Cowgirls Don't Cry(66)
Cass watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed then lifted her gaze to his eyes. He looked almost...haunted for a moment, and she wondered why. He blinked, and his expression changed. What lurked behind the smile he now wore?
“So you are a cowgirl at heart.”
His teasing sounded forced to her ears, but she returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own. “Guess I always was. Just took coming home—and a certain cowboy—to make me remember that.”
She glanced to the eastern horizon where the top curve of the morning sun had cleared the tree line. “Time to get this party started.” She rocked up on her toes and brushed her lips across his, her palm braced against his chest for balance. “Thanks for coming to see me off.”
There was nothing forced about his smile as his arm circled her waist and hugged her a bit closer. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He kissed her back, deeply, his lips nibbling hers as his tongue eased into her mouth to tease her.
A bit breathless when he released her, she rocked back on her heels and figured she looked either bemused or just plain stupid because wow. That man could kiss her right out of her boots.
Chance laughed, obviously pleased by her reaction. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Head ’em up, cowgirl.”
In less time than she anticipated, her drovers had the herd lined up and ready to move out of the pasture and onto the road. Boots had cut part of the fence to install a temporary gate, and one of the neighbors would restring the barbed wire once the herd was well on its way. The old man sat on his horse at the opening, waiting to lead the herd. Cass held Red’s reins, and was about to mount and give the order to move out when a car flew up the road scattering a dust cloud in its wake. The vehicle, with no apparent attempt to brake, careened into her drive.
“What the hell?” She dropped the reins and marched toward the car, which had stopped. She noticed that Boots was riding up at a gallop.
The white, four-door sedan looked like an unmarked police car. The vehicle even had a spotlight mounted above the driver’s-side mirror. She stopped a few feet away, fists planted on her hips as she waited for the driver to emerge. She expected to see a uniform. She got a nondescript man wearing cheap khaki pants and a blue short-sleeved shirt that looked in desperate need of an iron.
“I’m lookin’ for Cassidy Morgan!” The man bawled out her name at the top of his lungs. All eyes turned in her direction.
“That would be me. Who are you?”
He walked up and waved an envelope under her nose. “Here.”
She refused to take it. “What’s that?”
He stuffed it down the front of her shirt. “You’ve been served.”
“What?” Cass dug the envelope out of her shirt and tore it open. She read the heading, “In the District Court of the County of Oklahoma, State of Oklahoma.” Her eyes skipped down, caught her name and the name of the bank, followed by the words “wholly owned subsidiary of Barron Enterprises” before focusing on the first paragraph. “What the hell?”
“That, Miss Morgan, is a foreclosure notice. Everything on this ranch now belongs to Barron Enterprises by way of Stockmen’s Bank and Trust.”
She stared at him, her mouth gaping. She shook her head and bit back the curses she wanted to spew in his direction. Instead, she read the notice. “This is bull. It says there’s a hearing set for next Monday. I have until then to present collateral assets or to pay off the loan.” She thought. The legal terms were jumbled in her head and then she remembered. Chance! He was an attorney.