Cowgirls Don't Cry (16 page)

At the thought of the beloved dog, her chest threatened to cave in. Buddy had to be okay. Chance would take care of him.

A steer ambled away from the herd, and she shook her head. This was no time to be daydreaming—especially about a man like Chance Barron declaring his love for her. “Yaw,” she yelled at the cow, urging Red after the critter.

The herd passed under Meridian without incident. Even though the riverside park system began here, there was little open space behind the hotels and office complexes. Land between “civilization” and the river narrowed. Her riders strung out in a thin line. The next hurdle would be Portland Avenue and then the I-44/I-40 interchange. She shuddered at the thought of any of the cattle making it up onto the interstate highway. Two miles. Two miles to the stockyards. She needed things to stay quiet for two more miles. She managed a deep breath. Chance was right. She would succeed.

She continuously rode back and forth, encouraging her drovers, chasing steers back into line and trying not to get her hopes up. They passed Portland Avenue. Just as with the Meridian corridor, a large police presence kept traffic and onlookers at bay. A couple of the officers even offered surreptitious thumbs-up gestures as she passed beneath them.

The strip of land they traversed widened, and the herd bunched up a little more. Ahead, an office building and huge parking lot would choke them down into almost single file. Red whickered and shook his head. His lathered neck proved how hard he’d been working. All the horses, and their riders, too, looked worn out.

Boots, still riding at the head of the herd, let out a whoop. She stood in her stirrups to see what new problem they faced. To her surprise, a knot of riders advanced from the east. Clicking her tongue, she eased Red into a trot and headed to meet them. She reined in as she reached Boots and let the riders approach.

The lead rider stopped and tipped his hat. “Miz Morgan? We’re members of the Stockyard City Sheriff’s Posse.”

She cringed. What now? She thought the sheriff’s department had accepted Chance’s injunction. Before she could respond, he continued.

“We heard about that dust up back down the way. We’d have been here sooner to help but some of us needed to go get our horses.”

She blinked and then blinked again. “Help? You’re here to help?”

“Yes, ma’am, we are. Some of these boys might look like city slickers, but we know how to ride and work cattle.” Since the man wore dress pants and a button-down shirt with a loosened tie, he likely qualified as one of those city slickers.

Her eyes burned, and she blinked hard. “Help.” She glanced at Boots and answered his big grin with one of her own. She finally remembered her manners. “Uh...thanks!”

The ten riders headed west and circled around to fill in blank spots along the herd. She twisted in her saddle so she could watch, and relaxed after a few minutes. Yeah, even though that one guy probably left his suit coat in his office, he sat his horse with ease. Beside her, Boots grinned like the Cheshire cat.

“What?”

He laughed. “If you could see the expression on your face, sugar. You look like you just walked into a glass door, thinking it was open.”

“Gee, thanks, Uncle Boots. But...yeah. I guess the description fits. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. I...I just can’t believe all these people want to help. The media. The cops.” Another word hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t voice it.

“Chance.”

Yeah. That was the one. “He’s a Barron, Uncle Boots. His father is the cause of all of this. I—” She huffed out a breath. “How can I trust him?”

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Boots spoke up. “Look inside his heart, baby girl. Tally up all the things he’s done to help you. Despite his father. Sometimes blood is thicker than just about anything. But sometimes, a woman loves a man so much she’s willing to give up everything for him because she knows he loves her more than anything in the world.”

She glanced at him. “That sounds like you’re talking about Momma and Daddy.”

“I suppose I am, Cassie. Even way back then, Cyrus Barron was a man on the way up. He had a big ranch with lots of cattle, and the horses he bred were some of the finest in the country. He didn’t lease his oil and gas royalty rights. He started his own drilling company. And that eventually became Barron Oil. If your momma had married him, she’d have been a rich woman.”

Boots took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a bandanna before continuing. “Your daddy was a rodeo cowboy without a pot to piss in. But after that beating, layin’ there in the hospital, your momma holdin’ his hand and tellin’ him how much she loved him, he figured he’d better do something with his life. He scraped together every bit of cash and credit he had and bought the home place. He knew rodeo. And he knew rodeo stock. He started small, but the rodeo folks knew they’d get quality if they hired him. Your momma was there each step of the way, keepin’ the books, cleanin’ out pens, whatever it took. Until she got sick.”

Cass nodded and swallowed hard against the nausea. Her mother had been so sick from pneumonia and despite the breathing tubes and everything else, she couldn’t fight the disease.

“You find a love like what your momma and daddy shared, baby girl, you grab on with both hands and never let go.” He dipped his chin and stared forward. “Highway’s just up a ways. We’d better get ready.”

Cass reined Red to a stop on the slope leading up to the interstate right-of-way. A line of riders flanked the road on each side of the overpass. To her now-practiced eye, the herd looked as worn out as her drovers and their horses. Just about a mile now. She exhaled in relief when the last drag rider passed by and disappeared under the overpass. She followed.

On the other side, the herd had bunched tightly again and moved forward like some weird amoeba. Cass could only imagine what the scene looked like from above. Maybe someday, she’d catch a news report to see the footage shot from a helicopter. In the meantime, she had cows to get to market. She rode up the line, urging tired riders and cattle onward.

The news helicopter disappeared, heading west. Cass glanced over her shoulder hoping it wasn’t focusing on something bad happening to the drag riders. It kept flying straight and as she watched, lightning flickered in the clouds massing on the western horizon.

“I knew it,” she muttered. “Red skies in the morning, sailors...and cowboys take warning.” She glanced at her watch. With luck, she’d have the herd delivered to the stockyards, and they’d all be safely in their pens by the time the storm moved in. Nothing to panic over. Yet.

Seventeen

T
he new bridge with the fancy streetlights loomed ahead. Agnew Avenue. If Chance was right, the street would be blocked to traffic, and she could bring the herd right down the middle of the street. Cord cantered up to her and slowed his horse to match hers.

“About time for you to move up, Cass. You should be at the head of this parade.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t do this for attention, Cord. If your father had stayed out of things, I’d be back on the ranch with the loan paid.” She felt her face flush as her blood pressure spiked.

“Yeah, he’s a real sonofabitch. And I figure he’s probably not quite done yet. Chance will do everything he can to stop whatever the old man has up his sleeve.”

“But...?”

“But?”

“Yeah, I heard a
but
on the end of that sentence.” She turned to stare at him, and more than her blood pressure hammered in her ears. “He’s going to turn Chance against me, isn’t he?” She muttered a string of cusswords but didn’t smile when Cord laughed at her. “Damn the man!”

“Which one?”

His quiet question surprised her. “Your...” She blinked and shut her mouth while she considered her answer, which came in the form of a question. “Will he succeed?”

Cord wouldn’t look at her, but his shoulders rose in what might be a negligent shrug. “Yesterday, I would have said yeah. The old man always gets what he wants. But today? I don’t know.” He reined his horse around and headed toward the rear of the herd before she could reply.

She touched spurs to Red’s sides, and the big horse quickened his pace. If Cyrus Barron was waiting to stop her at the end of this, by golly she’d be front and center to confront him.

Boots glanced at her as she joined him. “About time you got up here.”

She laughed, but it sounded mirthless. “How did this get so out of control, Uncle Boots?”

“People, honey. People always complicate matters. But we’re almost there.”

Their horses’ hooves clopped on the asphalt as they stepped off the curb. Sheriff’s cruisers had the street blocked at the off ramp from I-40, and the way was clear to the south. Almost as if sensing the end was near, horses and cattle all picked up the pace. The gateway arch stretched above the street ahead of them. A cowboy on horseback and a long-horned steer bracketed the words “Stockyard City” displayed across the metal span. As she passed beneath it, Cass breathed again. This was it. They’d done it. People lined the street while cameras—digital, phone and video—all preserved the moment for posterity.

“Cass!”

She glanced over in the direction the voice came from. Chance! He stood on the bumper of a pickup truck waving at her. And then the sweetest sound in the world reached her ears—Buddy’s excited barks. Her chest swelled with so much happiness she might burst wide open. Her grin spread from ear to ear. She probably looked like a complete idiot but didn’t care.

Cord trotted up from behind her and rode past, tipping the brim of his hat as he went by. He stopped in front of Chance and dismounted. The brothers exchanged places, Chance mounting the horse, and Cord taking charge of Buddy. The men shook hands. Cord said something Cass couldn’t hear, but it must have been about her because Chance turned to look at her. Then he smiled, and nothing else mattered.

Police and the fire department had Exchange Boulevard to the east and Agnew to the south blocked off. The cattle had no place to go but turn right and head straight to the National Stockyards. Cheering people lined both sides of the street and surprisingly, the cattle didn’t seem bothered by all the hoopla. Cass tamped down her excitement. Until those steers were penned, went through the auction tomorrow morning and she had a check to give Cyrus Barron, she couldn’t celebrate.

Chance risked a quick touch on her arm as he rode knee to knee with her. Buddy woofed and wagged his tail, his head hanging out of the pickup truck window as Cord carefully drove by them.

“The pup had some bruised ribs, and his right hip is tender where he landed on it. The vet says as long as Buddy takes it easy, he’ll be fine.”

She inhaled and blew out a little puff of air. “Thank you.”

He glanced at her. “For what?”

“For everything. For taking care of Buddy. For helping despite everything...” Her voice trailed off and left hanging just what that
everything
comprised. In her head, she finished the thought—despite her mistrust, her anger, her accusations.

“You had every right, Cass. I wasn’t completely honest with you. And I’m truly sorry for that. I won’t lie to you again. Not ever.”

She flashed him a cocky grin. “Can I have that in writing and notarized, Mr. Lawyer Guy?”

He chuckled but choked off the sound as he stared at the knot of people waiting ahead. A beefy man in Western clothes, his sleeves rolled up to reveal brawny forearms, his hat pushed back off his forehead, argued vehemently with a tall, distinguished man wearing a tailored suit that cost more than many people made in a month.

Damn. The old man was back from Vegas. He glanced at Cass and offered her a smile. Things were going to get ugly in a heartbeat.

“Are you going to tell me everything will be all right?”

“No.”

“Good. So what
are
you going to tell me?”

“That’s my father up there. I suspect the other man is the sales manager of the stockyards. If the old man stays true to form, he’s threatening all sorts of dire consequences about now.”

“Then we’d better go face whatever those consequences are.” She clucked to her horse and trotted forward.

Chance followed at a jog. Cord had parked nearby and Buddy was there, hackles raised, ears back. He could almost feel the growl forming in the dog’s chest as he reined to a stop next to Cassie.

“I don’t give a damn, Mr. Barron. The last time I looked, your name wasn’t on the bottom of my paycheck. You can scream and cuss all you want but since you don’t own this place, I’m not about to turn away any cattle brought here for sale.”

Camera crews homed in on the altercation, and Chance winced. The family would need a lot of damage control after the news tonight. The old man, red in the face and sputtering, jabbed his finger in the man’s chest.

“I will own this miserable excuse for a sale barn, and I will fire your insolent ass. I will shut this place down and fire everyone even remotely associated with the stockyards. Do you understand me?”

Cyrus Barron straightened to his full height and looked for all the world like some old revival preacher raining fire and brimstone on his congregation. No one had called his bluff in ages. He pulled out his phone, called his assistant and snarled terse instructions Chance didn’t hear but could imagine. With a cold, calculating smile, Cyrus faced the sales manager, ignoring Cass and Chance. The standoff lasted what felt like an hour but was ten minutes in reality. The herd bunched up in the street, and people waited breathlessly.

The manager’s cell phone rang. He answered, his face draining of color as he listened. He stammered and hemmed but in the end, he ducked his head and mumbled something. Turning on his heel, he walked back to his wranglers and told them to shut the gates and go home. The stockyards had closed for the day.

The old man turned his cold smile on Cass, and adrenaline surged through Chance’s body, leaving his fingers and toes tingling and burning.

“I’m disappointed in you.”

Chance straightened his shoulders as the old man focused on him. He was pretty sure the smirk he plastered on his face was a mirror image of the one his father wore. “Makes two of us. This has gone far enough, Cyrus.”

“Indeed it has. I’ve already instructed my attorneys to remove you from the trust.”

Cass gasped but he ignored her. If he broke eye contact now, the old man would think he’d won, and Chance wasn’t about to let that happen. His expression didn’t change. “It will be an interesting court battle, considering I’m the one who drew up the trust papers in the first place. Did you ever read them, Cyrus? Or did you just sign them?”

There. There was the flicker in the old man’s eyes he’d been waiting for. He’d learned the art of confrontation from the master himself. He quirked one corner of his mouth. “Oh, I forgot rule number one. If you can’t trust family, you can’t trust family. You should have remembered that one, Cyrus.”

“It’s too late for your little who—”

Lightning fast, his fists wrapped in the lapels of his father’s suit. “Don’t go there, Old Man. You say what’s on the tip of your tongue, I’ll happily spend the night in jail for knocking the crap out of you.”

Cyrus glared but didn’t finish the sentence. “It’s still too late,
son
. She can’t make the balloon payment on that loan unless she sells those steers by five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. And that will not happen.”

“Yes, it will. I’ll buy the cattle from her.”

Chance and his father whipped their heads around at the new voice. The crowd grew silent as anticipation filled the air. The newcomer ignored Cyrus and walked over to Cass, where she’d remained mounted.

“Miss Morgan, I’m J. Rand Davis.”

As his gaze darted between the man and Cass, Chance had to stifle a laugh. If there was a man Cyrus Barron hated even more than Ben Morgan, it had to be Joseph Randolph Davis. They’d been rival wildcatters back in the early days of the oil boom; now both of them were among the richest men in the country.

Cass dismounted and offered her hand. “Mr. Davis, I suspect it’s going to be my pleasure to meet you.”

“I certainly hope so.” He glanced at his smartphone, checked a couple of screens then smiled at her. “According to the closing spot prices on the Chicago Commodities Exchange, prime grass-fed Black Angus cattle are going for a hundred and forty-seven.”

Chance did a quick mental calculation. The price was per hundredweight and given the size and quality of Cass’s steers, she’d make over five hundred thousand dollars. Cass looked stunned as she also did the math.

“I have trucks lined up, and we’ll get a final weight on ’em but I’m prepared to hand you a certified check for three hundred thousand dollars as a down payment. Once the weigh-in is final, I will cut another check for the remainder.”

Cass glanced over at Chance, her eyes wide with surprise. It was enough to pay off the note. He nodded to her. “It’s a fair price, Cass. And I figure Mr. Davis is good for the rest.”

She offered her hand, and Davis shook it. He handed over a check and she glanced at it, stared for a long moment, blinked and barely resisted doing a happy dance right there in the middle of the street.

Davis spoke up immediately. “Knowing Cyrus like I do, I didn’t want to take any chances that he’d wiggle out of the deal.” He reached for the inside breast pocket of his sport coat and pulled out some folded papers. “Here’s the bill of sale with the terms and deadline for payment of the additional funds”

Cass accepted them and with a confused expression, glanced over at Chance. “Will you look it over?”

He took the papers and unfolded them as Davis added, “Look it over, Chancellor. If Miss Baxter agrees, she can sign it and we’ll start loading these steers.”

Chance read through them, his practiced eye picking out the important parts. Everything was just as Mr. Davis had outlined. He handed the sheaf of papers back to Cass as Davis passed his pen to her. She took the time to read every page, and Chance couldn’t help the grin forming. She glanced at him finally and he nodded. She signed, using his back.

Chance had almost forgotten about his father until the old man snorted. “You wait, Rand Davis. You think you’ve won this time, but I guarantee this thing isn’t over between us.” Then he turned a baleful stare on Chance. “As for you, I’ll deal with you later.”

Davis offered a frosty smile. “Careful what you threaten, Cyrus.”

The old man spun around and stomped off to his chauffeured Lincoln. In a matter of minutes, the stockyard wranglers reappeared, opened the gates to some loading pens, and the herd was moved off the street. A spontaneous celebration erupted behind them, but Chance and Cass remained with Mr. Davis, watching as the cattle were transferred up the chutes and loaded into the waiting trucks.

Chance watched one of the richest oilmen in the world chat with the woman he loved. Three months ago, on that snowy Chicago night, he would never have guessed he’d be standing on a dusty street in Stockyard City watching this scene.

But then, all of a sudden, Davis clamped his mouth shut in the middle of a sentence, and his eyes narrowed in anger. Chance turned around, thinking his father had returned.

To his surprise, Cord stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The two men stared at each other, and Chance couldn’t help but compare the standoff to a scene from a Western movie—the gunfighters on Main Street, fingers flexing over the handles of their six-shooters, each waiting for the other to make a move. He’d never seen his brother look so unnerved.

After a long, tense moment, Davis turned his head and focused his attention on Cassie. “I’ll have the certified check for the rest of the money delivered to you tomorrow, Miss Morgan.”

She offered her hand again, after wiping it down her thigh. As dusty as her jeans appeared, she probably didn’t clean much dirt off, but she made the effort. “Thank you again, Mr. Davis. I...” On impulse, she raised up on her toes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Davis shook his head and glanced toward Chance. “No, honey. I think you had all the help you needed right there at your side.” He offered his hand to Chance. “You take care of this little lady.”

Chance shook hands with Rand. “I will, sir.” He slipped his arm around Cassie’s shoulders and hugged her closer to his side. “You did it, darlin’.”

She smiled up at him. “No.
We
did it. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could stand up to the old man. But you made me want to. Your belief in me, Cass. That’s what gave me the courage.”

He caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see Davis stop in front of Cord. The two men exchanged what appeared to be heated words until Chance realized something was off about Cord’s posture. His shoulders drooped a little, and while he hadn’t bowed his head, he wasn’t quite looking Mr. Davis in the eye, either.