Love at Any Cost (40 page)

“Cassidy!”

Her head snapped up when her father waved her over to where he, Uncle Logan, and Jamie stood while her mother chatted with Aunt Cait and the Hughes. She swallowed a groan.

“Let the games begin.” Alli squeezed her shoulder and gave her a wink. “If you're not back in two minutes, we'll start without you.”

“Oh, I'll be back,” Cassie said through gritted teeth. Turning, she swallowed a knot and took her time on the approach, her smile stiff and her legs dragging as if wading through quicksand in a cast-iron hoop.

“Yes, Daddy?” She warmed at the twinkle in his eyes while avoiding Jamie's gaze altogether.

Thumbs latched to the pockets of his dress trousers, Quinn McClare nodded at Jamie. “This young whelp here tells me he can beat you two games out of three at pool—is that true?”

Cassie's jaw dropped. Her eyes flicked to Jamie, his smug look thinning her gaze along with her smile. She mustered an air of innocence with a flutter of lashes. “Why, yes, Daddy, it is,” she said sweetly. She tilted her head. “If I'm bound and gagged or completely passed out.”

Male laughter erupted as Logan slapped Jamie on the back. “Sounds like a challenge to me, Mac, what do you think?”

“It does, indeed, sir,” he said with a slow grin. “And I'm particularly intrigued by the bound-and-gagged option.” He bowed at the waist, extending his hand. “Shall we, Miss McClare?”

Her pulse sputtered. Circle a pool table with Jamie MacKenna? She'd rather be hind-quartered
.
“I wouldn't dream of humiliating you again, Mr. MacKenna,” she said with a sweaty palm to her chest. She took a quick step back. “Now, if you'll just excuse me—”

“Whoa, hold on there, young lady.” Her father hooked her shoulders. “The Texas McClares have a reputation at stake here, and I don't think I like this young pup challenging it, do you?”

She pinched her father's waist, a signal that this was one challenge she had no desire to take on. “But, Daddy, you always say not to kick a dog when it's down.” The wide-eyed look she gave
her father issued a plea before it narrowed on Jamie. “I already embarrassed the poor mongrel once last summer, so I really think we should just let sleeping
pups
lie.”

Uncle Logan fished his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Sorry, Quinn—my money's on Jamie.”

“Uncle Logan!” Cassie gaped, heat swarming her neck. “You would betray your own flesh and blood?”

“Never,” he said with a firm clasp of Jamie's shoulder before giving Cassie a wink. “I just think you need a little incentive to rise to the occasion, Cass.”

Quinn patted his vest. “You're on. Got the funds to match it right here . . .”

“Daaaadddy!” Cassie dragged out his name through a clenched smile. “I do
not
want to—”

“Wait a minute—you aren't scared, are you, Miss McClare?” Jamie dared her with that same mischievous grin that had always wreaked havoc with her pulse.

Scared?
Of a pretty-boy polecat? Humph—only in matters of the heart. In pool? Her lips gummed in a tight line. She'd squash him like a stinkbug. “You're on, Mr. MacKenna, but let's make this fast—I've got a game of white elephant to play.” Whirling on her heel, she marched to the door and up the staircase while Jamie, her father, and Uncle Logan moseyed behind.

Ignoring their banter, she made a beeline for the billiards room, grateful she wouldn't be alone with a skunk who had trouble keeping his paws to himself. She snatched her favorite cue, well aware her agitated state would only hurt her game. “Easy does it,” she muttered, fortifying with a deep draw of air that calmed her somewhat. Jamie reached past for a cue of his own, and the brush of his arm sent heat zinging, causing her to bobble on her feet.

So much for calm . . .

“Sorry.” He steadied her with a brace of her arms from behind, his breath so close, it grazed her ear with dangerous warmth. “It would appear, Miss McClare,” he whispered, “that I have a habit of sweeping you off your feet.”

She jerked free and spun around. “I assure you, Mr. MacKenna, the only sweeping tonight will be your pride up off the floor.”

“We'll begin with the traditional coin toss,” Uncle Logan said from across the room, dipping into his pocket to retrieve a coin. “Verified by both my brother and me—agreed?”

Jamie glanced at her father. “Sir, if I may, I'd like to make my own wager.”

Lips pursed, Cassie crossed her arms.
Typical pretty boy—cocky to the core.

“All right, son—shoot,” her father said, slapping his money on top of Logan's at the edge of the table. He folded brawny arms over his thick chest.

Jamie's eyes flicked from her father's face to hers. “If it's all the same, sir, I'd rather keep my wager private till I win.”

Till you win??
Cassie rolled her eyes.
Good, then I won't have to hear it at all.

“That all right with you, Cass?” Her father jagged a brow in her direction.

“Perfect,” she said with a bright smile, “and I'll do the same.” She carefully chalked her cue.
Which means the rat won't speak to me unless spoken to—ever again.

Uncle Logan glanced up, coin positioned on the side of his fist. “All right, Cass, ladies first—call your toss.”

“Heads,” Cassie said, breath suspended as the coin twirled high in a loop-the-loop.

Snatching it midair, Uncle Logan quickly slapped a palm on top, gaze flicking from Jamie to her before he took a peek. His
face revealed nothing as he exchanged looks with her father. “Tails—Jamie has the break.” Logan pocketed the coin, brows arched in sympathy. “Sorry, Cass.”

She bit back a groan and nodded, her smile as wooden as the cue in her hand.
No matter
, she thought with a hike of her chin.
The next break will be mine when I win.
She watched as Jamie ambled over to chalk his cue while Uncle Logan and her father dragged two stools from the bar.

Racking the balls, Jamie rolled the cluster several times until satisfied and then shed his coat, tossing it over a chair before rolling up his sleeves.

She slacked a hip and blew some stray curls out of her face. “I wouldn't get too comfortable, Mr. MacKenna—this isn't going to take long.”

He bent over the table and positioned his cue, peering up beneath thick lashes. “I know,” he said with a half smile that made the butterflies in her stomach dizzy. Refocusing on the ball, he slid the cue through his fingers like a caress, taking his sweet time. He finally made his move with an explosion of ivory that smoothly pocketed five of the fifteen.

“Whoo-ee!” Logan slid off his stool to pound Jamie on the back. “That was the finest piece of shooting I've ever seen anywhere, Mac, pool hall or Oly.” He pulled out another twenty and plopped it over Quinn's. “Double or nothing on my boy, Jamie MacKenna.”

“Uncle Logan!” Cassie stood slack-jawed, barely able to believe her own uncle was siding with the enemy.

He strolled over and tucked an arm to her waist. “Aw, come on, Cass, even you have to admit that was the finest shot you've ever seen. After all, we have to give the boy his due.”

Oh, I'll give him his due, all right—where's that cattle prod . . . ?

Tossing another bill on top of his brother's, Quinn hooked thumbs in his buckled belt, eyeing Jamie with an air of grudging respect. “Hate to admit it, son, but that shot took the starch out of my little girl's chances. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?”

Jamie fairly glowed, the back of his neck tingeing a faint pink. “Johnny Kling at the Oly Club, sir.” His gaze flitted to Cassie with a sheepish smile. “Your daughter made mincemeat of me last time we played, so I decided it wouldn't happen again.” He winked before turning back to her father. “I have my pride, you know. So when Johnny was in for a tournament recently, he was kind enough to work with me for a solid week.”

Drop-jaw was here to stay, apparently, as Cassie stared open-mouthed, one hand plunked on her hip. “Johnny Kling?
Johnny Kling?
Why, you're nothing but a low-down, flea-bitten cheat, Jamie MacKenna.”

“Uh-uh, young lady,” her father said with a slant of his brow, “watch your tongue there. With the best of teachers, most pool players couldn't make that shot in a lifetime, much less after a week. Besides, I'm no Johnny Kling, but down Texas way I wield a pretty mean cue, and you've had the benefit of my tutelage since you were knee-high to a billiard ball.”

Jamie shot a grin, preening like a tom turkey the day after Thanksgiving. Cassie clamped down on the insult that burned on the tip of her tongue while her eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, Mr. MacKenna, may as well finish her off so we can move to the next game.”

“Daddy!” Cassie was appalled.

He winked. “Sorry, Sweet Pea, but I've been looking for a man who could take you on for a long time now, and I think we just may have found him, wouldn't you say, Lo?”

Logan chuckled, tweaking the lobe of Cassie's ear before
returning to his vantage point on the stool. “Sure looks like it to me, but Cass has a stubborn streak as wide and long as the Rio Grande, so let's not count her out just yet.”

“Thank you, Uncle Logan,” Cassie said. A crimp popped in her brow. “I think.”

Cue in hand, Jamie bent low and squinted. “The six, far right pocket.” A clash of balls sent two more swishing into the baskets. And then, with all the grace and charm of a pool hustler, Jamie finished her off with a neat sink of the eight.

Uncle Logan's whoops effectively drowned out the groan that rasped from Cassie's lips. “Stellar game, Mac,” he said with a back-pounding that rattled Jamie's broad shoulders, the annoying grin on the hustler's face enough to cause her supper to rise. “Set 'em up, Quinn, so my boy here can put your girl out of her misery.”

Cassie ground out a smile, jaw ready to pop.
When polecats fly
, she thought with a tic in her cheek. He may have won the next break, but nobody's that lucky twice. She held her breath as Jamie's muscular body curved low over the table, those hazel eyes fixed on the rack of balls with hypnotic focus. Full lips parted, he gently teased and coaxed the cue to do his bidding. Cassie's lips pinched.
Just like he does with women, the weasel.

Crack!

The blood froze in her brain.
No—it wasn't possible!

“Holy thunder!” Logan sprung from the stool to swallow Jamie in a bear hug that literally lifted him off his feet. “That's the first time I've ever seen the eight buried on a break to steal the game. Tarnation, son, I have a mind to fire you outright so you can hustle pool for a living.”

“Mighty fine shootin' there, young man,” Quinn said with a firm shake of Jamie's hand. He moseyed over to drape an arm over Cassie's shoulder, sliding her close with a peck on her cheek. “Sorry, Cass.”

“Me, too, Daddy,” she whispered, head to his chest. “Sorry I lost your money.”

He pulled away to chuck her chin with his thumb, eyes almost misty. “I didn't lose, darlin'—I'm the proud papa of the best daughter this side of the Pecos. Besides,” he whispered, planting a kiss to her hair, “gotta feeling this may just end up a win.”

Cassie blinked.
Excuse me?

He squeezed her shoulder and moved to the door. “Come on, Lo, let these two young people settle their losses. Suddenly I have a powerful appetite for Rosie's red velvet cake.”

Cassie watched her father and uncle leave, her spirits sinking lower than that traitorous eight ball.
End up a win?
For Jamie, maybe. But her? She whirled around to replace her cue in the wooden rack, fingers lingering because she didn't want to turn around and face the smug look on his face. The one that said she'd lost again—first her heart to a pretty boy, then her pride to a pool hustler. She bowed her head, fingers fused to the cue on the wall as if it were a lifeline. And she needed one badly—her heart was racing and her stomach quivering at the thought of being alone with the polecat. Of facing the fact she was in love with a man she couldn't trust, a man whose faith in God didn't exist. She closed her eyes, the thought evoking a sudden sting of tears. Which meant as a couple,
they
couldn't exist—ever.

“Cass.” It was a whisper over her shoulder, warm and soft, and she spun around so quickly, she tottered against the wall.

He anchored her with a gentle hand, and the look in his eyes held not a hint of gloat. “We need to talk,” he said quietly, twining his fingers with hers while he drew her to the sofa.

“About the terms of my loss, I suppose?” Tone brittle, she dragged her heels all the way.

“Yes.” He tugged her down on the seat, then turned to face
her, their knees almost touching while his hold locked onto hers. That blasted scent of clove and spice from his shaving soap filled her senses, triggering her pulse along with the slow graze of his thumb. She tried to ease her hand from his, but he held fast, so she opted to close her eyes instead, refusing to look at him.

“Cass, look at me—please.”

She shook her head. “No. I don't want to.”

His low chuckle filled the air before he skimmed her jaw with the pad of his thumb. “Please? I'd like to apologize, and I'd rather you watch because it doesn't happen all that often.”

The edges of her pout tilted up the barest degree as she snuck a peek, her stomach somersaulting at his close proximity. “All right—I'm listening.”

“Thank you.” His smile was tender. “Now, before we get to the terms of my win, let me say that you were right when you called me a ‘yellow-bellied snake of a womanizer' the first time I kissed you in this very room—”