Marin Thomas - A Cowboy's Duty

“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.