Cowgirls Don't Cry(83)
He chuckled but choked off the sound as he stared at the knot of people waiting ahead. A beefy man in Western clothes, his sleeves rolled up to reveal brawny forearms, his hat pushed back off his forehead, argued vehemently with a tall, distinguished man wearing a tailored suit that cost more than many people made in a month.
Damn. The old man was back from Vegas. He glanced at Cass and offered her a smile. Things were going to get ugly in a heartbeat.
“Are you going to tell me everything will be all right?”
“No.”
“Good. So what are you going to tell me?”
“That’s my father up there. I suspect the other man is the sales manager of the stockyards. If the old man stays true to form, he’s threatening all sorts of dire consequences about now.”
“Then we’d better go face whatever those consequences are.” She clucked to her horse and trotted forward.
Chance followed at a jog. Cord had parked nearby and Buddy was there, hackles raised, ears back. He could almost feel the growl forming in the dog’s chest as he reined to a stop next to Cassie.
“I don’t give a damn, Mr. Barron. The last time I looked, your name wasn’t on the bottom of my paycheck. You can scream and cuss all you want but since you don’t own this place, I’m not about to turn away any cattle brought here for sale.”
Camera crews homed in on the altercation, and Chance winced. The family would need a lot of damage control after the news tonight. The old man, red in the face and sputtering, jabbed his finger in the man’s chest.
“I will own this miserable excuse for a sale barn, and I will fire your insolent ass. I will shut this place down and fire everyone even remotely associated with the stockyards. Do you understand me?”
Cyrus Barron straightened to his full height and looked for all the world like some old revival preacher raining fire and brimstone on his congregation. No one had called his bluff in ages. He pulled out his phone, called his assistant and snarled terse instructions Chance didn’t hear but could imagine. With a cold, calculating smile, Cyrus faced the sales manager, ignoring Cass and Chance. The standoff lasted what felt like an hour but was ten minutes in reality. The herd bunched up in the street, and people waited breathlessly.
The manager’s cell phone rang. He answered, his face draining of color as he listened. He stammered and hemmed but in the end, he ducked his head and mumbled something. Turning on his heel, he walked back to his wranglers and told them to shut the gates and go home. The stockyards had closed for the day.
The old man turned his cold smile on Cass, and adrenaline surged through Chance’s body, leaving his fingers and toes tingling and burning.
“I’m disappointed in you.”
Chance straightened his shoulders as the old man focused on him. He was pretty sure the smirk he plastered on his face was a mirror image of the one his father wore. “Makes two of us. This has gone far enough, Cyrus.”
“Indeed it has. I’ve already instructed my attorneys to remove you from the trust.”
Cass gasped but he ignored her. If he broke eye contact now, the old man would think he’d won, and Chance wasn’t about to let that happen. His expression didn’t change. “It will be an interesting court battle, considering I’m the one who drew up the trust papers in the first place. Did you ever read them, Cyrus? Or did you just sign them?”