her office without anyone seeing her.

  Pulling a dog bone from her desk draw, she held it out to Butterball. “That’s for being such a good listener.” He took the bone and waddled over to his bed, a present from Connie.

  She flicked on her computer then used her bathroom to wash up with warm soapy water. The hose at the ranch had such hot water from the Arizona heat, that she’d barely been able to let it touch her skin.

  When she returned to her desk, she sorted through her mail, setting aside the bills for the office and her student loans. “Oh, boy. I bet this is the insurance company’s value for my car.”

  Butterball ignored her, having way too much fun with his bone to bother with her. Even his tail didn’t wag. Was that a sign?

  Slicing open the envelope, she stared and her heart sank—$3,984.32. She’d never find a reliable used car for that amount, but it would be a halfway decent deposit on a new car. The problem was, she had her heart set on a small pickup truck about the size of Whisper’s.

  Taking out a calculator, she crunched the numbers three-ways to Tuesday, but it was no use. She couldn’t afford a truck. Defeated, she crumbled up the paper she’d scribbled on.

  Maybe she could ask Whisper if she’d like to sell hers? It wasn’t like the woman used her own vehicle that much, and now that Trace was living with her and had a truck, she just might consider selling. The more Jenna thought of the idea, the more she liked it. “See BB, there’s still hope.”

  Butterball continued to ignore her, so she checked on her next appointment. Having a few minutes before it started, she strode into the back room where her most critical patients were recovering. Luckily, there were very few, just a hamster, a duck and Snowy, Mrs. Thompson’s elderly cat.

  She checked each out and was pleased with their progress. The hamster could go home, but the duck needed another day and she’d watch Snowy for a few more days. Once satisfied they were all well, she stepped out into the waiting area. Connie handed her a file and she greeted Ms. Landry and the box of kittens she held.

  Luckily, her appointments for the rest of the day kept her mind on her job. It wasn’t until her last appointment left and she sat down in her office that her own heartache hit her all over again.

  She tried to ignore it, typing in her final notes, but it was no use. She loved Logan Williams and he’d pushed her away again. This time, there was no excuse except his stubbornness, and she refused to have her heart broken over that. She would just have to change his mind or they could agree to disagree because other than his refusal to see her side, he was a good man.

  Feeling a lot better now that she’d made her decision, she closed down her computer.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Jenna, but Mrs. Thompson is here. She’d like to talk to you.” Connie looked puzzled, her eyebrows drawn down in confusion. “She saw the closed sign but knocked anyway. I was rather put out, but since her kitty is here, I had to let her in.”

  “Of course you did. That was the right thing to do.” She studied her receptionist. “Did you call her to update her on Snowy’s progress?”

  “I did. Every morning and evening. I even called her while you were in with your last patient to tell her how well Snowy was doing this evening.”

  No wonder Connie was puzzled. “Bring her down here and you can go home. I’ll lock up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Positive. I have a lot less to do tonight than you do.”

  Connie grinned. “I do have another dinner and dance planned with my cowboy and I need to change for that.”

  “Go ahead. I’m sure this won’t take long.”

  Connie nodded before disappearing from the doorway and returning with Mrs. Thompson.

  Jenna rose. “Hello, Mrs. Thompson. What can I help you with?”

  The older woman grasped her large purse in both hands. “I miss Snowy so much. I was wondering if I could see her?”

  Jenna’s heart melted. “Is Snowy your only pet?”

  The woman nodded.

  Jenna glanced at Butterball, who was curled up and snoring. She now had a new appreciation for the bond between pet and pet owner. “Then let’s go see her.”

  Mrs. Thompson’s face relaxed, and she smiled gratefully.

  Jenna led the way to the back room where only the duck and Snowy resided. She pointed to the cat cage where Snowy was sleeping.

  Mrs. Thompson stepped close. “Snowy, your mommy’s here.”

  The cat immediately opened its eyes and rose to a sitting position.

  Mrs. Thompson had tears in her eyes. “Can I touch her?”

  “Of course.”

  The older woman put her fingers through the cage bars and Snowy immediately rubbed her face against her. Jenna quietly stepped out of the room, letting the two companions have their time.

  She walked back into her office and stared at Butterball, who was curled up on his bed, his pale, tan fur all that was visible which explained where he got his name. On one hand, she wanted to hug him to her, but she also didn’t want to disturb his sleep.

  Footsteps up the hall had her turning back toward her door. Mrs. Thompson was smiling, her whole demeanor completely changed. She placed her hand on Jenna’s arm.

  “Dr. Jenna, you don’t know how much this meant to me.”

  “I’m happy I could help.”

  The woman’s hand tightened. “No, I mean what you did for Snowy. Every vet in the city I took her to said she had lived a good life at sixteen and it was time to l
et her go. Others said it was too risky to operate on such an old cat, but they could prescribe medicine to keep her out of pain.”

  Jenna swallowed, glad she hadn’t known that beforehand. Many of her clients had cats that lived into their early twenties, so she hadn’t considered Snowy too old for surgery. Still, she was pretty sure the trauma of the operation would take a toll on the cat.

  “Mrs. Thompson, you need to understand. I took out the tumor in her stomach, but that doesn’t mean another one won’t form. Also, it will take a lot for her to recover from this, and she will need to eat completely differently. I can’t guarantee you will have much more time with her.”

  Mrs. Thompson removed her hand and delved into her purse. “I know all that. You have gone above and beyond a typical vet, and I want to show you my appreciation.”

  “Oh no, that’s fine. You will get a bill when you take her home.” Jenna grabbed the woman’s hand as she lifted an envelope from her purse.

  “It’s just a card, honey.”

  Feeling a little foolish, she accepted it. “Thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  Mrs. Thompson grinned. “I know it is. When can I bring Snowy home?”

  Jenna kept her smile to herself because she knew Connie would have told the older woman. “Probably in a couple more days. I want to be sure Snowy can eat and drink normally before she leaves with you.”

  “Can I come by and see her tomorrow?”

  She wanted to tell her she couldn’t, but the look of hope in the woman’s eyes made her give in. “Of course you can. Just schedule a time with Connie, okay?”

  Mrs. Thompson nodded. “I will. Thank you again.” The woman turned away and let herself out.

  Jenna locked the door behind her and turned out the lights. When she entered her office, Butterball was awake and wagging his tail again. Dropping the card on her desk, she grabbed her purse, leaving her medical bag there. She had no ranch calls to make in the morning. The only ranch call she had to make right now was to confront a certain stubborn cowboy.

  “Ready BB?”

  Her dog gave her that special smile of his and waddled out ahead of her. His actions gave her an idea. Maybe there was more than one way to melt a man’s heart and change his mind at the same time.