“That’s him. The old man and Morgan butted heads a few times, including once over a woman.”
“Aw, hell... Which one of the stepmonsters?”
“That’s the funny thing. None of them. This was years ago. Before he married Mom.”
Chance rubbed his forehead. “Damn, Cord. I know the old man is legendary for holding a grudge, but that’s a little ridiculous.”
“You’re telling me? I’m the one he’s been cussing the last few minutes, ever since he found out Morgan died tonight.” Cord paused for a breath. “He’s upset enough he forgot about your failure to find the colt.”
“Now you’re giving me grief about that, too? Come on.”
“Hey, you know how he reacts to losing, little brother. The good news, he’s distracted. There’s some sort of legal BS involving this Ben Morgan guy. The old man wants you to wade through it. Thought I’d give you a heads-up so you don’t walk in blind.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll fire up the laptop and do some research.”
“I’ll email the particulars. And Chance? Sorry if I messed up any sort of extracurricular activity you might have planned for later.”
“Yeah, right. I can hear the remorse ringing in your voice. I’ll head to the office straight from the airport when I get back tomorrow.”
“I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Chance tapped his phone and dropped it into his pocket. This whole trip had gone to hell in a handbasket, and now he was quoting the old man’s clichés. That was so not a good sign. He glanced toward the bar. The waitress would get off sooner or later but after getting up close and personal with the blonde, his desire for any other woman waned—at least for tonight. In three strides, he reached the elevator and stabbed the button. He had work to do.
Two
Cass loosened her seat belt as the flight attendant announced the flight would be delayed. Seemed a passenger was running late. The economy section was packed, so it had to be somebody in first class. She rolled her head on her neck and listened as her vertebrae snapped, crackled and popped. Better to sound like a bowlful of Rice Krispies than suffer the headache that would follow.
She closed her eyes and tried to forget her situation. Going home was always hard—that’s why she’d avoided it for so long, even though Boots had urged her to visit. And now with her dad gone—with things left unsaid and apologies not made, her heart hurt. She swallowed her guilt but it churned in her stomach like raw jalapeños. Cass forced her thoughts away from her dad. She’d say goodbye when she got to the funeral home, but until then, she’d just have to hope he had heard what was in her heart when she talked to him last night.
The pilot’s voice echoed over the intercom, scratchy and hard to hear over the hum of conversations. Evidently, whoever they’d been waiting for had arrived, and they were finally ready for takeoff. She braced her feet against the floor and clasped her hands in her lap. Flying was not her favorite activity, especially getting off the ground and landing. She measured her breathing, concentrating on remaining calm, then remembered the scent of the guy in the hotel. Leather and rain on a hot day. That’s what he smelled like—an odd combination that evoked memories of her childhood growing up on the ranch and around rodeo arenas all over the West.
He’d been wearing a starched white shirt with a button-down collar, like a banker, but it was tucked into a pair of well-fitting jeans, even if they were pressed to a knife-edged crease. Her brow furrowed. He’d also been wearing boots. Not that people in Chicago didn’t wear Western boots. Some of them even wore them “for real,” not just as a fashion statement.