Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (56 page)

With a sigh and a half grin, G.W. turned to Cassidy, took the pile of leftovers from her hands. 

“Thanks,” he said, very quietly.

Cassidy didn’t trust herself to speak just then, so she merely nodded.

G.W. leaned in to set the containers on the console, turned back to her again.

“This guy you’re about to marry,” he said.  “Do you love him, Cassidy?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.  Not even a squeak.

G.W. smiled again, almost sadly, touched her hair, and withdrew his hand.  The night sky, thick with stars, framed him.

Cassidy’s heart clenched, relaxed again.

“It’s real nice to have you back,” he said, in parting.

Then he climbed into the truck, started the engine, flipped on the headlights, and drove away.

Cassidy stood completely still in the wide gravel driveway for longer than she should have, oddly stricken by the encounter. G.W.’s words echoing in her brain.

This guy you’re about to marry.  Do you love him, Cassidy?

Did
she love Michael?  Or had he simply been a substitute for the man she’d never dared to believe she could have?

She hugged herself, tilted her head back.  Overhead, the stars blurred.

She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Shelby turned up at her elbow.  “You all right, Cass?” she asked gently.

Cassidy nodded, but saying anything still seemed risky.  With the back of one hand, she wiped her eyes.

“When you’re ready to talk,” Shelby said, “I’ll be ready to listen.”

Cassidy merely nodded again.  A part of her wanted to admit to Shelby that, suddenly, she felt hollow inside every time she thought about Michael.  Just a few days before, she
had
loved her fiancé, with her whole heart, or thought she did.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“See you tomorrow,” Shelby told her.  Then she walked over to her aging Blazer, climbed in, and left.

Cassidy waved until she knew Shelby couldn’t see her anymore, then turned and went slowly into the house.

Annabelle was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee steaming in front of her.  She looked tired—her mascara was smudged and her lipstick had worn away—but she seemed happy, too.

“Spending the night?” Cassidy asked, not unkindly.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Annabelle replied, with a soft smile.  “Would it be a problem if I did?”

Cassidy returned the smile, wondering if her eyes were puffy from the tears she’d shed outside.  “Not for me,” she replied honestly.  She liked Annabelle, wished Duke would just go ahead and marry the woman, already.  They weren’t getting any younger, as the saying went, and they obviously loved each other--so what was the hold up?

Early on, she supposed,
she’d
been the main reason for the delay.  As much help as Annabelle would have been, especially when Cassidy hit her teens, it would be like Duke to decide the responsibility for his niece was his and his alone.

But Cassidy had been grown up and on her own for a while now.  Where she was concerned, Duke was out of excuses.

Annabelle watched her for a moment or so.  Then she said, “Shelby’s worried about you, and so’s Duke.”

“I’m
fine,”
Cassidy said, more weary than irritated.

Annabelle arched one eyebrow, plucked to a line as thin as a pencil mark.  “Are you?”

“I’m really tired,” Cassidy said, dodging the question.  That much, at least, was true.

On impulse, she crossed to the table, kissed Annabelle lightly on the forehead, and went upstairs.

There were several texts waiting on her phone, all from Michael, all short to the point abruptness.

Cassidy, call me.

Hello?  I’m waiting.

Fine.  Have it your way.

Etc.

Cassidy didn’t have the energy to respond, so she didn’t try.

Instead, she took a long bath, dried herself off with a towel, brushed her teeth, and slathered her face with moisturizer and her arms and legs with body lotion.  Then she put on her nightgown and went to bed.

She was exhausted, but sleep eluded her.

Ironic.

She lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, gnawing on her lower lip.

After an hour or so, she heard Duke come in.

Heard the murmur of voices as he and Annabelle talked.

Sleep,
Cassidy ordered herself sternly.

But it was no use.

Finally, she reached for her cell, swiped a finger across the screen to access the icons behind it.  Still ignoring the texts from Michael, she brought up an internet radio station instead, tuning in to Duke’s podcast.

Somewhere between a story about a creature he called ‘Dog-man’ and a caller’s account of a ghostly encounter, Cassidy slipped away into sweet, peaceful silence.

Early the next morning, rested and incapable of staying in bed, she rose, dressed, and crept out of the house, headed for the barn.

In the shadowy pre-dawn light, she greeted each of Duke’s horses by name, pausing to stroke their impossibly soft noses and listen to their nickered ‘hellos’. 

She’d ridden all of them, at one time or another.  That day, she chose Skye, a dapple gray mare, sure-footed and agile, but gentle, too.

“Not today, old girl,” she told a watchful Pidge.  “You get to sleep in until room service arrives.”

With that, she fetched the appropriate gear from the tack room, placed everything within easy reach, led Skye out of her stall, and saddled her in the dim breezeway.  The familiar smells of horse and straw and even manure heartened Cassidy, just because they were so familiar and so ordinary.

When the mare was ready to ride, Cassidy led the animal outside and mounted up.

Annabelle’s car, an elderly station wagon, was parked over by the woodshed.

She smiled, reining Skye toward the open range.

When she looked back at the house a few moments later, the kitchen light was blazing, too.  The sun was just beginning to stain the eastern sky, but on ranches, morning arrives early.

Cassidy imagined Duke and Annabelle brewing coffee, making breakfast, talking over their plans for the day.  Annabelle usually opened the Gas & Grab by six, and today would be no exception.

There was considerably more daylight by the time Cassidy and Skye splashed across a narrow spot in the creek and started up the bank on the other side.

She was on G.W.’s land by then, since the creek marked the border between his place and Duke’s, but she wasn’t worried about running into him.  He was probably up and around, but he’d be close to the house, either making breakfast for himself and Henry, or feeding his horses.

Like Duke, G.W. ran cattle, but, also like Duke, it was more about heritage and habit than paying the bills.  It was hard to make a living, just by ranching, unless the operation was big enough to be called a corporation.

Breaking through a line of cottonwood trees, Cassidy saw G.W.’s low-slung log ranch house in the distance.  Sure enough, lights glowed in a few of the windows, and the barn was lit up, too.

Cassidy drew back on the reins, sat still for a little while, taking in the scene.  In winter, there would be acres of glittering snow draping the countryside, spilling from the roofs of the house and barn, lining the rough-hewn windowsills, cloaking the rural mailbox at the base of the gravel driveway.  And it would be like stepping into a living Christmas card.

Cassidy felt her throat tighten even as something softened inside her.

She’d missed this place, and the people who lived here—not just Duke, not just Shelby and Annabelle and various other long-time friends, but everybody who called Busted Spur home.

She thought about what Shelby had said the day before, in her kitchen. 
You came home because you wanted to
be
home.

She
had
yearned for this place, there was no denying that.  She liked Seattle, but everything moved so fast there; she always felt out of step with things, somehow.  There was always that strange sense of urgency, even when she was sound asleep.

But coming back for a visit was one thing.  Staying for good was a whole other matter.

How would she earn a living?  There weren’t any TV stations in Busted Spur of course--jobs of any kind were scarce--and she didn’t have Shelby’s entrepreneurial talent.

Next question: where would she live?

She was an adult now.  She couldn’t stay with her uncle indefinitely.

The ranch house would always be home, but she didn’t belong there anymore.  Not on a long-term basis, anyhow.

She rode for another hour or so, turning things over in her head, allowing herself to be saturated by sunrise and quiet and miles of open country, and then she turned back.

***

Myrna showed up on G.W.’s doorstep as soon as breakfast was over, smiling broadly when G.W. let her in.  She was nothing like Sandy, with her bubble of dyed blonde hair, her outdated makeup, her mood swings.

Today, she was cheerful.

“Is there coffee?” she asked.

G.W. smiled.  “Sure,” he said, gesturing toward the table.  “Have a seat and I’ll get you some.”

Myrna plunked her giant purse on the floor beside a chair and dropped into the seat, looking around.  “Where’s that grandson of mine?” she asked.

“Probably hiding,” G.W. said dryly, setting a full mug of java in front of his mother-in-law.  “He’ll turn up once he’s sure you aren’t planning a marathon of
Dancing with the Stars
or some show involving housewives.
”

Myrna waved off the remark with a perky gesture of one manicured hand.  All in all, she was a good sport.  “Someday, when it’s time for Henry’s first prom, he’ll
thank
me for exposing him to the finer things in life.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” G.W. grinned, hauling back a chair and sitting down across from her.  He’d always liked Myrna; as mothers-in-law went, she was all right.  She’d been a single mom, way before it was fashionable, and she’d done a good job raising her only child, Sandy.  She’d earned a decent living operating a hair salon out of her basement—still did, though she only worked part-time these days--and her love for her daughter, if a little rough around the edges, was plain to see.

Before Myrna could offer a comeback, Chip burst into the kitchen, closely followed by a reticent Henry.  The kid was literally dragging his feet.

“Come over here and give this old woman a hug,” Myrna commanded, spreading her arms wide.

Henry crossed the room and allowed himself, reluctantly, to be hugged.  “Hey, Gramma,” he said.

Myrna rubbed the top of his bristly head.  “Ready for our shopping trip to Flagstaff?”

A blank expression crossed Henry’s small, freckled face, and then he gulped.   “Shopping?” he croaked.

Myrna looked from Henry to G.W. and back again.  “Don’t tell me you’ve both forgotten?” she cried cheerfully.  “We’ve been planning this forever!”

G.W. remembered—belatedly.  Last year, in the middle of summer, Myrna had stormed the malls, Henry in tow, outfitting him with new clothes for school.  Socks and underwear.  T-shirts and jeans.  Shoes, snow boots, a jacket for fall, a warm coat for winter, the whole shebang.

She’d enjoyed the expedition so much that she’d declared it an annual event and, sure enough, the time for Round Two was upon them.  According to Myrna, all the best sales were underway.

G.W. was no shopper, but he would have bitten the bullet and taken Henry on a buying-spree himself, if necessary.  The thing was, the task seemed to mean a lot to Myrna; maybe it was a way to feel close to Sandy.

God knew, G.W. couldn’t begrudge her that.

He half-expected Henry to balk, and he was prepared to take the kid aside and talk him into going along with the plan, so Myrna wouldn’t be disappointed.

To his surprise, however, Henry tilted his head to one side, musing, and finally asked, “Can we go to lunch and a movie afterward, like we did last year?”

Myrna beamed.  Maybe she’d been bracing for an argument herself.  “You can pick the restaurant
and
the movie,” she replied.

Henry gave a celebratory yelp.  Then he turned solemn, shifting his attention to G.W.  “Will you pay lots of attention to Chip while I’m gone, Dad?” he asked.  “He’s gonna miss me something awful.”

G.W. smiled, his heart swelling in his chest, fit to burst.  “We’ll both miss you,” he said, “but we’ll be all right, so don’t go worrying about us.  Concentrate on having fun with your grandmother.  Got it?”

Henry grinned.  “Got it,” he said, and bounded off to his room to swap out his super-hero pajamas for regular clothes.

As soon as he’d gone, Myrna picked up her coffee mug and took a sip.  “I hear Cassidy McCullough’s back home for a while,” she said brightly. “She’s getting married soon, I’m told.”

G.W.’s gaze was level.  “Yeah,” he said, wondering where this conversation was headed, exactly.  And afraid he already knew.

“People are saying it’s a big mistake,” Myrna went on.  “There are people who can’t be truly happy anywhere but here, and the general consensus is that Cassidy is one of them.”

G.W. unclamped his back molars.  “People say a lot of things,” he replied moderately. 

“Not that it’s anybody’s business who Cassidy marries, God knows. 
Or
where she chooses to live, for that matter.  I’ve never put much store in gossip, myself.”

G.W., being nobody’s fool, didn’t comment.  He just stood up, crossed to the coffee maker, grabbed the carafe, and offered to refill Myrna’s cup.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You can’t ignore the man’s texts forever,” Shelby said.  It was Saturday, Cassidy had been back home for three and a half days, and she and her BFF still hadn’t gotten around to making wedding plans.  True to her word, Shelby hadn’t mentioned Michael—until this morning.  She’d picked Cassidy up at the ranch twenty minutes before, and they were waiting in the drive-through at Busted Spur’s only fast-food joint for sausage biscuits with egg, hash browns compressed into squares the size of a pack of playing cards, and coffee.