The Casanova Cowboy

Chapter 2

Jasper
I slid my ass onto my favourite stool at the far end of the bar. The Stillwell Tavern was quiet that night. Other than a few regulars, the place was pretty much empty. That was par for the course on a Sunday night in the fall, when the tourists were gone home.
"What can I get you, Jasper?" the bartender asked.
"I'm driving, Johnny," I said. "Better just stick with beer."
He slid a bottle of Canadian across the bar. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight. Heard you guys were having a pig roast."
"I cut out early."
"How come?"
"Wasn't in the mood, I guess."
"Did Ethan get back together with his baby mama from the city?"
"Yeah."
"That's good. Your little brother deserves to have some happiness in his life again."
"If six kids, and a seventh on the way, is what turns his crank, then cheers to him." I raised my bottle before tipping it back.
I was the middle child in a family of five boys. The only bachelor. At forty-two, my folks had pretty much given up on me adding to their brood of grandkids. And they certainly didn't need any more.
My eldest brother, Ardley, adopted one with his husband. Huxley had ten kids and six grandkids. That fucker clearly didn't know how to wrap it. My younger brother, Brooks, was the only smart one. He didn't have any kids. And then there was the youngest, Ethan. He had six daughters from his late wife, and he was expecting a boy with his new girlfriend.
"A pretty lady just walked in," Johnny said. "Never seen her around here before."
"Yeah right," I chuckled. "The only women who come in here are locals."
"She's heading this way."
I turned around, my evening taking a positive turn. I usually had to go into Rocky Mountain House or Red Deer when I had a hankering for some pussy.
The tall, lean redhead settled on an empty stool at the far end of the bar, crossing her sexy thighs while she scanned the room. She was pushing thirty, but definitely still fuckable. I preferred my women on the younger side, mainly because they were less inclined to have marriage on their mind than the older chicks. Her tits were a bit on the small side, but my well tuned pussy radar detected a sweet, tight place to park my cock for the night.
Yep.
I was a pig, and I owned it.
My mother called me a charmer, but most days, I didn't deserve that label. Womanizer or manwhore were more accurate words to describe me. I'd been called both. I enjoyed variety in my sex life. And I didn't want any commitments. I made that very clear to any woman who came into my bed for the night.
"What can I get you?" Johnny asked.
"I'll take a cola, please," she said.
She's not drinking.
Oh well.
I'm always up for a challenge.
Johnny filled her glass and slid it across the bar. "What brings you to Stillwell on this fine fall evening?" he asked.
"I'm looking for someone," she announced.
"Oh yeah?" he chuckled. "I can probably help you out with that."
"I'm sure you can. I'm looking for a cowboy named Jasper Stillwell."
Hm.
This can't be good.
"It's your lucky day," Johnny said, glancing at me with a sly grin. "The cowboy you're looking for is sitting right at the end of the bar."
Asshole.
Seems the bartender forgot who his boss is.
My family owned half of the businesses in Stillwell, the tavern being the one I was responsible for. Brooks was the CEO of Stillwell Enterprises, which included our large ranching operation, a Christmas themed amusement park, a bed & breakfast, the tavern, a general store, a coffee shop, a salon, and a hardware store. Most of our family members worked in one or more of the businesses in some capacity.
The sexy redhead slid off her stool and headed my way. A minute ago, I would've been pleased about that. But the fact that she came looking for me, was setting off alarm bells in my head.
"You're Jasper Stillwell?" she confirmed.
"Depends who wants to know," I replied, throwing Johnny a dirty look for selling me out without finding out what the woman wanted first.
"My name is Ellen Morrison," she said.
"What can I do for you, Ellen?"
She reached into her large purse, pulling out a manila envelope.
"Uh-oh," I said, with a nervous chuckle. "Nothing good comes in those envelopes."
"You couldn't be more wrong," she snapped.
"Look, Ellen," I said, grabbing my Stetson from the bar. "I don't know who you are, or why you're here, but I don't want any part of it."
I stood up, giving her a polite nod before I placed my hat on my head. "Have a good evening."
"You have a son."
I turned around slowly, the room spinning out of control while I glared at the bitch who came to my town to try and steal my freedom from me.
"What did you just say?" I growled.
"You have a baby boy, Mr. Stillwell."
"That's not possible."
"If you would be so kind as to sit back down, I will prove to you that it is."
"Not here," I said quietly. "Come back to my office."
She followed me down the short hallway to the end, wrinkling her nose in disgust when I flicked on the light.
"Problem?" I asked, taking a seat behind my desk.
"Do you ever clean in here?"
"Can we get on with this baby nonsense?" I requested sternly.
"Of course," she bit out.
"Why don't you start by telling me who the fuck you are, sweetheart? Because I would certainly remember if I'd spent time between your sexy legs."
"You're disgusting," she spat. "Blaze would probably be better off in foster care."
"Did you say Blaze?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "Your son's name is Blaze Gunner Stillwell."
"This kid has my last name?!" I gasped.
"Olive always planned ahead for every possible scenario," she explained.
"Who the fuck is Olive?!"
"Olive is the mother of your child."
"Why did she send you to do her dirty work?"
"She's dead."
"I don't mean to be disrespectful," I said. "But I don't know any chick named Olive, and I certainly didn't knock her up. I think there has been some kind of mistake."
"Did you attend a New Year's Eve party last year for the Central Alberta Rancher's Association in Red Deer?"
"Yes," I confirmed, my brain scrambling to dig up a mental image of the girl I banged that night.
"My foster sister worked that event as a server," she explained. "She ended up spending the night in your hotel room."
"I remember her," I admitted. "But she said her name was Liv. And I wore a condom."
"Condoms aren't always one hundred percent effective."
"Mine are."
"Well, not this time."
"If you're looking for money, I'm gonna need proof that the kid is mine. And if he is, I'll support him financially."
"I don't want your money, Mr. Stillwell."
"Then why are you here?"
"Aren't you even the least bit curious about your son?"
"No."
"You aren't concerned about his welfare?"
"If he's actually mine, which I highly doubt, I told you I would pay child support. What more do you want from me?"
"Your son is an orphan."
"Doesn't he have grandparents, or someone who will raise him?"
"Olive grew up in foster care. She had no family. My parents fostered her from the time she was thirteen until she was able to go out on her own. We remained close. When she found out she was pregnant, she hired a lawyer and gave me guardianship of her baby, if something happened to her. But she wanted him to go to you. She named you on the birth certificate, and gave him your surname. You are his father. You're legally responsible for him."
"I don't think she can name me as the father without my consent," I said.
"If you don't take him, he will go into foster care. Is that the life you want for your son?"
"I'm gonna need a paternity test."
"That can be arranged," she agreed. "Do you want to see a picture of him?"
"Sure," I muttered.
She pulled out her phone, handing it to me across the desk.
I stared at the photo, blinking at the unmistakable Stillwell face.
I have a kid.
"How old is he?" I asked.
"Four weeks."
"What happened to the mother?"
"She died in childbirth."
"What?" I scoffed. "Women don't die from having babies in this country."
"They most certainly do," she said. "It happens more often than you think. She hemorrhaged. They rushed her into surgery, but they couldn't save her."
I took a deep, pained breath, closing my eyes briefly while a wave of guilt washed over me. A young woman lost her life because she had sex with me. I barely remembered her. She was just another piece of ass to a womanizing creep like myself, but she was a human being. And she was dead because she fell prey to a sweet talkin' cowboy with powerful sperm.
"Why don't you want to raise him?" I asked.
"That's none of your business, Mr. Stillwell. And you're his father. I understand you come from a large family. Blaze belongs here, with his biological family."
"Is your contact information in that envelope?"
"Yes," she confirmed, setting it on the desk. "Everything you need to know is in here."
"My lawyer will be in touch," I said, rising from my chair. "I trust you can find your way out."
I sank back down in my chair with a heavy sigh, scrubbing my hands over my face.
My greatest fear had finally come to roost.
I'd slowed down a lot over the past couple of years, where women were concerned.
And drinking.
When I turned forty, I finally started to grow up. I didn't have the energy required to keep up with my previous lifestyle. Random pussy was slowly losing its appeal. And my body couldn't handle the booze like it used to.
You're turning into an old man.
You have a kid.
Kiss your bachelor life and your freedom goodbye.
Twenty-five years?
Is that how long you've been sexually active?
And you've never knocked anyone up until now.
I really had defied the odds. The Stillwell men were known for their virility. I should've sired a whole brood of offspring by that point in my life, based on the volume of pussy my cock had banged over the years.
What if I had more kids out there?
What if they all started crawling out of the woodwork?
I pushed back my chair and headed out to the bar.
The redhead was nowhere to be seen.
I couldn't even remember her name.
"You okay, Jasper?" Johnny asked.
"No. I need something stronger than beer."
"I'm gonna need your keys first."
I reached in my pocket, handing them over to the bartender. "There you go. Pour me a shot of bourbon, and keep 'em coming."
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.
"Nope."
"Okay then."

My throat felt like there was a piece of sandpaper wedged in it.
Did I eat a cow pie?
I never forgot the taste, after Huxley and Ardley forced me to eat one when I was five.
My mouth sure tasted like shit.
I cracked open one eye.
The ceiling fan was spinning. Not good for the headache currently squeezing every lobe of my brain.
I'd spent many nights in the apartment above the tavern, after drinking too much. But it had been awhile since I'd woken up that hungover.
The nightstand came into focus.
Empty condom wrapper.
Shit.
I was in Stillwell.
Who the fuck did I fuck?
Not the redhead trying to pawn the kid off on me. She was the only thing fuckable in town the night before.
The bed shifted.
I wasn't alone.
The mystery woman was still there.
Dread coated my raw, alcohol soaked gut as I summoned up the courage to roll over. I bit the bullet and turned to face the woman I took to bed.
She had her back to me.
A mop of matted red curls hung down her bare back.
I did like redheads.
She was tall. Her feet hung over the end of the bed.
"Are you awake?" I whispered.
"Yep," she confirmed.
No!
No fucking way!
She rolled over on her back, the sheet slipping down to reveal a perfect set of perky tits, rosy pink nipples hardening in the cool air.
"Good morning, Jasper."
Mimi!
Oh, hell no!
There was no way I fucked Mimi Mendelson!
She turned her head, a giddy grin spreading across her luscious lips.
Flashbacks of my cock in her mouth rattled around in my booze-addled brain.
No. No. No.
Here's the thing about Mimi Mendelson.
The woman came in the perfect package. Thick, shiny, red curly hair, a perfectly symmetrical attractive face to go with a hot, fuckable body, and long, sexy legs. At forty-two, Mimi still had it going on.
What was the problem?
Every small town has that person. The batshit crazy weirdo who people whisper about, and cross the street when they see them coming.
Stillwell was no different.
Our town kook was Mimi.
And, unfortunately for me, she set her sights on me in kindergarten.
Thirty-seven years later, and she hadn't given up.
I grabbed the bedspread, wrapping it around my waist before I got up.
"What are you doing in my bed, Mimi?!" I barked.
"What do you think, Jasper?" she cackled with a sly smirk, her possessed green eyes sending my balls for cover inside my body.
"Look, Mimi," I said. "I don't remember what happened last night, because I was really drunk."
"You weren't that drunk," she laughed.
"I really was," I said.
"You weren't too drunk to fuck me, Jasper Stillwell."
I glanced at the empty condom wrapper on the nightstand.
There was no way I would sleep with Mimi Mendelson.
She pushed the sheet down over her hips, revealing the biggest, most dense patch of pubic hair I'd ever seen. The flaming red bush stretched half-way up to her belly button.
"Do you remember now?" she asked.
"Uh," I muttered, glancing away. "Whatever happened between us last night was a mistake."
"I know you don't mean that, Jasper," she whispered.
"I really do, Mimi," I said, gently. "Can you please cover up?"
"You took my virginity last night."
"No, I didn't," I snapped. "You expect me to believe you're a forty-two-year-old virgin?"
"I was. Until last night."
I blinked rapidly, my gut churning, sending a geyser of bile up to the back of my throat. There was no fucking way I took Mimi Mendelson's virginity.
"Did I wear a condom?" I demanded, panic coursing through my veins.
"Yes," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You weren't as drunk as you claim."
"Did I put it on correctly?!"
"Oh, relax, Jasper," she snorted. "I had a hysterectomy last year."
"Are you sure, Mimi?"
"Of course, I'm sure!" She pushed the sheet down again, parting her overgrown bush. "If you come over here, you can see my scar."
"I'm good," I said, raising my hand in the air. There was no way I was going anywhere near that bush. It was probably like one of those mystical trees in the jungle, that reach out and ensnare people walking by. "I'm very sorry about last night, Mimi."
"What is there to be sorry about, Jasper?"
"You should've told me you were a virgin, Mimi."
"I was afraid you might change your mind."
"You would've been correct."
"You really don't remember?"
"Not much," I said.
"It'll come back to you."
I really hope it doesn't.
"You need to get dressed," I ordered.
"Why?"
"Because it's time for you to go."
"What time is dinner?"
"What dinner?"
"The dinner at your parents' house."
"You aren't coming to dinner."
"We have to tell your family about us, Jasper."
"There is no us, Mimi."
"You made love to me last night," she whined, pushing up to her knees in the centre of the bed. "How can you say there's no us?"
"Cause there isn't. You need to forget last night ever happened."
I gathered up my clothes and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
"I'll never forget last night, Jasper Stillwell!" she yelled.