Cowgirls Don't Cry

“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.

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