Cassie's Cowboy Daddy (2 page)

Eyeing his foreman, Logan breathed a heavy sigh and began to chuckle. “I have to admit, you really outdid yourself this time, Hank. You really had me going there for a minute.”

Hank glanced at Cassie, her obvious displeasure
erasing all traces of his amusement. Logan felt the knot in his gut tighten considerably.

“Uh…Logan, she
is
Cassie Wellington, your new business partner.”

Logan's smile vanished, but he refused to give up hope. “You've had your fun, but the game's over.” He pointed to the woman calling herself the Widow Wellington. “As soon as they're ready, drive all of them down to Bear Creek. They can play jokes on someone else.”

She shook her head. “This is no joke. And I'm not going anywhere.”

“My partner's name is Cassandra.” He knew as soon as he blurted out the irrational statement he was grasping at straws. But desperation was beginning to claw at him.

“Everyone calls me Cassie. My full name is Cassandra Hastings-Wellington.”

Logan felt his control of the situation take a nosedive, and that sinking feeling that always accompanied a lost cause began to settle in his gut. The Widow Wellington wasn't at all what he'd expected when he first heard about Silas Hastings's death and the naming of the man's heir.

She was supposed to be a widow, for Pete's sake. Logan had naturally envisioned a matronly, grandmother type with a big heart and a girth to match.

But the woman's light pink T-shirt, tucked into snug-fitting jeans, emphasized a waist he could wrap his hands all the way around. And the enticing flare of her slim hips was light-years away from matronly. He had a hard time believing she'd had one baby, let alone a set of twins.

The stranglehold he had on the towel made his fingers cramp. He'd judge her to be somewhere in her mid-twenties and much too pretty for his peace of mind. Those green eyes of hers were the color of new spring grass—all fresh and sweet. And her creamy complexion just begged for his touch.

His palm started itching to do just that. He rubbed his hand against the plush towel in an effort to make the sensation go away.

There were two kinds of women—free spirits and nesters. A free spirit lived for the moment and demanded no more of a man than he was ready—or willing—to give. And that was just the type of woman Logan preferred.

But a nester was an entirely different breed. They wanted stability and long-range promises. They wanted a home that wasn't to hell and gone from civilization and all the conveniences that went with it. Unfortunately, his new business partner had nester written from the top of her pretty little head all the way to her tattered tennis shoes.

Sweat beaded Logan's forehead. The Widow Wellington represented a little over five feet of sexy temptation he'd rather not have around testing his willpower. Or reminding him of what he had to deny himself for the Lazy Ace.

He'd learned the hard way that the land was just too harsh for the fairer sex. Too remote. After making a fool of himself ten years ago, he'd successfully avoided Cassie Wellington's kind and the commitments they put such stock in. And come hell or high water, that's just the way he wanted it to remain—the way it
had
to remain.

“I don't give a damn what you say, lady. You
will
be leaving as soon as possible.”

She propped her doubled fists on her shapely little hips. The action once again drew his attention to the narrowness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts. He almost groaned.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she said stubbornly. “My daughters and I will stay as long as we darn well please. My uncle's will plainly stated that I own half of this ranch
and
half of the ranch house. It's as much mine as it is yours, buster.”

“Like hell!” His stiff back forgotten, Logan spun around and once again had to grab the towel as he headed for his office. But when he reached the hall, he stopped abruptly and turned to glare at Hank. “If you can tear yourself away, I'd like to see you in the study. You owe me some answers. And they'd better be damned good.”

Cassie stared at Logan's retreating back a moment before she leveled her own irritated gaze on Hank. “When I called last week to inquire about moving here, you said Mr. Murdock had been alone for so many years that our presence would be good for him, that we were just what he needed to give him a new lease on life. That and the photo I have led me to believe he was an older gentleman. Why didn't you tell me he was younger than Uncle Silas?”

Hank's smile faded and he shifted from one foot to the other. “I'm…uh, real sorry if you feel I misled you, ma'am. I sure didn't mean to. I just figured you knew he was a lot younger than your uncle.”

Cassie shook her head and walked over to the cabinet where she'd set her handbag when she'd first
entered the house. Searching inside the leather tote, she pulled out a picture of two men standing under the Lazy Ace Cattle Company sign that hung over the entrance to the ranch. She handed it to Hank. “Read the caption on the back.”

“Logan Murdock and Silas Hastings. Joint owners. Fall 1954.” Hank nodded. “This explains the confusion. Logan was named after his grandpa. That's him in the picture with your uncle. They were both in their early thirties when it was taken.”

Cassie tried to swallow the panic threatening to break through. Logan Murdock wasn't the kind, elderly gentleman she'd envisioned. He'd turned out to be a ruggedly handsome, thirty-something hunk with an attitude.

Ginny returned from checking on the twins, her eyes wide. “What on earth are you going to do now, Cassie? You and the girls can't possibly stay here.”

Dazed, Cassie looked around the room. The house was perfect for raising children and so much nicer than the cramped apartment they'd left behind in St. Louis. It was everything she'd ever dreamed of for the twins.

She straightened her shoulders. She'd fought one man for their very existence. She wasn't afraid to fight another for their future.

“Come on, Ginny,” she said, walking to the door. “We need to unload the car.”

Her friend hurried to keep up with her. “You can't mean—”

“Yes, I can,” Cassie said, determination filling her soul.

“He's not going to like it,” Ginny warned.

“That's his problem.” Cassie stepped out onto the porch and watched an eagle flying high above the valley. “I'm not letting some arrogant cowboy deprive my daughters of what's rightfully theirs. We're staying, and Logan Murdock will just have to learn to live with it.”

“D
ammit all, Hank!” Logan glared at the man closing the office door. “How the hell did this happen?”

Hank calmly walked over and sat down in the leather chair in front of Logan's desk. “Not more than half an hour after you took off for that campin' trip last Friday, she called to say she and her babies would be movin' here.”

Unable to sit still, Logan rose from the desk chair and stalked over to the huge picture window. Pride filled him as he surveyed
his
land. Bathed by the early-autumn sun, the dried grass spread out like a golden carpet and the aspens ringing the valley shuddered from the winds of the changing season. He watched a bald eagle trace lazy circles in the cloudless blue sky. Dammit, this land belonged to
him.

“You didn't even try to discourage her, did you?”

“Nope,” Hank said, sounding unrepentant.

Logan felt a vein in his temple begin to throb as he glared over his shoulder. “Why not?”

Hank stared at his boot tops, then, shrugging, met Logan's gaze. “She sounded so happy about it, I couldn't tell her not to move here.”

“She's happy, all right.” His hands propped on his hips, Logan turned to face his friend. “Happy to get her hands on
my
ranch.”

“It's as much hers as it is yours.”

Logan winced as his sore muscles tightened further. “I didn't see any of the Hastings family anywhere near here when the temperature dipped down to twenty below last winter and we had to chop holes in the ice for the cattle to get water.” He pointed toward the window. “Or two years ago, when lightning touched off the fire that swept down the mountains into the valley. There wasn't one of them here busting their asses to help us save the house and barns.”

“I know,” Hank agreed. “But, legally, she is an equal partner in the Lazy Ace.”

“I don't give a damn about legalities,” Logan said through gritted teeth. He ran his hand over the aching knot at the back of his neck.

Hank had no way of knowing Logan's plan, or that if Logan was successful in his bid to obtain all of the ranch, then Hank would gain an interest in the enterprise. Logan owed it to him for the loyalty and years of hard work Hank had invested in the Lazy Ace. But if Logan couldn't get Cassie Wellington to
sell him her share, all his carefully laid plans would go to hell in a handbasket.

“I have to figure a way to get her to sell out and leave,” he muttered.

“I like havin' ladies and babies around,” Hank said happily. “It dresses up this old place right nice.”

Glaring at his lifelong friend, Logan tightened the towel at his waist. “You know, old buddy, the only thing softer than your heart is your head.”

“I can't help it,” Hank said. The man's wide grin irritated the hell out of Logan. “When it comes to women and cute little kids—”

“Your common sense takes a hike.” Logan marched back to his chair and plopped down. Propping his elbows on the desktop, he buried his head in his hands. “What the hell could old Silas have been thinking when he left his share of the ranch to a woman? He knew how remote this place is. And how dangerous it can be at times.”

“Maybe the old codger wanted the two families to merge,” Hank suggested.

Logan jerked his head up. “Before that happens, Murray Parkinson's jackass will sprout wings and fly. You know how I feel about having a woman underfoot all the time.”

“Especially one as pretty as Cassie?”

Logan ground his teeth, then lied right through them. “She's not
that
good-looking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She's not,” Logan insisted.

“If you say so,” Hank said, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Before Logan could decide whether to defend himself further or just give up and choke Hank, a soft female voice outside the closed door announced, “Gentlemen, dinner's ready.”

Surprised, Logan and Hank looked at each other, then at the closed door.

“Are you sure you don't want her stickin' around?” Hank asked, jumping to his feet. “We ain't had a decent meal around this place in a month of Sundays.”

“Don't let Tucker hear you say that,” Logan said, heading for the door. “He might just up and quit.”

“I don't care if he does.” Hank shouldered past Logan to bolt out the door into the hall. “Ol' Tuck used to be pretty fair as bunkhouse cooks go. But since he got too vain to buy himself a pair of glasses, we've been eatin' stuff a starvin' dog would turn down.”

Logan nodded and started toward the stairs. “The other day I caught him trying to make a cake from a feed-store receipt. I had the devil's own time trying to convince him it wasn't a recipe.”

While Hank headed for the kitchen like a man possessed, Logan took the stairs two at a time. After quickly exchanging the towel for jeans and a chambray shirt, he entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

Stopping abruptly, he barely managed to keep from gaping at the unfamiliar sight. It looked like an all-out female invasion. Bright clothing added splashes of color to the normally somber room as the Widow Wellington and her friend milled around his table and fussed over the girl babies riding their hips. Feminine voices replaced the usual silence and Lo
gan was more than a little irritated that he found the sound a pleasant variation.

He shook his head when he watched Hank set up two high chairs. The man looked disgustingly happy.

Hank glanced up and grinned as he set the chairs at the end of the table. “It sure was nice of these ladies to fix our supper after bein' on the road for the last two days. Wasn't it, Logan?”

All eyes turned to solemnly stare at him. Even the copper-haired babies.

When he walked to the head of the large oak table, the widow set a plate of sandwiches on the recently polished surface. “Mr. Murdock, this is my friend, Ginny Sadler. She'll be staying with us for a few days.” The look she gave him clearly challenged any objections he might have. Then she pointed to the identical babies, adding, “And these are my daughters, Kelsie and Chelsea.”

The blonde she'd called Ginny smiled weakly and edged her way toward Hank.

Logan nodded his acknowledgment, but his grim stare remained fixed on the widow and the domestic picture laid out before him. She looked at home in his kitchen, and she'd apparently already started nesting. He wouldn't have believed the old table could shine up that nicely.

He flicked a frilly piece of cloth from his spot at the table, sending it skittering across the shiny surface. “Where the devil did that come from?”

“I brought it with me,” she replied, returning the offending object to its place. “Don't tell me you've never seen a linen napkin.”

“Not on my table,” Logan growled. He seated
himself, then once again pushed the cloth aside. “You're on a working ranch in the middle of Wyoming, lady, not some fancy restaurant.”

“I'm well aware of that,” she said calmly.

He watched her place the babies in their chairs. Then in one smooth motion she replaced his napkin and plopped a set of silverware on top of it, as if that ended any further protest he might have.

Logan knew he was being unreasonable, but with each passing second he could feel his blissful bachelor existence slipping further away. He wasn't accustomed to having females, and especially one with babies, in his home. And the Widow Wellington appeared to be one of the worst of her gender.

He could tell by just looking at her that she'd make demands and all kinds of things would change. For as long as she and her brood stayed on the Lazy Ace, she'd expect him to watch his language when a graphic, heartfelt cussing would feel good—help him put things in perspective. And he for damned sure wouldn't be able to sit around in his underwear and watch television anymore, either. Not that he practiced that particular habit all that often, but just knowing he couldn't had him lamenting the loss.

Good thing the master bedroom had a half bath. At least he wouldn't have her glaring daggers at him when he left the toilet seat up.

Frowning, Logan took a bite from his sandwich and watched the women laugh at something Hank said. Unlike his friend, Logan had no intention of letting some woman lead him around like a puppy on a string. He'd seen that happen to some of his neighbors in the Rancher's Emporium down in Bear
Creek. While their women tried on clothes in the dressing rooms, the men stood around holding prissy little handbags in their big brawny fists, discussing the advantages of artificial insemination over a good breeding bull. The big galoots didn't even have enough sense to look as if they found the experience humiliating.

“Logan?” Hank waved his hand in front of Logan's face. “I asked if you found any signs of the cougar Ray reported seeing up in the high pastures while you were on your camping trip.”

Snapped out of his dismal speculation, Logan shook his head and swallowed what tasted like sawdust slapped between two slices of bread. “I tracked him all over the northwestern quadrant, but never did catch sight of him. When I reached the waterfall at the end of Shadow Valley, the tracks disappeared.”

“Do you have a lot of trouble with wild animals?” Cassie inquired.

He watched her spoon some of the nastiest-looking green stuff he'd ever seen from small jars and into the babies' eager mouths. It looked as if their supper wasn't any more palatable than his. So much for the widow's cooking.

“Well, do you?”

“Huh?

“I asked if you have a lot of trouble with wild animals.”

He studied her curious expression. Maybe if he mentioned a wild animal or two, she'd decide it was far too dangerous for her and her kids and take off like a coyote with a buttful of buckshot.

“Sometimes,” Logan said slowly.

“Oh, speaking of wild animals, Samson paid us a visit while you were gone,” Hank said, as if on cue.

“Who or what is Samson?” Ginny asked.

“One of the biggest black bears you'd ever care to see,” Hank answered, leaning back in his chair.

Logan couldn't have been more pleased with the turn of conversation. Knowing Hank and his aversion to the bear Logan had raised from an orphaned cub, Samson would no doubt grow at least two feet in height and gain a couple of hundred pounds by the time Hank finished describing him.

“When that bear stands on his hind feet, he's every bit as big as a grizzly,” Hank said.

Logan took another bite of his sandwich to keep from grinning. He couldn't have asked Hank for a better job of exaggerating the bear's size.

“Do you think he'll be back any time soon?” Cassie asked, continuing to spoon the unappealing mush from the jars and into the little girls' mouths.

“It wouldn't surprise me.” When Ginny scooted her chair a little closer to his, a pleased expression lit Hank's face. “Old Samson has been known to hang around for days before he heads back up into the mountains.”

A sense of contentment surrounded Logan. The widow and her entourage would be off the ranch, out of his life and headed back to St. Louis first thing in the morning.

Unable to resist adding a little fuel to the fire Hank had kindled, Logan tried to keep his tone pragmatic. “Wild animals are just one of the hazards of living in this part of the country. At times, the weather can be more dangerous than the wildlife.”

“You might as well give it up, Mr. Murdock,” Cassie said, setting the baby-food jar on the table. The clatter of the spoon inside the empty glass echoed throughout the suddenly quiet room. She knew what he was up to and the sooner he realized it wasn't going to work, the better off they'd both be. “You're not going to scare me away from what's rightfully mine. Whether you like it or not, the twins and I are here to stay.”

The shroud of stillness that descended on the kitchen was deafening as she and Logan glared at each other across the big oak table. It reminded her of the unnatural calm before a huge storm.

“Hank, why don't you help me with the twins?” Ginny asked, finally breaking the tense silence. She rose from the table and began unfastening the safety straps on the high chairs. “I think these two need to talk.”

“But it's just startin' to get interestin',” Hank protested. When Ginny leaned down to whisper something in his ear, Hank's face brightened and he left the table so fast his chair tilted precariously. “You're right. They don't need us. It's a fairly warm evening. Why don't we take the babies for a walk?”

Hank took Kelsie, while Ginny removed Chelsea from her high chair. “We're going to show the babies Velvet Lady's new colt.” He waited for Ginny to wipe the twins' faces, then helped her wrestle matching yellow sweaters on them. They each held a baby as Hank ushered Ginny toward the door. “You two take all the time you need.”

At any other time, Cassie might have found Hank's haste to be with Ginny quite comical. But
considering that their departure left her alone with Logan, Cassie didn't see anything funny about it.

The man was raw virility personified, and from the moment he'd walked into the kitchen, every one of her senses had homed in on him like some type of feminine radar. The lingering scent of his masculine soap, the sight of his corded forearms beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves and the sound of his slightly rough baritone had her remembering the feel of his callused hands on her upper arms. The memory of his nude body in the bathtub sent a shiver snaking up her spine that had nothing to do with being chilled.

“Ginny's right,” Cassie said, her tone sharpened by the sudden tension gripping her body. “We need to discuss the terms of our partnership.”

The harsh sound of Logan's chair scraping along the hardwood floor echoed through the room. “I couldn't agree more. There are some things we need to resolve, Mrs. Wellington. And I'd say now is as good a time as any to get it done.”