Cowgirls Don't Cry (4 page)

Movement in the doorway caught her attention, and her breath froze for a moment when she thought she recognized the figure ducking out. Impossible. There was no way that man could have been the same one at the hotel in Chicago. The hair prickled on the back of her neck and she got a shivery feeling. Her dad would have said someone was walking across her grave. She shivered again, doing her best to ignore the premonition.

“Daddy...” Her voice broke, and she coughed to clear the frog in her throat. Feeling a bit stronger now, she tried again. “Daddy was full of sayings, most of them taken from Louis L’Amour books.” She offered Nadine a tentative smile. “We have a whole wall of them at the house, and I grew up on their truisms. Dad also had a tendency to tell me, ‘Shoulda, coulda, woulda, honey, just opens the door to regrets. That’s the worst thing a person can do—live a life full of regrets.’”

She bit her lip and stared out the door where that mysterious figure seemed to be waiting in the shadows. “I should have been a better daughter. And I could have. Would I if circumstances had been different? I don’t know. But I do believe Daddy wouldn’t want me worrying about the past. He lived and loved life to the absolute fullest. We can honor him best by doing the same.” She glanced over at Boots and was puzzled by the look on his face. Something was going on, something he didn’t want to tell her. She’d pin him down soon.

“Thank you all for coming, for being my dad’s friends. And thank you, Nadine, for your gracious offer of Four Corners. I never did learn to cook.” She glanced down at the speckled gray-and-black box that held her father’s ashes. “Hard to believe that a man bigger than life can be reduced to a little box like that. What’s left of his body might be in there, but his spirit is riding free. Nothing could ever contain it. Not a hardscrabble life and certainly not death.”

Cass stepped away from the microphone and was immediately enveloped in a big hug from Boots. Within moments, they were surrounded by well-wishers, despite her resolve to get to the lobby area to see if her imagination was playing tricks on her. The hairs on her neck rose again, and she could have sworn someone was staring at her. As surreptitiously as she could, she scanned the room, but no one triggered the sense of her being...hunted. She shivered.

“I need to get outside, Uncle Boots.” She breathed the words out in a rush and added a few “I’m sorry, excuse me’s” in her wake. Stepping into the balmy temperature of the early spring morning didn’t quell the feeling of being stalked.

A man wearing a black Stetson caught her eye. He strode across the parking lot headed toward a massive Ford pickup. Broad shoulders tapered to a really fine pair of jeans—could it be the guy from Chicago? That wasn’t possible. No way, no how. The shiver dancing through her this time had nothing to do with fear.

* * *

Chance escaped before she recognized him. Traffic wasn’t heavy enough to curtail his thoughts, which left him wanting nothing more than a tall scotch and a cold shower. What in the world had possessed him to attend the memorial service? Who was he trying to kid? Cassidy Morgan. He was drawn to her like a honeybee to clover. Crossing paths with her in Chicago had been a fluke but now he knew where to find her.

Her face as she eulogized her father was far too reminiscent of her expression in the hotel lobby. He’d probably bumped into her right after she received the news about her father’s passing. Chance didn’t do vulnerable but this woman had an inner spark that drew him like a bull to a red cape. He wanted her, plain and simple—even if there was nothing simple about this situation.

His cell phone rang, and he punched the button on the steering wheel for the Bluetooth connection. He snarled into the hidden microphone, “What?”

“Dang, bro. Don’t be biting my head off.”

“What do you want, Cord?”

“Cash and I tracked down that stud colt the old man wanted. You’re not going to believe where he is.”

“Dammit. Does he want me chasing a horse or stealing a ranch out from under a woman who just buried her father?”

“Whoa, dude. Back up there a minute. That almost sounded like you’ve developed a conscience.”

Chance rubbed his temple and gave up trying to talk and drive at the same time. He pulled off and realized he’d parked a block from the Four Corners. How the hell had that happened? He jammed the transmission into Park and leaned his head back against the headrest on the driver’s seat. “Okay, Cord, so tell me where the damn horse is.”

“Right here. The plot thickens, little brother. Ben Morgan bought that colt months before you headed north to track him down. He’s been under our noses all along.”

He sat up straighter. “The ranch and everything on it is collateral. The colt, too?”

“No clue, but Cash is pulling financials. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, the old man wants to accelerate things. Can you call the balloon payment immediately?”

“Our father is a real SOB, Cord.”

His brother’s ringing laughter filled the cab. “So what else is new?” Cord broke the connection before Chance could retort anything.

He stared out the windshield. “So what’s that make us, big brother?”

Four

T
he screen door banged shut behind her. The room hadn’t changed one iota in her entire life. She stopped short as countless memories washed over her.

Don’t run in the house.

Don’t slam the door.

No, you can’t bring that baby skunk inside.

Boots sprawled in the worn wooden chair on the porch, Buddy at his feet. A small metal table separated his chair from its twin. Her father’s chair. How many evenings had she worked on her homework at the kitchen table, listening to the two men talk through the open window? She passed off an icy glass of sweet tea to Boots then grabbed a third chair, a refugee from some 1950s patio set, and settled into it.

“What are you not sayin’, Cassie?”

She’d put off this discussion for almost a week. So much for easing into the conversation. There was no way to soften her news, so she blurted it out. “I’m putting the ranch up for sale.” When Boots didn’t respond, she plunged ahead. “I don’t need the money. Not really. I want to set you up with a little place closer to town. A place where you and Buddy and a horse and some cows can live and be happy.”

She gulped down a breath and continued. “It’s for the best, you know. I have a life in Chicago. A job. Friends. I left the ranch and never intended to come back, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it and...and...” Her voice trailed off as she raised her gaze to meet his. “Say something, Uncle Boots. Don’t just sit there staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.”

“You can’t sell the ranch.”

“Yes, I can. It’s mine.” She snapped her mouth shut. Maybe it wasn’t hers. Maybe her father had left the place to Boots. “Isn’t it?”

“Sort of.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re Ben’s heir, but the place is in hock to the bankers.”

“What did Daddy do, Uncle Boots?”

“He took out a loan, Cassie, to pay the medical bills. The note on the land is coming due soon.”

She winced, shut her eyes and rubbed at her temples. “How much?”

“A bunch.”

“Define a bunch, Uncle Boots.” Money. This she understood.

“More than what your daddy has in the bank. More than what I have in the bank. And unless you’ve made a fortune I don’t know about, more than what you have.”

“What was he thinking?” The words burst from her mouth before she could stop them.

“He was thinking about paying his bills.”

The censure in Boots’s tone burned, but she deserved it. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But if Dad took out a loan, he must have had a plan. He didn’t believe in being in debt.” She tried to feel hopeful while waiting for that proverbial other shoe to drop.

“Cattle.”

“Cattle?”

“Before he was diagnosed, he bought a herd of five hundred feeder calves cheap. Had them on grass all winter so they’re fat and almost ready for market. Give ’em another few weeks, and they’ll bring top price. Grass-fed beef is the big thing now, so those calves should make enough to pay off the balloon payment with plenty to cover the rest of his debts to the hospital and leave you a little start-up cash.”

“Start-up cash? Did he really believe I’d come back here to stay? With him gone? Why would I do that?” She gulped and quickly added, “Not that I don’t love you, Uncle Boots.”

“You need to come with me.” He heaved up out of his chair.

He limped going down the steps, Buddy close on his heels, and she remembered Boots was even older than her father. He had to be pushing seventy. Man and dog ambled toward the barn and a few moments later, Cass followed. She caught up and as they entered the dim environs of the wooden structure side by side, Buddy darted ahead. Boots paused to flip a light switch, though it didn’t add much illumination to the space. Whickers greeted them, and a few horses stuck their heads over the stall doors to watch. She recognized her father’s favorite horse, Red. A big sorrel with a white blaze, the horse neighed and stretched his neck.

“Your dad spoiled that dang pony.”

Cass laughed and stepped over to the stall. Red nickered and stretched his nose toward her. She reached up, and his velvet lips nibbled her palm. “I’ll sneak you a carrot later.” She patted the horse’s neck before glancing back at Boots. “So? You wanted me to see Red?”

He shook his head before tilting it toward the stall across the way. “Nope. I want you to look over here.” He pointed to a stall across the barn. “Ben was a horse trader and that’s what he did. Just for you.”

* * *

Chance knocked on the door, but no one answered. Lights illuminated the windows and Boots’s rusty old truck was parked nearby. He walked to the end of the porch. A glass of tea sweated on a metal table. Then he noticed the open door and lights glowing in the barn. He sauntered that way, rehearsing what to say. Whatever he said, his heart wasn’t really in what he had to do, even as it tripped a couple of beats at the thought of seeing Cassidy again.

He stepped into the soft gloom of the barn and stopped dead in his tracks.

Cassidy was leaning over a stable door murmuring something he couldn’t understand. The old man stood next to her. Damn but she looked fine in jeans and boots. The plaid flannel shirt tucked into those jeans enhanced every one of her curves instead of hiding them. All the blood in his head rushed south, and he had to lean on the barn door to keep from pitching over face-first.

Boots opened the stall door, then they both disappeared inside. Chance inhaled several times, adjusted the front of his jeans and stepped deeper into the barn so he could see what was in that stall.

“Good-lookin’ colt you have there.”

Cassidy jumped about a foot off the ground, whirled and gasped, her face draining of color.

“You!”

He stepped back in mock innocence. “Me?”

“You! From Chicago!”

He held his hands, palms forward, out in front of him. “Guilty. Though I have to admit Fate is being a lady today. I figured I’d never see you again.”

“What are you doing in Oklahoma?” Her brow furrowed, and he decided her glare was one of the cutest expressions he’d ever seen. Then again, there wasn’t much about this woman he didn’t find attractive in one way or another. That seemed to be the Barron family curse—they all had a tendency to think with the wrong part of their anatomy when a pretty woman was involved. He was far from immune from the affliction.

“I live here. What were you doing in Chicago?” As if they were playing poker, he called her furrowed brows with a sardonic grin and raised her with a wink.

“I live there.” She sounded accusatory.

In all honesty, he rather enjoyed keeping her off balance. “So what brings you to Podunk, Oklahoma?” Cassie bristled, and color suffused her cheeks. He wondered if the same thing would happen if she were sexually aroused.

“Were you there this morning? At the memorial service?”

She’d seen him, dammit, just as he’d suspected. Well, he had no choice now. “Yeah. Why?”

“Pardon me for being a bit...suspicious. You try to pick me up in the hotel in Chicago then you follow me here and show up at my father’s funeral. What’s wrong with this picture?”

“Whoa, darlin’.” She was a sarcastic little thing and damn if he didn’t like it. A lot.

“Don’t call me that. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Chance—Chancellor.”

“Well, Mr. Chance Chancellor, you just turn around and walk right on out of here. I don’t know who you are, why you’re following me and frankly, I’m not sure I want to know. Get out and stay out!”

He blinked as his mind whirled. She’d cut him off before he finished his introduction. And now she was making assumptions about his name. Was it possible she didn’t recognize him? That she had no clue he was a Barron? He wasn’t sure if that bothered him. Okay, it did, but it simplified matters. He could figure things out before she ever guessed what was going on. “Easy, there, girl. I can explain.”

“Oh? Really? And I’m not a girl, either.”

No, she was definitely all woman. Her eyes positively sparked energy, like two aquamarines under the noonday sun, and he shifted his stance to hide the effect she had on him. This was
not
the time to be thinking about getting her between the sheets. She was already suspicious of him, so he needed to walk very softly to gain her trust, and for some reason, that seemed very important to him.

No, he didn’t need her trust; he needed her cooperation. He’d handled negotiations far more delicate in his career. He’d get Cassie into bed to get her out of his system then he’d move on, taking the deed to the ranch with him. That was the plan, and he needed to stick to it. Crossing the old man was not a smart thing to do, not when Cyrus Barron wanted something as bad as he wanted this place.

Then Chance inhaled. The dusty-sweet scent of Bermuda hay mixed with the musk-and-leather smell of horses. Rising above those, he caught a whiff of Cassidy—almond and cinnamon dancing with an underlying citrus tang.

“Yo, dude! Out of my barn. Now!”

Like a retriever coming out of a lake, he mentally shook to clear his mind. No distractions. Eye on the prize. But as she stood there, hands on her hips, forehead furrowed and chin jutting stubbornly, he realized she would always be a distraction. And that made him very nervous. No woman had ever gotten under his saddle like this one. His mouth curled into a slow smile, and he watched the effect on her—the slight dilation of her pupils, the flare of her nostrils and the swell of her chest. Yes, he could distract her, too. Good. The playing field was a bit more level now.

A not-so-polite hack and spit had them breaking their staring contest to glance at Boots. Chance recognized him now. Would the old man recognize him? Of all the Barron boys, he stayed out of the spotlight the most. Maybe he could slide through this as “Mr. Chancellor” after all.

“You here for a reason, son?”

Cass watched the stranger glance toward the stall, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Yes, he was sexy as all get-out, but she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw that hunky six-foot-plus frame.

“Yessir. I came to see Ben’s colt.”

“I don’t think we’ve met. How’d you know Ben?”

She cut her eyes to Boots. He didn’t sound too put out, but she knew him. He was suspicious.

“I helped him locate the little guy. I own his half-brother. Same sire but from one of my mares. I considered buying this colt but didn’t want to breed that close to the same bloodline.”

She shifted her gaze from one to the other as they seemed to play a game of verbal ping-pong. She trusted Boots’s instincts and for now she’d just let him run with the conversation. In the meantime, she could study Mr. Chance Chancellor. Tall, broad-shouldered and with a propensity for starched jeans and shirts, he looked like a model. But his boots were comfortably worn, if highly polished, and he wore that black Stetson on his head as if he’d been born to it.

If he traveled the rodeo or horse-show circuit, she’d lay odds he left a string of broken hearts in his wake. The hat covered his hair, but she remembered it being shiny, black and long enough to curl across his collar like the fingers of a lover. And his eyes. Amber, almost feral when the light hit them just right. His face? Chiseled. She had no other description for him. His cheekbones bordered on too angular but didn’t cross the line. Plain and simple, he was gorgeous.

A vague memory pecked at her like one of the speckled hens searching the straw on the barn floor for a bite to eat. He still seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She’d figure it out eventually. She jerked out of her reverie when the guy took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Morgan.”

“Cass. Everyone calls me Cass.”

Her nose flared as if she couldn’t inhale enough of his warm scent. Leather and rain—a fragrance both homey and... Her insides tightened, but she refused to acknowledge the tiny quiver in the pit of her stomach. Well, a bit lower than that if she’d be honest with herself. This guy was sex on a stick, there was no denying it. But why was she being nice to him?

“On second thought, until you can prove you were a friend of my dad’s, you can just call me Miss Morgan.”

He laughed. Audacious and arrogant of him, but the sound reverberated in the barn and even Buddy came over to investigate. He sniffed at the man’s boots, growled a little and hiked his leg.

“Buddy, no! Bad dog!” Her face flamed. Mortified that the dog was about to mark the man, she stammered an apology until Boots cut through her embarrassment.

“That dog has always had a good sense of people.” He stared at Chance unblinking and for a moment, Cass wondered if Boots knew something she didn’t. Her gaze darted between the two men, and tension in the barn ramped up a few degrees.

Buddy sat at her feet but his hackles rose, and she could feel the low growl rumbling in his chest as he leaned against her leg. Her father’s old dog definitely did not like this man and apparently, neither did Boots. So why were her girlie bits going all fangirl on the guy?

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Chancellor.”

He dipped his chin and made a move to touch the brim of his Stetson. The gesture seemed old-fashioned and almost endearing.
Whoa, girl. Rein in that thought!

“Another day then, Miss Morgan, when you aren’t so stressed out or busy. Again, my condolences.” He walked away but paused at the barn door. “We will see each other again, Cassidy Morgan.”

Oh, hell.
That dang sure sounded like a promise, but she wasn’t sure just what the man had in mind.