“I can’t stop her, Cord.”
“You can’t? Or you won’t?”
“Does it matter? Either way, I’m not getting involved.”
“You’re already involved, Chance. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. Not this time. Do what you always do. Take the bitch—”
Before he knew what happened, Chance had surged from his desk chair and wrapped his fist in his brother’s shirtfront. “Don’t call her that. Cassidy Morgan is not that kind of woman.” Cord grabbed his wrist and squeezed, but Chance didn’t loosen his grip.
Cord stared at him, his arched brow speaking volumes.
With studied care, Chance released his brother and leaned back in his chair. Cord retreated to the far side of the desk and tried to look nonchalant as he lounged in one of the armchairs. They stared at each other as the clock ticked off several minutes. Cord finally broke the silence.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like. Nothing. I’m not going to stop her. I’m not going to help her. I don’t think she can pull this thing off. If she does, I’ll be surprised, but damn proud of her. It won’t matter what we do. She’s not giving up.” He scrubbed at his forehead with his fingers and willed his headache away. “If the old man had listened to me in the first place, we could have bought her out, and she’d be back in Chicago, safe.”
“Safe?”
“Safely out of our hair.”
“Yeah. Right. I’m sure that’s what you meant. But the old man doesn’t work that way, Chance. You know it. I know it. The world knows it. If he finds out about this, it’s your ass.”
“I’m aware of that, Cord. But...”
“But what?”
“She trusts me.”
“Well...crap.”
* * *
Cass leaned on the stall door and watched as Doc dipped his muzzle in the water trough. She’d just emptied it and refilled it with fresh. She’d meticulously picked over the hay and grain she put in his manger. Chance had been right. No mold. She rubbed at eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Chance had been right about the colt, too. Doc was fine this morning, seemingly no worse for the wear. She’d have to muck out his stall soon, but this was one time she wouldn’t complain. Not one bit.
Boots joined her. His appraising eye roamed over the horse and the stall. “He’s gonna be fine, baby girl.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “And I have news about your flyers. We’ll have some help with the herd.”
She glanced at him as he continued.
“The agriculture teacher over from the high school called. He’s got some FFA boys comin’ to round up the herd and get ’em gathered here in the big pasture today. Some of ’em are gonna make the ride with us, too. They get extra credit.”
Future Farmers of America. Now that was a group she hadn’t thought about in years. She’d been the FFA queen one year and sold a bunch of World’s Finest Chocolate to help with votes. “What goes around comes around,” she chuckled.