her mama drifted off a few weeks ago, probably looking for love again.” He half smiled. “Barn cats are fickle.” Logan squatted in front of Blossom. “Turn her around so I can see what I’m doing.”
He dipped a clean cloth in water and dabbed at her rear leg. The cat howled but Blossom held her steady. His midnight-blue gaze intent on the task, Logan made a second pass at the wound then prized the bottle from his rear pocket.
Blossom watched him work. “These past few days have been something. You should have DVM after your name.” Doctor of veterinary medicine.
“Running a ranch demands all kinds of skills. Mine are a bit rusty.”
Blossom didn’t have talents. He hadn’t liked the Greek gyro she’d made yesterday for lunch. And she’d never asked him about the menu.
After pouring disinfectant on the wound, he glanced up.
“What do you think?”
“Looks good.”
“She’d heal better with a few stitches, though. Let me get a needle.”
When he returned, her stomach felt queasy at the thought of sewing flesh.
She studied Logan’s bent head as he shaved off some fur, blocking her view of the kitten on her lap. She held on, gently, yet for dear life, watching his lean face mere inches from her stomach. The man had great cheekbones. She had to fight the foolish urge to comb her fingers through his dark hair, to touch his shadowed jawline.
His very concentration moved her, sent an unexpected rush of longing through her. Must be hormones, she thought. Pregnancy unbalanced a woman’s emotions big-time. So did Logan’s tenderness.
She didn’t realize the job was done until he sat back on his heels and flexed his shoulders.
He studied Blossom. “Okay? You look a little green.”
“I would never make a good nurse,” she said.
“You did fine.” He stroked the kitten, his fingers brushing Blossom’s hand. “We’ve done our part, little girl. Now we just need to...” He stood then glanced around. “Let’s use one of these horse blankets to make her a bed. She can rest here in the tack room. Then she won’t be tempted to run around.”
“I’ll bring her some water.”
“I’ll fix kitten chow for her later.” He looked at Blossom and broke the mood between them as abruptly as Ken might have done. “Don’t you have to cook dinner? And see to Sam?”
But this time Blossom wasn’t fooled.
“Logan.” It was the first time she’d used his given name and he stiffened, as if he expected some blow. She knew all about that. Still holding the kitten, she rose to face him. His gruffness with Sam, his sternness with her about the bison calf and the horse, his seeming indifference to Nick, were only a pose. To protect himself? Yet he’d also taken great care to shelter his son from the kitten’s wounds. He’d spoken gently to him just the way he’d softened his voice with Sam that first day. “You’re a fraud,” she said, “but in a good way.”
Lightly, she put a hand on his shoulder then lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek so quickly her lips barely touched his face before she drew away. She’d misjudged him. His afternoon beard had felt like sandpaper, its texture so rough beneath her softer lips.
Blossom’s mind had gone numb. But her stomach had settled.
His muscled strength was something to rely on yet to be wary of.
Still, underneath beat the heart of a good man. She knew that now.
Too bad she couldn’t trust him.
* * *
BLOSSOM DIDN’T COME to the table for dinner that night. Logan ate alone. From upstairs he could hear her talking to Sam, eating with him instead.
Willy and Tobias were nowhere to be seen. Logan had had words with the two cowhands—bison hands, he ought to say—that first night after dinner, and both of them had been avoiding him ever since. He’d never seen two men volunteer faster to ride fence today to keep out of his way. Probably they were at the bunkhouse heating up a big can of spaghetti or ravioli. He hadn’t meant to sound harsh. But their teasing, their looks at Blossom had gotten to him and he’d lost his temper.
His mood was always precarious when he was at the ranch. He couldn’t seem to forget he’d nearly lost Nicky here. He had lost Libby, not that his marriage had ever been one made in heaven. She felt the same, he supposed.
He dug into the casserole Blossom had served before she slipped away upstairs. No steak again tonight. Mac and cheese? At least there was no way she could ruin that. The way he criticized her cooking, no wonder she preferred his grandfather’s company. Even though he and Blossom had gotten along pretty well earlier in the barn while he sewed up the kitten, and she’d surprised him with that quick kiss, she’d pulled back right after.
His face still burned. But it was their conversation he missed now.
When the landline rang, he jumped up from his seat. Any interruption from his train of thought, even a telemarketing call at dinnertime, would be almost welcome.
“Circle H,” he answered, ready to hang up at the latest sales pitch.
“Hey, brother.” To his amazement, Sawyer had finally called him back, and Logan fought another familiar twist of loss inside. How long had it been since they were in the same place at the same time? Since they’d talked the way they used to?
“I’ve been trying to get through to you for the better part of a week.”
As usual, Sawyer sounded unconcerned. “What’s up?”
“Sam busted his leg. Bad,” Logan said. “He was in the hospital for a few days, had surgery and now he’s confined to his room. Picture that.” He explained about the bleed and concussion that had rattled Sam’s brain and messed with his sense of balance. “Where are you?”
“Here and there.”
Logan rolled his eyes. Sawyer was always vague. About everything. It had been too long since they were boys, growing up on the Circle H after their dad and mom had died, learning from Sam how to be men. They’d been even closer than most brothers, inseparable as kids.
“You might think about coming back now and then.” He couldn’t bring himself to say home. The two of them hadn’t seen each other since Logan had married Libby.
“I’m sure you can handle things.”
“That’s it?” He had the sense Sawyer was about to hang up first.
“You’re the big brother. You’re in Kansas. I’m not.”
“I’m older by less than five minutes,” he reminded Sawyer. “We could really use some help here, Tom.” Sawyer didn’t laugh at the old nickname he’d been taunted with as a kid. It was as if he’d put their past behind him and moved on, determined to make a life for himself anywhere else. He’d cut all ties—which
