“About what?”
“About some cockamamie idea she got from somewhere. Do you know anything about a Barron cattle drive?”
“Dude, seriously? The old man pushing cows?”
He heard the clacking of a computer keyboard. “No, not the old man, Granddad Cal. In the forties, during the war.”
“Huh. Color me impressed. There’s a big file on it in the Oklahoma Chronicle’s morgue. Hang on a sec and I’ll forward it to you. To make a long story short, Granddad Cal had a crapload of cows to sell and because of gas rationing, he decided to herd them from the ranch to the stockyards. The thing got a lot of attention. According to the file, it was even featured in a newsreel at the movies. The last cowboy. That sort of thing. Bottom line, he got the herd to market and made a killing. Army paid top dollar. Drove those steers straight into box cars and shipped ’em off to Chicago for slaughter. Why? What’s this got to do with the Morgan situation?”
Chance stared out the window wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. Yet. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Nice to have you back on board, bro. Now get the paperwork finished. The old man wants the notice of foreclosure served pronto.”
His brother’s words echoed in his head. Nice to have you back on board. But was he? He needed to see Cassidy. Find out what harebrained stunt she was planning. And then he’d talk her out of it. He’d make a few calls. Get her another job in Chicago. His heart hammered at the thought. Was that what he wanted?
It would be the simplest solution. She’d go back to Chicago. Their relationship, if it could be called that, would be over. She would no longer be a burr under his saddle, and she’d never know that his family—that he—had betrayed her. There was only one problem with that plan. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay. And he wanted her to care about him. Like he cared about her. There. He admitted it. He cared about Cassidy Morgan. He shouldn’t. Didn’t want to. But he did. No matter how many calls he ignored, how far away from her he stayed, his heart betrayed him. He was a coward, despite the fact he loved her. Admitting it to himself should make him feel better. It didn’t. He felt like the biggest bastard on the planet. She deserved a better man, a man worthy of her.
“Dammit all to hell. How did my life get so complicated?”
Staring at the open folder on his desk, he sighed. Family was everything. Blood was thicker than water. All the clichés his father hammered into his sons as they grew up in his shadow came back to haunt him. He wanted to do the right thing. But what was it?
* * *
Boots stumbled out of his room and headed straight for the coffeepot. Nosy, Cass watched him. He walked back to the table and peered curiously at the maps. “You look a little peaked this morning, Uncle Boots. Bad night?”
He muttered something under his breath and she thought she caught the words, “honky tonk,” “dancing,” and “that fool woman.”
She bit her lip to hide a smile. “Yeah...gotcha. None of my business. I suggest we institute a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy around here when it comes to our social lives.”
He growled and sipped his coffee. Then he tapped a finger on the map. “You planning a trip?”
Cass pushed back from the table, snagged her own mug and took a sip. She grimaced but swallowed the cold coffee. She headed to the sink to dump the contents and pour a fresh cup. “Sort of.” She returned to the table, sat and gestured for Boots to join her. “We need to talk.”