“Ya think? You lied to me.”
“No. Not technically speaking.”
“What? You lied about your name.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. When I first introduced myself, I said my name was Chancellor. You jumped the gun and assumed it was my last name.”
“Well, you weren’t in any hurry to correct that assumption, were you?” He flushed at that, and she pressed home her point. “And you never made any attempt to set me straight.”
“Technically, you never asked for clarification, Cass.”
She blinked at him, opened her mouth and closed it, at a loss for words for a moment. “Technically? Freaking lawyer. I shouldn’t have had to. You led me on, Chance. You let me believe you were somebody else. Somebody I could—”
She snapped her jaw shut. She would never admit to this man how much she had trusted him, how much he had hurt her. She let him hurt her by caring about him. By...no. She refused to acknowledge that she loved him.
Chance hung his head and looked penitent. She didn’t believe the pose for a New York minute. “Cass, please? I can explain. Things are different now.”
“Different? You mean you didn’t actually file a foreclosure action for your father? That you don’t mean to steal the ranch from me? Throw me out on my butt? Jeez, Chance. You can’t even admit that I was nothing but a piece of ass to you.” Her eyelids prickled, but she’d be damned if she’d cry.
“Don’t be mad, Cass. Just listen to me.”
“Mad? I don’t get mad, Chance Barron. I get even.”
She pushed past him with a growl, ignoring his outstretched hand, and stomped over to the campfire where Boots and the volunteer wranglers sat. Only Boots had the guts to look at her. She stamped her foot, her face flaming from anger. “Ooh. That man makes me crazy, Uncle Boots.”
He patted the folding chair next to him. “Take a load off, honey. I get the feeling that situation goes both ways. You make Chance Barron a little crazy, too.”
Cass dropped into the chair and stretched her legs out. Inhaling slow, measured breaths, she glanced at the old man from the corner of her eye and caught a flicker of movement. Chance actually had the nerve to walk closer. She reached for the shotgun lying across the ice chest beside her chair and placed it across her thighs. Not that she’d actually use it. Chance took another step, and she checked the breach to see if the gun was loaded.
Boots chuckled as Chance retreated without turning his back. “Discretion is the better part of valor, I guess.”
She watched Chance retreat. “What the hell does that mean, Uncle Boots?”
“It means you’ve got the man tied up in knots, honey. He wants you. Wants you enough to stand up to his daddy to get you.” Boots inclined his head toward the picket line, the rope stretched between two trees where the trail horses were loosely tied for the night. He watched her face to make sure she paid attention. A television reporter and cameraman interviewed one of her volunteers, who was brushing his horse, for the evening news. “Who do you think alerted the media? Why do you think we suddenly got all this attention and more riders?”
“Ha! I don’t believe that at all.”