Cassie's Cowboy Daddy (4 page)

“Don't be silly,” Cassie said. “The girls will take a long nap after lunch. That should give me plenty of time to deal with the rest of the cobwebs and dust bunnies. If you have time when we get back, we'll buff the floors and polish the woodwork. If not, we'll tackle it tomorrow.”

“Great,” Ginny said happily. She smiled at Hank. “We won't be gone long.”

Logan silently listened to the exchange. He wasn't at all happy about being left alone with Cassie. Even if Hank and Ginny didn't kill any more time in Bear Creek than it took to return the trailer and pick up some fencing supplies, it would be at least two and a half to three hours before they got back. And knowing the way Hank liked to visit with the guys down at the feed store, it could take even longer.

Hopefully, he could talk Cassie into taking her babies and going with Hank and Ginny. “Is there anything you need from town?” he asked. “Maybe you should go with them.”

Cassie shook her head. “I have everything I'll need for a while.”

“You'd better give it plenty of thought,” Logan warned, taking a bite of the most bland beef stew he'd ever tasted. Somebody needed to teach the widow how to use the salt and pepper shakers. He took a drink of iced tea to wash the pasty stuff down before adding, “This isn't like St. Louis. We don't have a convenience store just down the block.”

“I'm well aware that the last Wal-Mart we passed is over seventy-five miles from here,” she said calmly.

He pointed at the babies. “What if you need something for those two? The closest store is the Rancher's Emporium and it's still a good forty miles away.”

She stopped feeding the twins to glare at him. “I know how far it is between here and Bear Creek. And my daughters' names are Chelsea and Kelsie.”

Logan couldn't stop his amused smile. “It sounds like you're reciting poetry.”

“Round two, coming up,” Hank said, shoving away from the table. “Ginny, I think that's our cue to mosey on out of here and let these two see if they can't work out some kind of a peace treaty.”

Ginny looked uncertain. “Cassie?”

“Have a good time,” Cassie said, her gaze never leaving Logan's.

“I'll be back in time to help with dinner,” Ginny assured her, then hurried after Hank.

When the door closed behind them, Cassie left her place at the table to retrieve a washcloth. “So you don't like my daughters' names?”

“I can't say that I do or don't.” Logan swallowed the last bite of his stew before adding, “I just think it's rather unusual the way they rhyme. That's all.”

“A lot of people have twins with similar-sounding names.” Cassie smiled. “I have one cousin who named her twin boys Shane and Sean, and another who named her fraternal twins Stephen and Stephanie.”

“Twins run in your family?”

She nodded. “The Hastings have four sets in this generation alone.”

Cassie felt him watch her every move as she washed Chelsea's face and hands, then removed the tray to unfasten the chair's safety strap. Glancing over her shoulder, Cassie smiled at the surprised look on his face.

“They have seat belts.” He sounded amazed.

“Of course they do.” Cassie lifted her happy daughter from the high chair. “All the baby furniture
on the market these days is required to have safety features to keep infants from hurting themselves.”

“How could they do that?” he asked skeptically. “They're too little to do anything but make noise.”

Cassie laughed. “You don't know the first thing about babies, do you?”

He shook his head and sounded quite proud of himself when he added, “I've never been around one for longer than it took to walk away.”

“You've never held a baby?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

His smug expression was enough to make her decide it was past time for Logan Murdock's record to be broken. Biting the inside of her lip to keep from laughing, Cassie walked around the opposite end of the table and placed Chelsea against his wide chest. His hands automatically came up to close around the baby, just as she'd counted on.

“Hey, what do you think you're doing?”

Her grin widened at the panic she detected in his voice and the alarmed expression crossing his handsome features. “I need someone to hold Chelsea while I clean up Kelsie,” she lied. She turned to attend to the remaining twin. “Since Ginny and Hank left, you've been elected to the position of my after-lunch helper.”

In truth, she'd worked out a very efficient system of managing the care of two infants by herself. But Logan didn't know that. And she wasn't about to enlighten him.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” he asked, holding the baby at arm's length.

“Nothing. Just hold her.”

When Logan looked at the copper-haired infant, she waved a tiny fist at him and moved her chubby legs as if she was trying to ride a bicycle. He frowned. Was he doing something wrong?

The baby squirmed and he automatically shifted her back to his chest, to sit on his left forearm, while he splayed his right hand on her tiny back for support. Now, how did he know to do that? He wasn't sure, but it must have been what she wanted, because she made some kind of watery sound in the back of her throat and flashed him a grin. He couldn't help himself. He smiled right back.

As far as babies went, Cassie's kids were the cutest he'd ever seen. And the one he held certainly seemed happy enough. At least, she wasn't raising a ruckus.

But her grin suddenly faded and she stared intently at his face.

“Something's wrong with…” He paused. “Which one am I holding?”

“Chelsea.”

“Okay, something's wrong with Chelsea,” he said, hoping the baby didn't start screeching like a cat with its tail caught in a door.

“What makes you say that?” Cassie lifted the other baby from the high chair, swung the infant onto her hip, then turned to face him.

“She's giving me the evil eye.”

When the baby reached out to touch his upper lip with tiny fingers, Cassie laughed. “She's fascinated by your mustache. She's never seen one before.”

“Oh.”

As quickly as her smile had disappeared, the baby's grin returned and she squealed delightedly.

“Does that tickle?” Logan asked.

He felt foolish as hell talking to a baby. But the movement of his mouth caused the little girl to giggle and pound on his face with a tiny fist. He couldn't help himself—he laughed out loud.

“It looks like Chelsea isn't the only one enjoying herself,” Cassie said, grinning. “For a man who's never been around babies, you're a natural. I'll bet you'll be a great father some day.”

Logan was mesmerized by Cassie's lyrical voice and the reappearance of her dimples; it took a moment for him to realize what she'd said. “No, I won't. I don't ever intend to get married, let alone have kids.”

The tiny girl he held chose that moment to lay her head on his shoulder and burrow her little face into the side of his neck.

“That's a shame, because you really would be a good father,” Cassie insisted. “Babies sense who they can trust and who they can't. If she didn't trust you completely, she'd be fussing instead of snuggling against you.” Cassie pointed to his hand, rubbing small circles on Chelsea's back. “And you instinctively knew to do that.”

Logan suddenly felt the need to run like hell. If the Widow Wellington thought she'd charm him into accepting the situation by having him hold a baby and flashing her killer dimples, she'd better think again.

What did he know about babies? Absolutely nothing. He most definitely
was not
father material. Not
by a long shot. And that's just the way he intended it to stay. The way it had to stay.

A shiver slithered up his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Two days ago, on his way back from his camping trip, he'd stopped by the Flying J ranch to see if Nate Jackson had seen any signs of a cougar, and Logan still couldn't believe the chaos he'd found there. Nate's wife, Rosemary, had gone on the warpath when he and Nate left muddy boot tracks on her newly mopped floor. Their three little girls ran from room to room whooping and hollering as if they were devil possessed and their new baby boy screeched like a banshee gone berserk.

Up until yesterday, his life had been damned near perfect and just the way he wanted—peaceful, quiet and female free. And when the loneliness got to be too much—when he wanted a woman's company—he could get in his truck and drive the forty miles down to Bear Creek and find an agreeable little filly in one of the local watering holes.

The operative phrase being
when he wanted.

The best thing he could do would be to put as much distance as he could between himself, Cassie and her brood. And keep it that way.

“Here,” he said, abruptly handing Chelsea back to Cassie. “I've got work to do.”

Cassie watched Logan grab his hat from the peg by the door and slam out of the house.

She barely controlled the urge to laugh out loud. An eight-month-old baby girl had intimidated Logan Murdock, powerful cattle rancher, rugged outdoorsman and one of the finest specimens of a thirty-
something male Cassie had ever been privileged to see.

Her breath caught as she remembered how much of that maleness she'd seen yesterday afternoon when she'd found him in the bathtub. She quickly walked into the dining room, where she'd set up the twins' playpen, and placed her happy daughters on the colorful mat to play. Fanning at the heat radiating from her cheeks, she turned on a baby monitor, then went back into the kitchen to clear the table.

If holding a baby was all it took to send Logan running, then she'd have to hand him one of the twins every chance she got. It was far safer to watch his retreating back than it was to have him around reminding her of his impressive attributes.

I
t was well after midnight when Logan finally left the mare he'd been attending and walked to the house. He had no doubts Dolly could have dropped the foal without him being there. Or he could have assigned one of the other four men who worked for him to take over the maternity watch.

But Logan needed time alone, time to think things through and figure out what he was going to do next. That's why he'd skipped supper to stay with the mare. Only, he still hadn't been able to come up with any solutions, or a way to convince Cassie to leave the Lazy Ace.

He wanted—no, needed—her and her cute little kids off the ranch before any more damage was done to his peace of mind. It had taken him a lot of years and it hadn't been easy, but he'd reconciled himself
to the fact that he was meant to live life alone. And he for damned sure didn't need Cassie stirring up longings that he'd locked away long ago.

Ten years back he'd seen the ranch through the eyes of a city woman, thanks to his college sweetheart, Andrea. She'd taken one look at the ranch—at how far it was from town—and hightailed it back to Denver and all the conveniences of the big city.

At first he'd been devastated. They'd been together from the time they'd met in their freshman year until they graduated, and he'd thought it would be forever. But as time passed, he'd realized she'd been right. Women just weren't cut out for the solitude and loneliness of the land he loved. Or, as in the case of his mother, the hard work.

Logan's chest tightened with sorrow and a twinge of guilt every time he remembered his mother and the circumstances surrounding her death. She'd taken ill and died because she'd jumped in to save him from drowning in an icy pond. He'd been eleven at the time, and Logan would never forget the profound way it had altered his life. It had been the first and last time he'd ever witnessed his father shedding tears. It had also been the beginning of the end of any kind of relationship they had as father and son.

Logan shook his head to dislodge the disturbing memories. No matter how badly he might want it to be different, a woman and a bunch of kids just had no place on the Lazy Ace.

Entering the house, he used the bootjack by the back door to remove his boots, then walked through the kitchen and down the dark hall in his sock feet. One step into the living room and he let loose a star
tled bellow as his feet flew out from under him. Reaching out, he grasped the rail of the staircase and narrowly escaped busting his butt. He tried to regain his footing, but he felt as if he was trying to walk on a sheet of ice. He'd forgotten all about Cassie's plan to buff the hardwood floor.

His feet back under him, Logan stood for a moment and sniffed the air. What was that smell? When he identified it as the unfamiliar scent of flowers, the hair on the back of his neck tingled.

“What the hell has she done now?” he groused, gingerly walking over to the end table by the armchair. He turned on the lamp, bathing the living room in a muted glow and highlighting the fruits of Cassie's labor.

Logan sucked in a sharp breath and felt as if he'd taken a sucker punch to the gut. Well, hell! He'd thought all she intended to do was clean the place. But she'd filled
his
living room with all kinds of frilly “woman” things.

Flowery, ruffled tablecloths draped the end tables all the way to the highly polished floor, and matching slipcovers draped the couch and chairs. Pillows in contrasting colors lined the back of the couch and made it look damned unappealing for a man to stretch out on.

But the biggest insult to the normally masculine room had to be the way she'd put puffy bows on everything. She'd even used them at the windows to tie back the prissy-looking curtains hanging in place of the tan drapes.

He glanced at the fireplace. What in hell had she done with Morty? Instead of the moose head, a pic
ture of red, pink and yellow roses in a copper pot hung over the mantel. It was damned near enough to make a man puke.

When he noticed the small baskets, lined with lace, sitting at various locations around the room, he picked up the one on the end table. Staring at what looked liked crushed dried flowers mixed with weeds, he stuck his nose close and took a big sniff. He sneezed three times before he plopped it back on the table with a disgusted grunt. The damned stuff smelled just like that perfume old lady Watkins always wore when she came into the Rancher's Emporium. The cloud she left in her wake could choke a grizzly and could still be smelled for several hours after she'd left the store.

If Logan needed any more evidence that Cassie meant what she'd said about making the Lazy Ace her home, this had to be it.

“Nesting,” he said disgustedly. He slipped and slid his way back across the room. “She's already started her damned nesting.”

“Oh, it's you. What on earth were you yelling about?”

At the sight of Cassie standing on the bottom step of the staircase, her delicate hand resting on the rail, Logan swallowed hard and forgot anything he'd been about to say. The soft glow of sleep on her beautiful face and her strawberry-blond hair tumbling around her shoulders as if a lover had repeatedly run his hands through it were more arousing than anything Logan could ever have imagined. She'd obviously just gotten out of bed.

The thought of what she'd look like in
his
bed sent
heat sweeping through him faster than a streak of lightning and made his body tighten and strain against his fly. What was wrong with him? She wasn't wearing anything in the least bit provocative. Far from it. Her knee-length cotton nightshirt peeked out from beneath the hem of a robe that looked as if it had been made from an old bedspread, and bright purple balls of fur covered her feet.

Logan groaned. Hell's bells, the woman even managed to make ridiculous look good.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her obvious concern written all over her pretty face.

“Uh…yeah.” He quickly turned around so she couldn't see the bulge in his jeans. The sudden movement made his feet slide, and it took all his effort to keep from landing flat on his ass. “How long did it take you to polish this floor?” he demanded, straightening himself.

“Not long. Isn't it beautiful the way it shined up?” she asked, sounding proud.

He grunted. “It's a hazard to walk on. I've damned near busted my as…butt twice in the last ten minutes.”

“You're just not used to it.” Cassie walked up behind him. “What do you think of the rest of the room? I brought the slipcovers, tablecloths and pillows with me, but I could order something in another color if you'd like.”

She was so close it made his spine tingle. Glancing over his shoulder, he almost groaned aloud at her expression. She was eagerly waiting for him to tell her he thought the room looked wonderful, not that he thought she'd filled it with so many frilly ruffles
and bows it looked as if a damned lace factory had exploded.

Shifting from one foot to the other, he finally settled on an answer he hoped she'd accept and not question further. “It looks a lot different than it did this morning. I can see you put a lot of work into it.”

“Oh, it was a pleasure,” she said, walking over to the couch to straighten one of the pillows. Her satisfied smile made a knot form in his stomach. “I'm really enjoying turning this place into a home. Do you like the potpourri scent I chose?”

“Potpourri?”

“In the baskets,” she said, pointing to the crushed weeds. “I think it makes it more homey if things smell nice.”

Logan felt as if the floor had dropped from beneath his feet. Well, there it was. She'd just the same as said she was turning
his house
into
her nest.

His stomach churned and he searched for something to say. “What did you do with my moose?” he finally asked. There, that was a reasonable question, all things considered.

She wrinkled her pretty little nose. “I had Hank store it in the attic, along with the print of the poker-playing dogs and the neon beer sign.”

Logan glanced to his left to find some kind of quilted thing hanging in place of the picture and a basket of ivy in place of his sign. Well, hell. He liked those dogs almost as much as he liked old Morty. And he'd had the neon sign since his college days.

Damn Hank's traitorous hide.

Cassie looked up at him, and the smile she gave
him just about knocked Logan off his feet. “They looked rather tacky and didn't go with the room's decor.”

Instead of her insulting remark angering him, he lost all track of what had been said. How the hell was he supposed to keep his mind on what they were discussing when her green eyes twinkled with such enthusiasm, or she flashed those killer dimples at him?

He was damned tempted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until they were both senseless. Jamming his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans to keep from doing just that, he shrugged. “No, I don't guess they go with the new look.”

“And I'm sure I'll be storing more in the attic once I've tackled the other rooms.” She paused. “Are there any rooms you'd rather I not change?”

All of them.
“I can't think of any,” he said, shrugging. How was he supposed to think when she was close enough for him to smell that erotic cologne she always wore?

“Okay.” She yawned and walked to the stairs. “By the way, I found a photo of you and your father. Would you like me to frame it and hang it in the hall with the rest of your family's pictures?”

Logan felt as if he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. “No. Store it in the attic with the rest of the junk.”

She gasped and turned back to face him. “But—”

“You heard what I said.” Realizing how harsh his words must have sounded, he sighed heavily and rubbed the tension at the base of his neck. “Look, you might as well know that from the time I was
eleven until the day he died, my father and I didn't get along.”

She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. “I'm sorry, Logan.”

The sound of her voice saying his name, the feel of her hand on his arm had his insides churning like a cement mixer. Before Logan could stop himself, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Burying his face in her silky hair, he breathed in the scent of her. She smelled good. The combination of soft, sweet woman and that cologne of hers assaulted his senses and made his groin tighten with fierce need.

She pushed against his chest and leaned back to look up at him. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Damned if I know,” he answered honestly.

He had no idea why he'd taken her into his arms. Maybe he'd been too long without a woman. Maybe it had something to do with the loneliness and isolation he always felt when he thought of spending his life alone. Whatever the reason, all Logan knew for sure was how right her feminine curves felt pressed to his body, how he could feel the beat of her heart keep time with his own.

“I'm going to kiss you now, Cassie.”

“You shouldn't.”

“Probably not,” he admitted. He brushed his mouth over hers. “But I'm going to, anyway.”

It occurred to Cassie that she might have lost her mind, but she didn't say one single word to stop Logan from settling his mouth on hers. His soft mustache caused tingles of excitement to race through her and her heart to skip several beats. When he traced her lips, she opened for him without a second
thought, and the feel of his tongue gently sliding into her mouth sent heat coursing through her veins.

Slowly, thoroughly, he explored, tasted and teased her into a thrilling game of advance and retreat. Never in her twenty-eight years had she ever been kissed with such mind-shattering tenderness, or such mastery. Her toes curled in her fuzzy-bunny slippers and an empty ache pooled deep inside her.

He pushed her chenille robe aside to cup the fullness of her breasts, then teased the tips with his thumbs. The feel of his hard arousal pressing into her stomach, the taste of his passion as he continued to kiss her and the arousing sensations he created as he chafed her tight nipples through the thin fabric made her knees buckle.

It had been so very long since she'd been the object of a man's desire. It felt good to be held again, to feel how much he wanted her.

“Easy, sugar,” he said, catching her to him.

His softly spoken words vibrating against her lips and his mustache feathering over her sensitive skin made Cassie's insides feel as if they'd turned to warm, melted butter. He trailed kisses from her lips down to the hollow of her throat. Unable to stop herself, she brought her hands up to circle his neck and threaded her fingers in the thick black hair brushing the top of his collar.

The keening wail of an infant suddenly penetrated the sensual fog surrounding her, and Cassie tried to jerk from Logan's arms. “Please, turn me loose.”

Without a word, he loosened his hold and stepped back. They stared at each other for endless seconds as if neither believed what had just taken place.

“One of your babies needs you,” he said finally, breaking the silence stretching between them.

Confused by her actions and his, Cassie nodded and fled up the stairs without a backward glance. She couldn't—wouldn't—think about her behavior when Logan had taken her into his arms.

If she did, she'd have to admit just how attracted she was to the man, how his blatant sexuality made her body hum whenever she was near him. And that could prove disastrous to her plans of making the Lazy Ace a permanent home for herself and the twins.

 

“Hank?”

Logan entered the barn and, after allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, looked around for his friend. A feminine giggle followed by a deep laugh filtered down from the loft overhead. He should have known Hank was with Ginny.

“Be right there, Logan.”

“I'll be down by Nicoma's stall,” Logan said, heading for the end of the barn.