by Leigh Riker
Nicky rolled his eyes. “She always says no. She doesn’t know how cool it is.”
When Logan didn’t respond, Nicky got out of the truck. And planted both hands on his skinny hips. Logan had seen that pose many times from Libby.
“Aren’t you still my daddy?”
Logan’s stomach sank. “Yeah.”
Nicky’s eyes lit up, as if he’d just had a brilliant idea. “Then you can say yes.”
I wish I could, buddy.
“Give me a break.” Logan turned back into the aisle. “Let’s buy a ball. Next time we can talk about a truck.” Assuming Libby allowed him to see his kid again. Frankly, the only reason he had Nicky today—“get him home by noon,” she’d warned him—was because no one else was available. Nothing like being her last resort. She hadn’t even let Logan come to her house to get Nicky.
His lower lip stuck out. “No. I want it now.”
Clearly, he was being manipulated by a first grader, Logan thought. But if he showed up at Libby’s house with that truck, this would likely be the last outing they took. Unless a judge decided otherwise, which wouldn’t happen any time soon.
“Nicky, let’s go.” Logan started down the aisle toward the sporting goods department. Alone. He turned and saw Nicky still at the end of the other row, patting the monster pickup’s hood as if to say I’m sorry. His eyes brimmed with tears.
“Can I keep the truck at your house?”
Logan opened his mouth to say, Sure, but please don’t tell your mother. But the potential lie, like Grey’s fib the other day, didn’t sit well. He and Libby had always been honest with each other, at least. He couldn’t destroy that now. The truck would go with them to her house when he took Nicky home. He’d deal with the fallout later. “No, but we can buy it.”
Nicky flung himself at Logan. “Thanks, Daddy! I love you.”
“I love you, too, buddy.” More than you’ll ever know.
Nicky drew back. “Can we get the soccer ball, too?”
* * *
SHORTLY AFTER NOON, Blossom heard a crash and came running into Sam’s room. He’d managed to lift his lunch tray and then dump it on the floor. On purpose, she supposed from the look on his face.
“Oh,” she said. “You didn’t like my tuna salad?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Never had pecans in it before. But, sure I did.”
“Then why...?” She eyed the mess on the wooden floor then shook a finger at him. “You didn’t try to get out of bed, did you? I would have come if you needed anything. Why didn’t you call?”
“I know what you’re up to,” he said, scowling, as if she planned to rob a bank. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
“To the kitchen.” Blossom knelt down to scoop up the splattered tuna salad, which was mixed in with his buttered peas and applesauce. The lunch was a complete loss. He’d even dented his metal tray with that display of anger. “I’ll make you another sandwich, Sam.”
“Don’t want another sandwich.”
Blossom hid a smile. He sounded like a surly child.
“Then maybe some soup.” She tried to keep her tone brisk to take charge. “I think we have tomato and cheddar-broccoli in the pantry. Let me check. There might be bean with bacon, too, if you’d prefer that.”
His gaze lifted to hers. “No soup.”
She set the damaged tray on his bedside table. “Sam. What is it?”
“I heard you in your room, opening and closing drawers, shutting the closet, too. Then you zipped that suitcase of yours. You’re leaving, that’s what.”
She sat down on the edge of his bed. She’d changed his sheets that morning before she left for town. The house was probably cleaner than it had been in a long time, and after a brief stop at the market the fridge was full again. He and Logan would be all right—until Logan found someone else to care for Sam. So why was her heart breaking? She’d never intended to stay.
“I have to leave. I need to...be somewhere.”
“This have anything to do with Logan?” Sam focused on her with the intensity of a laser beam. “I know he can be cantankerous. Hasn’t been right ever since you two split up.”
Blossom bit her lip. “Sam, I’m not Olivia. I’m Blossom.”
“You remind me anyway,” he murmured, making her blink in surprise. Sam glanced around. “Of better times, I mean, of my own...wife. She picked this yellow daisy wallpaper print.” His gaze moved on. “That six-drawer walnut dresser, too, these nightstands and the bed I’m in.” He poked at a hole in the worn quilt. “We shared this room for over twenty years. Spring, summer, fall, winter... That garden out back is hers...filled with flowers then. She had hollyhocks by the back door. They’re gone now, too. And roses,” he said, worrying the hole in the quilt until his finger went through the fabric. “That was my Muriel. Growing peppers and tomatoes every summer. I can still taste them, the best I’ve ever had. And melons...their runaway vines covered the rear yard until my boys—Logan and Sawyer, that is—decided every melon needed to be carved into a Halloween jack-o’-lantern with a candle inside.”
“You miss her,” Blossom said, reaching for his hand.
He choked up. “I do. I always will. That woman was the brightest spot in my life—along with this ranch and my boys. While she was with me, I had everything.”
“Oh, Sam.” She couldn’t blame him for throwing his lunch on the floor. He spent all day in this room with only his memories for company. My boys, he’d said. They weren’t his, of course. Logan and his brother didn’t share a drop of common blood with Sam. Yet he’d taken them, raised them...been the closest thing to a father they had after losing their parents.
“Now I’m stuck in this bed—by myself. And you’re leaving.” He frowned. “I like you, Blossom. You go, too, you’ll take the last of my sun with you.”
Sudden tears welled in her eyes. Sam had shown her more love and acceptance in the short time she’d been here than anyone else in her life.
He studied their linked hands, his fingers warm and dry and stronger than she would have imagined. “Give Logan another chance. That’s all I ask. I’ll straighten him out for you.”
Had he confused her again with Olivia? “It’s not about Logan.”
“What do you take me for? I got eyes.” He bent closer to her. “You need to stay. I’m begging you,” he added.
Blossom let go of his hand. She looked deeply into his eyes.
“You don’t have to beg.”
“I will,” he insisted, “if that keeps you here. Logan needs you. That baby you’re carrying needs a home, too.”
Her fingers turned icy cold. How could he know about her pregnancy? Or was that more wishful thinking? “Sam, I’m not going anywhere except to the barn.”
* * *
BLOSSOM HAD BEEN looking out the window while she packed, as if Ken had seen her at the check-cashing place and then followed her as she drove out of town, her week’s pay warm in her jeans pocket. She’d been minutes away from quitting the ranch.
Now, reluctant to leave Sam alone, she ran out to the barn then into the tack room and, finally, to the outside corrals. Logan’s truck was here so he must have come back from his visit with Nick, but Logan didn’t seem to be anywhere. Standing by the rail, she shaded her eyes against the sun and squinted into the far distance.
She could stay a bit longer. Just a bit. She’d panicked after her trip to town, that was all, but she had a little more time, at least until Sam was more himself again.
She scanned the area. Not a cloud of dust rose into the air, and from here she could see almost to the horizon. This part of the land was pancake flat without any obstruction, perfect terrain for twisters and just right for spotting anyone unwelcome who might approach. All she heard was the occasional bellow or bleat of a cow or calf—and even t
hose sounds might be coming from Grey Wilson’s property. She had no idea whether bison sounded like cattle, too.
“Logan!” she shouted but no one answered.
Blossom headed back to the house. She wouldn’t call out again for fear of rousing Willy if he were nearby.
Because of Sam, she wasn’t going anywhere for now.
Even Ken couldn’t find her this fast.
She hoped.
CHAPTER NINE
LOGAN RODE BACK into the barnyard late that afternoon to find company waiting. His shoulders ached, his legs burned, his neck felt as if someone had lit a fire under his skin. After leaving Nicky and the toy truck at Libby’s house, he’d come back to the Circle H to work, but he’d neglected to take sunscreen with him. Hours in the saddle were a lot different from time spent at the controls of a jet. All he wanted now was a hot shower and some food, which would have to wait.
Grey Wilson’s truck was parked next to his by the barn doors.
As Logan got down from his horse, or rather Sam’s horse, Grey emerged from his pickup. The door slammed and Logan tried to ease the kinks from his neck, his back, but every muscle had tensed. What had brought Grey here? “Thought you were in Montana buying cattle.”
“Just got back. Got something for you.”
“I don’t need any cows.” He glanced toward the pickup, but Grey wasn’t hauling a trailer full of beef. “Sam keeps telling me how great his bison are.”
Grey grinned. “To each his own.”
Logan led the gelding into the barn. Sundance was a good mount, easygoing and steady with no apparent inclination to shy or bolt at the slightest sound.
Which met all of Logan’s requirements. It had been a while since he’d spent so much time on the back of a horse. He preferred a reliable one. Half-dead was even better. It wouldn’t do to get thrown in some gully or dry wash, to lie hurt or broken where no one would see him. Then what good would he be to Sam? And Nicky?
In the barn he unsaddled the horse while Grey stood nearby, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. He’d never been the talkative sort, although when he decided to, he could sure make his point.
“I’m worried about Libby,” he said at last.
Logan remembered her doctor’s appointment, the sole reason she’d actually let him see his son without a fight for once.
His stomach tightened. “She okay?”
“She went to see her OB/GYN. You don’t think...she could be pregnant?”
“Not by me.”
Grey frowned. “I didn’t mean that. She has been seeing that other guy for a while now. The antiques dealer.”
Logan gritted his teeth. “The smooth talker.”
“Yeah, a real charmer.”
“You don’t like him.”
“She’s a rancher’s daughter, Logan. She grew up on a horse—until Mom turned her against our dad. And she seemed happy enough with you at the Circle H to me—unless I missed something? Now she’s all ‘downtown,’ dating this guy from Kansas City in a suit and tie.”
Which wasn’t that common in Barren, Logan had to agree. Maybe Libby had just wanted to get as far away from him as possible in every way.
“Guess you didn’t see her change.” He removed Sundance’s bridle and hung it on a hook on the stall door after slipping on his halter. Pretty smooth for someone who hadn’t ridden in years. As a kid, he’d thought about a career in rodeo—until the urge to fly had hit him, hard.
“I don’t trust him,” Grey went on. “What if Libby...?”
“She’s a grown woman. Trust me. She can take care of herself. I can see Libby wanting some male companionship, but I can’t see her letting an unplanned pregnancy happen. She’s focused on Nicky.”
“Then maybe she’s really sick.”
“Did you ask her?”
“I wasn’t here. You were,” Grey said. “Did she say anything?”
Logan shook his head. “Like she’d tell me if there was something wrong.”
Grey shrugged. “When I saw her an hour ago, she seemed okay. Maybe a little thinner than she should be. She says she’s been working too much, spending her time at the office instead of outdoors. She forgets to eat.”
With a twinge of old guilt, Logan led the horse into his stall, gave him a pat, then stepped out and slid the door shut. Libby was trying to finish an MBA online now, but her business also kept her hopping. “You said you had something for me?” Grey wouldn’t drive over if he only wanted to fret aloud about his sister.
“Oh. Yeah.” He left the barn, went to his pickup then returned a minute later.
Logan stifled a groan. Grey wheeled the kid-size truck Logan had bought Nicky at the toy shop to the doors of the barn. Logan stared at the ground. “Why am I not surprised?” He’d meant to talk to her, but she hadn’t given him the chance. When he dropped Nicky off, she’d led him inside then shut the door. Logan had left the truck in her garage. “Libby couldn’t bring this back herself?”
“I’m her emissary, she said.” Grey turned toward his truck. “I promised her I’d bring this over. And I did.”
But that wasn’t all either.
“What’s the rest of her message?” Grey wouldn’t want to deliver that, but there must be one. Libby wouldn’t miss the chance to remind Logan that he wasn’t a good father.
“Next time—if there is a next time, and that’s a direct quote—she will personally choose where that outing with Nick—not in a toy store—will take place. Or else.”
Logan’s back teeth ground together. “What?”
“There won’t be an outing.”
“That’s in violation of the court’s order.”
Grey looked at him. “I’d hoped you two would become sensible about this.”
“I’m not the one who probably caused Nicky to cry when she took his new toy away—just to get at me. That’s on Libby.”
“I’ll try to talk to her.” Grey retraced his steps to the truck.
“No, I will.”
Libby wouldn’t win this one.
He watched Grey back out, waiting until his brake lights blinked red at the end of the driveway. Taking another moment to tamp down his anger, Logan refilled Sundance’s water bucket then started toward the house.
The way his luck was going, Blossom had likely made curry for dinner.
* * *
“WHY IS THIS animal in the house?” Standing in the hallway later outside Blossom’s bedroom, Logan held up the kitten she had called No-Name. “I nearly fell down the stairs when she shot past me.”
She looked away. “I thought she seemed cold. So I brought her inside. I’m sorry. She got out of my room.”
“I told you. She’s a barn cat, Blossom.”
She met his eyes, trying to gauge the degree of his irritation.
“Maybe she has higher aspirations. Maybe she wants to be more than that.”
Just as I want to be more than Ken’s punching bag. Her first week on the road, putting miles between her and Ken every day, she’d experienced a real taste of freedom. The rush of wind through her hair, the sun on her face. Having no one to give her orders. Even the motel rooms she’d stayed in were preferable to Ken’s spacious condo. She wouldn’t let Logan intimidate her now. A first, but still...
He handed her the cat. “Before you know it, we’ll all be scratching. We try to keep the flea population down, but we’re not that successful.”
She refused to look away. “I didn’t know.”
“Now you do. Take her back to the barn.”
Her mouth flattened. “If I do, she’ll only leave the fleas behind. They’ll move on to a secondary host—that would be you. And me.”
“Fleas aren’t the only issue,” he said. “Cats can carry parasites, among them toxoplasmosis�
�especially bad for pregnant women.” Blossom froze even before he finished, “I mean, what if you were having a baby?”
That hadn’t been a concern for her until now. She’d never been pregnant before.
Perhaps she should worry, but Blossom didn’t have to respond. As she set the cat down, his grandfather bellowed his name from down the hall. “Perfect,” Logan said.
Leaving the kitten to make her way downstairs for now, Blossom followed him to Sam’s room, mentally crossing her fingers. She hadn’t forgotten her conversation with his grandfather, especially the part about her being pregnant. But by now, maybe Sam had forgotten and wouldn’t bring up the subject.
If he did, she was still packed and ready to go.
“What is it, Sam?” Logan strode into the room where his grandfather was working on the remains of his dinner. Blossom had made beef stew tonight, or tried to. The dented tray drew Logan’s gaze. “Something happen here?”
“Sam dropped his tray at lunch,” Blossom began.
“I threw my tray. It’s my tray. I’ll do whatever I please with it.”
Logan glanced at the ceiling. “Deliver me,” he said.
Sam glared. “You ever stop moving long enough to see around you?”
“Not while I’m running your ranch for you, no,” Logan said.
“This girl’s car will be halfway through town before you take notice.”
Logan turned to her. “Is he making any sense?”
Blossom met his gaze. “Yes. I told him it was time for me to move on—”
She didn’t get to finish. To tell him she’d changed her mind.
“Not yet,” Logan said, looking grim. “I lost a newborn calf this afternoon. Another one became an orphan. Tobias is feeding it with a bottle at the barn, which takes up his valuable time. The whole herd needs to be moved tomorrow to better grass. So much,” he said with a glance at Sam, “for bison being easier than cattle.”