A Cowboy's Duty. Marin Thomas

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.