Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid (17 page)

He couldn't blame her but he also knew he couldn't live with a woman unable to trust him. They couldn't build a future on something so flimsy, or it would crumble to dust in the first hard wind.

A bitter laugh threatened to choke him. Hard wind, hell. This accusation of murder was a tornado coming out of the blue.

“I told you what happened that night,” he said gruffly. “She came on to me, I turned her down. I couldn't let her drive home in her condition and I didn't want to leave her drunk at the Renegade at the mercy of any unscrupulous cowboy who came along. I tried to give her a ride home. When she wouldn't let up, I finally kicked her out of my truck. Whatever hap
pened to her after that is anybody's guess. I didn't kill her.”

Even as he said the words, deep down in the pit of his gut, he knew differently. He was as responsible for her death as if he'd been the one who pulled the trigger.

She must have run into trouble after he'd driven away. He should never have left her unprotected and alone on the road, no matter how much she might have provoked him.

A good man, a decent man, never would have abandoned a woman alone in the dark.

A no-account drifter, on the other hand, would do just that.

“Go on back to your family, Cass,” he said gently. “This will be tough on them. They're going to need you.”

She glared at him, but there were tears gathering in her eyes. His Cassie, who hardly ever cried. His heart wept along with her.

“Damn you, Zack. Don't you do this to me again.”

“Do what?”

“Push me away. Make my decisions for me. You didn't give me the choice to stand beside you once. Don't do it again.”

He couldn't drag her through this kind of ugliness. He had to push her away, no matter how badly he wanted to yank her against him and bury her head against his chest.

If he listened hard, he could almost hear the sound of his dreams shattering around his feet. The future stretched out ahead of him, bleak and empty. A vast gray expanse without her laughter and her sparkling blue eyes and the miracle of her love.

He had never deserved any of it. All this time he
thought the money and power he'd spent a decade accumulating had made a difference, that he would finally be worthy of her.

But she was right all this time. Everything he had accomplished didn't matter at all.

He would always be the worthless son of a drunk saddle bum. And now he was under suspicion for murder.

No. It was better this way.

“Goodbye, Cassie. I didn't say that before and I'm sorry for that. I should have.”

He slid into the truck but her outstretched hand kept him from closing the door behind him.

“You're…you're leaving?”

“Not right away. But I'm going to be busy for a while trying to fight this, then I'll be heading back to Denver. I'm sure you won't want to stay at the Lost Creek anymore now that the sale has gone through. Claire is capable of taking over for you—you've more than fulfilled your part of our deal. I'll send your check here.”

“I don't want your money.”

Tears seeped from her eyes, trickling down her cheeks into the corner of her mouth. Everything in him cried out to reach for her, but he knew he couldn't.

If he did—if he touched her—he wouldn't be able to let her go.

“Take it. Open your café. Be happy.”

At his words, her outstretched hand curled into a fist and she pressed it against her stomach.

He closed the door of the truck and started it up, then drove away from the Diamond Harte without looking back.

 

This was the sort of day she usually loved.

Cassie stood at the sink in the modern kitchen of the Rendezvous Ranch, gazing out the window at the rain drizzling down outside. The sky was dark for late afternoon, the trees dripping heavily.

When she was a girl, her mother used to call these stormy summer afternoons “do nothing” days and that's exactly what they would do. Curl up on the porch swing with a book or play go-fish at the kitchen table or scavenge through each item in the cedar chest that always graced the foot of her parents' bed, brimming with history.

Those days had been rare and precious, when she could have her busy mother to herself. She closed her eyes, remembering soft hands, a tender smile, a lap just perfect for cuddling in.

Her parents had died when she was twelve, on the cusp of becoming a woman. She used to wonder if being without her mother during those critical teen years had somehow left her broken, a puzzle with a few pieces missing.

Growing up in a household of big, macho men, she had never had anyone to give her advice about being a girl. About how to talk to boys and what to wear and how to fix her hair. As a result, she had treated most of the boys she went to school with just like she treated her brothers. She hadn't known any better. And they had responded in kind, considering her just one of the gang.

Maybe that's why Zack had so completely swept her off her feet. He'd treated her like a woman, even from the beginning.

No. No matter what had happened in her past, she
somehow knew that she would have fallen just as hard for the tawny, dangerous cowboy with the sweet smile.

If her mother hadn't died in that crash, what advice would she give now to her heartbroken daughter?

Forget him and move on? Or go after him, even though he wanted nothing to do with her?

Ten years ago if she had the first inkling where he might have gone, she would have gone after him, no question about it. But she had changed over the years.

This time she knew exactly where he was—still hunkered down at the Lost Creek since Jesse had ordered him not to leave town until he was either arrested or cleared in Melanie's murder.

She might know where he was, but she couldn't go to him. Not this time.

He didn't want her beside him.

No matter how she tried to convince him she knew he had nothing to do with Melanie's death, he still pushed her away. She thought she knew why—once more his damned nobility gave him some stupid, misguided notion that she deserved better than a man under suspicion for murder.

There was no one better. Why couldn't he see that? Zack Slater was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

She sighed and watched the sky weep while her heart wanted to cry right along with it. The rain she usually loved only reinforced how miserable and off-kilter she felt here.

It was kind of Wade to offer her a job at the Rendezvous, but she missed the Lost Creek. She missed her little cabin. She missed Jean and Kip and Claire and Greta.

Most of all she missed Zack.

“Something smells good in here.”

The deep voice interrupted her reverie, and she looked up to see her new employer in the doorway wearing a long rain slicker and Stetson. He looked ruggedly handsome, like something out of a cologne commercial, and she wondered a little desperately why she couldn't have fallen in love with someone like him.

Despite Zack's claim that Wade might have been involved in whatever he'd stumbled onto the night he left Salt River, she still couldn't believe it.

Wade was nice and safe, and he wouldn't have made a habit of crushing her heart like it was made of toothpicks.

She managed to summon a smile. “Beef and barley soup and homemade bread. I know it wasn't on the week's menu we worked out, but it seemed just the thing for such a drizzly day.”

She thought she saw just a hint of irritation flicker across his dark eyes, then he smiled. “That sounds perfect. I'm sure the guests will understand about the change in plans.”

She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry. I guess I should have cleared it with you first.”

“No, it's fine.”

At the Lost Creek she had enjoyed full autonomy in the kitchen. If she had wanted to serve cold cereal for dinner, Jean would have just laughed and gone along with it. But she was learning that Wade liked to have a hand in every aspect of his guest ranch.

She couldn't really blame him. While only a few miles away on horseback from the Lost Creek, the Rendezvous was in a completely different stratosphere when it came to its guests.

Wade's ranch catered to a far more exclusive clientele than the Lost Creek.

While Jean tried to bring in young families and older people—average folks yearning to experience the romance of the Old West for a while—the Rendezvous attracted movie stars and Wall Street tycoons and media moguls. Movers and shakers who wanted to be close to Jackson without the annoying crowds.

Her humble beef and barley soup had probably been a lousy idea. Big surprise there. She hadn't done a single thing right since she came here.

“I'm sorry,” she said again.

Wade waved one hand dismissively while he removed his Stetson with the other one. “Don't worry about it. How are you settling in?”

Somehow she managed to find another smile. “Fine. Your kitchen is wonderful.”

Wade studied her for a long moment until she began to squirm, then he smiled. “I hope this doesn't sound too forward of me but I designed it with you in mind. I always knew you would end up here, one way or another.”

Okay. This was getting a little creepy. What was she supposed to say to that? She didn't have the heart to tell him the Rendezvous was just a brief resting place on her journey to her ultimate goal. As soon as the dust settled from this ridiculous murder charge against Zack and he left again, she would make an offer on Murphy's.

She would,
she assured that hateful little voice raising doubts in her mind. She just needed a little more time.

“You made the right decision coming here.” Wade moved behind her to grab a bottle of imported water
from the refrigerator. “Distancing yourself from that…that son of a bitch Slater was the right thing to do. I tried to tell you he was no-good. Sooner or later, he'll be arrested for murder. That kind of ugliness should never have to touch you.”

He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, and she fought the instinct to flinch away.

What on earth was the matter with her? Wade had been her friend for a long time. She shouldn't have this edginess around him.

“I'm not so sure about that arrest,” she finally said, compelled to defend Slater even though he clearly didn't want her involved. “If Jesse had enough evidence against him, Zack would already be in jail.”

“He will be. Just wait. If there was one thing I learned when I was on the force, it's that the wheels of justice roll slowly sometimes. But Slater will get what's coming to him. I guarantee it. He's going to find out we don't let men like him get away with killing innocent women around here.”

Melanie? Innocent? A raw laugh almost escaped her throat, but she swallowed it back just in time, somehow sensing Wade wouldn't appreciate the irony. More than likely he would be horrified at her callous attitude toward her late sister-in-law.

Before she could answer, Wade changed the subject. “What are you planning for dessert?”

The shift in conversation so disoriented her that it took her several moments to gather her thoughts. “I, ah, I'm not sure.”

A little frown wrinkled his tanned forehead. “Oh. Well, I'm sure it will be something delicious. I'll check back later. Remember, dinner is at seven sharp.”

After he shoved his hat on and left, she gazed out
once more at the gloomy late-afternoon sky. Dear heavens, she hated it here. She wanted to go home. Not to the Diamond Harte, to the Lost Creek. And to Zack.

Her fierce longing to see him again—to talk to him, to assure herself he was okay—was a physical ache inside her, grinding away at her spirit.

She forced her attention back to dinner. She needed to come up with something spectacular for dessert to make up for the soup disaster, and she didn't have any time to waste wishing for the moon.

At the Lost Creek she would have served jam and butter with the homemade bread, but she suspected that wouldn't win her very many points here.

What about crêpes Suzette? They were relatively easy to make and always generated excitement, what with all that flaming brandy. It might be a little extravagant as a counterpoint to the soup but maybe a little flash wouldn't be such a bad thing.

So, brandy. Where could she find some? She did a quick mental inventory of the kitchen supplies she had seen throughout her week of working at the Rendezvous. Wade kept the spirits tucked away in one of the higher cupboards, didn't he?

She had to pore through several before she found it. There. Tucked away in a corner of the kitchen, on the top shelf with several other bottles. She pulled a stool over and climbed up, immediately spying the orange liqueur she would also need.

She was just reaching for the decanter of brandy when she spied something else in the rear of the cupboard.

A box, no more than six inches long and maybe four inches deep. Small and wooden, it seemed out of place amid the richly colored bottles.

The wood was smooth, cool in her hands as she picked it up and she heard a clink and rattle from inside. What might be inside? Someone's forgotten bank stash? Heirloom jewelry? A secret diary?

Her dark mood momentarily gave way to curiosity as she remembered those rainy days spent with her mother pawing through the old cedar chest.

This box was also cedar, the kind a woman might keep treasured letters inside. As she worked the catch and lifted the lid, the evocative smell wafted to her.

She closed her eyes, once more in her parents' bedroom looking at old photographs and bronzed baby shoes and bits of lace pillowcase her grandmother had tatted as a new bride.

This box was lined in red velvet, she saw when she opened her eyes again, the contents obviously precious to someone.

Why? she wondered. It was jewelry all right, but instead of old cameos and pearls that might have belonged to someone's ancestors, at first glance it seemed to be nothing but cheap costume jewelry. A gaudy necklace, spangled bracelets, a pair of dangly earrings.