by Remy Landon
“Oh. I'm sorry I missed it. Will you be finished soon? I'm planning to ride.”
“All done.” Josh clucked to Tango and the two of them moved forward. Cassandra followed, careful not to look at Ingrid's face since she didn't want the ever-present bitch-stare to bring her down. It pissed her off, actually, to feel like she'd been caught doing something wrong.
“Oh, and Cassandra?” Ingrid's voice behind her made her stop reluctantly.
“Yes?”
“You should know that Judy's planning to take Brownie to Florida after Christmas.”
“She is? Like for training?”
“She has a client who is quite sure she wants to buy him. He most likely won't be coming back.”
As she looked at Ingrid in disbelief, Cassandra was aware of Josh halting Tango down the aisle in the main part of the barn and turning back in her direction. Ingrid's sharp words about Brownie being sold deflated the enjoyment she'd gotten out of this morning, leaving her feeling drained and hollow.
Josh was slipping the rope halter over Tango's head and fastening the knot. Cassandra tried to smile as she walked past on her way to get a wheelbarrow and pitchfork. She might as well get right to work to keep from thinking too much. But God...Brownie. Leaving.
“Hey, I'm sorry. Are you okay?” His face was etched with concern, his arm flung over Tango's neck as he leaned into the horse.
She was suddenly filled with an inexplicable need to have Josh's arms around her, and tears burned in her eyes as she told herself savagely to grow up. She certainly didn't want to start bawling like a baby in front of him, and she needed to do a better job handling things like this. God knows, she should be good at dealing with hardships by now; she'd certainly had enough practice.
Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she clenched her fists and forced herself to smile. “I'll be all right, thanks. I should have known this would happen, sooner or later. Brownie's such a special horse.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat before speaking again. “I do know that Ingrid adores him, too...she wouldn't let him go to just anyone.”
Josh's gaze traveled over her face, and she felt a fluttering in her abdomen at the softness of his voice. “I get it, Cassandra. You don't need to pretend with me. I've always been able to read horses, and it's taught me how to read people.”
She blinked back her tears, smiling. “Really.”
“Really.”
“What am I thinking right now?”
He left Tango's side to come stand directly in front of her, his boots inches from hers. She could not decide if the warmth in his eyes was more calming or unsettling. “You're thinking you want to put on a good front for me, even though the thought of Brownie leaving is devastating.” He paused. “And you're thinking if Ingrid wasn't lurking nearby, you'd want me to take you in my arms for a hug. Maybe more.”
Jesus effing Christ.
“How close was I?”
Cassandra busied herself with removing a piece of dried timothy on the sleeve of her coat. She straightened her shoulders as she made herself look at him. “You are really quite good at applying pressure. And now I'm going to do my own release.” Giving Josh a wink before walking away, she felt a little rush of pleasure at the expression on his face. She had impressed him.
He called after her, his voice playful. “Then I guess I'll let you go, Cassandra.”
As she was turning the corner to head for the wheelbarrows, she heard him say two more words.
“For now.”
chapter twenty-three ~ Carlo
Driving to Lancaster in his Mercedes, Carlo was on the way to meet with his attorneys, who planned to update him on the Brockton Dall corporate espionage case. After extensive investigation, the lawyers believed there were adequate grounds for moving forward with the lawsuit against Dall and Columbia Valve, although given the money-making potential, Carlo found it hard to imagine a law firm not taking this on. This group had always done right by him in the past, but you could never be completely sure who you could trust.
And of course, he was one to talk, when he'd failed in that regard himself. He had grown increasingly frustrated lately, since Cassandra was not responding to any of his texts or calls. Gianna had called him last night, and as usual, had asked him if there had been any progress. When he told her Cassandra still refused to speak with him, she suggested that he send her a letter. Hand-write it instead of emailing—it's more personal that way, Gianna had told him. Tell her all you want to say. He had scoffed at this, asking if he was also expected to spritz some of his cologne on the envelope while he was at it. His sister had gotten huffy with him, pointing out that his ideas hadn't exactly opened any doors and asking if he would please just consider the letter.He had stubbornly refused, insisting this wasn't junior high and passing notes in the hall, and stating rather harshly that he thought Cassandra could at least meet him halfway. Gianna had responded sharply that if a woman was justifiably hurting, then there was no halfway; the man would have to swallow his stupid pride and acknowledge his stupid mistakes and go the entire distance, however long it took, if he truly wanted to win her back. Sensing her brother's growing anger, she had quickly gotten off the phone, and he had brooded for about an hour before calling her back to apologize, say he loved her and tell her she was right.
He was turning from North Prince onto East King Street when his phone rang. Feeling the usual glimmer of hope that he always did thinking it might be Cassandra, he glanced down at the center console and felt an immediate stab of distaste when he saw who was calling: Brock.
For a few seconds, he considered not answering the phone. He knew what this was about, but even for Dall, it was a brazen move to call. Carlo was a few minutes early for his appointment, so he'd talk to him. Besides, this conversation might even give Carlo some satisfaction.
He picked up the phone as he drove into a parking place behind the law firm. “Dall. How ironic that you called. I'm just about to walk in to my attorney's office and discuss you.”
Even without seeing him, Carlo could picture Brock's mouth twisting angrily as he spoke, his green eyes icy with rage.
“Listen, you cocksucker—you can dispense with the fake cheery tone.”
“Something wrong?”
“Don't give me your innocent bullshit. You know goddamned well what the fuck is wrong.”
“Let's see...would it have something to do with a potential job?”
“Let me spell it out for you, asshole. I applied for the sales manager position at Anderson Controls. I thought it best not to mention I worked for Miller, so I didn't include that on my resumé. Pretty much nailed the interview, and then they must have done some research, because they end up finding out I worked for Miller, and they called you.”
“And then what happened?” Carlo grinned in spite of himself. “I'd fill in the rest, but I'm really enjoying hearing you tell it.”
Brock was practically snarling. “It wasn't enough for you to physically assault me—you had to sabotage my career.”
“I thought it only fair, since you sabotaged my relationship.”
“That came after you fired me.”
“I was supposed to keep a traitor under my employment?”
“I thought we were even. I shared a secret with Columbia, you canned my ass. I shared another secret with your girlfriend, you rearranged my face. And now, you've caused me to lose out on the only job I had an interview for. You've tipped the scales, friend.”
“This isn't some fucking game, Dall. You betrayed me both professionally and personally. And now you can deal with the repercussions.”
“That's not the way I see it, Carlo. You're taking your revenge too far.” His tone became almost pleasant. “And now, it's my turn.”
An uneasy chill, cold as the winter wind, settled into Carlo's veins. But he was determined not to let Brock know how his threat had affected him. “As I said, Dall, this isn't a contest. The trouble you're having landing another job is a result of your actions, not mi
ne.” His voice was firm, decisive. “My relationship with you is over. I don't lie awake nights plotting.”
Brock laughed softly before speaking. “Oh, but Carlo...I do.”
chapter twenty-four ~ Cassandra
“So let me get this straight, Cass.” Allison pointed a dripping ice cream scoop at her. “We've gone from the Italian Stallion to the Horse Whisperer. Do you see a theme here?”
Cassandra rolled her eyes, laughing. “I knew you'd find that connection.” She laid her hands lightly on Allison's shoulders as she squeezed behind her to get to the pie display case. “Do we have any Tollhouse left?”
“Two pieces. Listen, stop changing the subject. We haven't worked together for like two weeks, and I need an update. I want to know more about the cowboy. And if he's helping you move on from the Stallion.”
“I am moving on from the Stallion just fine by myself.” Cassandra raised her chin.
“You are absolutely adorable when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Raise your chin—like you're all defiant, and like that's going to make me believe what you're saying.” Allison winked. “I know you, sweetie, and I know you're still struggling.” Before Cassandra could protest, Allison waved the ice cream scoop at her. “Okay, okay, I'll stop. I know you're trying to follow your head here instead of your heart, and I know how tough that is. You seem like you're getting stronger, and like I've told you before, I'm goddamned proud of my girl for being assertive.”
“Thank you.”
“Going back to school, and confronting the man who provided the sperm to create you—notice I didn't say father, because he doesn't deserve that title—and keeping out of Italy...” Her round, pink face was earnest. “Is he still trying? You know, to get you back?”
Cassandra sighed as she opened the glass cabinet and took out a slice of Tollhouse pie. Carlo's text last night had gotten to her: I just woke up from a dream in which you were lying beside me. I am trying to go back to sleep so I can dream it again. The text he had sent the night before had rattled her. You've seen my dominant side, Cassandra. I want to show you another side of me as well. I want to take you gently. But truthfully...I also want to take you rough.
Reading this, she had felt an immediate throbbing between her legs. Hating herself for her weakness, hating him for his persistence—but wanting him just the same.
And he had left her a voicemail three days ago. She had been cleaning her apartment when he called. It took her an hour of mental preparation and a glass and a half of wine before she would allow herself to listen to the message. Reading texts was one thing; hearing his voice was quite another. “Hello, Cassandra.” His voice had sounded low and subdued. “I wanted to feel like I was talking to you, so I'm calling. I just wanted to say again that I'm sorry...that I hope you will let me see you...” He paused in his message, and she could hear him take a long breath, then make a deep exhale. “...and that I miss you.”
It had taken all of her restraint at that moment not to call him back and tell him for God's sake, would he please stop contacting her...and all right, yes, she would see him.
“Oh, yes,” she told Allison. “He's still trying.”
“Well. I guess I can't blame him for that. He knows what he lost. But you've made the decision not to give him another chance, and I'm supporting you.” She finished spooning out ice cream and plopped the scoop in a tall glass of water. “Grab me the chocolate syrup, would you? And tell me your thoughts on the cowboy.”
Cassandra opened the refrigerator and handed Allison the bottle. “It's great having him at the stable, especially to offset my manager, the Ice Queen.” Her face clouded, remembering. “Ingrid told me that my favorite horse is most likely going to Florida for good. She almost seemed glad about it.”
“Oh, honey, I'm sorry. From what you've told me about Ingrid, it sounds like she's jealous of you.”
“She doesn't need to be. She pretty much has it all—looks, a great job, people like me to do all the shit work.”
“Well, my theory is that attractive, insecure women don't like attractive, secure women. Anyway...back to the horse whisperer. I want details.”
“He's very kind. There's something very calming about him, not just with horses, but in general. I don't even really know him, but I already feel relaxed around him. He seems to read me pretty well.”
Allison looked pleased, nodding and smiling as she drizzled the chocolate sauce on the ice cream in a criss-cross pattern. “So he's sensitive.”
“Yes.”
“And handsome.”
“Very. He's smart, with a good sense of humor, too. Plus, he's obviously very into horses, which is a definite bonus.”
“You'd consider dating him?”
“I really don't want to get seriously involved with anyone, but...yes, I'd date him.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
Looking around furtively, Allison quickly licked a droplet of chocolate from the side of her hand. “This is so different for you. When you talked about the Stallion in the past, you'd be blushing and obviously uncomfortable, but with this cowboy...you're calm about it, like it's no big deal. Maybe that's saying something.”
“Like what?”
Allison put her hands on her ample hips and shrugged. “I'm not sure. Guess that's for you to figure out, girl.” She picked up a washcloth and wiped the smudges of ice cream and chocolate from the outside of the sundae dish. “I gotta go deliver this before it melts.” She nodded at the plate in Cassandra's hand. “Don't forget your pie.”
“Oh! Right.” She followed Allison into the red room with the Tollhouse and checked on her tables. Water refill for one, more beer for another, extra napkins and the bill for a third. She was the first waitress off tonight and would get out around 9:30. With only a week and a half till Christmas, she still needed to get a small wreath for her mother's headstone, and she was going to make herself go through the box of decorations from her childhood house and at least take out a few things to put up, in memory of her mom.
After finishing her shift, Cassandra hung up her apron, gave Allison a goodbye hug and headed out to the parking lot. A shower of sleet pelted her face, and she bowed her head as she walked. There was a thin carpet of ice on the ground, crunching beneath her feet. Damn, she was going to have to scrape the car, and worse, drive in this crap, which always made her nervous.
The parking lot was quiet, the cars frosted in silvery white. Her Chevy Malibu was at the far end; Bruce always asked his employees to park away from the restaurant to save the good spots for customers. Cassandra unlocked the driver's side, turned the key in the ignition and put the defroster on full blast before feeling in the pocket of the door for the ice scraper. Leaning across the hood of the car, she cleared the ice from the windshield in long, even strokes. As she moved to the back of the car to take care of the rear window, headlights from a vehicle at the edge of the parking lot suddenly came on, momentarily blinding her. High beams, most likely. She squinted against the glare, waiting for the lights to dim or for the car to move, but neither happened. The driver was either an asshole or a moron. Maybe both.
Sighing in irritation, she cleared off the rear window, tapped the scraper on the back bumper to remove the ice, and climbed in the Malibu. The headlights of the other vehicle were still flooding her car, and she was unable to see the driver or even know what type of car it was. The thought that it could be Carlo crossed her mind, although she would have expected him to just come in to Tucker's. Maybe, though, he knew she wouldn't speak to him and just wanted to see her. But why the headlights?
Or maybe, she speculated, it was just some clueless person who didn't even realize the high beams were on. Cassandra flicked on her wipers and slid the gear shift into drive and pulled out of her parking spot.
Glancing in her rearview mirror, she could see the two bright orbs of the headlights, glowing like pupil-less eyes. The size of the orbs did not decrease as she kept driving. Whic
h meant the other car was following her at a steady rate of speed.
Cassandra hunched her shoulders to alleviate the cold, creepy feeling prickling against the back of her neck. Okay, stop, she chided herself. The person just happened to be leaving the same time she was. No need to get all paranoid. The car would most likely turn off somewhere soon; there were lots of side streets coming out of Manheim.
She continued on toward E-town, driving cautiously as the roads were glazed with ice, and glancing occasionally in the rearview mirror. The car was still there. At the intersection of South Main and Market Square, she clicked on her blinker. The car behind her followed. All right, on her next turn, she wasn't going to put on her blinker. It might not be the safest thing, especially with the slippery conditions, but she didn't want to give whoever it was behind her any advance notice of where she was going.
Hossler Road was coming up on her right. She slowed just a bit and then took a rather sharp right turn, the Malibu's rear end sliding to the left as she turned the wheel to straighten the car...and headlights from behind flooded her car's interior. High beams again. And still following.
Shit. She was trying not to, but she was getting seriously creeped out here. Was it just coincidence that this car seemed to be going the same place she was? Or had the person been waiting for her?
Cassandra was torn between wanting to rush home to the safety of her apartment but feeling uneasy about this person finding out where she lived. Should she call someone? Teal, maybe. That way, she could hear a friendly voice, and her follower would see that she was on the phone. She looked down at the passenger seat at the same moment she realized she had locked her purse—and her phone—in the trunk. Pulling over and getting out of the car did not seem like a wise move.
In spite of the icy road, she pressed down on the gas pedal, hoping to put some distance between her and the other car. The vehicle behind her increased its speed, coming even closer than before, the headlights glaring and obtrusive.
Uneasiness ratcheted up to fear as she contemplated her predicament. There was no one along this stretch of road that she knew and could pull into the driveway for help. She didn't want to get out of the car. She couldn't use her phone. Her apartment was still ten miles away, and she didn't want to be followed there.