Cupcakes and Cowboys (Sunset Plains Romance Book 1) (2 page)

You’re better off without him,
Cassidy reminded herself. And in the end, it was better that a baby hadn’t been born into the mess that was her life.

She went through the rest of the day on auto-pilot. At six o’clock, she closed the shop and left without going through her usual evening routine, taking the unsold product with her. She thought of the time she’d painstakingly spent that morning piping on frosting, and wished that she could sell out just once.
One day,
she promised herself. For now, she’d continue sharing her unsold cupcakes and cookies with the ranch hands so they didn’t go to waste.

The sun glowed low in the sky, on its path toward setting. Cassidy rolled down the window of her truck and let the warm June breeze play with her hair as the stress melted away. Drew could have Hollywood—she would stay right here in Oklahoma and run her shop. She never should’ve put her dream aside for his. They’d planned to move to California after the wedding, and she’d dreaded it. City life didn’t hold any appeal for her.

She waved at the pastor’s wife as they passed each other on the narrow road, then turned down the long driveway to the ranch. The blacktop was rough with divots and potholes from the ice storms that winter, jostling the truck back and forth. Cassidy saw Cupcake, her chocolate-and-cream paint mare, grazing near the fence, and made a mental note to visit her after dinner.

Cassidy parked on the grass outside the red farmhouse and wandered inside, her shoulders relaxing at the comfort of home. She inhaled deeply, her nose filling with the scent of roast and hot rolls.

“I’m home, Mama,” Cassidy called, following her nose to the kitchen. “Do you need help with . . . ?”

She froze under the archway between the kitchen and dining room, zeroing in on the unfamiliar man sitting at the barstool. Her mother hadn’t mentioned they were having company for dinner. That was the absolute last thing she wanted to deal with tonight. His black T-shirt hugged his muscled and tanned arms. He looked over his shoulder at her and a slow smile appeared, showcasing his blindingly white Hollywood grin. A dimple popped in one cheek. She hadn’t believed a jaw could be that chiseled in real life—she’d always assumed his good looks were a product of lots of airbrushing.

Jase Larson, A-list celebrity. Drew’s co-star and new best friend.

“Hi.” He rose from the barstool and strode toward her. His jeans clung to his legs with each step and Cassidy’s heart slammed against her ribcage. “I’m Jase.”

Cassidy’s hand was in his before she registered the action. His shake was strong and firm, and she fought the sudden and ridiculous urge to giggle. He let her go, and she folded her arms, her palms clammy with nerves.

Jase Larson. What was he doing in her kitchen? And where was her mother?

The awe at his unexpected presence disappeared as she remembered Drew’s praise of the man in the articles she’d read. “I know who you are. Did Drew send you?”

Jase’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

His confusion seemed genuine. But if Drew had taught her anything, it was to never trust an actor—they were experts at faking. Pain sliced viciously, a release of energy that left her feeling sick. An actor. In her home. One that worked with Drew. “Where’s my mom? And how did you end up at my house?”

“She went upstairs to switch the laundry. And our grandfathers served together in the Army.”

Cassidy vaguely remembered being told this after seeing a preview for one of Jase’s romantic comedies. But that was years ago, and his association with Drew had pushed it out of her mind. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Jase’s full lips lifted in a slow smile, deepening the dimple in his cheek. “I’m a method actor.” His tone oozed with arrogant confidence, as though she should bow in awe at his dedication to his craft. Drew had been like that.

“And?”

“And I just got a part in a western. My grandfather talked to your grandfather, who talked to your dad. I’ll be staying at the ranch for the next four months to prepare for my role.”

When Jase had contacted Randy Erickson about spending four months at Star Ranch, he’d wanted one thing—escape from Hollywood. He hadn’t expected to run into a gorgeous woman on his first night there. She wore shorts that hugged her hips, a fitted gray T-shirt that emphasized her curves, and cowboy boots. Was that flour dusting her shoulder? It gave her an industrial, hard-working look that he adored. Blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun emphasized her prominent cheekbones and stormy gray eyes. She folded her arms across her chest and Jase fought to hold back a grin. He loved a woman with a little fight. Hollywood types were way too accommodating.

“You’re seriously going to stay here?” Cassidy’s full lips turned down in an enticing pout. He’d met her type before—spoiled prima donnas who threw tantrums when plans were changed without their approval.

“There aren’t a lot of hotels in town. And to get the true ranch experience, I should live like a ranch hand.” Jase needed to completely immerse himself in this role and not just play the character, but
be
the character. Acting no longer held the thrill it once had, and with each new role he struggled to regain the fire by diving deeper and deeper into character.

He hadn’t grown up dreaming of one day being a famous actor—he’d always been one. His mother was an award-winning producer and director. The fact that she was a successful woman in a man’s world only made Hollywood adore her more. Jase had been acting since before he could walk. Other career choices were never discussed. And in the beginning, he’d loved it. But not anymore.

Cassidy snorted, wrinkling her nose as though she smelled manure. “You’re going to wake up at dawn, feed the animals, mend fences—”

“Let me stop you right there, sweetheart.” The word felt as strange on his tongue as the day-old stubble on his face, but it seemed like something a ranch hand would say. He walked over to Cassidy and didn’t stop until their boots were touching. The top of her head barely came to his chest, and he stared down into her gray eyes, which crackled with anger. He expected her to step back, maybe play with her hair and look away with a coy flutter of her eyelashes. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. Her feet didn’t budge an inch, and his respect for her grew. “I’m going to do all of it. For the next four months, I don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would any other ranch hand.”

“Oh, were you expecting special treatment? Maybe the women in Hollywood are impressed by your good looks and Oscar nomination—even if you did lose—but I couldn’t care less.”

Jase smirked because he knew it would infuriate her. “I can see that.”

She did step back then, and he felt a surge of victory, like he’d won some unspoken battle. Her eyes glowed with anger. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your
method acting.
Ranch hands don’t hang out in the family’s kitchen.” She tossed her head toward the door. “The bunkhouse is around back.”

“Your mother invited me to stay for dinner.” In fact, she’d told him to eat with the family as much as he pleased. Jase guessed that for the money he was paying the Ericksons, they’d let him eat whatever and wherever he wanted while he was here. If the mouth-watering scent of baking bread was an indication of Sara Erickson’s cooking abilities, he’d take his meals here every day. Homemade rolls—not the gluten-free healthy substitutes they served at upscale restaurants, or the dry and crumbly varieties at grocery stores, but real rolls, probably made with animal fat and loads of butter.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, light and quick. A moment later, Sara entered the kitchen, her apron hanging on her slender frame. She had the same gray eyes as her daughter, and the same blonde curls as well, although Sara’s were streaked with silver. She came to an abrupt stop, her eyes brimming with guilt. “Oh. You’re home, Cassidy.”

Cassidy jabbed a finger in his direction. “When were you going to mention
this
?” Venom dripped off the word, making Jase grin even wider.

“They probably didn’t want to anger the beast,” Jase said.

Sara’s lined brow told him he’d hit the nail on the head. “I see you’ve met Jase. He arrived not long before you, so I haven’t had a chance to show him around yet. Why don’t you take him to the bunkhouse and give him a feel for the place? Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes.”

Cassidy’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. “Are you sure you don’t need help, Mama?”

“Getting Jase settled in is help enough.” There was a finality to her voice that apparently even Cassidy couldn’t argue, because she gave a heavy sigh and pushed her way outside. The bright blue door stuck as it swung closed, not quite shutting.

“She’ll warm up eventually,” Sara said. “She doesn’t like actors much, but that’s just because the only one she’s ever known did her wrong.”

Jase felt a twinge in his gut—maybe she wasn’t a spoiled brat used to getting her way, and his presence caused her real distress. But no, he was over-thinking things. He wondered what high school crush slighted Cassidy in his pursuit of community theater. Whatever had happened, Ice Queen certainly knew how to hold a grudge.

“Thanks, Sara.” Jase gave her his best celebrity smile and followed Cassidy’s exit route, pulling the door firmly shut behind him. Cassidy was nearly to the barn, and Jase lengthened his stride to catch up. The grass was a lush green, but sparse and matted, as though it grew wild and wasn’t the result of seed or sod. He liked the way the grass just
was
—no one tried to force it to be something it wasn’t. Jase inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the clean, humid air. After a lifetime of living in southern California, he hadn’t expected to notice the humidity, but Oklahoma was definitely muggier than he was used to.

He fell into step beside Cassidy, sidestepping a muddy patch in the grass. “So you hate actors, huh?”

Cassidy barely glanced at him. “They’re arrogant, self-involved narcissists.”

“You’ve known me five minutes.”

“Sometimes that’s all the time it takes.”

Jase barely held back a chuckle. Nope, she was just spunky. He’d met his fair share of women in Hollywood—everyone from simpering, spineless socialites who hung on his every word, to women who pretended disdain in a thinly-veiled attempt to hold his interest. Cassidy was different, though. He could tell his presence here really did infuriate her.

She didn’t like him. It was refreshing.

A horse with a dark brown coat snorted as they walked by the pasture, the smell of manure strong. The red paint was chipped and peeling, but the two-story structure complete with a hayloft held a certain charm.

They rounded the barn, and that’s when the bunkhouse came into view. Jase wrinkled his nose—he hoped the smell wasn’t as strong inside. Would his character even notice if it was, or was that the sort of thing you became nose blind to? The bunkhouse was nothing special, just a one-story building with gray siding, a pitched roof, and a rather boxy front—windows on either side of the front door and no porch or eaves. A four-foot square cement slab had been poured in front of the door, presumably to keep the mud and dirt to a minimum. The lack of frills and decorations made it obvious men lived here.

“Cassidy,” a voice called.

A man strode across the grass toward them in a worn gray cowboy hat and boots, with the bronzed skin of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors.

“Mason.” Cassidy ignored Jase and changed directions, meeting the man halfway and giving him a hug. Mason held onto Cassidy a moment longer than was appropriate, his eyes lingering on her face as she pulled away.

“Your mama just radioed me.” Mason held out a hand toward Jase, eyes hooded with distrust. “Mason Crenshaw. You’ll be shadowing me while you’re here.”

Jase took the hand in a firm shake. “Jase Larson. Nice to meet you.”

Cassidy took a step back, her eyes narrowed. “You knew about this?”

Mason scratched his forehead, tilting the cowboy hat back. “Not for long. Your dad just talked to me last night.”

Cassidy’s jaw clenched. She whirled and strode back across the grass without another word.

“Cassidy!” Mason called. She ignored him, heading for a grazing horse in a nearby pasture.

Mason let out a curse. “Knew she’d be mad when she found out, but Randy asked me not to say anything.”