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“Good-lookin’ colt you have there.”
Cassidy jumped about a foot off the ground, whirled and gasped, her face draining of color.
“You!”
He stepped back in mock innocence. “Me?”
“You! From Chicago!”
He held his hands, palms forward, out in front of him. “Guilty. Though I have to admit Fate is being a lady today. I figured I’d never see you again.”
“What are you doing in Oklahoma?” Her brow furrowed, and he decided her glare was one of the cutest expressions he’d ever seen. Then again, there wasn’t much about this woman he didn’t find attractive in one way or another. That seemed to be the Barron family curse—they all had a tendency to think with the wrong part of their anatomy when a pretty woman was involved. He was far from immune from the affliction.
“I live here. What were you doing in Chicago?” As if they were playing poker, he called her furrowed brows with a sardonic grin and raised her with a wink.
“I live there.” She sounded accusatory.
In all honesty, he rather enjoyed keeping her off balance. “So what brings you to Podunk, Oklahoma?” Cassie bristled, and color suffused her cheeks. He wondered if the same thing would happen if she were sexually aroused.
“Were you there this morning? At the memorial service?”
She’d seen him, dammit, just as he’d suspected. Well, he had no choice now. “Yeah. Why?”
“Pardon me for being a bit...suspicious. You try to pick me up in the hotel in Chicago then you follow me here and show up at my father’s funeral. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“Whoa, darlin’.” She was a sarcastic little thing and damn if he didn’t like it. A lot.
“Don’t call me that. I don’t even know your name.”
“My name is Chance—Chancellor.”
“Well, Mr. Chance Chancellor, you just turn around and walk right on out of here. I don’t know who you are, why you’re following me and frankly, I’m not sure I want to know. Get out and stay out!”
He blinked as his mind whirled. She’d cut him off before he finished his introduction. And now she was making assumptions about his name. Was it possible she didn’t recognize him? That she had no clue he was a Barron? He wasn’t sure if that bothered him. Okay, it did, but it simplified matters. He could figure things out before she ever guessed what was going on. “Easy, there, girl. I can explain.”
“Oh? Really? And I’m not a girl, either.”
No, she was definitely all woman. Her eyes positively sparked energy, like two aquamarines under the noonday sun, and he shifted his stance to hide the effect she had on him. This was not the time to be thinking about getting her between the sheets. She was already suspicious of him, so he needed to walk very softly to gain her trust, and for some reason, that seemed very important to him.
No, he didn’t need her trust; he needed her cooperation. He’d handled negotiations far more delicate in his career. He’d get Cassie into bed to get her out of his system then he’d move on, taking the deed to the ranch with him. That was the plan, and he needed to stick to it. Crossing the old man was not a smart thing to do, not when Cyrus Barron wanted something as bad as he wanted this place.
Then Chance inhaled. The dusty-sweet scent of Bermuda hay mixed with the musk-and-leather smell of horses. Rising above those, he caught a whiff of Cassidy—almond and cinnamon dancing with an underlying citrus tang.
“Yo, dude! Out of my barn. Now!”
Like a retriever coming out of a lake, he mentally shook to clear his mind. No distractions. Eye on the prize. But as she stood there, hands on her hips, forehead furrowed and chin jutting stubbornly, he realized she would always be a distraction. And that made him very nervous. No woman had ever gotten under his saddle like this one. His mouth curled into a slow smile, and he watched the effect on her—the slight dilation of her pupils, the flare of her nostrils and the swell of her chest. Yes, he could distract her, too. Good. The playing field was a bit more level now.
A not-so-polite hack and spit had them breaking their staring contest to glance at Boots. Chance recognized him now. Would the old man recognize him? Of all the Barron boys, he stayed out of the spotlight the most. Maybe he could slide through this as “Mr. Chancellor” after all.
“You here for a reason, son?”
Cass watched the stranger glance toward the stall, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Yes, he was sexy as all get-out, but she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw that hunky six-foot-plus frame.
“Yessir. I came to see Ben’s colt.”
“I don’t think we’ve met. How’d you know Ben?”
She cut her eyes to Boots. He didn’t sound too put out, but she knew him. He was suspicious.
“I helped him locate the little guy. I own his half-brother. Same sire but from one of my mares. I considered buying this colt but didn’t want to breed that close to the same bloodline.”
She shifted her gaze from one to the other as they seemed to play a game of verbal ping-pong. She trusted Boots’s instincts and for now she’d just let him run with the conversation. In the meantime, she could study Mr. Chance Chancellor. Tall, broad-shouldered and with a propensity for starched jeans and shirts, he looked like a model. But his boots were comfortably worn, if highly polished, and he wore that black Stetson on his head as if he’d been born to it.
If he traveled the rodeo or horse-show circuit, she’d lay odds he left a string of broken hearts in his wake. The hat covered his hair, but she remembered it being shiny, black and long enough to curl across his collar like the fingers of a lover. And his eyes. Amber, almost feral when the light hit them just right. His face? Chiseled. She had no other description for him. His cheekbones bordered on too angular but didn’t cross the line. Plain and simple, he was gorgeous.
A vague memory pecked at her like one of the speckled hens searching the straw on the barn floor for a bite to eat. He still seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She’d figure it out eventually. She jerked out of her reverie when the guy took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Morgan.”
“Cass. Everyone calls me Cass.”
Her nose flared as if she couldn’t inhale enough of his warm scent. Leather and rain—a fragrance both homey and... Her insides tightened, but she refused to acknowledge the tiny quiver in the pit of her stomach. Well, a bit lower than that if she’d be honest with herself. This guy was sex on a stick, there was no denying it. But why was she being nice to him?
“On second thought, until you can prove you were a friend of my dad’s, you can just call me Miss Morgan.”
He laughed. Audacious and arrogant of him, but the sound reverberated in the barn and even Buddy came over to investigate. He sniffed at the man’s boots, growled a little and hiked his leg.
“Buddy, no! Bad dog!” Her face flamed. Mortified that the dog was about to mark the man, she stammered an apology until Boots cut through her embarrassment.
“That dog has always had a good sense of people.” He stared at Chance unblinking and for a moment, Cass wondered if Boots knew something she didn’t. Her gaze darted between the two men, and tension in the barn ramped up a few degrees.
Buddy sat at her feet but his hackles rose, and she could feel the low growl rumbling in his chest as he leaned against her leg. Her father’s old dog definitely did not like this man and apparently, neither did Boots. So why were her girlie bits going all fangirl on the guy?
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Chancellor.”
He dipped his chin and made a move to touch the brim of his Stetson. The gesture seemed old-fashioned and almost endearing. Whoa, girl. Rein in that thought!
“Another day then, Miss Morgan, when you aren’t so stressed out or busy. Again, my condolences.” He walked away but paused at the barn door. “We will see each other again, Cassidy Morgan.”
Oh, hell. That dang sure sounded like a promise, but she wasn’t sure just what the man had in mind.
Five (#ulink_be028872-4f7d-54b1-9dbc-92d347f958d3)
The 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.
