Never trust a man!

That’s what Dixie Cash learned from her mother. That and fathers don’t stick around. She’s pretty independent, and doesn’t need help from her baby’s daddy, sexy rodeo rider and ex-soldier Gavin Tucker. But he seems determined to do right by her. Just as Dixie starts to imagine that together they might be a family, tragedy strikes—and Gavin shows his true colors. She knew he wasn’t honorable!

After what Gavin went through in Afghanistan, he was more than happy to lose himself in the rodeo circuit—and in sweet Dixie’s arms. But doing the right thing can be hard sometimes, and when Dixie—Gavin’s lifeline—doesn’t need him anymore, he’s at a loss. His heart still longs for Dixie, though he’s not sure he deserves a second chance....

After a lengthy silence, Gavin said, “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 marrying her.

“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 life.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Stagecoach, Arizona! In A Cowboy’s Duty you’ll meet Dixie Cash and her six brothers—each named after a country-and-western singer. You’ll get a kick out of the crazy Cash brothers, but the cowboy who will steal your heart is Gavin Tucker. He’s a soldier cowboy—a special breed of man who’s paid a high price for defending his country.

Many soldiers return from war suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Gavin’s an adrenaline junkie—feeding his addiction by competing in rodeo. The high he gets from busting broncs gives him the strength to keep running from his past, and as long as the past never catches up to him Gavin is able to keep his PTSD under control. A chance encounter with a female bull rider named Dixie Cash threatens the status quo. When Dixie turns up pregnant, Gavin must face his past before he can seek the future he’d always believed to be out of reach for him.

Dixie and Gavin’s love story is about courage, trust and taking a leap of faith. I hope you enjoy accompanying them on their rocky road to Happy Ever After.

For more information about other books in my Rodeo Rebels series, please visit www.marinthomas.com and drop by my blog, All My Heroes Are Cowboys, www.marinthomas.blogspot.com, where I always have something to say about the guys who wear Wranglers and Stetsons.

Happy Ever After...The Cowboy Way!

Marin

A Cowboy’s Duty

Marin Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marin Thomas grew up in Janesville, Wisconsin. She left the Midwest to attend college in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a B.A. in radio-TV. Following graduation she married her college sweetheart in a five-minute ceremony at the historic Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Over the years she and her family have lived in seven different states, but they’ve now come full circle and returned to Arizona, where the rugged desert and breathtaking sunsets provide plenty of inspiration for Marin’s cowboy books.

To Lauren

When we first met, you were quiet and shy. It wasn’t until I got to know you better that I began to see a strong, determined and resourceful young woman. A woman who is not afraid to rely on herself or face the unknown without flinching. Hold fast to your dreams—

no matter how long they take to realize or what roads you must travel to achieve them. Believe in yourself, and there will be no limit to what you can achieve.

Things turn out best for the people who make the best out of the way things turn out.

—Art Linkletter

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Excerpt

Prologue

July

Boot Hill Rodeo, Boot Hill, Arizona

“Ready?”

“I’ll never be as ready as you are.” Dixie Cash grimaced at her friend Shannon Douglas—one of the top female bull riders in the country.

Shannon was forever on the lookout for a rough stock competition and when Five Star Rodeos had agreed to sponsor women’s bull riding in three summer events, Shannon had promised to find five women crazy enough to ride with her—Dixie being one of them.

“Here.” Shannon held out a bank draft.

“I feel bad taking your money.” Dixie shoved the check into the front pocket of her jeans.

“You’re worth every penny.”

When Shannon had mentioned the rodeos, Dixie had just been hired as a part-time receptionist for a construction company in Yuma. She’d wanted to help her friend but needed money to launch an internet business for her homemade organic bath soaps. Then Shannon had made Dixie an offer she couldn’t refuse—a thousand dollars per rodeo.

“Looks like Veronica Patriot has set her sights on Gavin Tucker.”

Dixie’s gaze followed Shannon’s pointer finger. Figures the blonde buckle bunny would target the handsome bareback rider. “If the cowboy knows what’s good for him he’ll avoid that tramp like the plague.” Dixie had run into Gavin—literally—at the Canyon City Rodeo in June when she’d tripped over his gear bag and knocked him to the ground.

“The bull’s more of a spinner than a bucker,” Shannon said. “Stay centered.” The tan Charbray stood docile in the chute, but once freed all hell would break loose.

“Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to gate two. Dixie Cash is about to tangle with Bad Mamajamma.” The crowd stomped their boots against the bleachers and whistles filled the air.

“If the Cash name sounds familiar it’s because Dixie’s got six older brothers who rodeo. Earlier today, Merle Cash took third in the saddle bronc competition.”

While Shannon and a rodeo helper fished the bull rope from beneath Bad Mamajamma, Dixie pulled on her riding gloves and adjusted her headgear with its protective mask.

Let’s get this over with. Dixie straddled the fifteen-hundred pound nuisance, found her grip then nodded to the gate man. The bull pounced for freedom, the first buck almost unseating Dixie. Anticipating a wild ride, she held her breath through the first of two tight spins, squeezing her thighs against the animal’s girth.

Bad Mamajamma decided he’d had enough of Dixie and kicked out with extra force. As if she’d been shot from a cannon, Dixie catapulted through the air. She hit the dirt hard, but instinctively curled her body into a ball and rolled away from the bull’s hooves. The bullfighter stepped in front of Bad Mamajamma, affording Dixie an extra second to gain her footing. She ran for the rails and scrambled to safety.

“Well, folks, Dixie Cash gave it her best effort.” The announcer discussed Shannon’s upcoming ride, but Dixie stopped listening when her boots landed in front of Gavin Tucker.

“Good try,” he said.

Try being the operative word. “Thanks.” Brilliant, Dixie. A cowboy with killer looks and nice manners goes out of his way to talk to you and you mumble “thanks”?

“How long have you been riding bulls?” Gavin asked.

“Started this summer.”

A dark eyebrow lifted. “Gutsy gal.”

More like crazy. For the life of her, Dixie couldn’t find her tongue. Turned out she didn’t have to. Veronica Patriot materialized out of nowhere and sashayed her way between Dixie and Gavin. She placed her French-manicured talons on Gavin’s chest and thrust her heaving bosom in his face. “Time to celebrate, cowboy.”

Dixie despised Veronica. The woman had done a number on her brother Porter—used him to make another cowboy jealous then left him high and dry with a broken heart.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans.” Gavin’s soulful brown eyes beseeched Dixie.

“What plans?” Veronica propped her hands on her hips.

Dixie had read her share of silent help me messages from her brothers. The look Gavin sent her begged her to rescue him from the clutches of the evil buckle bunny. What the heck.

“Gavin and I have a date,” Dixie said.

“Pardon?” Veronica frowned.

“That’s right.” Gavin inched closer to Dixie and the scent of dust and faded cologne went straight to her head. When he rested his arm across her shoulders a little shiver raced down her spine. Gavin couldn’t have been more than six feet tall, but her five foot six inches fit perfectly tucked against him.

Veronica’s gaze bounced between Gavin and Dixie. “What kind of date?”

“A boy-girl date.” Dixie smiled sweetly.

“Honey, a girl like you can’t handle a military man.”

Dixie had heard that Gavin Tucker had been stationed in Afghanistan before he’d left the army. “What do you think, Gavin? Can I handle you?”

He grinned.

Disgusted, Veronica snorted like a pig and stomped off.

“Thanks.” Gavin released Dixie and stepped back.

Wishing he still had his arm around her, she said, “No worries. Veronica can be a pest.”

“Are you celebrating later with your lady bull rider friends?”

“Probably.”

“I’m heading over to the Spittoon. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Maybe.”

Gavin walked off and Dixie couldn’t help but think he was exactly the kind of man she’d like to marry someday.

* * *

GAVIN STEPPED INSIDE the Spittoon, a bar on the outskirts of Boot Hill, and surveyed the crowd. The place was packed, noisy, and smelled like stale beer, dusty cowboys and easy women. And he hoped Dixie Cash was among the clientele—not that he thought she was a party girl. There was something about the petite, tomboyish cowgirl that drew him. She showed the same courage and spunk as the women he’d worked alongside in the army.

He made his way to the bar, ordered a beer, then found a dark corner away from the crush of bodies. Keeping his back to the wall he searched for the blue-eyed brown-haired girl-next-door. He spotted her at a table next to the dance floor engaged in conversation with her friends. As if she sensed his scrutiny, their eyes connected and Gavin felt the subtle stirrings of arousal.

A former soldier had no business being with a girl like Dixie—that fact in and of itself fed Gavin’s desire, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. If there was one thing he was addicted to, it was adrenaline. After six years of living on the edge…living with danger…he was drawn to taking risks. And Dixie Cash was definitely a risk.

“Well, well, well.”

Gavin jumped an inch off the floor. Damn. How the hell had Veronica Patriot snuck up on him? His temper flared but he counted to ten, as a therapist had once instructed him to do when he felt threatened.

“What happened to your boy-girl date?” The buckle bunny narrowed her eyes.

“Dixie’s—”

“Here.” Dixie sidled up to Gavin and slipped her arm through his. She stood close enough that her soft breast pressed against his biceps.

“You’re not his type.” Veronica sneered. “Besides, don’t girls like you have curfews?”

“She’s right, Gavin. We should leave. It’s past my bedtime.” Dixie batted her dark lashes and suddenly Gavin’s jeans felt a size too small.

Reminding himself that Dixie’s flirting was an act to help him out of a tight spot, he said, “Ready when you are.”

“Don’t you want a real woman, soldier?” Veronica thrust her bosom out, flaunting her attributes.

After a lengthy glare-down, Veronica stepped aside and Gavin led Dixie across the dance floor and out the door. It wasn’t until they were almost to his truck that he realized he still held her hand. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Veronica had followed them outside.

“She doesn’t give up easily, I’ll give her that,” Dixie said.

“How would you feel about leaving with me in my truck?”

“I don’t know. Can I trust you?”

“Sugar, if I harm one hair on your head, your brothers will hunt me down.”

“You’re right. I’ll go for a ride with you.”

Ten minutes later… “She’s still following us.” Gavin glanced between the road and the rearview mirror. Dixie’s stomach growled and he threw caution to the wind. “You up for Chinese takeout? We could eat at the motel. If Veronica sees us go into my room together maybe she’ll give up.”

“I don’t believe that woman knows the meaning of surrender, but I won’t turn down a free meal.”

Veronica trailed them to the restaurant and then the motel where she parked across the lot, facing Gavin’s room. Ignoring their stalker, he and Dixie sat on the king-size bed, ate chop suey and watched the old spaghetti Western, A Fistful of Dynamite.

Near the end of the movie, Gavin peeked out the window. Veronica’s Mustang was gone. The woman had finally left him alone. He checked his watch—half past one in the morning. Time to drive Dixie back to the Spittoon so she could be on her way home. “Coast is clear.” He turned from the window.

Dixie lay curled in a ball on the bed, her hands folded neatly beneath her cheek, her chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. In sleep, she appeared innocent and cuddly and he wanted to lose himself in all her sweet goodness. But Gavin didn’t dare crawl onto the bed with Dixie and risk falling asleep. He couldn’t take the chance he’d experience the recurring nightmare that had followed him home from Afghanistan. He lowered the volume on the TV and made himself comfortable in the chair. He’d gone many nights without a wink of sleep, but the longer he watched Dixie’s slumbering body the more exhausted he became.

The sun streaming through a gap in the curtains woke Gavin at the crack of dawn. He wasn’t sitting in the chair—he was lying on the bed. Sometime in the middle of the night he’d crawled under the covers. He rolled away from the light and came face-to-face with a wide-awake Dixie.

He held his breath, waiting for her to make the first move—she did. Her lips brushed his, then came back for more. One kiss turned into two…three…then clothes started flying off.

Chapter One

“Hello, Gavin.”

The saccharine voice raised a warning flag inside Gavin Tucker’s head. Bracing himself, he stepped away from the bucking chute at the Piney Gorge Rodeo and faced Veronica Patriot with a groan. “Veronica.”

The woman took buckle bunnying to a whole new level. She’d been pursuing Gavin since he’d joined the circuit back in May after he’d left the army. The middle of August had arrived and the blonde piranha showed no signs of tiring.

Gavin adjusted the spurs on his boots, hoping she’d take his silence as a hint and mosey along. At first, he’d found Veronica’s infatuation amusing. He’d become accustomed to pretty women fawning over him whenever he’d worn his military uniform and the same held true for his cowboy getup—Wranglers, boots and a Stetson.

Gavin’s ability to attract the opposite sex had come in handy during his furloughs from the army. One look at his combat boots and women had fallen into his bed willingly. He’d honed his survival skills on the battlefield and used them to pick ladies who wanted nothing from him but a good time and a goodbye. A sixth sense told him that Veronica had more on her mind than a quickie.

“You don’t appear all that happy to see your biggest fan.” She puckered her glossy lips.

A weaker man might tuck tail and run, but Gavin wasn’t easily intimidated. “I’m not interested in hooking up.” Ever.

“Did you and Dixie have a spat?”

Dixie Cash. The petite brunette hadn’t crossed Gavin’s mind since the morning he’d dropped her off in the parking lot of the Spittoon bar last month. He fought a smile as he recalled the first time he’d caught a glimpse of her—climbing onto a bull named Listless at the Canyon City Rodeo back in June. For an instant he’d seen in her a kindred spirit when Listless had thrown her. Dixie had limped from the arena with a smile on her pixie face as if she’d had the time of her life wrestling fifteen-hundred pounds of orneriness, then she’d stumbled over his gear bag and right into his arms. Her face had burned red and he’d thought her embarrassment oddly sweet.

“Dixie’s a friend.” Friend sounded better than one-night stand.

“I can be that kind of friend, too.” Veronica’s gaze dropped to Gavin’s crotch.

His face heated—not because of Veronica’s lewd stare. He’d made a mistake when he’d crossed the line with Dixie, yet he’d had no choice but to move on and put that night behind him.

Short of being mean, Gavin said, “Pick another cowboy. I’m not interested in what you’re offering.”

“When you tire of your little bull rider and decide you want a real woman, I’ll be waiting.”

One of Gavin’s competitors let out a wolf whistle as Veronica strutted off. “I wouldn’t complain if she followed me through the copper state.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Gavin mumbled. Now that he was rid of the annoying buckle bunny he checked the arena for Dixie. He recognized Shannon Douglas mingling behind the chutes with a few of the lady bull riders from the Boot Hill Rodeo, but Dixie was nowhere in sight. She’d probably viewed their one-night stand as a mistake, too, and wanted to avoid running into him.

Turning his thoughts inward, Gavin focused on his ride as he secured his protective vest. After wearing bulletproof gear as part of his military uniform, he felt comfortable in the constricting rodeo garment.

“Welcome to the Piney Gorge Rodeo and Livestock Show!” A thunderous din reverberated through the small outdoor arena. Gavin loved rodeo fans. The men and women were die-hard loyalists to the sport much the way soldiers were dedicated to their units.

“Up next this fine Saturday afternoon is bareback riding! Bareback horses are leaner and quicker than those used for saddle bronc riding and the cowboys sure do take a beating in this event.” The announcer paused.

A commotion in the cowboy ready area caught Gavin’s attention. The Cash brothers had arrived. Dixie had mentioned that her mother had named her siblings after country-western singers. Right then Johnny, the eldest Cash brother, spotted Gavin. The speculative gleam in the man’s eyes unnerved him. Had Dixie told Johnny she’d spent the night with Gavin in his motel room?

He and Dixie hadn’t made a big deal over sleeping together. He’d enjoyed—make that had really enjoyed—making love to Dixie, but the country girl wasn’t his usual type. The things he’d seen and experienced during his years in the military would only contaminate a young woman as pure as Dixie.

Johnny broke eye contact first, and Gavin shook his head to clear his thoughts. Today he intended to make it to eight. Luck hadn’t been with him this summer—the highest he’d placed was fourth. If he didn’t get his rodeo act together and pull off a few wins, he’d eat through his savings in no time flat and be forced to find a civilian job. Having to quit the circuit before he was ready was all the motivation Gavin needed to climb onto another wild bronc.

“Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to chute number three. Gavin Tucker from Phoenix, Arizona, is about to tangle with Cisco Kid, a bronc known for throwin’ cowboys on their heads. Let’s see if Tucker can best Cisco Kid.”

Gavin blocked out the arena noise as he fussed with his rigging—a heavy piece of leather with a suitcaselike handle attached to it. He flexed his gloved fingers until his grip felt comfortable. A deep breath later, he nodded and Cisco Kid bolted from the chute. Gavin marked out, ignoring the jolting pain shooting through his shoulder caused by the gelding’s powerful bucks and lightning speed.

The racket inside Gavin’s head quieted as the thrill of the physical torture the horse inflicted rushed through his body. Cisco Kid made a final attempt to spin but Gavin spurred harder and the bronc gave up. Feeling a victory at hand, he relaxed his guard too soon and Cisco Kid tossed him on his arse. Gavin missed the buzzer by one second. Back in the cowboy ready area he gathered his gear. This time he spotted Veronica before she startled him.

“Change your mind about me?” She’d brought a friend along—a redhead with glittery eye shadow. “Candi’s up for a little fun,” Veronica said.

A threesome? No thanks. Even in his wildest days, Gavin had never gotten into the kinky stuff. Call him old-fashioned, but one woman at a time was plenty. “Sorry, Veronica—” he swung his gaze to glitter girl “—and Candi. Gotta hit the road.” A ride in Wickenburg awaited him.

Candi popped a pink bubble with her chewing gum. “Maybe next time?”

Not a chance. He touched a finger to the brim of his hat then grabbed his bag and left the arena. The sooner he put a few miles between him and those two the better.

An hour down the road, Gavin noticed a billboard advertising Millie’s World Famous Hotcakes. He took the exit ramp and pulled into a parking lot crowded with eighteen-wheelers. Gavin found an empty stool at the end of the lunch counter. He rested his hat on his knee and flipped over the white mug in front of him.

A gray-haired waitress named Peggy strolled by with a coffeepot and filled the cup. “Didn’t make it to eight?” She offered a sympathetic smile.

“Not today.” Not in a long while.

“You ain’t alone, handsome.” Peggy nodded to a table where three cowboys sat, one with an ice pack strapped to his shoulder. “Special’s barbecue ribs and corn bread.”

“That’ll do.” While he waited for his meal he mulled over his schedule. The Wickenburg rodeo had a decent purse. If he made the final go-round he’d be guaranteed a share of the prize money. If he lost…he’d head down the road.

A self-admitted rodeo junkie, Gavin got high on the buzz and danger of riding bucking stock. Feeding his adrenaline addiction was his number one priority because it fueled his strength—strength he needed to run from the demons that had followed him home from war.

* * *

“HOW WAS THE RODEO?” Dixie asked her brother Johnny when he walked into the kitchen of their grandparents’ farmhouse early Saturday evening. She was dying for news about a particular bareback rider, but as soon as her brothers had returned from the Piney Gorge Rodeo they’d gone to their bedrooms to nap.

“Merle made it to the final round before getting thrown.” Johnny grabbed a beer from the fridge, then sat at the kitchen table. “Shannon said she hopes your ankle feels better soon.”

Dixie’s cheeks warmed. She’d discovered she was pregnant two weeks after the Boot Hill Rodeo in July. She’d hated to disappoint Shannon and give up the third thousand-dollar payoff, but she hadn’t dared risk the baby’s health. She’d told Shannon and the other women about her pregnancy but had asked that they keep it a secret and to tell anyone who inquired after her whereabouts that she’d sprained her ankle—the excuse she’d given her brothers when she’d told them she wasn’t competing today.

“Anything else exciting happen at the rodeo?” she asked.

“Depends on what you consider exciting.”

“I suppose Veronica Patriot was there.” Dixie fussed with the dishes in the sink while contemplating her dilemma—how to glean information about a certain cowboy without drawing her brother’s suspicion.

“Veronica’s hot on Gavin Tucker’s tail.” Johnny chuckled. “He got thrown in the first round then split.”

“Did Veronica leave the rodeo with Gavin?” Drat, the question slipped from her mouth.

“Why do you care if Tucker went off with Veronica?”

“I don’t.” After Dixie had spent the night in Gavin’s motel room she’d returned to the farm the following morning and confessed she’d stayed at a friend’s house because she’d had too much to drink at the Spittoon.

Johnny tossed his empty beer bottle into the garbage and made a beeline for the back door.

“Hey, you promised to fix the shelf in the barn cellar.”

“Conway said he’d take a look at it.”

Conway Twitty was the fifth born Cash son. All six of her brothers had different fathers. Only Dixie and Johnny shared the same daddy. Her mother had come full circle in her quest for the perfect man and had reunited with her first love, Charlie Smith, only to become pregnant with Dixie. Aimee Cash had never married any of the men she’d slept with, so Dixie and her brothers had taken her surname—Cash.

Dixie and Johnny had the same dark brown hair and blue eyes, which they’d inherited from Charlie. Their brothers had brown eyes and various shades of blondish-brown hair like their mother. “Conway’s preoccupied,” Dixie said.

“Is he still pouting because Sara broke up with him?”

“I think so.” Conway was the handsomest of her brothers and women fawned all over him, which derailed his love life on a regular basis. Each time he found the one, another woman would happen along and tempt him to cheat. Then when the one caught him two-timing, she’d send Conway packing and her brother would mope like a coon dog left home on hunt day.

“I’ll look at the shelf before I leave tonight,” Johnny said.

“You and Charlene have big plans?” Charlene was Johnny’s longtime girlfriend. They’d been together six years and Johnny had yet to propose.

“We’re going to the movies then back to her place afterward.”

None of her brothers brought their significant others to the farm. Paper-thin walls and shared bedrooms prevented any privacy, not to mention having only one bathroom in the house.

“What about you?” Johnny winked. “Got a hot date?”

Right then Dixie’s stomach seized and she bolted from the kitchen. She took the stairs two at a time then skidded to a stop in front of the bathroom door. One hand clamped over her mouth and the other pounding the door, she fought the urge to vomit.

“Go away! I’m reading,” Porter Wagoner shouted.

Ignoring the bedroom doors creaking open behind her and Johnny’s shadow darkening the top of the stairs, Dixie banged her fist harder. Blast you, Porter. She spun, intent on dashing outside, but Johnny blocked her escape.

Oh, well. Dixie threw up on his boots.

“Eew!” Willie Nelson chuckled.

“I’ll fetch the mop.” Merle Haggard leaped over the contents of Dixie’s stomach and hurried to the kitchen.

“Sorry.” Dixie wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

“What’s all the commotion?” Porter emerged from the bathroom, his eyes widening at the mess covering Johnny’s boots.

“Have you been drinking Grandpa’s pecan whiskey, sis?” Conway asked.

She ignored her brother’s sarcastic joke.

“I see your ankle sprain has miraculously healed.” Johnny’s gaze drilled Dixie.

“You think it’s food poisoning?” Buck Owens asked in his usual quiet voice.

“No. I drank too much coffee today and skipped supper.” Growing up the youngest in the pack she’d learned from her brothers how to talk her way out of trouble.

Johnny pointed to the floor. “If all you’ve had to drink is coffee, what are those white chunks on my boots?”

Merle saved her from having to answer. “Here’s the mop,” he said, shoving the handle at Dixie.

Her stomach lurched and she tossed the mop back at her brother and fled to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Dixie offered up the remainder of her lunch to the porcelain god, then once her stomach settled, she sank to the floor between the toilet and the pedestal sink, too exhausted to face her brothers.

At only five weeks pregnant the morning sickness was hitting her hard. Amazing that her mother had gone through this so many times—by choice. Dixie holed up in the bathroom until the uproar in the hallway faded. Until Buck quit asking if she was okay. Until the shadows of her brothers’ boots disappeared from beneath the door. Then she brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash. When she emerged from the bathroom, the hallway was empty save for Johnny sitting at the top of the stairs.

Through thick and thin her eldest brother had always been there for her. Dixie sank down next to him on the step. “I’m twenty-three, Johnny. A grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

The hurt look in his eyes cut through her. She hated disappointing him and knew the last thing he wanted was for her to follow in their mother’s footsteps.

“Are you pregnant?” he asked.

“Yes.” She’d hoped to keep the secret a while longer—until she decided when and how to tell Gavin.

“Who’s the father?” he asked.

“I’m not ready to say.”

Johnny gaped. “The guy’s got a right to know he’s fathered a child.”

“I’ll tell him.” Eventually. When she was certain she could hold her ground with Gavin. Dixie had plans for the future and wouldn’t allow anyone—including the baby’s father—to interfere with them.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth this morning when I asked why you weren’t going with us to the rodeo?”

“’Cause I knew you’d be mad.”

Johnny shoved a hand through his hair, leaving the ends sticking up. “I taught you about birth control.”

“We used a condom,” she said.

“Not the one I made you put in your purse when you were sixteen, I hope.”

She dropped her gaze.

“What the heck, Dixie! That condom was seven years old.”

“I know. I know. What does it matter now?”

“Do you plan to keep the baby or do I need to drive you into Yuma to one of those women’s clinics?”

“I’m going to keep the baby.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay then.” Johnny stood. “You’ve got one week to tell me who the father is or I’ll make a big stink.”

“You better not tell anyone I’m pregnant.”

“One week, sis. I’m not letting this guy shirk his responsibility to you and the baby.” As soon as the front door shut behind Johnny, various bedroom doors opened.

“Quit spying!” she shouted, then fled to the barn—her private sanctuary.

Chapter Two

“I’m heading into Yuma. Anyone want to come along?” Dixie asked as she waltzed into the kitchen Wednesday afternoon. Three of her brothers—the unemployed ones—played poker.

“I’ll see your five Lemonheads and raise you two.” Conway pushed the candy to the center of the table.

“Stupid move, bro,” Porter said.

“I’ll see your two, little brother, and raise you five.” Buck grinned.

“Hey, did anyone hear my question?”

Three heads swiveled in Dixie’s direction and her brothers spoke in unison. “What?”

“I’ve got an appointment with the owner of Susie’s Souvenirs in Yuma. Who wants to go with me?”

Conway gaped as if she’d left her brain upstairs in the bedroom. “We’re in the middle of a poker game.”

“Well, excuse me for interrupting.” She grabbed her purse from the counter and stepped onto the wash porch.

“Man, she’s touchy,” Conway said.

“I heard that!” The smack of the screen door punctuated Dixie’s shout.

Halfway to the truck Porter’s voice rang out.

“Hey, Dix, wait for me!”

“If you’re coming along to pry the name of the baby’s father out of me, you might as well stay here,” she said when he skidded to stop in front of her.

Porter’s smile flipped upside down. “How’d you know?”

Dixie hopped into her 1982 red Ford truck, then cranked the engine and turned on the air conditioner. As soon as her brother shut the passenger-side door, she shifted into Reverse and backed away from the barn. Porter wasn’t the brightest member of the Cash clan but Dixie had a soft spot for the brother closest to her age. “They sent you to do their dirty work because you’re the youngest—”

“No, you’re the baby of the family.” He shook his head. “A baby having a baby. That doesn’t sound good when you say it out loud.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror. Buck and Conway stood on the porch arms crossed over their chests, faces sober.

“I’m not saying who the father is, so you might as well finish your poker game.” She stopped the truck.

Porter checked the side mirror. “Nah. I’ll go with you.”

Chicken.

At the end of the dirt drive, Dixie turned onto the county road and drove west. The trip into Yuma took less than a half hour once they reached the interstate. “You could look for a job while we’re in town.”

“No one’s hiring.”

Porter was lazy. She supposed he didn’t know any better. His engaging smile and puppy-dog eyes made people want to take care of him and Porter never snubbed a helping hand. “Wouldn’t hurt to fill out an application,” she said.

“Drop me off at the bowling alley. I’ll ask if they’re hiring.”

And if they weren’t, Porter would bowl a few games. When her brother wouldn’t stop fidgeting, she asked, “What’s the matter with you?”

“How come you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

His mouth sagged. “You mean, you just…you know…”

“Yes, Porter. I had sex.”

“But you’ve never dated anyone, except for that guy in the high-school band.”

“Rick McKee? He wasn’t my boyfriend.” But Rick had taken her virginity in the backseat of his car the night of the junior prom—an unremarkable experience.

“You’re not supposed to have sex with a guy if he’s not your boyfriend.”

“I bet you’ve had sex with a girl and you never saw the girl afterward.”

“It’s different for guys.”

“You’re such a chauvinist.”

“Jeez, are all pregnant women as crabby as you?”

“Sorry.” Dixie had kept her emotions bottled up inside her since she’d discovered she was pregnant. If only her grandmother were alive to help her navigate this uncertain time. “I’m scared, Porter.”

He turned down the radio. “Scared of what?”

“Of losing my dream.”

“What dream?”

“Never mind.” She rarely shared her plans for the future with her brothers—mostly because they wouldn’t understand. Dixie’s dream was really her grandmother’s dream. When Ada Cash passed away, Dixie had stood before her open casket and vowed to find a way to make her grandmother’s family soap recipes famous.

“I used to have a dream,” Porter said.

“What was it?”

“I wanted to be a monster truck driver.”

Dixie’s dream had a better chance of becoming a reality than her brother’s.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” he said.

But dreams did matter. Grandma Ada had wanted to sell her soaps to Colgate but Grandpa Ely had insisted she was “plum off her rocker” if she believed a big corporation would buy a few fancy bars of soap from a nobody. Dixie was determined that even in death her grandmother would not remain a nobody.

“Why monster truck driving?” she asked.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.” None of her brothers had been able to get her to confess the name of her baby’s father and all of them had given it their best shot.

“Remember back in March when I drove up to Phoenix?”

“You said you were helping a friend move into an apartment.”

“I lied.” Porter lowered his voice. “I went to the Phoenix Monster Truck Rally.”

“Why do we have to keep it a secret?”

“Because I did something stupid.”

Dixie couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to accompany Gavin Tucker to his motel room. If Veronica hadn’t hounded the handsome cowboy, Gavin would have never given Dixie the time of day.

She’d had no intention of sleeping with Gavin, but when she’d awoken the following morning to find herself staring him in the eye she hadn’t had the power to resist kissing him. When she’d pressed her mouth to his, he’d returned the kiss and the rest had been the stuff of her fantasies.

Porter remained silent, so Dixie prodded him. “Don’t leave me hanging. What stupid thing did you do?”

“I wanted to impress a girl I’d met so I told her I was a mechanic for Bob Patton’s monster trucks. She asked me why I was in the stands and not with the crew.”

“So you snuck your way into the pit area,” Dixie said.

“Yeah. Everything was cool until one of the mechanics handed me a wrench and told me to tighten a screw or bolt—I can’t remember which—on one of the trucks. I stood there like a dope.”

Dixie winced. “What did they do when they figured out you were an imposter?”

“They flung mud balls at me. The TV cameras were playing the video on the JumboTron. The announcer told the fans that this is what happens to boys when they pretend to be monster truck drivers.”

Ouch. Wanting to lighten the mood, Dixie changed the subject. “What’s everyone doing this weekend?”

“Conway said he’s driving to Tucson to visit an ex-girlfriend and Buck and Willie might go with him. Me, Merle and Johnny are heading up to the Growler Stampede.”

Dixie wondered if Gavin would be at the stampede. Didn’t matter. She’d track him down once she decided how she’d support herself and the baby, while at the same time launch her internet business. She wasn’t afraid to tell Gavin he was going to be a father, but she worried what role he’d insist on playing in their baby’s life and the possibility that he’d interfere with her entrepreneurial plans.

If Gavin had been a normal cowboy, she’d take for granted he’d try to do right by her. He’d try to send her money for the baby. He’d try to visit between rodeos. Cowboys tried at everything but usually came up short—at least the ones she’d lived with all her life. Gavin was a different breed—a soldier cowboy. She had no experience with soldiers, but she didn’t need a high IQ to understand that to be successful in the military a soldier had to be dependable, courageous, loyal and unselfish. The unselfish trait worried Dixie—she didn’t want or expect Gavin to change his future plans for her or the baby.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Porter asked.

“I was thinking about how to convince Susie to increase her inventory of my soaps.” Another fib. They sure slid off her tongue easily these days.

“Don’t know why you’re gung ho on selling soap.” Porter pointed to her stomach. “When you marry the father, you won’t have time to make soap.”

Not if Dixie could help it. She tried to summon a smidgeon of anger toward Gavin. For what—being handsome? Charming? Behaving like a gentleman? Shoot, he hadn’t forced her to get into his truck and drive off with him. No one had put a gun to her head and insisted she shuck her clothes at the Shady Rest Motel. She was the sole proprietor of the mess she was in.

Regardless, she wanted nothing to do with marrying a martyr. The fact that Gavin had apologized profusely after they’d made love was proof he’d regretted the act. Why suffer through the pomp and circumstance of a wedding ceremony when a few months down the road they’d end up divorced—a divorce she’d have to file for because Gavin was too principled to initiate the split.

“Look out!”

Dixie slammed on the brakes. If not for Porter’s warning she’d have blown through the four-way stop on the outskirts of Yuma.

“Didn’t realize being pregnant impaired a woman’s driving.”

“Ha. Ha.” Dixie drove six more miles, then swung into the Desert Lanes Bowling Alley. “I’ll text you when I leave Susie’s,” she said.

“Take your time.” Porter nodded to a bright yellow Mustang parked near the entrance. “Hailey’s working. She lets me bowl for free.”

If only Dixie had her brother’s charisma she might have talked the online marketing company into setting up her business website for free. When she reached Yuma’s historic Main Street, she parked in the lot behind Susie’s Souvenirs.

“Susie? It’s Dixie,” she hollered, stepping into the shop.

“Be right down!” Sandals clacked against the stairs that led to an apartment above the store. Susie greeted Dixie with a smile. “You look good.”

“I do?”

The older woman moved closer and studied Dixie’s face. “Your skin is glowing.” Susie dropped her gaze to the wicker basket in Dixie’s hand. “Which one made your complexion so radiant?”

She’d used the same olive soap this morning that she’d washed with the past three years and until today no one had ever used the word radiant to describe her.

It’s because you’re pregnant.

Dixie set the basket on the counter and selected the organic peppermint soap. “This is what I’m using.” She held the bar beneath Susie’s nose.

“That smells amazing. What’s in it?”

“Sunflower, palm, coconut and peppermint oils.” Along with wheat and barley grass, alfalfa, parsley and grapefruit-seed extract. “I also brought along a Christmas soap I’m experimenting with.” Dixie handed Susie a star-shaped bar.

“How pretty. I love the threads of red and green that run through the soap.” She sniffed. “Pine boughs, fresh fruit and spices. Very nice.”

“I was hoping you’d consider using a display instead of leaving the soaps next to the register.”

“I won’t know if I have room for a stand until I finish stocking the Christmas merchandise,” Susie hedged.

Dixie’s soaps were available in other stores along Main Street, but Susie’s Souvenirs was the most popular tourist shop in Yuma and Dixie made more money here than the other places combined. “Can you find room if I pay you a fifteen-percent commission instead of the usual ten?”

“What else did you bring?” Susie peered inside the basket.

“Eucalyptus and spearmint.” Dixie lined up the soaps on the counter. “Lemongrass. Desert Sage. Oats and Spices.” Each bar was a unique shape wrapped in colored tissue paper and a frilly ribbon with a hand-stamped label—Dixie’s Desert Delights, Inc. $6.99.

“I’ll find room for a display.”

“Thanks, Susie. I put extra business cards at the bottom of the basket.”

“I’ll give you a jingle when inventory gets low.”

Dixie could only hope she’d sell all forty bars before Christmas.

* * *

WHERE THE HELL WAS HE?

Gavin stood in the dark shivering. He knew he was in the desert, because coarse grains of sand pricked his feet. But where in the desert? And what had happened to his weapons? He wore nothing but his sweat-soaked fatigues. The booming sound of a rocket-propelled grenade sent him running, his lungs burning with each gasp of air.

The target exploded in the distance and streaks of bright light lit up the night sky.

Nate! Nate, where are you?

Gavin glanced over his shoulder and a second explosion illuminated the darkness. In that instant of clarity Gavin spotted Nate a hundred yards behind him.

Run, Nate! Catch up!

Something wasn’t right—Nate wasn’t moving. Gavin turned back, determined to reach his friend, but with each step, his feet sank deeper into the ground as if the desert had turned into an ocean of quicksand.

Nate reached out his hand for help and time passed at a crawl as Gavin pressed forward, muscles burning, sweat stinging his eyes. Fifty yards from Nate another explosion rent the air and suddenly half of Nate disappeared. Gavin stared in horror. Where were Nate’s legs?

A thud hit the ground by Gavin’s combat boot. He looked down. Half buried in the sand was Nate’s leg.

Gavin woke with a start and bolted from the motel bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, ran the cold tap and splashed his face, choking on the water that hit the back of his throat.

Damn it.

He lowered the toilet cover and sat with his head in his hands. He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in weeks. Why now?

Maybe he was pushing himself too hard.

Or maybe you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.

Whatever the reasons behind his recurring nightmares, as long as Gavin ignored them they’d eventually go away.

* * *

“ANOTHER TOUGH NIGHT for Gavin Tucker,” the announcer said at the Growler Stampede Rodeo in Growler, Arizona.

Gavin picked himself up and dusted off his jeans, then waved his hat at the crowd as he jogged out of the arena. Dumb bronc. Thunder Rolls had tossed him on his head as soon as he’d cleared the gate. Ignoring the twinge in his wrist, Gavin stuffed his gloves into his gear bag.

“Better luck next time, soldier.” Mitch Farley, a Colorado rancher approached.

Gavin shook hands with the retired marine. Mitch’s son had been stationed with Gavin in Afghanistan. “How’s Scott? Still overseas?”

“Yep. He’s coming home for Christmas.” Left unsaid…if he doesn’t get killed first.

“What are you doing in Arizona?” Gavin asked.

“Drove down with a neighbor to watch his nephew compete in bull riding.” Mitch cleared his throat. “What made you decide not to reenlist?” The older man had spent twenty-five years in the military before taking over the reins of his family’s cattle ranch.

Gavin didn’t mind discussing his military career with fellow servicemen and women, but he didn’t care to share the information with his rodeo competitors. He grabbed his gear and motioned for Mitch to walk with him. “After Nate got killed nothing was the same over there.” Nate had been Gavin’s best friend. They’d gone to high school together and had joined the army on a whim.

“Is it true one of the villagers you were helping planted the roadside bomb?”

“Yeah.” After that day, the goodwill Gavin possessed toward the Afghan people had died a quick death. Gavin thought of the sacrifices he and Nate had made while living in the hostile region. And for what? Nate had given his life and Gavin couldn’t shake the dreams that had followed him home.

“You did good work in Afghanistan, son.” Mitch clasped Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t let one idiot take that away from you.”

“After Nate died—” Gavin shrugged off Mitch’s touch. The last thing he wanted was pity “—I knew I wasn’t going to be any use to the army, so I checked out.”

“What about a military position stateside?”

Staying in one place wasn’t an option. Keeping on the move was the only way Gavin felt as if he could breathe. “I wanted a change.”

Mitch chuckled. “Getting your ass kicked by a wild bronc sure is a change.”

“It’ll come back to me.” Gavin and Nate had competed in rodeos throughout high school and during their military leaves, but admittedly Gavin was rusty and needed a heck of a lot more practice before he’d become competitive.

“You can’t rodeo forever. You got a plan B if you end up injured?”

“Not really.”

“When you get ready to call one place home, come see me. I could always use a good ranch hand.”

The word home generated an uncomfortable feeling in Gavin. Settling down was the last thing on his mind. “Nice to know there’s a place to hang my hat if I need one.”

“Take care.” Mitch walked off.

Now what? The next rodeo on Gavin’s schedule was in Chula Vista, California—a week from today. He should hit the road but a sixth sense warned him not to be in a rush to leave the Grand Canyon State. His years in the military had taught Gavin to never ignore his instincts.

He chalked up the doom-and-gloom thought to his recent nightmare. He sure in hell didn’t want a repeat of that terrifying hallucination. Maybe a drink would settle his nerves and numb his brain while he listened to eight-second stories. The one thing he missed about the army was the camaraderie of fellow soldiers.

“Hey, Waters.” Gavin called across the parking lot. “Where’s everyone hanging out after the rodeo?”

The calf roper tossed his gear into the back of his pickup. “Mickey’s. A few miles east of here.”

“Thanks.” Gavin got in his truck and checked his cell phone for messages. None. A short time later he parked at Mickey’s. Standard cowboy bar—a dump, save for the fancy red door. Neon beer signs brightened the windows, reminding Gavin that he was hungry and thirsty.

The smell of sweat, spilled beer and cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils inside. A thirty-foot bar sans stools stretched along one wall behind which a pair of bald, tattooed bartenders filled drink orders. The rest of the place was crowded with mismatched tables and chairs.

A country-western song wailed from the jukebox as Gavin zigzagged through the maze of rowdy cowboys. “Bud Light.” He tossed a five-dollar bill on the bar.

“You win or lose today?” asked the barkeep with a snake tattoo slithering up his neck.

“Lost.”

“Tough draw?”

“Not really.” He took his beer and strolled through the crowd listening to a country ballad of love gone wrong. Why the lyrics made him think of Dixie he had no idea. He’d regretted making love to her, even though it had been a long time since he’d been intimate with a woman. If only the taste of her bold kiss hadn’t drowned out the warning voice in his head.

He’d had a hunch he was the first cowboy she’d ever had a one-night stand with. Thank God she’d had a condom in her purse, because Gavin’s protection had been out in the glove compartment of his truck.

He moseyed over to a table near the dartboard where a pair of inebriated cowboys tried to hit the target.

“Hey, Kramer!”

Gavin’s senses went on high alert when he recognized the gravelly voice—Johnny Cash. He tuned his ears to the conversation behind him.

“You see my ride?” Cash asked Kramer.

“Yep. Too bad you didn’t win.”

“Sanders drew a better bronc,” Cash said. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“You were at the Boot Hill Rodeo this past July, weren’t you?”

“I bit the dirt on Short Fuse.” Kramer chuckled. “Your sister rode a bull in that rodeo, didn’t she?”

Gavin tensed.

“Speaking of my sister,” Cash said. “Were you at the Spittoon that night after the rodeo?”

“Sure was.”

“You happen to see who my sister left the bar with?”

“If I did, I can’t remember.” Then Kramer asked, “Wasn’t Dixie supposed to ride in Piney Gorge this month?”

“Yeah. She withdrew.”

“Your sister plan to do any more bull ridin’ in the future?”

“Not for nine months.”

The blood drained from Gavin’s head and pooled in his stomach, making him nauseous.

Kramer lowered his voice. “You sayin’ some guy knocked her up after the rodeo?”

“Yep, that’s what I’m saying. I’d like to find the jerk and wring his neck.”

“If I hear any rumors, I’ll be in touch,” Kramer said.

“Thanks. And, Kramer?”

“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.”

“We were up in Flagstaff at a rodeo the weekend the news broke,” Johnny said. “There was a moment of silence for Parker.”

“Nate would have appreciated that.”

“You should have stuck to soldiering, Tucker.” Willie snickered. “You suck at bareback riding.”

“Rodeo suits me fine.”

“I’m sorry about Parker,” Buck chimed in.

Gavin missed the good old days when he and Nate had traveled the circuit together. As the only child of a single mother, Gavin thought of his army buddy as a brother. “Nate was a damned good soldier. He didn’t deserve to die.” Didn’t deserve to have his body blown into pieces.

Merle went inside, then returned a minute later with a guitar. He played “Song for the Dead” by Randy Newman—a tribute to a fallen solider. Merle’s baritone voice was easy on the ears and Gavin’s thoughts drifted to the good times he’d shared with his childhood friend. When the song ended, he said, “That was nice. Thanks.”

Johnny motioned for Gavin to follow him to the cooker. “What’s going on between you and my sister?”

Gavin suspected the eldest Cash brother believed he’d fathered his sister’s baby. “We’re just…friends.”

The look in Johnny’s eyes called Gavin a liar. “Where’s your home these days?”

“Nowhere in particular. I’m not itching to put down roots.”

“We all—” Johnny nodded to his brothers on the porch “—grew up hearing people call our mother a tramp, a slut and a gold digger.”

Gavin knew where Johnny was heading with this speech.

“Dixie’s not like our mother. She doesn’t deserve being called names.”

“I’ve never believed Dixie was anything but a nice girl.”

“Good. ’Cause I better not hear one bad word about her on the circuit.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Johnny had piqued Gavin’s interest about the Cash family.

“Fire away.”

“Is it true you and your siblings all have different fathers?”

“Only Dixie and I share the same father.”

“Do your brothers keep in touch with their fathers?”

“Nope. What about your family?”

“I’m an only child. My mother lives in Phoenix and works for the parks and recreation department.”

“I can’t imagine growing up an only child.”

“No fights for the bathroom.”

The joke fell flat. Shoot, the soldiers in Gavin’s army unit had thought he was a funny guy.

“You plan to make rodeo a career?” Johnny asked.

“For the time being.”

“Willie’s right—you stink at rodeo.”

“You’re not so great, either.” Gavin changed the subject. “How long has Dixie been making homemade soap?”

“Since she was ten or eleven. Dixie sells the bars in tourist shops in Yuma.” Johnny lowered his voice. “Between you and me…she’s got this harebrained idea she can sell our grandmother’s soap online.”

Gavin was impressed with Dixie’s ingenuity but worried with the baby coming that now wasn’t the best time to start up a new business.

A movement near the porch caught Gavin’s attention. Dixie spread a plastic cloth over a picnic table in the yard. She made several trips in and out of the house for plates, glasses, condiments, buns and pitchers of lemonade and iced tea. Gavin was astonished that none of her brothers offered to help. Instead, the men sat on their backsides, jawing. A newborn would bring added stress to Dixie’s life—a life already busy with soap-making, starting a new business and catering to six grown men.

You’re no better than the Cash brothers—you’re walking away from Dixie.

“Burgers are done!” Johnny shouted.

The brothers raced to the picnic table and Dixie motioned for Gavin to sit at the opposite end from her. He pulled out his chair and there resting on the seat was the cash he’d left Dixie in the barn. He glanced down the table and her steely-eyed glare told him exactly what he could do with his money.

Shove it up his you-know-what.

Chapter Four

Not again.

Gavin halted in his tracks when he caught sight of Conway and Willie Cash jawing with the cowboys near the bull chutes. The San Carlos Roundup Rodeo took place the first weekend in September—two weeks after he’d learned about Dixie’s pregnancy—and darned if he hadn’t run into one or more Cash brothers at the events he’d competed in. He presumed the men concluded that he’d knocked up their baby sister and weren’t letting him out of their sight.

Too bad Gavin couldn’t blame his dismal performances on the constant scrutiny. Instead, impending fatherhood disrupted his focus. Dixie was close to eight weeks pregnant and thoughts of her and the baby wandered through his mind 24/7. How was Dixie feeling—did she have any food cravings? Had she gained weight? What about morning sickness—did she suffer from that? The questions hammered his brain nonstop making him irritable and edgy.

Ignoring Dixie’s siblings, Gavin focused on the bronc he’d drawn for today’s competition. Jigsaw had a proven track record of bucking off experienced riders. The rodeo announcer introduced the cowboys competing in the bareback event, offering stats on the better athletes. Gavin was described as the former soldier turned cowboy, which drew the loudest applause. He was humbled by the fans’ heartfelt appreciation for his service to their country. Once each weekend he felt like a hero even though he was the furthest thing from a Caped Crusader.

“Let’s see if Tucker can end his losing streak,” the announcer said.

Gavin climbed the chute rails and eased onto Jigsaw’s back. Keep your balance. An image of Dixie collecting ash from the potbelly stove in the barn flashed before his eyes.

Stay focused.

Fearing Dixie would disrupt his thoughts again, Gavin ignored his chute routine and nodded to the gate man. The door swung open, and Jigsaw demonstrated his superiority in the sport. The bronc’s rump twisted in the middle of a buck. Gavin lost his rhythm and his spurring became choppy. Then Jigsaw spun in a tight circle and Gavin was history. He sailed through the air and landed on his belly, the hard ground knocking the wind from him. The pickup men attempted to corner the bucking horse, but Jigsaw evaded capture.

The earth beneath Gavin shook and instinctively he rolled left. Too late—Jigsaw’s hoof grazed his shoulder and a searing pain shot through the muscle. As if he’d made his point, the bronc trotted from the arena without an escort. Gavin struggled to his feet, his fingers tingling as numbness spread through his arm.

“Close call.” Willie Cash met Gavin when he returned to the cowboy ready area.

Arm hurting like hell, Gavin wasn’t in the mood to spar with the Cash brothers.

“Where’s your next rodeo?” Conway asked.

“Check with your spies…they’ll know where I’m riding.”

The brothers spoke in unison. “What spies?”

“Your brothers. One of you always turns up wherever I ride.”

Conway grinned. “Johnny said we’re not to let you out of our sight.”

Gavin wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until he did right by Dixie. He grabbed his gear, wincing at the throb in his shoulder. “See you at the next go-round.” He stopped short of leaving the chute area when he heard Shannon Douglas’s name over the loudspeakers.

“Folks, we got a special treat tonight before we kick off the men’s bull riding competition. For those of you who haven’t heard, Shannon Douglas from Stagecoach, Arizona, has been riding bulls since high school. She competed in three Five Star Rodeo events this past summer and earned a sponsorship from Wrangler.”

The JumboTron flashed images of Shannon at the rodeos in Canyon City, Boot Hill and Piney Gorge. Gavin moved closer to the cowgirl’s chute and watched her wrap the bull rope around her hand.

“Shannon’s about to tangle with Persnickety, a bull from the famed Red River Ranch in Oklahoma.”

The chute door opened and Persnickety launched himself into the arena. Shannon’s compact body undulated with the bull’s explosive bucks and sharp spins. Gavin glanced at the JumboTron…5…4…3…

Persnickety reared and Shannon lost her seat, sliding off the back of the bull. As soon as she landed on the ground she scrambled to her feet and ran for the rails.

“Too bad, folks. I thought Shannon might best Persnickety but not today!”

Gavin turned to leave when he heard his name called. Shannon jogged toward him.

“You almost had that bull,” Gavin said.

“I’ll get him next time.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I haven’t been back to Stagecoach in over a month. How’s Dixie feeling?”

Gavin supposed Dixie had told Shannon about her pregnancy when she’d scratched at the Piney Gorge Rodeo. “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess? Aren’t you keeping in touch with her?”

Gavin didn’t care to go into detail about his and Dixie’s relationship—whatever it was. You’re about to have a baby together and you can’t define your relationship? “I saw Dixie a couple of weeks ago and she looked good.” More than good.

Shannon lowered her voice. “She’s going to have the baby, right? Or did she…?”

Stunned, Gavin couldn’t respond. Dixie having an abortion had never crossed his mind, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t crossed Dixie’s.

“Gavin?”

“I gotta go.” He left the arena and cut across the parking lot to his truck. He stowed his gear in the backseat, then started the engine and cranked the air-conditioning. While the cab cooled, he grabbed his cell phone from the glove compartment and checked messages. Nothing.

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