Silken Threads (7 page)

Kirk talked about it, but he concentrated more on the road than on Cassandra’s face, which she was grateful for, because as he spoke, her body tensed. She couldn’t help it: whenever anyone talked about horses, she had the same reaction.

She heard a different tone in Kirk’s voice than she was used to when people spoke about animals. His voice was almost reverent, and he seemed to give the animal human qualities. Strangely, it wasn’t unpleasant.

When he finished talking, he slowed the car and turned off the main road onto a smaller one-lane blacktop. “The Broken Spur begins here,” he said, pointing to a small sign on the side.

“How large is it?” she asked.

“About fifteen thousand acres,” he informed her as they crested a hill. When they started down, Cassandra saw the ranch spread out beneath them. There were several large buildings, two barns, and half dozen small corrals.

“It’s a big place,” she commented.

“About average,” Kirk replied as he stopped the car. “The main house is directly ahead. That long building off to the side is the bunkhouse, and there,” he said, pointing to a corral on the opposite side of the buildings, “is our new stud.”

When he finished speaking, he started driving. Cassandra’s eyes locked on the corral. It was at least a quarter-mile away, and from this distance, the horse looked small and safe.

A few moments later Kirk pulled the car to a stop before a large barn and got out. He came around the car and, as Cassandra opened her door, offered her his hand. “Watch your step,” he advised.

Now she knew why he had looked at her so strangely at the airport when he’d asked her if she wanted to change and she had decided not to. Kirk had put on a pair of faded jeans, cowboy boots, and a lightweight cotton shirt.

“You might be more comfortable,” he’d told her.

Cassandra had decided to wear the dress she had on, along with the three-inch heels that complemented it so perfectly. Now, beneath her feet was only muddy, rocky earth, treacherous footing for high heels, to say the least.

Refusing to acknowledge her error and give him a sense of victory, Cassandra smiled, released the hand that was turning her own to a burning cinder, and followed him as best she could.

Within seconds after leaving the car, Cassandra forgot her difficulty in walking, as the varied smells of the ranch struck her. She smelled a myriad of things—earth, hay—but most pervasive of all was the concentrated scent of horses.

Unable to stop it, tentacles of fear infiltrating her mind, making her unsteady walk even more unsteady. By sheer dint of her willpower, Cassandra forced herself to stand straight and not allow her shivering to turn into full tremors.

She concentrated on the man ahead of her, seeing only his broad back. But even the powerful aura of his masculinity offered no relief.

Halfway to the corral, a gruff voice called out to them. Kirk turned, a smile on his face. “Hello, Hank,” he said as he shook the man’s hand.

“’lo Kirk, been waiting for you.” As he spoke, he glanced at Cassandra, his face open and questioning.

“Cassandra Leeds, meet Hank Lomax, owner of the Broken Spur.”

Cassandra took the large hand he extended to her. “A pleasure, Miss Cassandra,” he said in a heavy western accent. Then he glanced at her feet and saw what she was wearing. “Perhaps you’d like to wait in the house. Wouldn’t want you to twist one of those purty ankles. Besides,” he added with an understanding smile, “you’ll get awfully dirty at the corral.”

“So I’ve been noticing. But thank you anyway, I’d like to go along.”

“Sure thing, just watch out for the rocks; they can be tricky.”

Cassandra nodded, trying to squeeze out a smile she didn’t feel. She started after the men once again, but when they were twenty feet from the corral, Cassandra’s legs refused to move as fear gripped her in its paralyzing vise. She stared at the corral, and at the suddenly gigantic stallion, whose pinkish flaring nostrils and wide dark eyes, riveted her to the spot. When the stallion whinnied loudly, she shivered again. “Kirk,” she called, forcing her voice not to break.

Kirk turned and saw her standing still. “Need help?” he asked.

“I ... I think I’ll wait by the car; I really am getting filthy.” The moment the words were out, she saw the disappointment on his face. His eyes, which had been so friendly since their conversation in the plane, went cold.

“We’ll be done in a little while,” he told her as he turned around and continued on to the corral.

Cassandra stood there for several seconds before gaining the strength to move and make her way slowly and carefully back to the car.

“She doesn’t seem to be your type,” Hank commented a moment after they reached the corral. “City girl and all. Sure doesn’t like to get that purty outfit dirty, does she?”

“How could you tell?” Kirk asked, unable to keep the tightness out of his voice.

“I got to admit she is a looker though.”

“And spoiled rotten. No, Hank, you’re right, she’s not my type.”

“Then who is she?” Hank Lomax asked, eyeing Kirk carefully.

“The boss’s daughter. I’m baby-sitting,” Kirk stated as he turned to look at the stallion. He realized it was truer than he’d wanted to admit. Gregory Leeds had been honest with him: He was playing nursemaid to Cassandra.

“That may not be too bad a job.”

“You want it?” Kirk asked angrily.

Hank just smiled. “No, thanks. I’m happy doing what I do best,” he said, nodding pointedly at the stallion.

“Fifteen hands. Not bad,” Kirk said.

“He’s a handsome one, Kirk.”

“He is,” Kirk agreed as he began to study the stallion.

Appaloosas were pure riding horses—bred specifically for ridding, and Kirk saw the powerful stallion was no exception. Its conformation was perfect, its color exactly what the books said. Dark grayish-black spots proliferated along a silky white body. It was easy to see the horse had the prerequisite amount of Arabian bloodlines.

“He’s a beauty,” Kirk commented.

“And he’ll sire a hell of a good line of riding horses,” Hank added.

“Why don’t we sign those papers so I can give you your check?”

“Fine. Your men called ’bout an hour ago. Said some roadwork held them up. Won’t be here till dark.”

“No problem, Hank. Just tell them to load up and give me a call before they take off. We’ll be at the Best Western.”

“One room or two?” Hank asked with another smile.

“I wish it were two motels.”

“Look, son,” Hank said, his face serious, “I’ve known you for a few years, and I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like that. Why are you so down on her?”

“Ready to sign those papers?” he asked, disregarding the pointed question the man who had hired him nine years ago, when he’d finished college, had asked so perceptively.

Twenty minutes later Kirk returned to the car.

“Finished?” Cassandra asked.

“Uh-huh,” Kirk replied.

“Now where?” she asked, hating the way Kirk was staring straight ahead. Once again, tension filled the air. Cassandra hated that, too.

“Don’t worry, you won’t get dirty. We’re going to the motel.”

“Kirk,” Cassandra began, wanting to apologize for what had happened yet refusing to explain her actions to him. “You could have told me why you suggested I change.”

“Am I going to have to spend the next year explaining everything that happens? Why not try to use the brain you were born with? You’re not in New York anymore!” he snapped, starting the car as he uttered the last word.

They made the drive back to Sheridan in total silence, and when Kirk registered at the motel, he did it quickly and efficiently. They had rooms side by side on the second floor, and Kirk handed her the key and started off.

“At least have the courtesy to wait for me,” Cassandra whispered angrily. “This suitcase is heavy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kirk replied sarcastically. Reaching the elevator, he leaned against the wall and waited for her to follow with the large suitcase.

He let her struggle with it, knowing if he went to help her, he would be giving in. When she reached him, he pressed for the elevator. A moment later the door hissed open, and he stepped inside, again waiting for her to hoist the suitcase and follow him.

They both looked straight ahead at the silver door until the elevator doors opened on their floor. Kirk again took the lead and walked halfway down the hall to their rooms. As he put his key into the lock, he heard Cassandra do the same.

Before he could open the door, Cassandra spoke. Her tone was light, her voice sweet. “Kirk?”

Kirk turned, his face set in a scowl, his eyebrows raised, waiting.

“You’re a prick, but you’re not going to scare me off,” she said in a flat, low voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. Then he went into his room and closed the door.

~~~~

Cassandra turned off the water and stepped from the shower stall into the steam-filled bathroom. Her nerves were still tight, and her mind was as unsettled as ever. Her rage was seething and strong, and she dried herself so roughly that her skin turned an angry shade of crimson.

“How dare he!” she yelled to the moisture-filmed mirror. “He has no right to treat me like this!”

Her breasts rose and fell forcefully under the power of her emotions. “He doesn’t know me! But he will!” she promised.

She left the bathroom, but stopped when she saw her shoes lying on the floor near the bed. The mud had ruined the expensive heels, and Cassandra knew they would never be fit to wear again.

“Damn him!” she yelled to the shoes. As it had happened on the plane, another wave of loneliness captured her within its cruelly taunting hold.

I need him if I'm going to make it. Without his help, his knowledge of ranching, I don’t stand a chance
, she told herself, trying in vain to find some vestige of control.

It was hard, for Cassandra was in a position she’d never been in previously. She was in the middle of a strange place, akin to a foreign country with nowhere to turn, no one to turn to, and nowhere to go. She had only herself, for the man she was with obviously despised her.

What am I doing here?
Just then, there was a knock on her door. Securing the towel around her, she went to it. “Yes?”

“May I speak with you for a moment?” came Kirk’s voice.

The anger that had fled at the onslaught of her loneliness returned the instant she heard his voice. Without thinking, she opened the door. In the flash of time it took for the door to open completely, she saw he was dressed in a pair of gray slacks and wore a deep blue blazer. His dark hair, wet and combed back, was the color of midnight. “What?”

“Dinner,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.

“What for?”

“To eat.”

“After the way you treated me? What the hell do you think I am?”

“My new boss.”

“You have a lot of nerve. You make me feel like I did something wrong just because I don’t know your ways. You look down on me, hardly condescending to talk to me, and when you do, all I hear is sarcasm. And now you want to have dinner with me?” she asked incredulously, her anger beginning to fade.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“Stop that!”

“Apologizing?”

“Calling me ma’am. My name is Cassandra!”

“What about dinner?”

“When?” she asked, realizing she hadn’t eaten since breakfast on the plane ten hours before.

“I guess after you get dressed, unless you’re going in a towel?” he said, moving his eyes for the first time to the terrycloth material, which barely covered her from her breasts to the top of her thighs.

Cassandra’s face turned red and she stepped back. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a little while,” she told him as she started to close the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a slow grin.

Closing the door, Cassandra leaned against it and took several deep breaths. Damn his infuriating smile! But, her anger was gone. He had apologized, in a fashion, and for right now, she was willing to accept it.

Worse, she realized, it didn’t seem to matter how angry she’d been at him, she wanted to forgive him—but only because she needed him to help with the ranch, she told herself.

Cassandra finished brushing her hair, stepped back, and looked in the mirror. In the forty minutes since she’d had her strange conversation with Kirk, she’d put the time to good use.

A large tortoiseshell barrette held her long hair in place by, keeping the ever-errant strands away from her face. She’d used only a small amount of makeup to accent her features, with no base and just a hint of blush on her cheeks; the lipstick was a dark peach shade, a complement to her complexion. Her eyes understated by using only a glimmer of liner to accenting the soft green. Her naturally long eyelashes had an even coat of mascara, which, she had determined, was enough makeup for Sheridan, Wyoming.

She’d chosen her outfit with care, trying to blend in with the environment. The pale green dress was simple and stylish, falling smoothly to just below her knees and secured at the waist by a contrasting tan elastic belt that matched her saddle tan heels. The only jewelry she wore was a thin bracelet, simple hoop earrings, and the single golden S-chain necklace she never took off.

You won’t find any fault tonight,
she told the smiling image of Kirk North lurking at the edges of her thoughts.

With that, Cassandra picked up her purse and started from the room, hoping they would make it through dinner in a civil manner. Yet with that thought, a strange feeling of anticipation mixed with the uncertainty of the unknown, making her wonder just what she was expecting to happen tonight.

~~~~

Kirk nursed his barely touched drink. He had been waiting at the small bar for a half hour, and during that time, he had never stopped thinking of Cassandra.

Every moment he spent with her was like slow torture. He hated what she represented, even as he desired the woman she was. She was a chameleon, he realized. One minute she was a warm and friendly person, and the next, she was as distant as the moon. Yet, several times Kirk glimpsed something hidden beneath the hard mask of a facade Cassandra Leeds wore. Whenever he lowered his guard, she would change into the hard shallow city woman he’d met yesterday.

At one point, when they’d declared an unspoken truce on the plane, Kirk had begun to open up to her. Then at Hank Lomax’s ranch, she’d again showed herself for what she was—a city girl bothered by a little dirt.

Then she’d surprised him when they’d returned to the motel, where she had shown him yet another side of her. “You’re a real prick, but you’re not going to scare me off,” she’d told him. He hadn’t smiled at the time, but after the door closed, he’d had. At least she had a temper, and some spunk to go with it.

Kirk had showered and shaved, and after he’d dressed, he’d rethought the day. He questioned his motives and the reasons why he was treating her so harshly. He didn’t like the answers he’d given himself.

He knew she was from a different world than he and was used to certain things foreign to him. Kirk knew he’d been rough with her and knew he was to blame.

She wasn’t disappointing me,
he’d told himself,
I’m disappointing me.
With that thought, Kirk realized he’d been letting Cassandra and her father rule his actions. He resented having to babysit a grown woman because of a spoiled whim. He also resented the fact that his emotions were fighting his common sense. He had to think of Cassandra as his ward, not as the woman who, if she were just a little different, he would have desired as no other.

Kirk sensed a loneliness in her, the type of emotion that brought out in him, an obligation to help ease her into her new life. He knew all too well, what it was like to be alone in the world. The least he could do was not to let her feel totally alienated.

That’s why he’d gone to her room and, in his offhanded way, apologized for his treatment of her
. Tonight,
he promised himself, lifting the drink and gazing at his reflection in the bar mirror
, I will act like a gentleman.

With his mind made up, he put down his drink. Then he saw Cassandra walk into the lounge. He didn’t move. For a moment, he just stared into the mirror, his chest strangely tight.

She looked too good to be real. Her dress fit like a glove, and he could see the rise and fall of her full breasts through the material. The clasped belt accented the narrow yet perfect symmetry of her waist.

Turning slowly, he gazed directly into her eyes. “Drink?”

Cassandra shook her head, unwilling to take the chance her voice might fail. She had steeled herself against any reaction to Kirk, but when she saw him, her heart began to race out of control.

“
Shall we eat?”

At last, she managed a word. “Yes.”

Kirk stood and took her elbow in his hand. Cassandra stiffened but forced herself to ignore the tentacles of fire emanating from his touch.

Seated, Cassandra was thankful the small dining room was traditional motel style—bright lights and Formica tabletops rather than soft lights and…

The hostess handed them their menus, and Cassandra looked hers over.

“
It’s not Le Blanc, but you can trust the steaks.”

Her eyes flicked over the top of the menu to see if he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t looking at her. “Thank you,” she replied, fighting the tension again laying claim to her every action.

A few moments later a smiling waitress appeared, dressed in a cowgirl outfit. “May I take your orders?” she asked sweetly, looking directly at Kirk.

A flare of anger surged at this slight, but Cassandra quickly squelched her feelings when Kirk, ignoring the waitress, looked at her. “Have you made up your mind?” he asked.

Cassandra gave him a full smile. “I think I’ll have the New York cut, rare,” she stated, looking at the waitress, whose face was now a beet-red from the unspoken reprimand of Kirk’s answer.

“
And I’ll have the same,” Kirk stated.

After taking the salad and vegetable orders, the waitress hurriedly left, and Cassandra was again aware of Kirk’s intense scrutiny. “Thank you,” she said.

Kirk nodded his head in a simple gesture. Before they could start another conversation, the waitress reappeared with their salads.

~~~~

Cassandra glanced at Kirk over the rim of her coffee cup. The meal had been more pleasant than she’d expected. They had talked, but only lightly, never once delving into a tension creating topic. By the time coffee came, she was pleasantly relaxed.

“
The food was excellent, especially the steak,” she commented after putting her cup down.

“
That’s what the West is known for,” Kirk replied, “but I’m glad you enjoyed it. Tired?” he asked. “It’s been a long day.” Even so, Kirk was used to longer days. At the ranch, he was up by five and worked late into the evenings.

“
Not really; besides, we gained two hours during the flight.”

“
There’s not a whole lot to do around here at night, except for a few honky-tonks. Ever been to one?”

“
No.”

“
Want to?”

Warily Cassandra wondered if he was putting her on or not. She decided not. “I’d love to. I’m not ready for sleep yet.”

Kirk called for the check, signed it, and escorted Cassandra to the rented car. Before she got in, she looked up. Her breath caught for a moment as the beauty of the western sky spread out in all its glory.

It was a moonless night, but even without the luminescence of the pale globe, the silver light of countless stars filled the sky. Not a cloud was in the sky, and the sparkling stars were a calming vision of delight.

“
I’ve never seen a sky like this anywhere in the world,” she whispered as she finally got into the car.

They drove in a vastly different silence than the last time they had been in the car. Ten minutes after leaving the motel’s restaurant, they entered a small country and western lounge incongruously named the Cow Palace.

The instant Cassandra stepped inside, she felt like a foreigner. Even though she’d taken pains to wear something that was not out of place, she had overdressed in comparison to the other women, who wore jeans or light cotton skirts. Everyone wore cowboy boots; she wore fashionably expensive shoes.

Forcing herself to put on an air of disinterest, Cassandra followed Kirk to a small table, where they sat and ordered drinks.

At the far end of the lounge, a trio, two men and a woman, played instruments and sang mournful love songs. “Why are all country songs so sad?” she asked.

“
They reflect life,” Kirk responded, his gaze once again intense.

Cassandra tried to relax as much as possible, but whenever she looked at the dance floor, all she could see were people dancing and holding each other close, seeming to be apart from the rest of the world. There was an undercurrent in the lounge, a suppressed feeling of excitement that came close to a sense of belonging, that everyone seemed to share. Everyone except her.

It was a feeling she found herself envying. Shoring up her image of nonchalance, she made her eyes take on a bored, uncaring glaze.

“
What do you think?” Kirk asked after studying her obviously well rehearsed reactions for several long minutes.

“
It’s different,” she admitted honestly.

“
Is that bad or good?”

“
Neither.”

“
This, too, is part of ranch life. After working hard all day, and all week, the hands come to places like this, where they can be themselves and enjoy their free time.”

“
They all seem to have a sort of…camaraderie.”

“
When they’re not fighting.” Kirk accented his words with a short laugh.

“
Do they do that a lot?”

“
Depends on what you mean by a lot. Cassandra,” he said, his voice changing as he spoke her name. To Cassandra it sounded like more of a caress than a word. “Why are you going to Twin Rivers?”

Cassandra took a deep breath, intuitively sensing the time for game-playing and immutable facades was over. The tension returned, enveloping them in a shroud of solitude that made her conscious at this very point in time, something was changing between them. She thought of twenty lies to tell him but discarded each. In her heart, as well as in her mind, she knew only the truth would do.

“
I have to. I need to.”

“
Need to what?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes piercing.

“
It’s very complicated....”

“
So is life, Cassandra, and you’ve put yourself into my life. You’re going to be watching the job I do. All I want to know is why.”

Cassandra laughed lightly but did not break eye contact. “My first impulse was to say ‘it’s none of your business,’ but it is. Kirk….” Cassandra paused to collect her thoughts. “I’ve spent my life doing absolutely nothing other than having fun and spending my father’s money with a vengeance. I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve come to realize that pretty soon I’ll have wasted my life, unless I…”

Kirk watched her carefully. He had sensed from the moment she first started speaking, her words were coming from the heart. When she stopped to look at him with her large eyes, he’d seen her waiting for him to respond. Instead, he waited silently.

“
You don’t make things very easy,” she said, lowering her voice as the music ended.

“
All I asked was a simple question.”

“
But the answer’s complicated. I have to prove to myself I can do something useful with my life.” She didn’t know why it was so important for Kirk to understand what she was saying, it just was.

“
So you went to your, father and asked him to give you Twin Rivers?”

“
Not exactly. I asked him to give me a chance to change my life, to prove I could be good in business. Twin Rivers was his idea.”

“
It doesn’t seem a logical choice to me,” Kirk commented lightly, but his eyes were anything but light.

“
Oh, it was very logical,” Cassandra stated in bitter, hushed tones.

Kirk waited patiently for her to continue, but she didn’t. It was as if a curtain had fallen across her eyes and did not reopen for several seconds.

Cassandra tried to rid her mind of the old fear her words had evoked. There were two parts to her father’s plan. The first she couldn’t tell Kirk about, the other she could.

“
If I... we don’t make a profit this year, then I’ll have to end my short-lived career and fulfill the bargain I made with my father. If Twin Rivers doesn’t go into the black, I’ll have to do something I don’t want to.”

“
Then I guess we’ll have to work together to make the ranch profitable. But it won’t be easy,” Kirk said, momentarily lowering his defenses in the face of her own confession and, at the same time, wondering about Gregory Leeds’ words to him about Cassandra.

Cassandra heard him but could not believe he was actually saying the words. Yet the look on his face was enough to lend belief.