Just What the Cowboy Needed Read online

  “It’s okay, baby girl. Are you okay?”

  “Better now.” She yawned. “Do I hafta go back to sleep? I don’t want to.”

  “Not until you’re ready,” Grace assured her. “I’ll be here with you, okay?”

  “I know.” The little girl nodded and relaxed against Grace again.

  Logan had heard that kids had an instinct about people and didn’t suffer fools. If that was true, Cassie completely trusted this woman, and he was relieved about that. In a perfect world, no one would ever let this little girl down. The irony was that a kid’s father should be the first line of defense, but Logan worried that he was the one most likely to disappoint her.

  When Cassie yawned again, Grace asked, “Do you want to go back to bed?”

  Cassie nodded and crawled out of her lap beneath the covers, then grabbed the stuffed bear Logan had bought her on one of their mall trips. Grace reached over and turned out the light but not before he caught a glimpse of her in the flimsy flowered pajamas she wore to bed. His body went tight and hard, proving how much he wanted her. If he needed any, it was more proof of how much he was like his father. He was lusting after the childcare professional while his little girl was in the middle of a meltdown.

  Cassie whimpered. “I’m scared.”

  “I’m here.” Grace stretched out on the bed and pulled the child against her. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

  “There’s a monster on my ceiling.”

  Grace looked up. “The shadows?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Between the moon’s rays streaming through the princess curtains and the night-light plugged into an outlet, a whole bunch of shadows were hovering above the bed. The only way to make them disappear was to leave the light on, and Logan was just about to suggest that. Then Grace started talking in her soft, sweet, soothing tone. He wished he could see her because when she used this voice there was always something innocent in her eyes that he liked.

  “I don’t see a monster on the ceiling. It looks like an elephant to me, a cute and cuddly one.” She pointed. “There’s his trunk and big, floppy ears. Can you make it out?”

  “Yes,” Cassie said.

  “Or maybe a fairy—like Tinker Bell. There are the little wings and her arms stretched out for flying.”

  “I can see her.”

  Grace pointed again. “I think that could be an ice-cream cone. See the pointy part and the mound on top?”

  “Uh-huh.” Cassie’s yawn was long, and her mouth stretched wide open. “In the corner I see a ladybug. There’s the round body and tiny wings when she flies away.”

  “Good one.”

  Between his daughter’s yawn and her getting involved in finding friendly shapes in the ceiling shadows, Logan knew the crisis was winding down. Grace had managed the situation without resorting to keeping the light on. He backed out of the doorway but stayed in the hall, listening to the low voices that soon became just one—Grace’s.

  Eventually she tiptoed out and looked startled when she saw him, the same expression she’d worn when he scared her into dropping her panties while unpacking.

  “I thought you went back to bed,” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “You could have.” Based on the hushed voice, it was hard to tell whether or not her tone was defensive.

  “I stayed—just in case.”

  “Everything is under control. And I assume you have to get up before God to work in the morning.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I have to conclude that you don’t trust me.”

  “Not you, Grace. It’s me I don’t trust.”

  “I kind of figured that. In town. Cassie and the carnival ride clued me in.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You act like a bodyguard, and I mean that literally. In order to be sure she’s physically all right, you can’t let her out of your sight. But you don’t want to get down and play with her. Why are you putting that distance between you? Do you want to talk about it?”

  Just minutes ago she’d told Cassie that sharing something you’re scared of can make it lose the power to be frightening. Maybe she was right. For reasons he didn’t understand, Logan was going to tell her.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I do want to talk about it.”

  Chapter Four

  Logan wanted to talk about this so Grace would stop looking at him as if he was winning the Worst Dad of the Century award in a landslide. If she understood how screwed up his childhood had been, she would get that he was doing this for Cassie.

  “Grace, I—”

  She put a finger to her lips to stop him and angled her head toward the open door to his daughter’s room. In a whisper she said, “Let’s go downstairs. I’m going to grab a robe.”

  He felt a stab of disappointment at the prospect of her doing anything to cover up that sweet shape. Yet another shred of proof about his being messed up in general and not just his dad skills.

  Then her gaze dropped to his bare chest for a moment and something flashed in her eyes. He might not know how to be a dad, but he knew female appreciation when he saw it. Too bad that made his ego feel better because other parts of him felt pretty damn lousy.

  “I’ll put on a shirt,” he said.

  Logan did that, then went downstairs. He’d barely flipped on the lights when he felt Grace behind him. She was tying the belt of her short satiny robe, and darned if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

  “Do you want a drink?” he asked.

  “Water.”

  “I was thinking something stronger.” Even though he knew there wasn’t enough Scotch in the world to take the edge off the crap of how his childhood played out.

  “You go ahead,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Water it is.”

  After getting two glasses and filling them with filtered water from the fridge, they sat down at the kitchen table facing each other.

  Grace took a sip, then wrapped her hands around the glass. “So, talk. I’m listening.”

  No point in sugarcoating this. “My father is a bastard.”

  She blinked, but otherwise her expression didn’t change. “I’m going to take a wild guess. You mean that as an indictment of his character and not about his being born out of wedlock.”

  “You would be correct. My paternal grandparents are good people. Salt of the earth. Their other son, Hastings—”

  “Your uncle.”

  “Yes.” He had cousins, too, here in Blackwater Lake. They’d reached out, but Logan wasn’t wired to jump in with both feet, because they were family. “Anyway, Hastings is the kind of son every parent would be proud of. A loving husband and father. Never gave his folks a bit of trouble. And then there was Foster.”

  “Your dad.”

  Dad? Logan never thought of him that way. The term was intimate and implied a level of commitment and caring to earn the name.

  “My father is the complete opposite of his brother. Uninvolved with his family and unfaithful to his wife. Beats me why he proposed to my mother at all since he didn’t stop seeing other women even after they were engaged.”

  “Well, that really stinks.”

  The anger on her face was better than pity. “He had affairs and mistresses and kids with more than one of them.”

  “You have half siblings?”

  “They’re around.”

  “That boggles the mind. I don’t understand—”

  “Join the club.”

  “No,” she said. “I meant why didn’t your parents just get a divorce?”

  “The better question is why he ever got married in the first place.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t have confirmation, but I have a guess about that.”

  “Shoot.”

  “He was looking for the same kind of approval from his parents t
hat Hastings already had. Foster got tired of hearing about his older brother’s beautiful wife and family and wanted his share of the parental approval pie.”

  “So he proposed to your mom. I guess she had no idea he was a cheater.”

  “Not then. And she got pregnant with me right away. When she found out he was sleeping around, it was a lot harder to walk away with a baby. And he didn’t want the sordid truth to trash his new image with the folks.” The disgust that tightened inside him was like an old friend. “To keep her from leaving he pulled out every cliché. No points for originality. He told her he loved her and was sorry. It would never happen again. So she stayed, and there was no need for anyone else to know.”

  “Your mother believed him.” It wasn’t a question, and the hostile expression in her eyes was a clue that she’d had her own experience with a rat-bastard liar. “Your dad must be a smooth talker.”

  “Yes. And the truth is that she didn’t want to leave. Not really. She actually loved him.”

  “Hard to believe.” Grace’s lips pressed together.

  “Yeah. But that wasn’t enough for him. The cheating didn’t stop. Neither did the clichés. His smooth talking worked after Tucker, Max and Jamie.”

  “But she finally did leave. What made her pull the trigger on that?”

  “He got one of his mistresses pregnant. Probably more, but this woman called my mother and told her to let him go. He didn’t love her and she should set him free so he could be happy with her and their baby.”

  “Oh, my God. What nerve. Your mother must have been enraged.”

  Logan remembered how his mom looked after that phone conversation. All the color had drained from her face, and she was completely shocked. There was fear and hurt in her eyes but no fury.

  He shook his head. “No anger. She loved him until the day she died.”

  “Logan—” She gripped her water glass tighter. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It gets worse.” He met her gaze but still saw no evidence that she was feeling sorry for him. “She was too humiliated to stay but didn’t have anywhere to go. And she wouldn’t ask the Harts for help.”

  “But this ranch—”

  “It belonged to her father, and he had disowned her for marrying Foster. Granddad pegged him for a loser, but she refused to listen. When she had to leave, she wouldn’t swallow her pride and go to her father.”

  “What happened? Where did you go?”

  “We lived in the car.”

  “Four of you kids and your mother?”

  He nodded. “She waited tables and cleaned houses but couldn’t make enough to put a permanent roof over our heads. Sometimes we went to a homeless shelter. There was an occasional cheap motel room if tips were good.”

  “What about you kids?”

  He knew what she was asking. “I took care of them.”

  Her eyes widened. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Just a kid yourself,” she said.

  “Yeah.” As much as he wanted to, there was no forgetting the humiliation and fear. He’d done his best to be the man of the family.

  “Obviously your mom eventually contacted her father.”

  He nodded. “Jamie got really sick, and there was no choice. Granddad was really glad to hear from her. He’d missed her and had no idea we were living in a car. He took us in, and we stayed here on the ranch.”

  “It’s a great place to grow up.” She was studying him. “But an experience like that leaves a mark.”

  “Look, I didn’t tell you all that to get the sympathy vote.”

  “I never thought you did. And I don’t pity you.”

  He looked but didn’t see any in her eyes, which was a relief. But he saw a lot of questions. “What?”

  “You had a reason for talking about this to me, Logan.”

  “I want you to understand. I’m in over my head with Cassie. Being a father scared the hell out of me from the moment Tracy told me she was pregnant. I love my daughter more than anything, and I’m afraid of screwing her up somehow because I have no clue what a good father looks like.”

  “And yet you became the man of the family for your brothers and sister,” she pointed out.

  “Not the same thing. Her mom calls the shots and I see her on weekends. It’s worked just fine.” He blew out a breath. “Until now.”

  “Because you have her for more than two days.”

  “Yeah. And you think I’m holding on too tight. But the thing is, I know if I don’t take my eyes off her she’ll be physically safe. I can control that. The rest of it?” He shrugged. “One wrong move. One thoughtless word, and she could be as messed up as me.”

  “I think it would take more than that,” she said wryly. “Have you considered therapy?”

  “What?”

  She looked dead serious for a moment, then the corners of her mouth curved up. “Logan, you just described every parent’s worst fear. Imperfect people raise imperfect people. They just do the best they can, and it’s enough. You are not unique. You are not predisposed to ruin your daughter’s life.”

  “No?” Her lack of judgment lifted a weight from his shoulders. “And I thought I was special.”

  “Oh, please. Did you ever consider the fact that your grandfather was a role model? It wasn’t a traditional family, of course, but he was there.”

  “I spent a lot of time with him learning about working the ranch.”

  “Something tells me you learned more than that. Maybe about being a good person?”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. My formative years were spent with Foster Hart.”

  “But the years you grew into a man happened here. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. “Did I mention that my father frequently hit on the household staff?” He watched her face as that information sank in. “I caught him with one of the maids.”

  “Wow, he really is a piece of work. Never met a cliché he didn’t embrace.”

  “You got it.”

  “I’m going to take another wild guess here.” She tapped her lip. “You want to show the world that you’re nothing like him and will not be hitting on an employee living under your roof.”

  He saw no reason not to confirm her theory. “You’re right about that. No way you have anything to worry about from me.”

  “Well, you have no idea what a relief that is. Because every woman is dying to know that a handsome cowboy can resist her with no effort at all.”

  “I—Well—” He ran his fingers through his hair. Clearly being a father wasn’t the only thing he was bad at. The twists and turns of a woman’s mind were beyond him, too. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’m teasing.” She smiled. “This was a good talk, and I’m not even going to charge you the going rate for therapy. And don’t worry. Cassie is resilient. She can survive you. And I’m here to help navigate the waters.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  “It’s late and you have to get up soon. Good night, Logan.”

  “Night.”

  When she was gone, he blew out a long breath. Obviously she didn’t notice that resisting her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. With luck he could keep it that way.

  * * *

  Grace held Cassie’s hand as they walked from the parking lot behind the Harvest Café to the back door of the restaurant where they were meeting her mother for lunch. The two were going to do wedding errands for the quickly approaching event.

  Tracy was already seated at a table in the corner but stood and waved when she saw them come in. She hugged her daughter when the child ran into her arms.

  “Hi, Mommy!”

  “I’ve missed you, sweetie.” Tracy Medeiros was a dark-haired beauty, and it was obvious why she’d caught Logan’s
eye once upon a time. Now this woman was the mother of his child and they were the gold standard for parenting without being partners. “Hi, Grace.”

  “How are you, Tracy?”

  “Getting nervous about the wedding,” she said as they all sat down at the table.

  The café was done in fall colors of green, rust and gold. Country-themed pictures were on the walls, and a shelf near the ceiling held a metal pitcher, an old washboard and a milk can along with other similar decorations.

  Grace put her cloth napkin in her lap. “Just so you know, there are bridezilla rumors.”

  “And I’ve been trying so hard to shut them down.” The other woman laughed. “With Cassie’s help today I’m hoping to put a big dent in my to-do list. Most of it is final approval on big stuff. Dress fittings for us, guest book, champagne glasses for Denver and me.”

  “That’s a lot, Mom.” The little girl frowned at the daunting list.

  “It is,” her mother agreed. “But I think it will go fast. It better because you and I have an appointment at the beauty salon for a wedding hairdo trial run and mani/pedis.”

  “Oh, boy!” Cassie’s eyes sparkled at the mention of girlie stuff.

  The waitress came over, introduced herself and took their orders—chef salads for the two women and chicken tenders from the children’s menu for Cassie.

  As they waited for their food, Grace asked questions about how Tracy wanted her daughter’s time structured. Their philosophy on letting her be a carefree child was the same. Kindergarten would be starting soon, so if there was a way to incorporate learning activities in a fun way she was on board with that.

  “At least once or twice a week I try to schedule playdates with her friends,” Tracy said.

  “Paige and Emily,” Cassie interjected. “They’re my best friends.”

  “We switch off houses so it’s only every third week that one mom is responsible for all three. I’ve tried to work out a playdate at one of the other girls’ houses for your afternoon off.”

  Grace figured that was about not inconveniencing a working rancher. “I’m trying to picture Logan in charge of snacks and activities for three five-year-old girls.”