Cowgirls Don't Cry(27)
When she arrived at the house, her boots clumped on the wooden steps and across the porch. The porch door banged behind her. She could hear Boots rummaging in the kitchen. She headed straight to her room. A hot shower and dry clothes would give her perspective on things. She hoped. Because at the moment, she was completely clueless as to what had just happened.
* * *
Chance watched Cassie walk away. What the hell had come over him? He was not the possessive type, and a one-night stand was his hookup of choice. No ties, no needy females. So how had he gone from cocky cowboy to the one clinging and needing reassurance of the relationship? As Cass said, what relationship? Dammit all to hell. He needed to get her into his bed so he could get her out of his system. Plain and simple.
Only it wasn’t. Neither plain, nor simple. The time had come for him to think about work, not the sexy woman driving him crazy. Besides, what did it matter? Cassie was going back to Chicago. She didn’t want to stay here. She didn’t want to be with him.
He rubbed the spot over his chest as he climbed into his truck. He didn’t start it right away, but instead sat and stared at the window he figured was Cassie’s bedroom. The place wasn’t big. Hell, his condo had more square footage than the farm house. The furniture was old, dilapidated, lived in. Loved.
And there was his answer. That house was filled with love. A kind of love he and his brothers had missed out on growing up. Cassie was three when she lost her mother, but her daddy had loved her. And her Uncle Boots. For the first time in his life, Chance was jealous. It was an emotion that would take some getting used to.
He started the truck, backed up until he had room to turn around and headed toward the main road. He had a lot to think about.
* * *
Cassie waited until she heard Chance drive away before she kicked off her boots and peeled out of her wet jeans. The man was a player. She knew that with every feminine instinct she possessed. Serial daters. That’s what her best friend in Chicago called guys like him. Hopping from bed to bed. Their smart phone containing a contact folder simply labeled “Easy.” The last thing she needed or wanted was to hook up with an Oklahoma cowboy, even if he had a fine ass, gorgeous build and a face that could melt the South Pole. Cowboys wanted cowgirls, and she no longer fit that description.
Standing in her bra and panties damp from more than rain, she turned a slow circle. Her room. Which hadn’t changed a bit since she left for college ten years before. Trophies and buckles littered the top of her dresser with a couple of framed photographs stuffed among them. In one, she stood next to Barney, her first horse. She barely reached the top of his front leg, despite the hat jammed on her head. She proudly held her first championship buckle, even though she hadn’t even been big enough to mount Barney without a boost at the time. In another, she sat behind her dad’s saddle, her arms around his waist. In a third, she posed with a saddle she’d won.
A tap on her door sent her scrambling for her robe. She shoved her arms through the worn flannel sleeves and tied it at her waist. “C’mon in, Uncle Boots.”
The door swung open, creaking a little. “We need to talk, baby girl.”
Cass nodded. “Let me grab a shower first?”
He nodded, turned and shuffled down the hall to the living room. She dashed to the bathroom. Though she would have preferred to stand there until the hot water tank emptied, she showered quickly and dressed in clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt. When she was ready, she went out to the living room and settled on the couch. Boots sat in his recliner looking uncomfortable. Cass wet her bottom lip with a nervous swipe of her tongue and felt way too much like a teenager caught making out.