Cowgirls Don't Cry(6)
Her stomach dropped away as the plane rumbled into the cloudy skies, chasing all thoughts of the guy out of her head. The fuselage shuddered several times before she heard grinding as the landing gear retracted. The plane continued to climb at a steep incline, and the pilot mumbled something about weather and flying altitude that she couldn’t really hear over the throbbing in her ears. She swallowed to make her eardrums pop, pushed back against her seat and returned to thinking about her close encounter.
Had the timing been different, she might have let the guy buy her a drink, just to see what percolated between them. He was sexy as all get-out. Tall. Muscular. His hands strong as they gripped her arms, but with a certain amount of gentleness. She wasn’t petite by any measure, but he’d towered over her. He radiated heat, too, or maybe he just touched something in her that created heat. She hadn’t been so intrigued by a man in ages. Then she remembered the reason for her trip, and all thoughts of the sexy encounter fled.
I’m sorry, Daddy. She offered the apology to the heavens, knowing it covered so much more than her wayward thoughts. Cass squiggled her nose, fighting the burn of tears. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.
Her dad’s voice echoed softly in her memory, reminding her to be strong. She flashed back to the time she’d just lost the final round of a barrel-racing event by mere tenths of a second. That she’d lost to the reigning national champion, who was twenty years older didn’t mean a thing. At the age of seven, all she’d wanted was that shiny buckle and the saddle that went with it for winning.
“No, Daddy. No time for tears. Cowgirls just get back on and ride.” Back in the present, she whispered the words in the hopes that saying them out loud would make them true. She hadn’t been a cowgirl for ten years. Not since she’d left home to attend college back East. Not since she’d taken the job in Chicago. In fact, she’d only been on a horse a handful of times since then. She hated going home. Hated the heat and dust, the smell of cattle manure.
She didn’t want to be a cowgirl. She’d liquidate the ranch, get Boots set up somewhere comfortable and haul ass back to Chicago where she belonged. No regrets. It’s what her dad would expect her to do. She’d told him often enough she’d never be back, never take over the ranch.
Those guilty jalapeños boiled and raged in her stomach again. Returning to Chicago was the right thing. Really. She conjured up the picture of her close encounter from the night before in her mind, shutting out the remorse. His chiseled face still seemed familiar, and she felt as if she should know him. Was he an actor? Or maybe a professional cowboy? She nudged the feeling this way and that, seeking an answer, but didn’t find one.
The passenger in front of her shoved his seat all the way back jostling her tray table so that the coffee, served moments before by the flight attendant, sloshed out. The man on her right in the window seat snored as his head fell over toward her shoulder. She dodged him but bumped the woman on her left. That earned her a scathing look. Cass rolled her eyes and shrugged. She could only hope this flight from hell ended sooner rather than later.
She gulped what little coffee didn’t spill and passed off the sodden napkin and cup to the attendant as she came back down the aisle. Feeling far too much like a sardine for comfort, Cass closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Thoughts of the handsome cowboy danced in her head. She was positive she knew him from somewhere. Since she didn’t watch much TV, she discarded the idea he might be an actor. Could he be someone she’d met in college? Or, heaven forbid, high school? She didn’t have the best memory for faces, but there was just something about the man.
Giving up any pretense of relaxation, she shoved her tray table up and fastened it with the little lever, using a lot more force than technically necessary. Then she stretched her legs under the seat in front of her and drummed her toes against the bottom of it. When the occupant twisted to stare at her over the top of the reclined seatback, she flashed the smile of a two-year-old brat. And didn’t care. The man eventually turned around and since he raised the seat a few inches, she quit kicking.