A Cowboy's Duty

by Marin Thomas

“Yeah?”

  “Keep this to yourself.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Kramer headed to the bar and Cash followed.

  Gavin didn’t give himself time to think; he bolted for the door. Once outside, he cut across the parking lot, hopped into his truck and headed south. After he’d driven an hour he could no longer suppress his anxiety. He pulled off the road, turned on the flashers then left the truck and started walking.

  The longer he walked the lower the sky fell and the higher the ground raised, compressing him until each breath felt like he was sucking air through a straw.

  Damn his frickin’ intuition. If he’d ignored his sixth sense, he’d have been on the road to Chula Vista by now and been none the wiser about Dixie’s condition.

  Chapter Three

  Gavin pulled up to a pump at the Chevron station in Stagecoach. The sudden downpour he’d driven through ten miles back had left behind a rainbow in the sky, and the smell of steamy pavement and wet clay permeated the air. He filled the gas tank, then entered the convenience store.

  “Howdy.” A slim man with gray whiskers and a toothy smile greeted Gavin. “Passin’ through or visitin’?”

  “Passing through.” Gavin hoped. “I’m looking for the Cash place.”

  “Was good people...Ely and Ada Cash. Solid, Christian folk.” The old man shook his head, dislodging a hank of oiled hair from the top of his noggin. The strand fell across one eye. “A shame, you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Ely and Ada’s only child, Aimee, couldn’t keep her legs crossed long enough to find a decent man.”

  Gavin had heard the gossip on the circuit—that all six Cash brothers had different fathers. He sensed the old man didn’t get many customers each day and if he didn’t cut to the chase he’d be stuck listening to back-in-the-old-days stories. “There an address for the Cash property?”

  The clerk shook his head. “Go back through town and turn right on Route 10. ’Bout eight miles down the road you’ll run into the pecan farm.”

  “Any landmark I should look for?”

  “There’s a billboard advertisin’ Vera’s Lounge fer Gentlemen.” The geezer chuckled. “Vera ain’t runnin’ her bawdy house no more, but Peaches, the girl on the billboard, still gives private dances if yer interested.”

  Gavin wasn’t. “Thanks for the directions.” He made it to the door before the clerk’s voice stopped him. “Don’t know what business ya got with the brothers, but don’t cross ’em. They’ll bring ya down like a pack o’ wolves.”

  Although Gavin’s business was with Dixie not her brothers, the warning reminded him to watch his back. With each passing mile along Route 10, his confidence slipped. He’d had ample time to mull over the news that Dixie was pregnant. Like a scratched record, his mind replayed the morning-after minutes in the motel room. Dixie wouldn’t make eye contact when he’d apologized for letting things get out of hand. He’d guessed that she’d been embarrassed about their lovemaking—now he wasn’t sure.

  What if Dixie had been in a relationship with another man and they’d had a fight? Then she’d gone to Gavin’s motel room and when she woke the next morning, she realized she’d cheated on her partner. Guilty feelings would explain Dixie’s withdrawal and the fact that she’d never contacted him about her pregnancy—because her boyfriend was the father of her baby, not Gavin. He sure in hell hoped that was the case. In any event, he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew the truth.

  And if the baby’s yours...

  Gavin shoved the thought from his mind when he spotted the dilapidated billboard in the distance. The sun had faded the sign, but the outline of Peaches’s voluptuous curves remained visible. He turned onto a dirt road. Rows of pecan trees for as far as the eye could see escorted him through the property. After a quarter mile, a whitewashed farmhouse came into view. Dixie’s truck sat parked out front.

  The two-story home was in need of a little TLC. The black shutters could use a coat of paint. The front porch sagged at one end and a handful of spindles were missing from the railing. A swing hung at an odd angle from the overhang and a collection of empty flowerpots sat near the screen door.

  Gavin parked next to Dixie’s truck and turned off the ignition. He waited for a barking dog to announce his presence but the farm remained eerily quiet. A gray weathered barn with a tin roof sat across the drive. There was no sign of harvesting equipment and Gavin questioned whether the pecan farm was in production anymore. He climbed the porch steps but before he raised his fist to knock, a loud bang echoed through the air. Switching directions he walked to the barn where he found Dixie.

  The first sight of her sent an unwelcome spark of excitement through Gavin. There was nothing sexy about Dixie’s attire—jeans, a faded oversize Arizona Cardinals T-shirt and rubber gloves that went up to her elbows. She sifted through a large metal tray filled with river rock, then walked to the rear of the barn and dropped a handful of stones into a wooden cask mounted on a brick base. Next, she retrieved several bunches of straw, which she added to the barrel, and she scooped a small bucketful of ash from an old-fashioned potbelly stove with a chimney pipe that vented out the side of the barn.

  “What are you making?”

  A squawk erupted from her mouth. “Gavin.”

  His name floated toward him in a breathless whisper. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this off balance around a woman. Dixie wasn’t a flashy girl with showy attributes, but the aura of warmth that surrounded her attracted Gavin. Her average looks, compassionate blue eyes and long brown hair made him feel safe, encouraging him to let his guard down. The night he’d spent in the motel with her he’d almost forgotten he’d been a soldier. Forgotten where he’d been and what he’d seen.

  Forgotten he was broken inside.

  He motioned to the workbench crowded with scales, liquid-filled jugs, colored glass bottles that resembled jars from an ancient apothecary shop, potted herbs and tin molds. “Are you and your brothers running a meth lab out of your barn?”

  She didn’t laugh. “Nothing as exciting as drug-trafficking. I’m making soap.”

  Soap?

  Dixie dumped the remaining ash into the cask. “What are you doing here?” He gave her credit for not beating around the bush.

  “Verifying information I heard in a bar.”

  “Oh?”

  “Johnny told a friend you were pregnant.” He studied Dixie, searching for the slightest sign he’d hit upon the truth.

  Nonchalantly she returned to the workbench and sifted through tin molds. “I am.”

  Gavin held his breath, waiting for her to confirm he was the father. When she didn’t offer any details relief left him light-headed. He’d guessed right—she’d been involved with another man before she’d slept with Gavin. On the heels of relief came an unsettling feeling—disappointment. He was far from old-fashioned but he’d never pegged Dixie as the kind of woman who’d cheat on her man.

  For his own peace of mind, he wanted confirmation. “I’m not the father, am I?”

  A stare down ensued. Dixie balked first—rubbing her fingers over her eyes.

  Tears? “I didn’t know lady bull riders cried.” His attempt at humor failed miserably. Unaccustomed to dealing with female emotions Gavin gently tugged a lock of her hair, but Dixie kept her watery gaze averted.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Gavin tensed. “‘Sorry’ meaning...I am the father?”

  She nodded.

  The truth hit him like a fist in the gut. “We used a condom.”

  “I know,” she said, a disgusted note in her voice. “My brother gave me that condom when I was sixteen years old before I went on my first date.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  Gavin stifled a groan.

  �
��How was I supposed to know it wouldn’t be any good?” She peeled off her gloves and jabbed a finger at Gavin’s chest. “You’re the guy. You should have had protection in your wallet.”

  Accepting his share of the blame, he asked, “When did you plan to tell me?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Eventually when?”

  “When I was good and ready.”

  He doubted she’d have been good and ready anytime soon. Conflicting emotions raged inside him but beneath the chaos, he was pleased to learn Dixie wasn’t another Veronica.

  Dixie turned her back to Gavin and scooped more ash into the bucket. This was not how she’d imagined breaking the news to Gavin that he was about to become a father. She peeked at him beneath her lashes. He appeared to be taking the news well. Maybe a little too well—then again when an army man received bad news, he soldiered on.

  “What are you doing with the ash?” he asked when she dumped the contents of the bucket into the casket. He didn’t want to discuss the baby—fine by her.

  “I’m making lye for the soap.”

  “Isn’t lye a dangerous chemical?”

  “It is for those who don’t know what they’re doing.” Years ago a burn on her thigh from the caustic liquid had taught Dixie the importance of taking safety precautions when working with the liquid.

  “Will breathing that stuff hurt the baby?”

  Maybe the baby did matter to him. “I’m careful not to breathe any fumes.” The doors at both ends of the barn were open and two industrial-size fans circulated the air.

  “You shouldn’t make soap until after the baby’s born.”

  This is why she’d wanted to hold off telling Gavin about her pregnancy. She didn’t want him questioning her every move or believing he had a say in what she did or didn’t do. Besides, putting off marketing her soaps for nine months wasn’t an option. The company she’d contracted with to create her business website charged five-thousand dollars for their service—a thousand dollars less than the normal fee if she paid them in full by the end of November.

  After a lengthy silence, Gavin asked, “We need to discuss what happens next.”

  Dixie’s throat swelled with panic and she swallowed hard. She’d known from the get-go that Gavin was an honorable man and once he learned he’d fathered her baby he’d insist on doing his duty and marry her. She’d never admit as much, but making love with Gavin had been an incredible experience and she found the notion of waking up each morning in the same bed with him mighty appealing. She shook her head, clearing the X-rated vision from her mind.

  Although she respected Gavin for wanting to do right by his child, he was a soldier used to controlling situations and making split-second decisions in the heat of battle. He called the shots and expected his orders to be followed. There was only one problem—Dixie answered to no one.

  “Gavin—”

  “Dixie—”

  “You go first,” she said, bracing herself for a marriage proposal.

  “I’m not sure what the answer to our predicament is, but I do know that I’m not ready to marry and settle down.”

  Stunned by his confession, Dixie leaned against the workbench and stared unseeingly at the scattered supplies.

  “I want to do right by the baby, so I intend to help you financially.”

  Her face warmed with embarrassment. What an idiot she’d been to believe Gavin wanted to marry her. Shoving her bruised pride aside, she focused on the positive—he didn’t want to be involved in her or the baby’s life.

  “I don’t want to marry, either,” she said, wincing at the crack in her voice. Gavin’s expression softened and Dixie lifted her chin. If there was one thing she hated—it was people feeling sorry for her. She’d grown up subjected to sympathetic murmurs from teachers and neighbors who’d known about her mother’s loose morals.

  And look at you now...following in your mother’s footsteps by having a baby out of wedlock.

  No. Dixie refused to believe she was anything like her mother. When she’d slept with Gavin she’d had no intention of trapping him into marriage. If anything, her pregnancy made her more determined to become financially independent—the one goal her mother had never achieved.

  “Rest assured I’m not walking away from my responsibility to the baby,” he said.

  Of course not. Gavin was America’s hero—just not hers.

  “You can count on me to help with medical expenses.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I have health insurance.” She and her brothers were covered under the same policy. The income brought in by leasing the pecan groves paid the property taxes, monthly insurance premiums and expenses like utilities, food and the cell phone bill.

  “I’ll help buy whatever you need for the baby.” He nodded as if trying to convince himself of his sincerity. “Crib, high chair...diapers.”

  If Gavin took care of the baby supplies, Dixie could save the cash she earned from her soap sales in Yuma to pay the rest of what she owed for her website. Accepting help from Gavin would relieve some of the financial pressure, but she feared his contributions might lead him to believe he had a vote in how she raised their baby.

  Feeling the strain of pretending their discussion about the baby was everyday run-of-the-mill conversation, Dixie said, “If there’s nothing else you wanted...”

  He reached past her, his arm brushing her shoulder. The contact sent a zap of electricity through her body. Would a simple touch from Gavin always ignite a powerful reaction in her? He grabbed a Sharpie marker and scribbled a phone number on the bench.

  “Call me if you need anything.” He pulled out his cell phone, then asked, “What’s your number?”

  Dixie hesitated. She didn’t want Gavin checking up on her, but if she didn’t give him the number he’d ask one of her brothers. She recited the digits, warning, “I don’t always carry my phone with me.”

  His dark eyes drilled into her and Dixie got the uncomfortable feeling he could read her mind. “I’ll leave a message on your voice mail.”

  A sudden urge to weep overcame her—pregnancy hormones. She walked to the stove and stirred the ashes. Leave, Gavin. When a minute passed and he hadn’t spoken, she glanced over her shoulder. He was gone. On shaky legs she hurried to the barn door and caught the taillights of his truck.

  Dear God, how would she keep her attraction to Gavin from showing if he came and went as he pleased in her life?

  She glanced at his phone number, startled by the stack of twenty-dollar bills resting on the worktable.

  Gavin’s first child-support payment.

  * * *

  GAVIN MADE IT AS FAR AS the end of the drive on Dixie’s property before hitting the brakes. Three pickups pulled onto the one-lane dirt road. The Cash brothers had returned from the rodeo in Growler.

  Johnny drove the first truck and kept on coming, stopping inches from Gavin’s bumper. He made no move to back up, which meant Gavin had to back down. Keeping his gaze on the rearview mirror, he shifted into Reverse and pressed the gas pedal. Once he reached the farmhouse he shut off his truck. The Cash brothers circled their vehicles like a wagon train.

  Gavin’s senses were on high alert as he stepped from the truck. He and the brothers faced off. A sweat broke out across his brow. The cotton material beneath his armpits dampened and his blood pumped through his veins like a white-water rapid.

  “What’s going on?”

  Dixie’s voice penetrated Gavin’s military fog and the buzzing in his ears weakened as she marched across the yard, arms swinging.

  “What’s Tucker doing here?” Johnny asked.

  Gavin held his tongue, deferring to Dixie to inform her siblings that he’d fathered her baby.

  “He’s interested in my soaps,” she said.

  Did she really think
her brothers would buy the lie?

  Johnny moved closer, crowding Gavin’s personal space.

  One...two...three...

  “Since you drove all this way to check out my sister’s soaps, the least we can do is invite you to supper.”

  Four...five...

  Johnny stepped back and Gavin sucked in a deep breath, the lungful of oxygen easing his anxiety. He glanced at Dixie. Her eyes pleaded for him to leave. “I’ll stay.”

  “Willie, grab some beers.” Johnny nodded to the porch. “Take a load off, Tucker.”

  An hour later, Merle took the half-empty beer bottle from Gavin and handed him a fresh one. “For a soldier, you drink like a sissy,” he said.

  Gavin wasn’t going to be bullied into getting drunk so he’d spill his guts about his relationship—whatever it was—with their baby sister. He checked his watch—5:00 p.m. and no one had fired up the grill. He set aside his beer and stood. “I need to hit the road.” A beefy hand on his shoulder pushed him down on the porch step.

  “Dixie, when are the burgers gonna be ready for the grill?” Johnny called.

  The screen door smacked against the house and Dixie shoved a platter of raw meat at Johnny. “Quit yelling.” She whapped his chest with a spatula then retreated inside the house.

  Porter appeared with a sack of charcoal and dumped the entire bag into the belly of the large Weber grill. He then stuck his hand through a hole in the latticework covering the lower half of the porch and pulled out a large can of lighter fluid. After soaking the briquettes, he tossed a lighted match into the cooker. A fireball shot into the air.

  “Hey, Tucker,” Merle said. “Why’d you leave the army?”

  “After my buddy Nate Parker died I didn’t want anything to do with the military.” Following Nate’s death Gavin had been forced to attend several sessions with a shrink. He’d decided if there was any hope of putting his time in Afghanistan behind him he had to walk away from everything associated with the military.

  Johnny spoke. “Never knew you and Parker were friends.”

  “Parker’s story hit all the TV stations throughout the state,” Merle said. “It’d been a while since Arizona had lost one of its own.”