6. Cassidy

Iwish somebody had told me getting pregnant meant people bothering you whenever you're trying to sleep. Though, to be fair, I'm almost always trying to sleep. First, it was Red yesterday morning. Then Shelby during my midday nap. Blair called five times after bedtime. And my dad turned up early this morning with breakfast burritos that smelled so strongly of eggs, I vomited in the kitchen sink.

Whoever the fuck is at my door at nine p.m. on my night off can die a slow, painful, miserable…

"Red? What do you want?"

He smiles sheepishly at me, backlit by the orange glow of a streetlamp, and holds up a brown paper bag. "Fuck. I woke you up again, didn't I?"

"If it wasn't you, it would be somebody else. Why are you here?" My attention shifts from his face to the bag and back again.

"Can I come in? I got you some stuff."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. Too tired to argue, I step aside and follow him into the living room. The bag lands on the coffee table with a heavy thunk, and he gestures at me to open it.

"I hope you aren't mad, but I told Jackson and Kate last night. Kate gave me a list of some things you might find helpful. I wasn't planning on getting over here this late. We're finishing up haying this week, and today ended up being longer than… anyway, take a look."

What the hell? What part of our conversation yesterday made it seem like this is what I want from him? I don't need him to buy me shit. I don't need him to be showing up at my house unexpectedly. I don't needhim.

I do love presents though, and I suppose there's no harm in taking a peek. Reaching in, my fingers pinch around the first thing they touch.

A massive bag of Jolly Ranchers?

"Kate said the ginger candies were disgusting, but apparently Jolly Ranchers can help when you feel nauseous, too. Plus, it's a bit less obvious, since you don't want everybody to know yet." He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching me hesitantly.

I swallow hard. Ironic how the mention of anti-nausea candies makes me want to hurl. "Yeah, Kate's right. Terrible. I threw those ginger candies out the window somewhere on the highway."

Continuing on, I find bath bombs, Epsom salts, belly butter, an eye mask, sparkling grape juice, junk food… It's like I'm working my way through Mary Poppins' magical bag with how much stuff he brought. Red's watching with a smile. Giving me the same look I remember my dad having on Christmas morning when I was a kid—eager for my reaction while expecting absolutely nothing in return.

"Red, what the actual fuck. This is too much. I can't accept all this. I told you, we aren't friends and we aren't together. It's really inappropriate for you to buy me presents."

"Well, I can't take it back and I don't know anybody else who can use whatever the hell belly butter is. Anyway, Kate made the shopping list, so pretend it's from her, if that makes you feel less weird about it."

"Thank you." Stupid pregnancy hormones. I hate that I have to blink up to the ceiling to stop myself from crying. What bizarre timeline am I living in where Red has the ability to do something that makes me feel anything other than exasperation?

"I'll let you get to sleep now. I thought you should have this stuff sooner rather than later." His hands run along the tops of his denim-clad, tree trunk thighs as he moves to stand.

"Maybe we should swap numbers? So you don't wake me up with another surprise visit. Plus, you know, in case anything happens that I need to tell you about." I hold my phone out, Red quickly following suit. With a few simple taps of a finger, I have a phone number I wouldn't have ever expected to need or want.

Popping a green apple Jolly Rancher into my mouth, I bus my last table of the night and try to ignore the uneasy feeling in my gut. It's not nausea because the sour candies are working surprisingly well—granted, I'll likely have thirty cavities by the time I pop this kid out, but that's a later-Cassidy problem. No, the uneasiness is because this might be the first Friday night in history where none of the Wells Ranch cowboys came into the bar.

"I still can't believe you made this." Shelby swivels on the bar stool, carefully examining the tooled leather purse. Her fingers glide across the floral design and a smile lights her face; the look makes the hours I spent worthwhile. "I wish you'd sell them at rodeos and stuff."

"Nah, strictly gifts for friends and family. Sorry again about giving you your birthday present so late, by the way. I don't have the energy to do anything, and I've been so sick. But Red gave me a big bag of Jolly Ranchers,"—I produce a handful from my pocket to show her—"and they surprisingly help a lot with the morning sickness. That's the reason I was able to finish the purse today."

"Hold on." Shelby sets the leather bag down and narrows her eyes in my direction. "He's bringing you presents? You left that part out when you said you told him about being the dad."

"Kate Wells told him to bring stuff, I guess. I told him I didn't want it—I don't want anything from him—but he wouldn't listen."

She pulls a face. "You're mad about him giving you presents?"

"Not mad. Just… I didn't even know if I was ever going to tell him the baby is his. I only did it because he showed up at my house asking and I'm not a complete monster. Not because I want him to be a dad."

"Like it or not, he is the dad. Sperm donor, at the very least. I say you roll with it. Let him spoil you, if that's what he wants to do. Shit, I'd be fully taking advantage of this. You basically own his soul now. Use and abuse that man."

"Lord help whoever knocks you up one day." I laugh. "I've known him since we were kids—this is all bullshit. He's absolutely not the dad type."

"Worst case scenario, this is a short-lived thing and he suddenly disappears one day. You didn't want him around in the first place, so I fail to see a downside."

"Yeah…"

Except I know what it's like to have a parent around sporadically. I know what it's like to have somebody be present in your life and then leave without a word. The constant wondering if you did something to make them go. If there's anything you could've done to make them want to stay. My mom left when I was one. Turned up for three and four. Disappeared. Came back when I was six. Left a week before my seventh birthday. So on and so forth, right through to when she asked to have my birthday money to buy music festival tickets when I was thirteen. Dad lost his shit, and poof, she vanished for good. Now I have a secret burner account to keep tabs on her social media—still wondering from time to time if she misses me. If she ever missed me.

"Anyway, enough about him. Are we still on for the indoor rodeo?" Shelby leans on the bar, watching me close out the till. "I can pick you up."

Shit. Going to the indoor rodeo an hour away in Sheridan sounded like an amazing idea a couple months ago. But Cass then and Cass now are two very different people.

My shoulders drop with a groan. "I don't know, Shelb. I'm not sure I'm up to it. I'd much rather binge-watch Gossip Girl and fall asleep by seven p.m. on my nights off."

"Girl, you only have a few months before you'll be stuck at home all the damn time. You should get out and enjoy yourself." She bats her eyelashes at me. "And in the spring, I'm going to be so sad without my rodeo partner. We need to make the most of it. Please. For me."

"Ugh, fine. Pick me up. But we're not staying out late."

I lick my lips, sucking the ever-loving life out of my watermelon-flavoured candy and trying to ignore the man eating a hot dog with fried onions just behind us in the rodeo stands. If I dwell on it, the poor woman in front of me is going to be wearing the chocolate milkshake currently sloshing in my stomach.

"I always get so nervous when guys we know are up." Shelby grimaces and points across the arena to the bucking chutes. Specifically, pointing to where Denver Wells is seated on the back of a saddle bronc, readying himself for the gate to open.

"Oh, for sure," I mumble, my eyes snagging on something that makes me significantly more nervous than Denny riding a bucking horse.

Just behind him, there's an unmistakable mop of auburn hair flipping out from under a dusty cowboy hat. He's leaning on the back of the chute in a fitted black T-shirt. Muscular, tattooed arms draped over the top rail as he says something to Denny with a smile.

Gross, Cass.

I blame pregnancy hormones, a crushing fear he's going to tell everybody here I'm pregnant with his baby, and the fact he basically saved my life with these Jolly Ranchers. That's the only reason why I'm hung up on him for so long I miss Denny's winning ride. I'm forced out of my trance when Shelby jumps up, yanking me by the arm, to cheer and whistle loudly.

My thoughts are still foggy—probably the pregnancy brain I keep hearing about—when the rodeo ends and we head to the bar. I buy two drinks on auto-pilot, unsure how I can temporarily forget I'm pregnant after spending the entire night fighting nausea and struggling to stay awake. When Shelby drags me toward Denny and Red, I'm glad to at least have people to give these to before I reflexively take a sip.

"Cass, have I told you how much I love you lately?" Denny simpers and grabs the silver can I'm holding out. "Seriously, you're the best girl around."

Smoke nearly pours out of Shelby's ears. As if this hasn't been the dynamic between the two of us since high school. If Denny notices how jealous she is, he doesn't care. Unsurprising. She may be smitten about him, but we all know Denny doesn't date exclusively.

"Yeah, yeah. No amount of flattery is going to get me to buy you more than one beer. This is a celebratory drink because you won. Don't get used to it." I sit down next to Shelby, sliding the second beer across to Red. "I bought two instinctively and then remembered I can't drink, so here."

"Making sure we're hydrated even on your day off. Do we still have to tip you?" Red winks, and I furrow my eyebrows at him, refusing to do anything that might be an indication of how warm my chest suddenly feels.

"Tip: shut up, Red." I roll my eyes, biting back a smile. "This is why I don't do nice things for you idiots. You can't simply say thank you and move along."

"You love us." Denny takes a swig, sliding closer to Red to make room for another of his cowboys, Colt.

"Tolerate, not love. And I barely do that."

"Anyway," Shelby pipes up, clearly growing annoyed by her lack of involvement in the banter. "Cheers to Denny on his win."

Their beer cans clink together and then into my giant, metal water bottle—something that's basically become an extra appendage since getting pregnant, considering it's never more than two feet away from me. I'm viscerally aware of Red's eyes on me as I pop a green apple Jolly Rancher in my mouth. As much as I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm using any part of his present, it's more important that I don't throw up in the middle of the conversation. Seconds later, my phone vibrates in my back pocket.

Red: Are they helping?

Cass: Helping… rot my teeth? Yes. Make me gain a ton of weight? Yes. Stop the nausea? Yes.

Red: I'll hook you up with more when you get low

Cass: You make it sound like they come from a dealer on the street corner. I can buy my own.

Red: He's in the alley, actually. And he'll be pissed if we get our supply somewhere else

Red: I don't think he's the kind of guy we want to make mad

I look from the phone over to him, startled to find him looking right back at me. A small laugh blows from my nose, and I shake my head.

Cass: Well, we can't risk pissing alley-guy off.

Cass: I'm probably good for a few more days

Red: I'll drop some off at your house tomorrow night.

Cass: If you wake me up, you're dead, asshole.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and try to join the conversation. Between it being past my bedtime and the weird emotions around Red, I don't have it in me to focus on whatever small town gossip the rest of the group is discussing. But I do my best, listening to Shelby shamelessly flirt with Denver. Slogging through Colt's ramblings about some pickup truck he might buy. And glancing over at Red only when I absolutely can't help myself.

Starting to think I might legitimately fall asleep sitting up, I work up the nerve to turn to Shelby. "I'm about ready to go home."

Her face drops. "Already? Really? Can you tough it out for another hour or so?"

"Shelb, come on. It's not even early—it's eleven o'clock. You agreed on the way here that we could leave whenever I wanted."

She groans like the old alcoholics at The Horseshoe when I announce last call.

"I can drive you home," Red offers.

"No. I'm fine, I'll go whenever Shelby's ready." I shoot my best friend a threatening sideways glance before turning back to Red. "You've been drinking, anyway."

"This is the same beer you gave me." He slides the still-full can across the table to me.

"There. Done. Just catch a ride with Red. Love you, girly." Shelby claps her hands together. "Come dance with me, Denny."

What happened to sisterly solidarity? Shelby's officially off the best friend list.

She leans in before skipping away and whispers, "You own his soul. Take advantage."

"Fuck my life." I stand and reluctantly follow Red out of the stuffy rodeo dance hall into the cool night.

Our first breath of what should be fresh mountain air is tainted by a group of smokers huddled outside the main entrance. Cigarette smoke swirls through the air, filling my nostrils in one fell swoop.

Gag reflex activated.

There's no time to get privacy. Or be graceful about this. Before I've even inhaled a second breath, I'm keeled over, losing the water and French fries and chocolate shake into the white hydrangeas lining the pathway. The collective stare of a dozen smokers burns holes across my backside, leaving me feeling—and smelling, probably—like a piece of burnt garbage.

My hands find their way to my knees for support as a second wave of nausea hits hard and strong. Blonde strands curtain my face, blowing straight into the line of fire, thanks to a small breeze.

Fuck. This is why I wear my hair up all the time.

A fraction of a second before the rest of my stomach empties across the lava rocks and plants, Red sweeps my hair into a makeshift ponytail. Holding it safely out of the way with one hand, he rubs slow circles on my lower back with his other. Despite how tempted I am to smack him away, I can't bring myself to. Even after the puking ends, I don't force the removal of his firm touch.

"You okay?" he asks, watching my face worriedly.

"Yeah. But… can we get away from the smoke?" I fight to get the words out without breathing through my nose, wiping away the tears drying on my cheeks.

"Shit. Of course." He ushers me forward, hand still unmoved. Even through my coat, it's burning my skin in the best possible way—a calming presence. I hate it, and I need it. And I hate how badly I need it.

We walk toward his truck, and his arm quickly falls away from my body. As it should.

"Sure you're good?" he asks, opening the passenger door for me.

I nod slowly, dabbing at the wetness still clung to my eyelashes. "All good. Just want to go home and brush my teeth."

He starts his crappy truck and watches me as I shiver relentlessly. "I know you've been dead set on disliking me, but don't you think it might be easier in the long run if we just be friends?" Reaching into the back seat, he pulls out a thick Carhartt work coat and spreads it over my lap. "And then you don't need to pretend like accepting a ride home from me is physically painful."

"Bold of you to assume I was pretending." I pull the jacket up to my chin like a blanket. "Not to be dramatic but the Jolly Ranchers are life-changing, which makes it really hard to dislike you. Also, I don't have to scrub vomit from my hair tonight, thanks to you. So I guess we can be friends."

"Glad I could help." His large hands flex on the steering wheel as he turns out of the dirt parking lot and onto a dark, winding road.

"You guys weren't at the bar last night." I kick myself as soon as I say it. It makes it sound like I was hoping he'd show up, and that obviously wasn't the case.

"Figured I shouldn't risk blowing your cover. And I don't trust myself to stay quiet."

That's not the answer I was looking for. Reasoning revolving around the ranch or Denny's rodeo today would've sat better with me. I'd almost prefer he break the news to my dad, because that would mean Red doesn't suddenly care about what I tell him to do. Just like he hasn't given a shit about rules for the twenty-plus years I've known him.

"What happened to your macho ‘it's gonna be real fucking obvious who your baby daddy is' bullshit?" Kicking my boots off, I tuck my feet directly against the warm floor vent. "Don't turn into a softie on me now."

"Spent enough time around Kate while she was pregnant and crazy to know it's a bad idea to piss you off."

The blue dash lights emit enough light to give me an opportunity to study the roped muscle in his arms, watch his thumbs tapping along to the quiet music, and notice his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. But it's dark enough, I'm pretty sure he can't see me watching him in my periphery.

"Are you saying I'm crazy?"

He snorts. "If you weren't, we wouldn't be here."

A fire ignites inside my chest, and my mouth opens before I have time to think about what I'm saying. "Actually, if you could put a condom on properly, we wouldn't be here." I turn and glare at him. "It's a miracle you don't have a dozen illegitimate children… unless you do?" My voice breaks at the end of my sentence, eyes burning with an irritating, hormonal urge to cry at the thought of him having a bunch of other kids out there. I hate the way pregnancy has me constantly on the verge of a breakdown over the stupidest things. Thankfully, I'm becoming quite skilled at pushing it away just before the tears fall.

"Shit, I pissed off the crazy pregnant lady." The outline of his illuminated lips crooks into a smile. "No kids… Well, I guess I have one now, eh? That feels fucked up to say."

"I've known for weeks and it still feels that way." I pull his coat tighter around myself, fighting off the chill only a long, boiling hot bath will get rid of. And, apparently, I'm not allowed to have those anymore. Sounds like I'll be cold straight through to spring. "Eventually it'll be real, whether we like it or not. And then what are we going to do?"

"We've got options. Shotgun weddings can be lovely," he says.

"Did this shitty truck teleport us back to 1940? Next you'll suggest shipping me off to a home for unwed mothers."

"Hey, just throwing shit at the wall."

"You trust my dad pointing a gun at you? Not sure if that's courageous or dumb." I cock an eyebrow. "I bet he'd shoot anyway."

"True." His fingers drum on the steering wheel as he thinks. "Okay… We can co-parent and share the baby."

"Don't you live in a bunkhouse with other ranch hands, like you're permanently at Boy Scout camp? You think you're going to bring a baby there? Besides, that won't work with breastfeeding."

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "It's not like being at summer camp. But, yeah, I see your point. Guess I'll have to move in with you."

"Immediately no. I have zero interest in living with you." With a deep breath, I question my sanity as I mull over what I'm about to offer. "What if I allow you to come over anytime you want to see the baby?"

"So I'll live with you but pretend I don't, because I'm going to be there every hour I'm not at work, sweetheart."

I wonder if I can convince him to leave me alone for the next six months on the grounds that it's unhealthy to be so stressed out when I'm pregnant.

"You agreed to not call me that. It's condescending."

"Oh, I thought you changed your mind. Last time I called you sweetheart, you grabbed my cock. Mixed messages, Cass."

There'sthe Red I know and… tolerate. At least the crude remark eases my worry he's gone soft.

"Yeah, well, now I'm painfully sober and more likely to cut it off than anything." I lean against the window, but the cold glass only makes me shiver harder.

"You cold?" He turns briefly to look me up and down before returning his gaze to the dark road. The empty stretch of highway is lit solely by our headlights, thanks to the overcast skies. "Adjust the temperature, if you want."

"Always, thanks to my crappy thyroid. I'm used to it, though." Tilting the seat back a bit, I shut my eyes and think warm thoughts. A beach chair in the Caribbean sun. A pool float on the lake during summer. A tanning bed.

Apparently, I fell asleep. Because the next thing I know, I'm being gently shaken awake. There's drool on my cheek, and Red's watching me with a thin-lipped smile. I quickly wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and blink until my vision has adjusted.

"Sorry, I was considering carrying you inside, but I was scared you'd wake up and murder me."

"I would've." I yawn, reaching for the door handle. "Thank you for bringing me home."

"Anytime, Cass. I told you I'd help you with anything you need."

My eyes meet his in an unsettling way, and I blindly feel for the door handle. "Red, please stop being a decent guy. It's freaking me out."

"Want me to come in and show you how not-decent I can be, sweetheart?"

"Fuck off." I shut his door and head inside, keeping my stupid, giddy smile well out of sight. Like the cute lead in a '90s rom-com, I fling my back against the front door the second it closes. I think I might have the tiniest crush on him, and that is so fucked up.