Cowgirls Don't Cry (5 page)

Five

T
he office door clicked shut behind his secretary, but Chance had already swiveled in his chair to stare out the window. Restless energy roiled in his chest, leaving him unsettled. He wanted to see Cassidy again. And not because he wanted to serve her with legal papers. He wanted to spend time with her. Take her out and show her off.

What was it about this girl that riled him up? She invaded his thoughts, danced in his dreams and generally kept him guessing. He should stay away from her. She was bad news, and the old man would be royally pissed if he caught the barest whiff that Chance held any interest in Cass beyond his father’s desire to crush her.

Screw it. He wanted to hear her voice. He could always say he was scoping out the competition if anyone in the family caught him. No one had to know what he was really thinking. Or feeling.

Chance scrolled through his contact list to the letter M. Not for the first time in the past few days, his finger hovered over the entry for Cassidy Morgan. He wanted to hit that call button so bad but he always stopped himself at the last instant—and not because he worried what the family would say.

What mattered was what Cass would say. How could he explain knowing her cell phone number? He’d called the ranch’s landline once, only to hang up before anyone answered.

He finally gave up, shoved the phone in his jacket pocket and headed for the parking garage. He’d just drive out and see her.

Besides, he needed to check up on the colt, since he’d soon be a Barron asset. That was a good excuse. He’d also told Cass he would see her again, and to be honest, he’d enjoyed her quick intake of breath and the flash of her eyes when he made that promise. A grin twisted one side of his mouth. What Barron didn’t keep his promises, right? Exactly. His driving out to see her this morning was now a matter of family honor.

* * *

Cassidy sat forward on the chair and watched the pickup rattle across the cattle guard and head up the dirt drive. She was alone, but for Buddy. The dog stayed behind when Boots had left first thing to run errands. Surprised when Buddy didn’t jump up in the truck, Boots had shrugged and headed off. Cassidy had spent the morning mucking out stalls and making phone calls.

The loan officer at the bank seemed to be dodging her calls and try as she might, she’d been unable to hire a cattle hauler to get the herd to the stockyards in Oklahoma City. Every company she called told her to call back when the calves were ready to haul. What did she know about selling cows anyway? The cattle would be ready in May or early June. April was just rolling around.

And now Mr. Chancellor was pulling up in her front yard. Buddy leaped off the porch and charged the truck, dancing and barking as the driver’s-side door opened and six-foot plus of sexy man stepped out. Since she’d last seen him, she’d done her best to convince her libido that the man was not nearly as hot as she remembered.

Her libido doubled over in laughter.

“What’re you doin’ here?” She had to yell over Buddy’s excited barks.

Her visitor waded around the dog’s determined forays to keep him away from the house and smiled. “A man can’t come see a lady just because?”

“I’m not a lady, and I don’t believe for a New York minute that you ever do anything
just because
.”

He pressed his hand against his chest. “You wound me, m’lady.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are so full of it, dude, I’m glad I have my boots on.” He laughed, and the sound did funny things to her insides.

“You going to make me stand out here in the sun, or can I come up and sit down?” The grin on his face challenged her as much as if he’d actually thrown down a gauntlet.

“Buddy, come.” The dog responded to her instantly, but he never took his eyes off Chance. She returned to the little vignette of chairs and settled in her father’s. She’d overcome her aversion and now sat there in the evenings, watching the sun go down and visiting with Boots. The dog hopped up into Boots’s chair, and she chuckled. Sometimes, the Australian shepherd seemed almost human. She petted the dog and ignored the man as he clomped onto the porch and sat in the metal chair.

“Buddy looks like a little ol’ cowboy sittin’ there.”

She glanced at the dog and laughed. His shoulders, chest and front legs were white. A black stripe circled his back and tummy and below that, his fur was speckled gray with black spots. His lower legs were tan, like he wore boots. A brown-and speckled-gray mask covered his eyes and ears.

“That or a bandit.” She leaned back in her chair and stared at her guest. “So why are you here again, Mr. Chancellor?”

“Most people just call me Chance, since that’s my name.”

The grin he flashed was devilish, and she wondered what thoughts were in his mind. “Fine. So, why are you here...Chance?”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“I don’t know.
Can
you be honest?”

* * *

Damn but that question hit a little too close to home. Good thing he was the poker player in the family. Okay, honestly, he wouldn’t want to play poker with any of his brothers. He deflected her question with a wink and a little smirk. “I’ll plead the fifth on that one. You know what folks say, all’s fair in love and war.”

“Yeah, but which is this?”

“You tell me, Cassidy.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“Well, you’re a man so we know you can’t be honest, so that leaves the other one. Why are you here?”

“Ow. I lodge a protest in the name of men everywhere.” He offered her another crooked grin and a wink as he added, “I came to see you.”

“Why?”

Time to lay his cards on the table. “Because I want to take you to dinner.”

“Dinner.”

“Yes, dinner. I know Boots goes to the Four Corners to eat. A lot. I figure you weren’t kidding about being a bad cook. I’d like to take you out to eat. To a real restaurant.” She folded her arms across her chest, and his eyes drifted despite his best efforts.

“Yo, dude. Eyes up here?”

Heat climbed the back of his neck. Was he actually blushing? He broadened his grin. “Sorry. A man can’t help it when the view is so lovely.” She snorted, and he laughed. He tossed a shrug of his shoulders into the mix and tried a boyish look on her. “The point remains. I’d still like to take you out.”

“Like...on a date? A real date?”

“There’s such a thing as a fake date?” She rolled her eyes again, and he couldn’t tell if that was progress or not. “Yes, a real date. Dressing up and everything. A nice restaurant, maybe a movie after? Or we could go to Bricktown, hit some of the clubs?” Or maybe not. He’d be recognized there. Crap. He’d be recognized at any of his usual haunts. He needed a Plan B in a hurry. “Or we could go to my place, order in pizza and watch the Cubs game.”

“Cubs? Are you kiddin’ me?”

“Okay...White Sox?”

She looked disgusted. “Why do you think I’d be a fan of either one?”

“Um...you live in Chicago?”

“Yeah. But lifelong Cardinals fan here.”

“Really? You
like
baseball?”

“Really. And I like
Cardinals
baseball.”

“So, does that mean pizza at my place and the Cards on the big screen?” He liked that idea. His media room was that much closer to his bedroom, and he had every intention of seducing her before the date was over.

She snorted again. “How cheap do you think I am?” She eyed him speculatively. “Why should I go out with you?”

“I was attracted to you when we bumped into each other in Chicago. That hasn’t changed.”

Her lips pursed as she considered his offer; he wanted to kiss her but he’d remain patient. The time would come—sooner or later.

“Dinner at a nice place then a sports bar to watch the Cards.”

She looked so cocky he couldn’t help but grin back. For a brief moment, he toyed with the idea of calling up the corporate jet and flying her to St. Louis for the game. As a minority owner, Barron Entertainment had box seats, though he seldom got the chance to park his butt in them. Doing so would blow his cover, so he nodded in agreement. “Dinner out then a sports bar to watch the game. I’ll pick you up around five? Game starts at 7:30.” He stood up, and she looked startled.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I got what I came for.” Her expression changed, and he would have missed the flicker of sadness if he hadn’t been studying her reactions.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” She didn’t move to stand. Instead, her hand gripped the arm of the chair as if to keep her in it. She wore an expression of studied casualness.

“Can you make coffee?” he suddenly asked. She stared at him like he was crazy. “We’ve established you can’t cook. Does that mean you’re a Starbucks baby, or can you perk a real pot of coffee?”

“I make excellent coffee, thank you very much. Even Uncle Boots doesn’t complain.”

Uncle
Boots? This was a story he wanted to hear. “Then go make a pot, woman. Prove it to me.”

“Ha! I made one just before you got here. So there.” She darted up and through the door before he could react.

A few minutes later, she returned with a tray loaded with a clean mug, sugar bowl, creamer and a thermal carafe. “I figure you take your coffee black, but I admit to a sweet tooth and a need for cream.”

Coffee steamed in his mug, and he inhaled the rich aroma. After a hesitant sip, he nodded. “This is good, but how do I know you made it?” She flushed, her anger rising quickly. He loved eliciting that reaction from her and couldn’t wait to see what she was like when he had her in his arms.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Sparring with her was fun. He couldn’t deny it. Most women were dazzled by his last name. Cass had no clue, luckily. If she ever found out that his father wanted to take the ranch, she’d hate him. She could hate him later—after he’d given her a tumble, after he got her out of his system.

He finished off the coffee in his mug and reached for the carafe. His hand collided with hers, and instinct had him wrapping his fingers around hers. “Nice,” he murmured.

“Mmm,” she agreed.

As they chatted the afternoon away, clouds gathered on the western horizon. The rising temperature played with the white, puffy cumulous clouds until thunderheads billowed and thrust angry fists into the humid spring sky. A few formed the classic anvil shape associated with violent storms. Whatever breeze there’d been died, and the humidity thickened to the point it was almost hard to breathe.

“I don’t remember a chance of t-storms mentioned on the weather last night.” Cass stood and walked to the end of the porch, scanning the sky. “I’ll be right back. You can come in if you want.” She slipped into the house, and he followed.

Not sure what he had expected, Chance decided this wasn’t it. The furniture might have been new when Cass was a child. Now it looked comfortably shabby. A clunky TV perched on a wooden bookcase and occupied the center of one wall. A metal stand with a saddle that seemed to be in the middle of repairs sat next to it. A leather couch and two ancient recliners formed a semicircle around a battered wooden coffee table made from a slab of pine and two small wooden wheels.

Cass pushed the power button on the TV and waited for the picture to form. Sure enough, one of the local weathermen spouted warnings as he stood in front of a radar image.

“Looks ugly.”

She nodded. “Yeah, and headed this way.” She walked closer and tapped the TV screen with her index finger. “See that? Hail core. I need to get the horses into the barn.”

“I’ll help.”

“No, that’s okay. Buddy and I can do it.”

“Cass, I know horses. I can help.”

She tossed a one-shouldered shrug in his direction, ducked around him and banged the screen door as she left. He glanced down at the dog. She’d banged the door in his face, too. “Wonder what we did wrong, boy?” The dog woofed, and the desultory wag of his tail might translate to a shrug, too.

“Well? You two coming or what?” Cassie’s voice carried through the still air, punctuated almost instantly by a clap of thunder.

“Time to get a move on, Buddy. C’mon, boy.” He opened the door and held it as the dog zipped out and launched off the porch, a gray blur headed straight for Cass. Chance followed at a trot. By the time he caught up, lightning flickered in the sky, and thunder rolled. The horses milled around a field on the other side of the barn.

“Get the barn door,” Cassie yelled, but the rising wind tore her words away. She pointed, and he waved. She climbed the fence as Buddy ducked underneath the bottom rail.

Chance jogged to the barn, ducked inside and shut the door before heading to the far end. He noted the stall doors were already open and padded with fresh straw. He lifted the iron bar on the back door and pushed it open on well-greased rollers. He cut his gaze between the growing storm and the woman and dog working the horses up toward the barn. It was poetry in motion.

In the near distance, a sheet of rain filled the space between cloud and ground, marching across dusty fields. The first fat drops splattered in the dirt at his feet. He stepped out, prepared to help, then realized he might cause more problems by spooking the horses. While he wanted Cass to hurry, he knew she couldn’t. She and Buddy were working the small herd like masters, but the storm galloped toward them.

The rain hit hard, and she was drenched immediately. The horses saw the open door and dashed inside. Chance had just enough time to step into the shadows as they charged in, Buddy hard on their heels. He rolled the door partially closed, leaving enough space for Cass to slip through. She darted in, looking as if she’d just climbed out of a pool. Her hair lay plastered to her head, and her white T-shirt, with the fitting slogan of “Take This Job and Shove It,” did little to conceal every lacy stitch of her Victoria’s Secret bra. He found that intriguingly incongruous. Despite her claims otherwise, Cassie Morgan was a cowgirl—but a cowgirl in a frilly Angel bra.

Chance closed the door, and the gloom in the barn deepened. His eyes adjusted, and he noticed the horses sorting themselves out and heading into stalls, with a little help from Buddy. Cass walked up one side shutting stall gates behind them. Chance took the other side and did the same. They met at the far end, and Cass flipped the light switch. He really wished she hadn’t. He couldn’t take his eyes from her curves. He began to unbutton his shirt.