Love Me Tender (2 page)

Cassidy studied the man in front of her. He was handsome in a way that snuck up on you. At first, he'd just been a tall, rangy guy with regular features. But the longer she looked, the more she took in. The leanness of hip and length of leg in nicely faded jeans belted with braided leather. The flex of muscles in his tanned forearms and beneath the gentle drape of his sage green Western-style shirt. The way his thick sandy brown hair framed the strong lines of his face and flopped engagingly over his forehead; the direct gaze of hazel eyes flecked with green and gold; the tiniest suggestion, when he smiled, that a dimple might want to break through.

Easy on the eyes. The expression had been made for Dave Cousins.

“Easy” wasn't the word to describe his effect on other parts of her body. He most definitely sent a tingle through all her girly parts. It had been a while since she'd felt so attracted.

Unfortunately, Dave was shaking his head. “Sorry, I need to stay on the desk until the receptionist gets back.”

Cassidy was about to respond when her attention was caught by a Native Canadian woman striding into the lobby. She looked to be twenty or so, and was striking with long, shining black hair falling past the shoulders of a crisp white Western shirt. Cassidy checked the footwear below her slim-fitting dark jeans: red cowboy boots that gave her a rare case of shoe envy.

“Hey,” Dave greeted her. “Madisun, this is Cassidy Esperanza, one of our guests. Cassidy, Madisun Joe is my assistant manager.”

And young for such responsibility. Clearly, Madisun had career ambitions and drive. Unlike Cassidy, who was all about new places, new people, new experiences.

“It's nice to meet you,” Cassidy said.

“Welcome to the Wild Rose, Cassidy,” Madisun said. She turned to Dave, setting silver feather-shaped earrings dancing against her neck. “I have the final plans for Karen and Jamal's wedding reception, whenever you want to take a look.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at Cassidy, then back to Madisun. “Would you mind taking the desk until Deepta comes back?”

“No problem.”

“Great,” Dave said. “And could you book two tickets for the Vancouver Opera's
Carmen
at the Queen Elizabeth, Wednesday night, for Mr. and Mrs. Grunewald? The online system kept glitching, so you may have to make a call.”

“Sure.”

“If you need me, I'll be in the restaurant with Cassidy.”

Madisun's brown eyes widened slightly. “Okay.”

Smiling, Cassidy crossed the lobby at Dave's side. As they were about to enter the dining room, a female instinct made her dart a glance over her shoulder. Madisun stood rooted to the spot, staring after them. Hmm. What was up with that?

Inside the restaurant, Dave said hello to a female server. The young blonde's long burgundy velvet dress was flattering, but the style was old-fashioned, as was her upswept hairdo held in place with sparkly combs. Glancing past her, Cassidy noted a male server in a buttoned vest, bow tie, and brimmed hat. The servers and the décor, featuring dark wood and gleaming brass, had the feel of a classy saloon from a Western movie set back in the 1800s.

The Wild Rose Inn was impressive, and so was its owner. Cassidy peeked at Dave's ring finger, which was bare. If he was single, a hot guy like him, a business owner, had to be one of the most eligible bachelors in this small town. Which meant that, if he was
still
single, he likely wasn't marriage minded. And that meant he and Cassidy had something important in common. Marriage was a crap shoot, the odds of failure higher than those of success. She'd learned that from her parents. And when marriages failed, families were torn apart. Hearts got broken.

Even if she felt an occasional twinge of envy for couples and families who did seem happy, she always reminded herself that their odds of staying that way were slim. Seemed to her, it was crazy to set yourself up for heartbreak. Much better to have a little short-term fun, both partners knowing exactly what they were doing, then move on. Not that she was a slut or anything. Fun was great, but the guy had to be special, and she had to feel not just lust but a real sense of connection. That hadn't happened for eight or nine months, but already she sensed potential in Dave Cousins.

She'd come to Caribou Crossing for riding, fresh air, a healthy lifestyle. Add a sexy guy with potential, and life didn't get much better.

The server seated them in a window booth. After Cassidy had ordered her capooch and Dave had asked for plain black coffee, she grinned at the man seated across from her. “Nice place you've got here. It's like a saloon in
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
—which, by the way, I'm not named after.”

“Who are you named after?”

“My gramps. James Cassidy. He was the best guy in the world.”

“Nice.” He nodded approvingly. “Anyhow, yes, the dining room is modeled on an upscale gold rush saloon.”

“Oh yeah, this must have been a gold rush town, right? I saw those old pictures in the lobby.” She'd noticed sepia photos of miners and cowboys.

“Yup. Caribou Crossing was on the Cariboo Wagon Road. A couple of miners struck gold in a big way in the early 1860s and a town sprang up. When the gold ran out, a few enterprising miners decided not to follow the lure of gold elsewhere, but to start ranching. The land was ideal for it. And now Caribou Crossing is also a tourist town, playing up both our gold rush history and the Western ranching theme.”

“That's why I came. For the horses.”

“I'm curious. But you're hungry.” He gestured to the menu lying on the table. “Order some food; then tell me what brings you here.”

Confident that she'd find a job and pay Dave back, she wouldn't choose the cheapest meal. Miners' flapjacks served with bacon, maple syrup, and strawberries sounded delicious.

She gratefully accepted the cappuccino the server brought her, then placed her order. “Fuel for job hunting,” she said cheerfully.

While Dave added his order for a side of biscuits, she savored the first hot, frothy, delicious sips of coffee and glanced out the window. Last night, the town had been dark and she'd been too dog-tired to take in any details. She'd honed in on the light coming from the Wild Rose's windows and stumbled toward it, with that stupid bum leg going numb on her.

Now, in late morning sunlight, she saw what a picturesque town it was. Across the street were small shops: a toy store, a women's clothing boutique, an arts and crafts shop, a drugstore. Attractive and well maintained, each had its own style, yet they fit together comfortably.

The people on the street were like that, too. A woman in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, strode briskly past a family of four who'd stopped to peer in the window of the toy store. A striking brunette in an RCMP uniform chatted with a middle-aged couple in Caribou Crossing T-shirts bearing a logo similar to a pedestrian-crossing sign but with a stylized caribou.

“What do you think?” Dave asked.

She turned from one appealing view to another and saw curiosity in those gorgeous eyes of his. “Nice town you have here.”

“Thanks. We like it.” He gave a rather smug grin that she found enormously sexy.

Actually, pretty much everything he did, from the easy, athletic way he moved, to the relaxed way he chatted with his staff, to the way he raised his coffee mug with his strong hand, was sexy. Her body hadn't felt so alert and alive in a long time—and it wasn't from the caffeine.

He went on. “So you were saying you came here for the horses? You're a rider?”

“Kind of.” She savored another sip of coffee, closing her eyes to enhance the pleasure. When her lashes drifted upward, she caught him gazing at her with obvious male interest.

Quickly, he glanced away. “Go on.”

“I was waitressing at a sports bar in Vancouver and the job itself was fun, especially when Canucks games were playing on the wide screen.” She grinned, remembering the cheers when the home team scored, not to mention the good tips.

“But the manager kept coming on to me, wouldn't take no for an answer.” The memory sent a sour twinge through her stomach. “Sunday night, he crossed the line. I got away from him, but it was totally obvious I couldn't keep working there.”

Dave frowned. “That's terrible. You should report the jerk.”

“Yeah, well . . .” It was easier to just move on. “I also wasn't getting along with my roommate. I'd moved into her place and was paying half the rent, but I sure didn't get equal rights. She filled the fridge with her crap, hogged the bathroom, always had her friends in the living room, even stored some of her stuff in my bedroom. We fought all the time.”

Their food arrived. Dave's steaming biscuits were the same kind she'd savored last night along with that rich beef stew. This morning they came with butter, honey, and strawberry jam. Her own flapjacks formed a golden-brown stack surrounded by crisp bacon and sliced strawberries. The server placed a ceramic jug of maple syrup on the table.

“Mmm, thank you.” Cassidy's nose twitched at the delicious scent of bacon.

For a few minutes, she ate happily. Dave tackled his biscuits, apparently content to wait for her to pick up her story when she was ready. She liked that. Most guys filled any silence with talk about their jobs, their cars, their favorite sports teams.

She also liked the intentness with which he'd listened to her, and the indignation in his eyes when she'd told him about her former boss. A nice guy, this Dave Cousins, on top of being a hottie. She got a vibe that he was attracted to her too, but it was a subdued one, as if he had reservations. Or perhaps a wife or girlfriend, which made him total taboo for her.

After downing half her meal, she carried on. “I was tired of Vancouver. I love cities and it's a great one, but I was ready for something different. I'd been there four months and I rarely stay anywhere much longer than that.”

His brow furrowed as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Lots of people didn't relate to her gypsy lifestyle. For her, “a new day, a new adventure” was a much more rewarding way to live than all that planning, saving, thinking about the future stuff that so many people invested themselves in. For God's sake, who knew if you were even going to have a future? Look at her mom's mom, who fell down the steps and broke her neck at the age of twenty-eight.

Cassidy went on with her story. “This woman I met when I was getting my hair cut, she was saying how much fun she had last summer at a resort ranch near Caribou Crossing.”

“The Crazy Horse?”

“Right.” She accepted the server's offer of a second cappuccino, then told Dave, “I've done a little riding and I have a craving to do it again. And to breathe nice fresh country air.” City days were long and demanding, what with work, friends, partying. She was only twenty-seven, but she'd been feeling run-down. And then there was that stupid thing with her left leg. She must have strained it, because a week or so ago it had gone tingly, then numb. The numbness went away after two or three days, though since then she still got occasional pins and needles and numbness. Like last night, when that crazy-long day had culminated in her embarrassing face plant.

She'd strained her leg, and she was run-down. That's all it was. It was nothing like what had happened to her great-grandmother. GG had ended up unable to walk, unable to speak properly, incontinent—

No, she wasn't going to think about her mom's grandmother. No way did she have GG's debilitating disease.

“So,” Cassidy resumed the story, “yesterday morning I told my roomie I was leaving. She said I owed rent because I wasn't giving notice, so I gave her the few hundred dollars I had and kept twenty for myself. I should've kept at least a hundred, but she was yelling and I couldn't wait to get out of there. I tossed my belongings in my backpack and hit the road.”

Dave frowned, like she wasn't making sense. “You must have money in the bank, though.”

Must?
Like it was some kind of rule? She shook her head. “I've never been big on saving. Life's for living, right?”

“But you have to think about tomorrow, next month, next year.”

All those strings people wove around themselves, tying them down like they were in prison. “Not me. Tomorrow comes, I'll decide what I want to do. Next month, I'll decide where to go. Next year”—she shrugged—“I could be in India, Albuquerque, or Cuba.”

Now he was looking at her like she'd descended from outer space. “Where's your home?”

She was tempted to say Alpha Centauri but figured the truth would freak him out enough. “Wherever I hang my backpack.”

“But you must come from somewhere.”

“Born in Victoria, but I haven't lived there since I was seventeen.”

“Your parents are there?”

“No, they're in Acapulco right now. But that won't last.” Marriage number three—to each other—was as doomed to failure as the previous two. Her parents never learned.

“Why not?”

“Long story.” Talking about her parents was depressing. She polished off the last of her late breakfast. “That was delicious.”

“You have no home, no savings, and everything you own is in your backpack?” His face bore a glazed expression, like she'd laid too much on him too quickly. The guy probably lived in the same town he'd been born in, next door to his parents. Hard to believe a man like that wouldn't be married. Why not find out?

“That's me. Now how about you? You own the Wild Rose, you were probably born in Caribou Crossing . . .” She paused, collected his nod. “Married to your high school sweetheart?”