9. Red

Fences to mend, tractors to repair, and Austin's never-ending shit-list of chores to be done before we bring the cattle home for the winter. From May until October, all 20,000 head live out on grazing land in the mountains surrounding Wells Ranch. The cattle drives bringing them to and from the ranch are a multiple day, all-hands-on-deck affair. Since the first time I was allowed to help out when I was twelve, those have easily been my favourite days on the ranch. The shit that makes me proud to be part of this place. Except now the idea of spending multiple days next week without Cass—even without the ability to text her—sounds like hell to me.

As I'd hoped, potatoes were my in. Even with little downtime, and a lot of heckling from the guys, I've been playing around with potato recipes every chance I get. Both because it's fun to fuck around with different recipes and because Cassidy's face lights up every single time. Not to mention, the soft moan at the back of her throat when she takes the first bite has been giving me some great spank bank material. So any night when she isn't working late at the bar, I bring dinner and we eat together at her cartoonishly small table.

But being invited to her doctor's appointment feels like the real deal. Despite what Kate and Cecily constantly yammer in my ear, I haven't been convinced the dinners are enough. She could be using me for food—in fact, she's stated that's what she's doing multiple times.

I need something to help convince me she actually wants me to be the dad. Wants me around, period. Lately, it seems like she's content with keeping me a secret forever, and I've been bottling my emotions—the frustration, the hurt, the anger.

The highway's quiet, but not nearly as quiet as the first ten minutes of the drive have been. My thumb taps repeatedly on the steering wheel, playing to the beat of "Guitars, Cadillacs." Something about the silence makes it impossible to keep my thoughts contained.

"So, are you ever going to tell your dad?"

Likely not the best time for this conversation, but it's a fair fucking question if you ask me. She's almost halfway through the pregnancy, has known about it for months, and is still happily going along pretending Derek—the rotten scumbag—is the father, while I'm over here busting my ass for her.

"Lose the tone." She shoots a look in my direction. "I told you I will when I'm ready."

"Great. So never then." I don't even bother hiding the snark in my voice.

"Jesus Christ. I didn't invite you to come today so you can treat me like shit." Turning to look out the passenger window, she huffs. She has more to say—I know it.

"Why did you invite me, Cass? Shouldn't Derek be here with you?" My volume steadily climbs until I can't hear the soothing sounds of Dwight Yoakam over my voice. Every momentary thought of self-doubt bubbles to the surface and runs like a river from my mouth. "Is the baby mine or his? You're lying to somebody, Cass. And if you aren't sure who the dad is, then fucking say that. I don't give a shit if you say you slept with a dozen other guys. But if the baby's mine, I'm not going to be your dirty secret forever."

"You think if there was any uncertainty, I would've gotten you involved? I could have easily carried on pretending nothing happened between you and me. The baby is yours. I just… it's complicated telling my dad, okay? You know what our shitty town's like."

I probably should've known this would all come back to my family. That's why she doesn't want to tell her dad. Because Dave—and most people—hate me by association. All thanks to my father, Joe Thompson, the raging alcoholic who fucked over plenty of people in Wells Canyon. Drinking, fighting, stealing, crashing cars…. Dad's bullshit got us run completely out of town when I was fifteen and even now, over fifteen years later, he's ruining my life here. I'm still the loser, Cassidy is still the unofficial town princess.

"I get it. You made the choice to have sex with me, keep my baby, tell me I can be involved. I do every single thing you ask of me but, somehow, a cheating cuntbag still seems like a better father figure in the eyes of you and your dad and everybody else."

Most of the people who hate me, or think I'm trash, don't know me. That takes the sting away a little, usually. But this? This fucking sucks. We've been talking every day and acting like friends for weeks, yet Cass still sees me the way everyone else does. Nothing I've done is good enough. I bet nothing ever will be.

"That's not—Shit." She buries her head in her hands. "That's not what I'm saying. I don't want to have a baby with Derek. But he and I broke up right before the rodeo, so it's natural for people to assume. I hardly even liked you as a human being then. And you gotta know your reputation is… sorry, I will tell him. Okay? I'm not withholding shit to intentionally hurt you. My best friends know, your friends know. The only people who don't, somehow, are my dad and the rest of town. You might not get it because I don't know what the deal is with your parents, but my dad and I have only ever had each other. And…" Her voice is unsteady, and I don't need to look at her to know she's crying, which instantly stops any trace of anger running through my veins. Damnit. Now I feel like a dick for bringing this up. "You should've seen how disappointed he was when I first told him."

"You let him think it was Derek's to make him a bit less disappointed."

She sniffles hard, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweater and tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. "Not intentionally, no. He might think Derek provided the sperm, but as far as my dad is aware, I'm completely on my own. His disappointment is solely in me. I don't want him to think I'm a slut who's running around sleeping with you… sorry, no offense."

I don't bother replying. What's the use? I already knew she didn't want people finding out about that night—she's made it clear from the beginning. So I turn the stereo dial, cranking classic country music, and neither of us speaks for a painful forty-five minutes.

"Can we please be a united front here today? I think the only thing worse than the sad looks I get when I'm alone in the waiting room would be the looks I'd get if we're fighting," she says, once we're finally out of the suffocating pickup and walking across an empty, sun-filled parking lot. The beautiful day, birds chirping, and the warm breeze are heckling my sour mood.

"I don't want to fight with you. I just want…" How do I say what I want without seeming pathetic? That I need some security here. I need to know she won't drop me the moment I'm not at her beck and call.

"What?"

"Nevermind. We won't fight. Let's go."

I follow Cass into the sunny, white waiting room, and we sit the closest we ever have. I suppose because it would seem weird if we left an empty chair between us. She smells like vanilla, and her knee keeps bumping into mine, sending warm flutters through my chest and sparks under my skin. The couple across from us is holding onto each other like their life depends on it, and my eyes jump between their hands and ours. Sharing an armrest, we're close enough I could loop my pinky around hers if I didn't think she'd deck me for it. God, I want to try—a broken nose might be worth it. If she has any of the same thoughts, her poker face is way better than mine. Staring forward, I shuffle in my seat, pretending to merely be getting comfortable. My hand brushes against hers, and she doesn't immediately recoil.

Win.

Taking a shot in the dark, I casually flex my hand so my fingers splay across hers—nothing more than regular old stretching happening here. When they relax, my pinky catches on hers and she pulls away, clasping her hands loosely in her lap.

Lose. Fuck.

So we sit in silence, and I cross my arms over my chest to keep from trying to touch her again.

When a nurse comes to bring Cass into the exam room, I'm suddenly very unsure what my role is. Do I stay here? Do I go? What if she needs to—I don't know—get undressed or something, and we have to awkwardly explain that I've had my fingers, tongue, and dick inside of her, but I haven't seen her naked.

Then she grabs hold of my arm and tugs me through the swinging grey door.

Not long after, a skinny, middle-aged doctor enters the tiny, sterile room without even bothering to glance at her, and busies himself typing and scrolling on his computer. "So, Cassidy, how have you been feeling?"

My eyes move from his giant, shiny forehead over to Cass, and I give her a look, letting her know she was right. He's a total dickhead.

She raises her eyebrows at me. "Pretty good, actually. Barely any nausea, not as fatigued."

"Good, good…"

For the next minute or so, there's nothing but the sound of the blood pressure cuff. Apparently, this guy has never heard of bedside manner.

"Well, your blood pressure is normal. Your endocrinologist is still handling your medications, correct?" Cass nods, and the doctor's fingers clack on the keyboard. "As you know, you lost some weight during the first trimester. But you're gaining it back quicker than I'd like to see, so be extra mindful of what you're eating from here on out, okay?"

There's an audible cracking, and I can't tell if the sound came from my knuckles or my molars. It's taking every ounce of energy not to hit this asshole. I thought it was common sense not to comment on a woman's weight ever, but when she's pregnant and finally just stopped throwing up multiple times a day? That's extra douchey. Yet Cass is shooting daggers in my direction, not his. And the fear of upsetting her keeps me cracking my knuckles over and over instead of doing what I want to do with them. Whatever the doctor and Cass talk about for the rest of the appointment sounds like TV static to me; tunnel vision has me staring at the blood pressure monitor and replaying Cassidy across from me on her couch.

Promise you won't. Yes, Cass, I promise.

My mouth is hot and stale. I could really use a dip of tobacco to calm the drumming in my skull, but I've been leaving my tin in the truck's glovebox anytime I'm with Cassidy. If a moment comes when I might get to kiss her again, I'm not risking her turning me away because of some tobacco in my lip.

Thank God it's not long before she's leading me out of the exam room. I don't even wait for the main office door to click shut before my mouth opens. "Not saying you aren't crazy anyway, but that doctor was a motherfucker."

"The worst." Her voice breaks, and it takes everything in me not to head back inside and have a few words with the doctor. If she starts crying, he's in for it.

"Hey, don't let him bother you. The guy's a prick."

A storm must've passed through while we were inside because massive puddles fill the parking lot and give off a wet soil smell. We walk side-by-side—taking long leaps over the biggest puddles and speed-walking through the open parking lot, crisp, damp air nipping at us.

"He's not totally wrong, though. I probably shouldn't be eating potatoes for every meal. Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I need to gain a hundred pounds," she says, hopping over a puddle. "Plus, I'm single and would like somebody out there to find me attractive when this is all over."

"Fuck that. You'll be a smokeshow no matter what." I open the passenger door of my truck for her, staring intently at her rear as she climbs in. She's been wearing leggings a lot lately, and the way they hug her ass makes my dick pulse with every glimpse. "We're getting French fries and milkshakes for the drive home, and you're eating it."

She laughs. "No need to lie to spare my feelings. But yeah… I need French fries. I've been getting them after every appointment, and baby knows the routine now. That's all I'll think about until I have some."

I'm recklessly tempted to tell her how hard my dick gets from just looking at her. That she's beautiful and cute and sexy as hell. That I seriously doubt her body changing because of my baby is going to do anything except turn me on more. But I can't say what I'm thinking, so I shut her door and take a deep breath of the humid air before climbing into the driver's seat.

As with every shared meal, I'm fully affected by the little moan of pleasure with her first taste. The muscles working in her throat when she swallows the strawberry milkshake send a rush of blood to the area below my belt.

"Did you know the baby's actually the size of a potato right now?" She holds up a French fry as she speaks.

"Very fitting for our little spud." I can't help but smile any time she's within twenty feet of me, but especially anytime we're talking about the baby.

"Little Spud. I like that." She rubs her stomach. "Are you spending Thanksgiving at the ranch?"

"Yeah, the girls tend to go all-out for any holiday, so I'm sure we'll have a huge feast. What about you?"

"Me and Dad. Same as always."

I roll my lips, trying on the sentence before saying it. "You could come to the ranch."

"That'll be an easy thing to explain to my dad, I'm sure," she says sarcastically.

She could just tell her dad about us. That's an option. But I'm not dumb enough to get into that fight twice in one day, so I zip my mouth shut and focus on the empty road ahead.

After some time, she blurts out, "Do you visit your parents or siblings for Christmas?"

I laugh under my breath, running a hand across the back of my neck. "Definitely not my parents. And my siblings are either equally fucked up or they have their own families. Nah, I usually spend it at the ranch… Just you and your dad for Christmas, too?"

"Yup. But then I'm going to go visit Blair for a couple days."

That's a name I haven't heard in a long time.

"Like… Denny's Blair? I didn't know you two were still friends."

"Denny's Blair?" She laughs. "Are we fifteen again? Jesus, they dated in high school, and you know better than I that Denny has long since moved on. But yeah, she's still my best friend. She lives in Vancouver, and I usually visit her every couple months. With being so sick, I haven't seen her since she visited her parents at the start of summer."

My stomach flip-flops, fingers tightening around the leather steering wheel. "You're driving to Vancouver in the dead of winter?"

"Yes, I am… Dad." She flashes a side-eye at me before shoving a fry in her mouth.

"Is she not coming here to see her parents for Christmas?"

"Oh, she is." She holds up a finger, finishing her mouthful before continuing. "She doesn't like sticking around here any longer than necessary, though. And we'll know the sex before then so I can do some shopping while I'm there. Shit, I guess we've never discussed that—do you want to find out or keep it a surprise?"

"There are two options, Cass. I'm not going to be surprised unless the baby's born with a tail or some shit."

She chucks a fry at me, bursting into a fit of laughter when I fumble trying to catch it and nearly veer the truck off the road.

"We can find out, if that's what you want." I lick the specks of loose salt from my bottom lip. "What do you usually do when you visit Blair?"

"Mmmm…" She thinks while sipping her milkshake. "We go out for dinner, shop, go to the bar. So all of that, but without the drinking. And she has some stupid idea about—never mind."

"What?" I watch her in my periphery and steal a French fry.

"Well, she thinks I need to have one last hurrah. Get with someone while I still ‘have a hot body.' Although you and I and Dr. Dickhead already know I'm well past that. Plus, I'll be undeniably pregnant by the time I visit her—far from hot."

There's a long pause while I try to keep my blood from boiling over, try not to slam on the fucking brakes and ravage her. For one, because she stupidly thinks she isn't hot. For two, because the thought of another man touching her makes me want to smash my knuckles against the truck dash.

"No. You're not doing that," I say through gritted teeth and around the hot fry lodged in my throat.

"I mean, I wasn't actually planning on it. But now that you're trying to act like my keeper, I'm reconsidering."

I hate the fucking smirk on her face. I'm undecided about whether I want to grab her long braid, wrap it around my fist like a rope, and face-fuck the snarkiness right out of her mouth. Or I could kiss her, doing a much better job than at the rodeo, and glide my hands over her body while I fill her head with compliments about how gorgeous she is.

"Absolutely fucking not. For as long as you're carrying our baby, you're not letting any strange men near you. If you're that damn horny, you come to me. Use me. Got it?"

Cass's eyebrows bunch together, and her lips part slightly like she's struggling to find words, so I cut her off. "Before you backhand me, I'm not trying to be your boyfriend. We've fucked without feelings before so, if you need an orgasm, I'll give it to you. No feelings. You don't have to like me to fuck me, and we both know it was great last time—even if you don't want to admit you love my cock. But some random dude's dick will not be inside of you while my baby still is."

"I'm not fucking anything other than my vibrator, but thanks for offering to take one for the team."

Now I'm going to have the image of her using a toy on herself permanently trapped in my brain. I've seen what she looks like when she makes herself come, so it comes to mind too easily. I keep my eyes trained on the road ahead, knowing I'll have an instant hard-on if I look at her. It's difficult enough to keep it from happening, anyway.

I wonder what kind of toy she has. Before I truly knew her, I would've thought maybe something cute and dainty. But after the night of the rodeo, I'm not sure. It could be a fucking Godzilla dick, for all I know. Either way, I really want to know what she's working with. Fuck, I'd love to watch it, but that's not an option. At least knowing what she's using would help my imagination when I'm in the shower tonight.

"Wow, that shut you up." She breaks the silence after God knows how long. How long have I been thinking about Cass riding a silicone dick? "Mention a toy and you get so insecure you can't function or what?"

"Nah, I've done some team roping, sweetheart. I have no problem working with a teammate. Sometimes you need a header and a heeler."

That shuts her up.

At ten p.m., I'm three shower-beers deep and fisting my cock when I work up the nerve to finally ask. Because I'm desperate to fucking know.

Red: What kind of vibrator is it?

Cass:Are you drunk?

Red: Just tell me.

Cass:Hard no.

Red: Are we talking clit, penetration, both?

Cass:You are the human form of a migraine.

Cass: I'm not telling you about my vibrator so you can jerk off thinking about it

Red: Please :(