Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid (11 page)

“Why?”

The word was wrenched out of her, and she hated herself for asking it and hated him more for forcing her to ask. Why did he want to forget her? Why had he left in the first place?

“Survival,” he answered, his voice grim. “It was sheer torture remembering those nights I held you in my arms. Remembering all the dreams we made together and the future we planned. Somehow I ended up on the rodeo circuit. Those first few months after I left, I think I probably spent more time in the bottle than sober.”

She pictured him ten years younger, desperate and drunk. “If you were so miserable, why didn't you just come back?”

“I almost did a hundred times. But I knew nothing had changed. I was still the wrong man for you.”

She bit her tongue to hold back the bitter words that wanted to flow out like vinegar from a spilled bottle.

“I tried my damnedest to forget you. But I couldn't. For ten years I remembered the way you always smelled like wildflowers. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating on some
thing. The way your mouth would soften like warm caramel when I kissed you.”

He finished on a murmur, his voice just a hush, barely audible above the wind. The low timbre of it reached deep inside her, plucking at those strings only he had ever found.

She shivered, not from the cold this time but from a slow, achy heat she didn't want to face.

“Is that supposed to matter to me?” she snapped, to cover her reaction. “That once in a while you spared a thought for the stupid, naive girl you left behind?”

“Not only once in a while. Much more often than that.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Slater, you could have tattooed my name across your forehead for all I care. It still wouldn't change the basic fact that you left.”

His mouth tightened. “I had reasons. I told you that. At the time it seemed like the best decision all around.”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot. Salt River's evil drug cartel that was going to arrange things so you were thrown in jail.”

“Damn it, Cassie. I'm telling the truth. I was threatened with exactly that. Ask yourself this. How would you have faced your friends, your brothers, if the man you planned to marry went to prison?”

“We'll never know, will we?”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut again. An uneasy silence descended between them again, and he picked up a stone and skipped it into the lake, where it bounced five times, one more than her own personal best. Where the stone hit water, ripples spread out in ever-widening circles that shimmered in the moonlight.

“I figured you'd be long married by now to some prosperous rancher,” he finally said. “Even though that was what I wanted for you, I hated picturing you with a house and a husband and a pack of kids.”

She had to close her eyes at the raw note in his voice. She wouldn't let him get to her. She couldn't.

“When I found out you never married, that you were working at the Lost Creek, I realized I had to come back to find out why.”

Why had she never married? Because no one else had ever asked her. Maybe someone might have if she hadn't always constructed an invisible wall of protection around her wounded heart that no man had ever been able to breach.

“Wait a minute.” Her attention finally caught on his words. “How did you find out I never married?”

In the moonlight she thought she saw his color change slightly, and he refused to meet her gaze, looking out at the water instead.

Finally he shrugged. “I sent out private investigators. You weren't very hard to find.”

Of course she wasn't hard to find. She had never gone anywhere. All her life, the only time she had been beyond a hundred-mile radius of Star Valley was the time she and Lucy spent a week with Matt at a stock show in Denver.

She hadn't been anywhere, hadn't done anything, hadn't lived beyond the insular world she had known all her life. The world had marched on in the last ten years—just look at how much Slater had changed—while she had stayed behind, forever frozen in ice.

Waiting for him.

No. No she wasn't. She denied it vehemently. She
had done what she had to do, stayed and raised her niece and helped her brother. She couldn't regret that.

She loved it here. She had a good life. Good friends, her family. Once she bought Murphy's in town, she would have everything she had ever needed.

Still, her face burned and she wanted to press a hand to the sudden slippery self-disgust flipping around in her stomach like one of those trout.

It was far easier to focus her anger at him. “You sent hired dogs after me?”

He grew still, his eyes suddenly cautious over her tone. “Cassie…”

“Am I supposed to be flattered by that?”

“You're not supposed to be anything.”

“So that's why Maverick decided to buy the Lost Creek. You found out the ranch was for sale and figured maybe I was, too.”

“No. Of course not.”

“I don't care how much money you have, Slater, and I never did. You're the only one who cared about that. If you bought the ranch with some crazy, misguided idea that I would fall back into your arms, you've wasted your money.”

Now
she wasn't cold anymore. She was burning up, an angry inferno, and she embraced the heat. She only prayed it would blaze hot enough that the little part of her still clinging to the past would burn away into cinders.

She rose and glared at him. “I was stupid enough to fall for you once, Slater. You can be damn sure I won't make the same mistake again.”

She whirled and marched away, leaving him sitting by the small mountain lake, watching after her.

Z
ack lay in his sleeping bag, watching his breath puff out in little clouds in the cold predawn air.

He hadn't slept more than an hour or two all night, and those had been restless, tortured with dreams of her. In one, she had been standing above him on a high glassy tower flanked by hundreds of giant steps, each taller than he was. Every time he tried to hoist himself up and managed to make it within a few steps from her, she moved a little higher up the tower.

Forever out of reach.

The dream's symbolism didn't escape him. He huffed out a breath, grimly aware that he'd messed this whole thing up from the day he came back. What had seemed like such a great idea in Denver—doing everything he could to persuade her to give him another chance—now seemed quixotic in the extreme.

How could he undo the past? Even if he had the power to do so, she wouldn't let him close enough to
try healing the wounds his desertion had inflicted on her spirit.

His presence here was torture for both of them. He was beginning to see that. She wanted him to leave so she could get back to the life she had made for herself.

And he wanted to stay so badly he ached with it.

He should just give up. Cut his losses and go on back to Denver. Every time he considered it, though, he remembered the way she had responded to his kiss earlier in the week. The way she shivered if they accidentally touched. The color that climbed her cheeks whenever she caught him looking at her, as he knew he did far too often.

She wasn't immune to him. She'd be lying if she said she was. Even if her mind and her heart couldn't see beyond his past sins, her body was more than willing to forgive and forget.

If only he could manage to convince the rest of her that he deserved that forgiveness.

Or convince himself.

He sighed and rolled over just as he heard the zip and rustle of someone climbing out of a tent nearby.

Cassie.

It had to be. As camp cook she was probably trying to get a head start on breakfast before the rest of the guests and wranglers woke up.

Without stopping to debate the wisdom of confronting her again so soon after their encounter the night before, he moved quietly. He slipped his jeans on over the thermals he'd been wise enough to pack, grateful once more that he had remembered how cold it could get in the Wyoming mountains, even in June.

He shoved his boots on quietly, then grabbed his denim jacket and Stetson.

Outside in the frosty mountain air, he saw her crouched at the fire ring, busy trying to coax the embers back to life. She wore a forest-green ranch coat but her head was bare, her short-cropped dark hair tousled and sexy from sleep. He imagined it would probably look exactly like that after making love all night.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as his unruly body stirred at the mental image. After a moment of fierce concentration, he managed to force it away and offered what he hoped was a harmless smile.

If he expected a smile in return—or any sign at all that she was happy to see him—he was doomed to disappointment. She glowered but went back to work trying to kindle a blaze.

Undeterred, he stepped closer. “Need help?”

For a moment he thought she was going to refuse his offer, then she shrugged and rose to her feet. “Knock yourself out. I need to get some water for coffee.”

He took her place, then watched as she grabbed a small bag from inside her tent, then picked up one of coffeepots. She flipped on a flashlight against the early-morning darkness, then disappeared through the trees toward the lake.

She hadn't left matches for him, he noted with a wry grin. And the embers were as cold as her heart.

Little brat. Did she expect him to rub a couple of sticks together? Joke's on you, sweetheart, he thought, and dug into the pocket of his jacket for his lighter. A few moments later he had a nice little fire snapping to ward off the chill.

A slightly ridiculous sense of pride glowed in him as brightly as the flames while he warmed his hands in the heat emanating from the fire.

When she returned a few moments later carrying the coffeepot filled with water, her hair was wet and under control, her face damp and clean.

A memory flashed through his mind of that first cattle drive they went on, the one that had started everything between them. He had been amazed and intrigued that she had somehow managed to stay fresh and clean and pretty even when trail dust covered everyone else in a fine layer.

He had noticed the boss's younger sister long before then—how could he not?—but he had kept those very facts uppermost in his mind. She was the boss's sister. And she was young.

He was far too wise a man to mess up a good job over a girl, no matter how pretty and fresh she might be. Besides that, she was far too young and innocent for a rough man like him.

Still, on the trip he had seen another side of her. She had been funny and gutsy and mature beyond her years. And she had looked at him with a wary attraction in her blue eyes that he had been helpless to resist.

She still looked at him that way, whether she was conscious of it or not. That, more than anything else, kept him in Star Valley when he knew damn well he should have given up and gone back to Denver days ago. As soon as he found out about Melanie.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and approached her at the big four-burner propane camp stove, with its prep counter and griddle. “What else can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Everything's under control here.”

Except me,
he thought. “Can I get you more wood for the fire?”

She shrugged, which he took as assent. He spent the
next few moments gathering a few more armfuls of wood. By the time he returned, the enticing aroma of coffee and sizzling bacon reached him.

None of the other guests or wranglers had ventured out yet, he saw. Cassie still stood at the camp stove, mixing together ingredients for flapjacks, and she barely looked up when he returned to camp. He set the wood atop the dwindling pile and joined her.

He longed to kiss that pink, sunburned nose but he didn't want a spatula covered in batter across his face so he contented himself by just leaning back against a tree trunk and watching her graceful movements.

“Do you remember that first cattle drive we went on together?” he finally asked. “You and your cougar friend?”

She paused for just a fraction of an instant in stirring the pancake mix. “I remember.”

“I think that's the moment I fell in love with you,” he murmured. “When you faced an angry mountain lion with your chin out and that smart mouth of yours going a mile a minute.”

When she returned to the batter, her movements were brisk, almost agitated. “Shut up, Slater.”

He moved closer, until he was only a few feet away. She edged away as far as she could without her post at the stove. He was making her nervous, but he didn't care.

He was desperate, fighting for his life here.

“That's when I fell in love with you,” he repeated. “On that trip. But I knew even that first time I kissed you by your tent that there wasn't a chance for us. Not then.”

“And not now,” she snapped.

“I had nothing to offer you. No money, no pros
pects. Nothing to provide you the future you deserved.”

Her eyes were hard blue flames in an angry face. “And just because you're Mr. Big Shot Businessman now, because you have enough money to buy whatever you want, you think that's going to make a difference to me? That I'm shallow enough to care? Are you honestly arrogant enough to think I'll just fall into your arms now that you've so magnanimously decided to return like some kind of damn conquering hero?”

He couldn't keep his hands away from her another second. He reached out and curved a finger along the silky skin under her high cheekbones, aware he was taking the biggest chance of a life filled with risky choices.

“Not because of the money,” he said quietly, his heart beating a mile a minute. “Because you never stopped loving me. Any more than I ever stopped loving you.”

She froze at his words and stared at him, her eyes huge and stunned. A small, distressed sound escaped her mouth, and he moved faster than that mountain cat she'd confronted to catch it.

He kissed her tenderly, gently, trying to show her the fierce emotions in his heart. At first she remained motionless under the slow assault, then, just when he was beginning to feel a little light-headed from holding his breath, her hands crept around his neck like tiny, wary creatures coaxed out of hiding.

With a hushed sigh, she settled against him, and her mouth softened under his. He wanted to shout in triumph. Wanted to grab her tightly against him and mold her body to his, to devour that soft, sweet mouth.

He didn't want to send her running back for cover,
though, so he forced himself to keep the kiss slow and easy while his blood sang urgently through his veins.

She wanted to weep from the tenderness in his kiss and from his words. She wanted the soft, devastating kiss to go on forever while the sun burst above the mountains, bathing them in its warmth. She wanted to stay right there for the rest of her life with his hands cupping her face and his mouth soft and gentle on hers.

When he eased away, both of their breathing came in shallow gasps. “Don't lie to me, Cassidy Jane.” His voice was low, compelling, and his hazel eyes gleamed with an emotion she didn't want to acknowledge. “No matter what happened ten years ago, you still have feelings for me, don't you?”

She blinked at him as reality came crashing back. Dear heavens. He was right. She did. Part of her had never stopped loving him, even when she hated him.

Heat soaked her skin, and she wanted desperately to escape, to hide away until she could come to grips with this horrifying realization. Before she could, she heard two high-pitched voices already bickering, then the zip of a tent flap. An instant later the Carlson twins burst out into the clearing.

She barely had time to step away from Zack before their mother crawled out of the tent after them.

“Is that bacon? We're starving! When will it be ready? Can we have some?” The twins punched questions at her in rapid succession.

The jarring shift from the sensuous, dream-like encounter with Zack to the very real demands of two nine-year-olds left her disoriented. She blinked at them for a moment, then quickly composed herself.

She had long practice with hiding her feelings, after all. Even from herself.

“Yes, it's bacon. And if you each wash your hands with one of those wet wipes, I might let you snitch a few pieces now, before breakfast.”

The next hour passed in a rush as she prepared pancakes and hash browns and pound after pound of bacon to feed sixteen people. She welcomed the hard work, grateful for something to keep her mind away from Zack and the stunning truth he had forced her to finally admit to herself.

While she was occupied with cooking and cleaning up breakfast and then reloading the food supplies, the Lost Creek wranglers broke camp. The sun was still low in the east when the group began the trail ride back to the ranch.

Without the excitement of the cattle to prod along, the guests were far more subdued during the ride back. Even the dogs plodded along without much energy.

Cassie didn't mind. She had far too many thoughts chasing themselves through her mind to concentrate on anything but a slow, easy ride down the wide trail.

After that cataclysmic kiss, Zack's low words had unleashed a flood of emotions that still whirled and cascaded through her. She thought she had been able to exorcise him from her heart after he'd left. But with just a few words, he had shown her how foolish and naive she was for clinging to that notion.

She still loved him. Had never stopped. Now what was she supposed to do about it?

Absolutely nothing,
the cautious side of her warned. She couldn't afford to do anything about it.

“You know who he is, don't you?”

Cassie hadn't noticed Amy Carlson, the twins' pretty, frazzled-looking mother, had fallen behind the rest of the riders and was riding abreast of her. The
twins were up closer to the line, being closely monitored by their father and a couple of the wranglers.

She followed the woman's gaze right back to Zack riding ahead of them in that loose-limbed way of his and felt a blush climb her cheeks as she realized she must have been staring at him.

“Who?” she asked, pretending ignorance.

Amy made a fluttery gesture with her hand. “Mr. Gorgeous. Zack Slater. I just about died when I recognized him at the ranch the first night we arrived, eating in the dining hall just like the rest of us mortals.”

“I know who he is.”

“Besides being every woman's secret fantasy, the man is close to a legend in Denver,” Amy went on. “Every single thing he touches seems to turn to gold. I read a piece on him in the business section of the
Post.
It was fascinating stuff.”

She had always thought him fascinating, even when he'd been a rough-edged ranch hand. Though she suddenly discovered she desperately wanted to hear about the life he had made for himself, she didn't want to appear too obvious. “Really?” she asked blandly.

Amy didn't appear to need much encouragement. “He keeps to himself for the most part. Reclusive, almost. I never see his picture on the society pages. But he has this really gorgeous apartment in Denver and a big ranch in western Colorado. According to the reporter at the
Post,
although he keeps it a secret, he's also a big-time philanthropist who gives huge amounts of money to all kinds of pet projects. A couple of alcohol rehab centers. The children's hospital in Denver. A mentoring program for kids living in abusive situations.”

Alcohol rehab centers? Abused children? The little crack in her heart widened even further.

Zack had never wanted to talk much about his childhood, even when they were engaged. He had no family left, she knew that. His mother had died of cancer when he was six and his father hadn't taken her death well. From what she had pieced together, Zack's father had packed up his little boy and carted him from ranch to ranch across the West, never staying long in one place.