Blame It On The Cowboy. Delores Fossen

to ask how that’d happened, but Della had an even better radar than Lucky. Logan definitely didn’t want her thinking there was something going on between Reese and him.

      “She’s got experience doing kids’ parties?” Logan asked.

      “Don’t know about that, but everybody in town is talking about what a good cook she is. She made these lemon thingies that folks are going on about.”

      “Yeah, I heard. But does she have experience doing kids’ parties?” he repeated.

      “Don’t know, but she’s obviously got experience baking. I’m having her do a cake and make some party food. She’ll be kinda busy what with Maggie’s female problems.” Della whispered those last two words as if it were some kind of secret. It wasn’t. Then she paused, nibbled on a piece of the cinnamon bread. “So, any word from Helene?”

      Logan had expected the third degree about his own well-being. Not that, though. “No. I won’t hear from her, either.” He waited, figuring there was more.

      There was.

      “Her mother, Mary, called me,” Della continued. “We’ve gotten to know each other over the years because of coordinating Helene’s schedule for family events and such. Anyway, I thought you should know that Helene had some kind of mental breakdown. She’s in a hospital in Houston.”

      Suddenly, the bread didn’t taste as sweet as it had a few seconds ago. Logan let the news sink in, and he was thankful that it wasn’t the heart-crushing blow it would have been just three months ago. Still, he wasn’t immune to the news because Helene had been in his life a long time.

      “You want to know any other details?” Della asked.

      Thankfully, Logan didn’t have to make a decision about that because his phone buzzed, and he saw the new text from the PI. The subject was Reese Stephens aka Reese Stephenson.

      So, that explained why the PI had found so little on her during his initial search. Stephenson was her real name. But clearly the PI had learned something else.

      “I need to read this,” Logan said to Della, and he went out onto the back porch.

      Reese’s age hadn’t changed from the original report. Ditto for her going to culinary school and moving around. But there was a whole lot more to the woman he’d bedded in that hotel.

      Logan read through the text, and once he got his jaw unclenched, he actually managed to say something.

      “Shit.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      REESE HADN’T COUNTED on being able to make this trip to the McCord Ranch so soon after seeing the twins, but she was thankful that their housekeeper Della had called and asked her to come over and discuss the party plans. It was the perfect excuse for Reese to get the information she needed about Logan and Lucky.

      Well, hopefully it was.

      Considering that everyone in town was talking about Logan’s fast exit from the café, it was possible that Della was going to try to pump Reese for info while Reese was pumping the woman. Either way, if this didn’t work, Reese was just going to have to come clean and admit that she did something so sleazy as have sex with a man she didn’t know. Then she could get back the watch and put this whole mess behind her.

      Even if Reese’s body wasn’t letting her forget it.

      Her body didn’t have a say in this, though. She’d learned the hard way that lust often drove really bad decisions, and it was obvious that sleeping with either of the McCord twins was a bad decision she couldn’t repeat.

      Reese followed the crude map that Sissy Lee had made for her. It wasn’t that long of a walk, less than a half mile, and the house was so big that she could see it long before she got to it. Judging from the sheer size of it and the land surrounding it, the McCords were rich. Of course, she’d already guessed that, but this was rich-rich, and that meant either Lucky or Logan might be especially concerned about having spent the night with someone like her. If so, that could work in her favor because they could be eager to get rid of her.

      Part of her wished that wasn’t the case, though.

      If this had been just another ordinary town, Reese might have considered staying on longer than three months. The pay was decent, and Bert was a good boss. Shortly after he’d hired her, he’d even helped her find a place to live, temporarily. No way could Reese have managed to swing a stay at the Bluebonnet Inn on a daily basis, but Bert had talked the owner of the inn into renting her the converted attic apartment there. It wasn’t much, but then she’d never needed much, and this morning she’d learned it had a special view.

      Of the McCord Cattle Brokers’ building.

      She’d yet to see Logan or Lucky come and go, but from everything she’d heard, Logan only left for business trips, and Lucky was only there when he couldn’t avoid it. Or when he was checking on his twin. The buzz was that Lucky was still worried about Logan. Everyone in town was.

      Logan was Spring Hill’s rock star.

      And no one she’d encountered so far was taking his ex’s side in the breakup. The general consensus was that Helene should be burned at the stake for breaking poor Logan’s heart.

      Reese walked up the circular drive, and as she neared the house, she caught the scent of poop. She hoped that wasn’t some kind of bad omen.

      She made her way up the porch, but the door opened before she could even ring the bell. The outside of the house was so, well, pastoral looking, but that didn’t apply to the inside. The tall brunette woman in the doorway looked frazzled. With good reason. There were cats—lots of them—darting around.

      Two small children, as well.

      There were shouts of laughter. Plain out shouting, too, from a teenage girl on the stairs who apparently wasn’t happy about her sister using her makeup on one of the cats. Reese quickly spotted which cat. It was all white except for pink blush on its cheeks.

      “I’m Reese—”

      “Yes, I know. Della’s expecting you. No school today,” the woman said as if that explained everything. “I’m Cassie Weatherall. Please come in.”

      Cassie as in Lucky’s soon-to-be fiancée. Reese recognized her from some TV talk shows, the sort where the host and his or her guests attempted to solve some huge problem in the span of an hour. Minus the commercials, of course. There were usually shouts and paternity test results involved.

      Cassie looked around outside before she shut the door. “Where’s your car?”

      “I don’t have one. I walked.”

      She shook her head. “If you need to come out here again, just call the house, and someone can come and get you. Mia, don’t touch Mackenzie’s makeup again,” Cassie warned the younger girl without even pausing to take a breath.

      “Sorry,” the little girl said as she flew past them. A little boy was chasing her with what appeared to be a magic wand and a chocolate-chip cookie.

      The meager apology was apparently enough to get the teenager to whirl around and disappear into the hall off the top of the stairs.

      “This way,” Cassie said after she shouted for the children to settle down.

      Cassie might look like the prim and proper therapist, but her shout was all mom. According to the gossip Reese had heard at the diner, Cassie had fallen right into that role. Had fallen into the role of being a McCord, too. Cassie had given up her job as a celebrity therapist and had opened an office in Spring Hill. Considering the divorce rate was almost nil, the crime rate as well, it was possible she wouldn’t get a lot of business. Then again, there could be a lot of skeletons jangling in closets.

      Reese didn’t mean to dodge Cassie’s gaze, but she couldn’t