5. Red

"Atta girl, Heathen." I hand over half of my apple to my red mare, then start brushing her sweat-soaked body in the dusky barn. She didn't try to throw me today, which is wildly out of character for her. Deserving of a treat, for once. Although the way she side-eyes me while chewing makes me wonder if stroking her ego was a smart idea—bet any money I'll spend half the day tomorrow putting her back in her place.

When I'm finished, I turn her out with the rest of the horses for the night. Shaking my head as she immediately flops to the ground and rolls. The mane I just spent five minutes brushing is now full of dirt and twigs. Fuckin' horse.

A deep voice rings out in the darkness when I'm halfway between the barn and the bunkhouse. "Wait up."

Spinning in the dusty gravel, I see Denny hoofing it toward me.

"What's up?" I look him up and down. He's acting like he's about to piss his pants, jittery and with a strange look in his eye.

"I've been waiting to talk to you all day, man." He catches his breath, sucking back a devilish smile. "Have you heard anything from Cassidy lately?"

Cassidy?Why would I have talked to her? "Bowman? Can't say I have."

"Might want to. Apparently, the girls heard a rumour in town." I assume he means his two older brother's girls. Jackson's wife, Kate, and Austin's fiancée, Cecily. "I mean, you guys only hooked up the one time at the rodeo, right? I'm sure you're fine."

"Spit it out, man." My heart's thundering against my ribcage. Despite a sneaking suspicion of what he's trying to get at, I need to hear him say it.

"Maybe it's a bullshit rumour, but she might be pregnant…" I don't hear the rest of what he says—it turns to gibberish. My brain's liquifying, unable to think of any words except one. Pregnant. I drag a palm across my stubbled jaw and stare blankly at Denny.

"It can't be yours, though." His words suddenly become sharp and crisp again. "No news is good news. She would've told you."

"Right." Would she have told me? She didn't want anybody to know we hooked up in the first place. Admitting she's pregnant with my baby would make it awfully hard to deny we fucked.

"You wrapped it up, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Then I'm sure you're good, man. Don't stress about it." He slaps me on the shoulder and strolls into the bunkhouse like he didn't just drop a fucking atom bomb into my lap.

If only it were easy to simply not stress about it. For the rest of the night, the rumour consumes every thought. I go to bed early because my eyes can't focus well enough to differentiate between a club and a spade during poker with the other ranch hands. Then I dream about Cass turning up on my doorstep with a baby. And it's the first thing on my mind as I splash cold water over my face in the morning. I can't even enjoy my coffee, my stomach's churning as if I chugged back a two-six of vodka last night. Assuming it's mine, she's close to three months along already.

Shit.Does that mean she decided to keep it?

Sitting around the massive kitchen table up at the ranch's "big house," Jackson assesses me in the same way he does an unbroken horse, with an intimate understanding of exactly what's going on between the ears. I fall smack dab in the middle of him and Denny in age, so the three of us caused nothing but trouble around the ranch as kids. We may not be related by blood, but they're more of a family to me than the four biological brothers I have. Growing up on a rural cattle ranch, with a permanently exhausted mother and a drunk, violent dad, forces you to find your chosen family pretty early.

Jackson clears his throat. "Denny talked to you, I assume?" Thankfully, the kitchen's busy enough for nobody to give a shit about our conversation.

"Sure did." I swallow the bile rising in my throat.

"You good to work today?"

Not a fucking chance. I don't even think I have the wherewithal to tack up my horse, something I've done half a million times.

"No. Not at all, man. Once I'm out there, it'll be fine, though."

"Aus," Jackson calls to the oldest of the three brothers, who's drinking coffee at the far end of the weathered wooden table. "Red's off today. He needs to go handle something. I'll work in his place."

Austin glances up at us with a skeptical side-eye. "Okay. You good, Red?"

Whatever magical touch Cecily has that mellowed out his harsh attitude over the last year, I like it. The old Austin wouldn't have been so quick to give a ranch hand the day off when we're arguably in the busiest season for cattle ranching. With the amount of work to be done, he'd have all twenty of us working sixteen-hour days, seven days a week, if it was legal.

"I'll let you know in a few hours, boss."

"Sounds a bit inauspicious."

"Don't know what that means, but… If there's anything to share, I'll tell you guys later."

Cassidy's house is easy enough to find by process of elimination. Like sorting cattle. Wells Canyon has about 2,000 residents, and I know where at least half of them live, so I hone in on the houses I don't know. I wind my piece of shit Dodge down the quiet streets, reading mailbox names, and searching for her crappy little blue car. Thankfully, I've seen it parked outside The Horseshoe enough times to spot it from a mile away, in the driveway of a small, white rancher with a bright-yellow door.

This is fucking stupid. I can't show up at her house at seven a.m. and ask if she's pregnant with my baby out of the blue. Who the fuck does that? It's completely unhinged.

We had sex one time. Even if she is pregnant—which I don't know for sure—the odds of it being mine are incredibly low. I should drive back to Wells Ranch and pretend this didn't happen. Not knowing one way or the other will eat me alive, but enough whiskey can cure that problem.

Then again, I came all this way. And, as soon as she confirms this was all a misunderstanding, we can carry on. She can tell me I'm being the world's biggest moron, slap me, and we'll never talk about any of this again. Like she wanted.

Doesn't matter that I saw her in a new light that night. Not just the funny little girl from elementary school. Not just the popular and smart girl who wouldn't even look in my direction in high school. Not just the snarky, pretty waitress from The Horseshoe. She's fucking gorgeous. A sexual goddess. Absolute perfection. And she wanted me, even though she tried so damn hard to pretend like she didn't.

Doesn't matter that I'd do practically anything to have her again. There are three ways this can go:

She's pregnant with my kid and didn't want me to find out.

She's pregnant with Derek's kid, and they're back together.

She's not pregnant, and I'm about to ask if she is, which is a good way to get punched in the face. You never ask a woman if she's pregnant.

And, sitting on the street in front of her house, it dawns on me that I have no idea if she lives alone. If her dad, Dave Bowman, answers the door, I'm as good as dead. If her cheating ex-boyfriend opens the door, he's going to try to kick my ass—and fail, for sure. Even still, I've never let the fear of being punched in the face stop me from making bad decisions before, so I shut the truck down with a shudder and stride up to her front door.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She asks with half-closed eyes, squinting to adjust to the early morning light. She's in a pink pajama set, hair piled on top of her head, and not wearing any makeup. Shit. I woke her up. Not a great start. Admittedly, sometimes I forget not everybody starts their day at four o'clock in the morning.

A few wavy strands of hair fall over her face, and she reaches up to tuck them behind her ear. We simultaneously realize she's wearing a thin tank top with no bra, and her arms quickly fold over her chest. But not before I capture details about the size and texture of her puffy nipples through the light pink fabric. It seems silly she'd be worried about that when I've licked her pussy before but, then again, it was dark and I didn't get to see much of her. Certainly not as much as I'd have liked to.

"Care to explain why you showed up here and woke me up, asshole?" Her bare foot taps on the wood floor inside the entry.

"Uh—" Shit. What am I doing here? "I just heard some things and, y'know, small town bullshit. But it's kind of fucking me up, so I was hoping you could clear the air."

She nods slowly. "Okay, um… want to elaborate on what kind of things you heard?"

She's seriously going to make me say it.

I scratch the back of my neck, mentally preparing for the slap or kick to the groin inevitably coming my way. "That you're pregnant."

"Fuck." The word comes out on a wispy breath. The skinny strap on her tank top is a cunt hair away from slipping off her freckled shoulder. And it takes all I have not to reach out to fix it.

"So you are then?" I tuck my tongue into my cheek and release a long breath. It's absolutely insane my knees haven't given out, but somehow I'm still standing. I do need to lean against the door frame to stay that way, though. I stammer, "Okay. Wow."

"Come sit." She steps back from the door and, in a daze, I stumble my way into the small living room. Then I find myself sitting on her couch, gawking at her, waiting for one of two leftover outcomes. And I'm completely fucked up over which one I'd prefer. I didn't think I wanted a kid right now… possibly ever. I'm not cut out to be a parent—my childhood was too fucked up, my life now is too wild, my future is too uncertain. But, also, her ex is a complete tool and doesn't deserve her any more than I do.

"Don't love that rumours are already flying, but I guess there's no way it would stay a secret forever." She pulls a thick, buffalo plaid blanket over her bare legs on the grey recliner opposite me. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I've known for a few weeks, and it's been a lot to process."

"Uh… okay. So then—it's mine then? You're sure?" No clue how I'm able to form words. My heart's seized up, all the air in the room is gone, and my jaw's hanging like it's broken. Not to mention the painful burning in my eyes, as if I'm trapped in a dust storm.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Her nose scrunches, no doubt hating having to admit it.

"Well, fuck," I blurt out. And I immediately regret it, because it feels like that's not the way I should react in this situation.

"Yeah." She pinches the bridge of her nose and stares at the ceiling like she's trying not to cry. Shit. Now I really regret not having a more positive reaction. "I don't expect or want anything from you. It was my stupid idea that got me into this mess, and I'll handle it on my own."

I gulp. "Handle it? Like…"

"Bad wording. No, I'm not getting an abortion. It's my choice and—"

I hold a hand up to stop her. "Okay, I'm not trying to fight you on it."

"Shut up and let me explain. Everything I've ever been told is that I might have a hard time getting pregnant because of some medical stuff I have going on." She slowly twirls a piece of hair around her finger and watches out the window. "Even though this isn't exactly ideal, I don't know if this might be my only opportunity. I'm keeping the baby, but I don't need your help or your money or anything—don't worry about that."

My fingernails are gnawed to stubs by the time I work up a response. "No, Cass. If you say it's mine, then I'm right here with you. I want to be here, involved as much as I can be. I'll pay for shit, change fucking diapers, whatever you need. At least, until your dad skins me alive."

"He doesn't know… about you. He assumed it's Derek's, and I didn't correct him."

Good. Great. I don't know why the thought of Dave believing his daughter got knocked up by her shitty ex gives me heartburn, but it does.

"Yeah, well, you need to tell him. Because it's about to become real fucking obvious who your baby daddy actually is. I'm not sitting back and letting everybody think you're pregnant with that dipshit's baby."

"Fuck off, Red. You don't get to saunter in here and tell me what to do. We aren't friends, we aren't in a relationship. We had one drunk hookup because I was pissed off at my ex-boyfriend. That doesn't mean I suddenly like you. I'm not a complete thundercunt, so I'll let you buy shit for the baby, if you seriously want to be involved. That's it."

"Fuck that. If I'm in, I'm all the way in. I'm not just going to be the father who buys the odd box of diapers and visits on Christmas. You think you hate me now? Watch how annoying I can be if you don't accept my help."

"Fine." She takes a deep breath. The Cass I know doesn't give in to me that easily. "But there's going to be ground rules. For one, you need to give me time to talk to my dad, okay? Don't go charging into The Horseshoe on a bender, thinking you'll be my white knight. I'll tell him when I'm ready. Two, don't get it twisted and think you can boss me around now."

I've never given a shit about following rules. I remember Jackson saying he turned into a total softie when Odessa, his five-year-old daughter, was born. Apparently, this is a little taste of that because, fucking hell, I'm looking across the small, neatly decorated living room at the future mother of my child. And, out of nowhere, I'm inclined to follow every single rule she lays out for me.

"Okay. Fine. Deal."

She relaxes into the recliner, losing the sharpness in her expression and smoothing a hand over her hair. I finally take a moment to truly see her. She looks… beautiful, don't get me wrong, but also tired, pale, and like she's had better days.

"How are you feeling?" I ask. She starts to object—despite appearing drained, she's still got some wild horse spirit, unwilling to let me ask a simple question without a fight. I cut her off. "Easy. The next eighteen years are gonna really blow if you can't let me say anything without pushback. I get it, I'm not your boyfriend and I'm not trying to be. But asking a pregnant person how they're feeling is a normal fucking question, Cass."

"Sorry, I'm just cranky and tired. I literally could sleep for sixteen hours a day and it wouldn't be enough. I'm going for blood work in a couple of days and, hopefully, a dosage change will help with the fatigue." She purses her lips in thought. "Um, and I'm puking my guts out multiple times a day. Did you know ‘morning sickness' can happen all the time? I didn't. Apparently it should stop soon, though."

"You've been to the doctor? Had an ultrasound?"

"Oh, yeah." She stands up and walks into the connected kitchen, returning seconds later with a paper in hand. Just when I think this entire thing can't feel more terrifying than it already does, I see a blip of greyish white on a black background and my stomach twists like I'm on a tilt-a-whirl. "It doesn't look like much yet, but that's the baby. And, uh, healthy heartbeat and everything. My due date is March tenth."

"Can I come next time? To your doctor's appointment or ultrasound?"

"Well, there's no more ultrasounds for another couple of months. Sorry. If you want to keep that, you can. The ultrasound tech printed off two, and I was going to give it to my dad but… if you want—"

"I do. Thanks." I smile at her, delicately slipping the paper into the front pocket of my flannel button-up. "Um… not to pry but, dosage change? Are you okay?"

She rolls her eyes with a groan. "Jesus. Didn't know we were going to get all up in my business this morning. Yes, I'm fine. I have Hashimoto's Disease and Polycystic Ovary Syndrome—they're chronic illnesses. Both are pretty well managed, for the most part. Um… except, I guess I should tell you I also have a higher risk of miscarriage. So I'd prefer we keep this quiet for now, despite the rumours."

Twenty minutes ago, I was driving around silently praying she'd say the pregnancy rumour was false. Funny how quickly that changed. Now the thought of her losing this baby has my heart slamming into my chest. I'd be in less agony if I ripped the stupid organ out and stomped on it with my boot.

"Of course, Cass. Listen, I know you think I'm a fuck-up and I'm probably the last person in the world you wanted to have a kid with. But I'm here if you need help with anything."

"I don't need help, Red. I do need you to leave before I throw up in front of you. I haven't eaten yet, and my body likes to punish me for delaying breakfast by throwing up."

"Do you want me to make break—"

"Go!" she screams, already halfway down the hall.

It doesn't feel right to leave, but it also doesn't feel right to stay. So I shut her front door softly behind me, then drive back to the ranch with one hand on the steering wheel and the other over my chest pocket, holding the most important photo of my life secure.