7. Red

"So, my biggest concern is whether we're going to be allowed anywhere near The Horseshoe ever again." Denny pulls open the barbed wire gate, allowing Rob, Colt, and me through on horseback. The sunset's casting heavy shadows across the ranch, bringing along the crispness of autumn. After a long day of moving heifers and mending fences, beers with the boys would be a great way to unwind, but staying on Cassidy's good side is more important.

"Of course that's your biggest concern." Reaching down from my mount, I smack his hat off as I ride by. "Dave doesn't know anything yet, and I told Cassidy I'd give her time. So if you go there and run your mouth, I'll rip you limb from limb. If Cass doesn't get to you first."

"Does he not know she's pregnant, or not know you're the one who did it?" Colt asks.

"I thought there was an unspoken rule not to touch Cassidy Bowman so we could happily maintain our watering hole?" Denny shouts, trotting to catch up to us. "You took that rule and swung way too hard in the opposite direction."

I shrug, packing my chewing tobacco with a few flicks of my wrist. "Never met a rule I didn't love breaking."

Especially that one. I'd face any consequences a million times over, with a shit-eating grin, for breaking the rule not to touch Cass. I can't begin to count the number of times I've thought about all the things I would do to her, given the chance and more privacy than we had that night.

"And, Colt, he knows she's pregnant, but he thinks the baby is her ex-boyfriend's," I clarify.

"Smart. Let him keep thinking that so he doesn't hunt you down and string you up." Colt shoots finger guns in my direction.

Up ahead, Rob clears his throat to hide a laugh. He's a bitter, ugly, middle-aged ranch hand who's decent enough at cowboying and poker, but dog shit at everything else.

"What's that, Rob?" I challenge him.

"Why not let everybody keep thinking it's not yours, and you can be off the hook entirely? Seems like a win for everyone that way."

If I wasn't currently on a horse, I would hit him. Actually—fuck it—I ride up next to him and punch him in the upper arm. Hard. Enough that he sharply inhales through his teeth. "Because I'm not a fucking deadbeat."

"Clearly she doesn't want anybody to know it's yours. What's the reason for that, jackass? Think maybe she's embarrassed? Can't say I blame her," he snarks.

I rip the reins from his hands, veering his mare into mine, my fist landing squarely on his jaw. I wish he wasn't such a good rider. It would make my fucking day to see him fall off the back of his horse and be left to walk home. Asshole.

"Jesus, Red. Chill." Denny rides up the other side of me and wrestles the reins out of my grasp, then chucks them back over to Rob. "He was trying to rile you up."

"Well, it fucking worked." I shake Denny's hand away from my shoulder. Even Heathen sidepasses to get away from him.

"Clearly." He shakes his head. "Come have dinner at the big house tonight, get away from the assholes in the bunks. I don't think the girls will want to clean up a bloodbath there tomorrow."

The ride back is silent, save for hooves on the compact trail and birdsong. We untack and turn the horses out without anybody saying a word, going through the motions surrounded solely by the occasional braying and clanging of the tack room door. It's not until Denny and I are halfway down the dark, gravel path to the big house that somebody talks.

"Rob was talking out of his ass earlier. I don't think Cass is trying to make it seem like the baby is Derek's," Denny says without taking his eyes off of the farmhouse up ahead.

I don't know if she wishes it was Derek's. But I do know, for sure, that she wishes it wasn't mine.

"Nah, I don't think he was wrong. Still pisses me off to hear him say it, though."

"She must think you're a hot piece of ass or she wouldn't have banged you to begin with." Denny laughs, and I smack him in the chest, which does nothing but make him laugh harder. "Just sayin'. She's a real fuckin' idiot for pretending the baby's his instead of yours."

"Den, I love you like a brother. That's the only reason I'm not knocking you out. Watch what you say about the mother of my child."

"Holy. Already got the protective dad thing going on, eh?" Denny smiles, shaking his head. "You guys will figure it out, I'm sure. She's going to realize you're not half as much of a piece of shit as Derek. Love ya, bro."

He wraps an arm around my shoulder as we walk up the front porch stairs, and I don't even bother shrugging it off. Through the front door to the big house—the sprawling white farmhouse where Jackson and Kate live with their five-year-old, Odessa, and one-year-old, Rhett. It's also always been the one place on the ranch where everybody hangs out; the big house's kitchen is always open.

Odessa comes out of nowhere, barrelling into my legs with a hug, then proceeds to chase Denny down the hall. She giggles as he runs just fast enough that her fingertips graze his back but can't quite grab hold of his shirt, untamed brown hair flying behind her. If my kid is anywhere half as cool as her, I think I'll manage fine. Maybe they'll give me some grey hair, but I work best with people who are a bit wild. Back in April, Odessa passed the country-kid rite of passage by falling off a calf she decided to ride bareback, breaking her tiny wrist. Instead of being scared away, she hopped back on three days later and had to go get her cast replaced because it was caked in cow crap.

"Hey, didn't know you were coming," Kate calls over from the table where she's breastfeeding Rhett. "Grab a plate and dish up."

I've had my own permanent spot at the Wells kitchen table since I was a kid. My dad was a cowboy with a bad temper and a drinking problem, and Mom was too tired to care about anything except cigarettes and Days Of Our Lives. Back then, Wells Ranch employed half as many cowboys as they do now, so my family had one of the four-bedroom bunkhouses. By the time I was eight, I preferred the safety of joining the Wells family for dinner over spending any time with my own parents and siblings. That's when Grandpa Charlie Wells pulled up a chair right between Denny and Jackson and declared it my spot. I don't usually intrude on their family dinners anymore, but the seat's still mine anytime I want it.

"You see there's a snowfall warning for tomorrow night?" Jackson scoops a heaping pile of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"Mhm, shouldn't be too bad," Austin replies. If there's one thing ranchers love to talk about, it's the weather. It even gets the normally silent of the three brothers to talk. "Still gets pretty warm during the day. Even if things freeze up, they'll thaw by mid-morning."

Denny swallows a bite and adds, "Should fix that broken water heater in the back pen before it gets much colder, though. If it freezes, we'll be hauling water multiple times a day."

Tuning out their conversation, I watch Kate place baby Rhett into his highchair. His chubby hands immediately dig into the mashed potatoes, bringing a fistful to his mouth. The majority of it squishes between his tiny fingers and lands with a splatter on his tray, which I can't help but smile at. A quiet laugh slips from my lips as his dirty hand moves to smear food through the fine blond hair on top of his head.

It's mind-blowing to think this is my future. Well… sort of. I don't have a house, or a wife, or a biological family to have nightly dinners with. Regardless, at some point in the not-so-distant future, I'm going to have a baby covered in mashed potatoes. I like that.

Realizing I've been watching him so intently my eyes are dry, I blink and turn to Austin. "How's the house coming along, boss?"

Cecily answers for him. "Foundation's officially done. They're trying to get as much done as they can before winter. Then it'll be pretty slow-going."

At least there's a small chance I could move into their current place shortly after the baby's born. It's not the perfect solution, but I can make it work. Try to save money and maybe build a bedroom addition in a couple of years.

"Tell them to hurry up so you can fill it with babies, then all our kids can be running around together here," Kate says with a chipper voice. She's been laying it on thick with these two for months. "Wasn't expecting Red to be the first one to give my kids a cousin. If Denny beats you two to the punch, I'm going to lose my mind."

Denny laughs and clunks his beer bottle on the worn wood tabletop. "Absolutely no risk of that. I do a better job of putting on my raincoat than this guy."

"You're really testing how much I like you today, aren't ya?" I snag his beer, turning away to chug it while he laughs and jokingly punches me in the shoulder.

"It's not even raining, Uncle Denny." Odessa's face scrunches up as she contemplates the picture window behind us, confirming not a single drop of rain has fallen outside.

"Okay, enough. Odessa, eat your dinner. Boys, behave or get out." Kate glares in our direction. Somehow I'm always lumped in when Denny says something he shouldn't. Maybe it's because I'm quick to throw the first punch when somebody chirps him back. "Anyway, how's Cass doing?"

"Oh, um…" I swallow the food in my mouth. "She's okay. I saw her yesterday, and she's apparently not feeling as sick. So, that's good."

"Except bringing her candy was your one excuse to see her. Now she'll have no need for you." Denny smirks. Seriously, I'm going to beat the crap out of him as soon as we get outside.

"Fu—" I start, but Kate's glare stops me from telling him where to go and how to get there. "She's pregnant with my kid. I don't need an excuse beyond that."

"Well, if she's not sick anymore, you could bring her food," Cecily suggests with a shrug, pointing her fork across the table. "Kate basically drank her weight in chocolate milk. I'm sure Cass will have something she's craving soon enough."

"Speaking of which, you should invite her here for dinner." Kate's back to being giddy again. I think she wants us all to live in a big commune here on the ranch, with a million feral farm kids running around while the women drink iced tea on the porch. Or beer, knowing Kate.

I'm not sure what kind of life Cassidy dreams about. I am sure that whatever her dreams are, they don't include me. A few months ago, I would've scoffed at the idea of her even looking in my direction. A future where Cass and I are together? Absolutely fucking not. Keep dreaming.

But now? I would die for the opportunity to prove I'm at least worth taking a chance on.

By the time dinner is finished, all I can think about is how I'll convince Cass to agree to have dinner with me. Never mind on the ranch with everyone, like Kate suggested—that can come later. I'd prefer only me and her.

Denny's lucky my hands are too busy texting Cass to fight him on our way back to the bunkhouse. Come to think of it—Rob's a lucky bastard, too. Aside from a quick nod hello when I walk through the front door, I ignore the guys playing cards and drinking beer around the dining table, retreating to my room because all I want to do is lay in bed and talk to her.

Red: Now that you aren't so sick, having any cravings?

Cass: Um… potatoes. Mashed, roasted, baked, any and all ways.

Red: Should've seen Jackson Kate's baby at dinner tonight. He was basically just a big potato. Covered in mash from head to toe.

Red: It was surprisingly cute

Cass: Getting baby fever? Quit being a big softie

Cass: Besides, I'm sure it's cute until you're the one cleaning up after them

Red: Maybe we should practice.

Cass: I'm nervous to ask what fucked up plan you have for practicing that

Red: If I cover myself in potato would you lick it off, sweetheart?

Cass: You do know that's not how we'd be cleaning the baby off, right?

Red: Answer the question, Cass

Cass: I mean… probably

Cass:But it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with how badly I'm wanting potatoes.

Red: Great, I'll make you dinner tomorrow

Cass: Can't, I'm at the bar. Feel free to drop off a baked potato, though. Just don't come in with it on your dick or something.

Red:I'll save that idea for another day.

Red: Sunday? For dinner… not dick potato. Unless you change your mind and want it served like that.

Cass: Dinner, sure. Dick potato, NO.

Potatoes, I can do. Potatoes are easy. Nearly impossible to fuck up. Work for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Pair well with nearly everything.

That's my in.

"You know this is absolutely insane, right?" Denny peers over my shoulder as I'm hunched over the quartz island, peeling what may be my thousandth potato. You could tell me I've peeled and diced that many, and I would believe it. I've lost count, but my hands hurt and there's so much potato starch built up under my nails I could likely starch a couple pairs of blue jeans.

"Shut up, it's sweet." Cecily walks past to get to the coffeemaker, flicking the back of Denny's head on the way. Yup, she was a good addition to the family. It's like she was reading my mind with that move.

"Thank you, Filly." I smile at her. "And fuck you, Denny. I told her I'd make dinner, and she texted me last night to say bring potatoes or die. Also, there may have been some texts over the last few days about other things involving them. So I'm making the damn potatoes."

"Christ, you two are into some fucked up shit." Denny cocks an eyebrow. "I wouldn't even know where to begin with potatoes in the bedroom. Then again, I also wouldn't bang a girl on her ex-boyfriend's car for revenge."

"You absolutely would," Austin retorts, without looking up from his magazine.

"Okay." Denny shrugs his shoulders with a devilish grin. "You're not wrong. But this other kinky stuff? Not for me."

"You're setting the bar too high, too early, Red. Driving over thirty kilometres multiple times per week to bring her candy and food, after spending fourteen hours on horseback. Now you're making her this gourmet meal." Jackson plunks down into his chair with a loud exhale. "You're screwing all of us. Next guy with a pregnant wife around here is going to have a hard time keeping up."

Denny makes a discreet whipping noise, dodging Cecily by slipping around to the other side of the island with a chuckle.

The peeler lands in the kitchen sink with a clang, and everybody's eyes are on me. I can sense it—they're waiting anxiously to see if I'll fly off the handle. But I'm not even mad. Today, the snide comments hurt, but tell me I'm doing something right.

"That's the difference, man." I rinse the potato starch from my hands. "She's not my wife. Not my girlfriend. Hell, until a couple of weeks ago, she wouldn't even say we were friends. If she wanted to, she could cut me out entirely. She could leave me off the goddamn birth certificate. The only way I'd get to be involved at all is by fighting with her in court. Making four different potato dishes in an effort to keep her happy is way fucking easier."

Well, I ruined the mood in a different way. And now, instead of looking at me with contempt, they're staring at me like I'm something to feel sad for. Great. I massage my temple and lean against the counter. The surface is cool, and the chill permeating through my shirt helps ease my somersaulting stomach.

"You don't genuinely think she would do that… do you?" Cecily asks.

Austin, Jackson, and Denny sit there watching me in silent horror. To be fair, we talk every day but we never really talk. I definitely haven't said anything to them about this shit, even though it's been weighing on me for weeks.

"How the fuck should I know? I've known her practically my entire life, but I don't know her. Not well enough to know what she'll do if I screw this up. So, yeah, I offered her dinner and she agreed. I'm gonna do a good job—definitely not going to take it for granted. That's all there is to it, and you guys can make fun of me all you want about it."

I don't know if Cecily is kicking Austin under the table or if she's done some serious witchcraft on him recently, but he clears his throat and speaks up before anybody else. "You're doing a good job, man. She's going to see that. Don't let these assholes convince you otherwise."

Beryl, the ranch's main kitchen employee—and pseudo mother to us all—strolls into the kitchen and immediately gets to work helping me. Thank God because I can barely feel my fingertips and I'm not even halfway through.

Before long, it's only Beryl, Cecily, and me standing around the huge island, quietly peeling, slicing, and dicing potatoes. Normally, my day off wouldn't be spent in the kitchen with the ladies. Shooting guns, drinking beer, rodeoing, 4X4ing my shitty pick-up, or catching up on sleep are how I tend to enjoy my free time. With all of that bound to change in a few months, I'm thinking of today as a practice round. To determine if I can survive a work week without doing anything to blow off steam.

Standing with our shoulders nearly touching, Beryl holds a potato in one hand and slices perfect thin wafers for the scalloped potatoes. Something I would've absolutely fucked up, if left to do it alone. I watch intently—feels like this is a skill I should master. If this dinner works, I'll cook potatoes every day for the rest of time. Doubt Beryl will want to be my permanent slicer.

"You better bring this girl by sometime, honey. She must be pretty special for you to do all of this." Beryl missed my entire speech earlier, and I'm not giving it again.

"No, no. The baby is very demanding. That's who this is all for."

Cecily chuckles. "Nothing at all to do with having a crush on the pretty blonde, eh?"

"Nope, because I'm not risking fucking this up by thinking with the wrong head. We're only friends, nothing more."

Beryl smiles. "I swear, you boys all strut around here like a rooster parade, but the minute a good woman practically falls into your lap, you lose your heads. Both of them. Think with your heart—not either head—and you won't mess it up."