“Crystal’s got an incredible voice,” he said, hoping to make Casey feel at ease.
Glancing toward the blonde, blue-eyed singer who wore a tasteful blue dress that fell to her knees, Casey agreed. “I heard Gwen Garner say she had the voice of an angel. She’s right, she does.”
Matt wanted to move Casey to a topic that was safe for her. Already he could see some of the fear beginning to recede in her eyes. Okay, if it took social talk to put Casey at ease, he’d do that. Above all, Matt cared for this woman in his arms.
“Crystal had a tough start in life,” he confided to her in a low voice. This wasn’t something he wanted spread around, even though he suspected nearly every one knew about the singer’s past. “Something happened in her family and she was put into three years of juvenile detention. The court records are sealed, and I feel Crystal’s trying to get a new start in life on the right track.”
“Oh?” Casey was relieved that the talk wasn’t about her. “I haven’t heard anything about Crystal.”
Giving her a wry smile, Matt said, “You haven’t lived here long enough. In time, you’ll know about the good, the bad and the ugly of our town.”
Nodding, Casey said, “Well, as long as she didn’t kill someone, I hope she makes it as a singer. I know Gwen said Crystal had dreams of breaking into the music industry and making it big. She’s talked of going to the American Idol tryouts next year.”
“She’s got the looks, the voice and the timing’s right for her,” Matt agreed.
“Don’t you think we all have some kind of past that can haunt us, Matt?”
Startled by her serious question, he locked gazes with her. “No one is perfect, Casey. And we all have baggage of one sort or another to carry.” He squeezed her hand for a moment, as if to reassure her because he sensed deep emotion behind the question. “The town’s people, or most of them, at least in Crystal’s case, have treated her well despite her unknown past and being in juvie hall for three years. There’s been a lot of nasty gossip about her and why she was put in juvie hall. She’s not talking about it, either.”
“It’s none of anyone’s business,” Casey muttered. She felt sorry for the beautiful Crystal with the angelic voice.
Matt heard deep pain in Casey’s comment. He wanted to protect Casey and give her a calm bay from the storm she’d endured. And it seemed to him that the past was following her around like a good friend. Of course, he told himself, if he’d nearly been beaten to death, gone into a coma and then woken up afterward, he might see the world a lot differently, too. Casey struggled with her past. Matt saw it in her eyes and in her voice every time they were together. He wished he could give her solace. An ache built in him and without thinking, as they danced in one another’s arms, he leaned down and kissed her.
Casey had seen the kiss coming. A part of her wanted to tear out of his arms, but the larger part of her heart wanted Matt’s kiss. Suddenly, she didn’t care if the whole world saw them kissing. Certainly, there were many couples on the dance floor. A wedding always brought out romance and love in everyone. When his mouth met hers, she felt her entire world anchor to a halt. Even though they were still dancing, their feet moving in tune with the slow music, Casey was no longer aware.
Matt’s mouth slid across her parting lips. She tasted the cherry pie on them, felt his power as a man monitoring his strength as he met her awaiting lips. There was nothing shy about his mouth as he slid it provocatively against hers. His breath was warm and moist against her cheek as she closed her eyes and sank fully into his embrace. For once, Casey trusted a man—fully and without reserve. He held her gently, as if she were some fragile, rare being that would shatter should he allow his masculine power to overwhelm her.
Matt felt Casey’s soft mouth open and allow him to kiss her fully. She tasted sweet, her hair fragrant with the scent of pine, her flesh soft and satiny against his skin. At first he was shocked over the unexpected and spontaneous kiss. As soon as Casey stepped forward and moved more deeply into his embrace, her breasts brushing his chest, Matt knew. He knew that this was the right thing to do. How long had he wanted to help Casey? To support her as she wrestled through the darkness of her past? And now, as he met her lips, tasted her and absorbed her like the starving thief he was, Matt felt their worlds collide and change in that split second.
The music slowly ended. Crystal’s voice whispered away with it. Matt tore his mouth from Casey’s and opened his eyes. He clung to her tender gray gaze. He read so much in Casey’s widening eyes. There was need there. Real hunger. That shocked Matt. Casey had never given him any signal about that. They stood there in one another’s arms, both stunned by the unexpected kiss.
“Casey…I’m sorry…I don’t know what happened,” Matt began, apology in his tone. Would she get angry? Walk out on him? Matt now began to have fears that squashed the euphoria soaring through him.
Opening her mouth and then closing it, Casey whispered, “I—I didn’t expect it…” But she had par-taken of it like a woman starving for life instead of stasis. Her brows fell and she pulled out of Matt’s arms, more than a little aware of the curious gazes in their direction. Casey felt his strong, callused hand resting gently around her upper arms. It was as if he knew she’d take flight. Would she? Casey did want to run. But she couldn’t. Her mom and dad were here. The whole Trayhern clan would expect her to remain for all the after-wedding festivities.
Gulping, Casey stammered, “Matt, I’m afraid.”
Giving her a tender look of understanding, he rasped, “If it makes you feel better, so am I, Casey.” His hands fell from her arms. “Let’s just take this a day at a time. Okay? I promise, I won’t do it again unless you ask me first.” He gazed deeply into her glistening eyes that spoke eloquently of her desire and fear. It occurred to Matt for the first time that Casey might be afraid of all men because of her trauma. That thought struck him like a lightning bolt. Now it all made sense! Staggered by his stupid inability to understand what was fueling Casey’s detachment, Matt added, “First of all, I want you as a friend. Friendship is the basis for any relationship. The ball is in your court, Casey. You just tell me what you want, what you feel comfortable with. All right?”
His rasping words were like his work-worn fingers lightly grazing her flesh. Did Matt realize the power and sway he had over her? Casey wasn’t sure, but his words of understanding made her heart swell with a new emotion: hope. “Yes, that’s fine. That’s what I need, Matt.”
Giving her a slight, one-cornered smile, he asked, “How about a glass of wine?”
Casey wanted to say she’d like something stronger, but she knew alcohol didn’t solve a thing. “Right now, I think some iced tea is about all I can handle.”
Cupping her elbow, Matt led her off the dance floor. He saw her father, Clay Cantrell, watching them. Not seeing censure in her father’s face, Matt exhaled. What he didn’t want was Casey’s parents to be upset with what had unexpectedly happened. Matt wouldn’t be able to explain it away. Clay barely tipped his head. Relief poured through Matt as he acknowledged the airline pilot’s barely discernible nod. Above all, Matt knew they wanted only the best for their daughter and maybe Clay Cantrell had just given him a thumbs-up to his courting of Casey.
As they walked to the refreshment line to get iced tea, Matt stood behind Casey. He kept plenty of room between them. Off in the distance, he kept an eye on Megan who was happily playing with a bunch of other children in the tent that had hundreds of colorful balls that they could jump into. Returning his attention to Casey, he found her, once more, withdrawn.
How badly Matt wanted to pull Casey aside, take her for a walk and simply talk to find out what was going on inside that head of hers. His mouth tingled wildly in memory of her soft, returning kiss. Matt ached to make a deeper connection with her. This kiss had shown him that he was more ready than he’d originally thought to leave the past behind and start living in the present once more. The bigger question was Casey. When she’d caught th
e bouquet, she’d looked shocked by it. Matt felt that if she could have thrown it to someone else, she would have. The situation kept Casey from doing anything except sheepishly accepting the bouquet—the last thing she wanted to do.
In a quandary, Matt felt a volcano of giddy, unfettered feelings loosen within him. It was as if something had startled a herd of mustangs and they’d scattered in ten different directions. He couldn’t get the kiss out of his heart or mind. He didn’t want to. Just looking at Casey’s profile, Matt swore he could feel what she was thinking—that this was the last place she wanted to be right now. That his kiss had broken through an unspoken wall she had erected against the world. The real question was: what was Casey going to do now?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“DAMMIT, BENSON, I want action!” Carter whispered harshly into the throwaway cell phone. He stood looking out the huge picture window at the craggy Tetons that rose up out of the plain. “It’s July! You keep telling me you’re still strategizing, but I want this job wrapped up now!” His nostrils flared and he began to stalk back and forth, glaring out the window at the July Fourth weather. It was a perfect holiday with a deep turquoise sky, long strands of cirrus high above that reminded Peyton of a horse’s mane flying as he galloped along.
For a moment, Peyton hesitated, glancing toward the open door of his office in his home. Everyone was gone. The maid was out shopping. Usually he didn’t make such calls from his home simply because it was too dangerous. This time, he was running late. He wanted to squeeze in the call to the sniper and arsonist before he had to go to the town square and give a rousing patriotic and political speech about freedom in this country.
CLARISSA HURRIED INTO the house. When she closed the door, she heard her husband shouting. Startled, she hurried toward his office. She’d come home early from a luncheon with her best friends at the posh Aspens restaurant. What was Carter yelling about? She rarely heard him lose his temper.
Halting just outside the door where she couldn’t be seen, Clarissa heard him.
“Benson, I paid for this contract, dammit. Now I want it done! Do you hear me? Time’s up! You hear me? Get rid of Sinclaire!’
Gulping, Clarissa automatically placed her hand on her long throat. Her brows dipped. Get rid of Sinclaire? The Sinclaire family of Jackson Hole? Her mind spun with questions. She heard her husband snap the cell phone shut. Whirling around, Clarissa hurried silently down the pine hall.
Once in the kitchen, Clarissa made sure she opened and shut the door loudly so that Carter would hear it. Dressed in a white sundress with pink, yellow and white daisies splashed across it, Clarissa called out, “Carter? I’m home!” Her husky voice carried strongly down the hall. She waited and then she heard her husband’s footsteps coming her way. Gulping, she grabbed her white leather purse and rushed to meet him.
“Hi, doll,” Carter murmured, kissing his wife’s cheek.
“I just got home,” Clarissa said breathlessly, giving him the customary peck on his cheek. “Are you about ready to leave? I thought you had an appointment at the town square?” She looked at the gold Rolex watch on her thin wrist. “You’re late, Carter.”
His mouth turned down and he walked into their master bedroom. “I know, I know. Seems like everything is jammed up today,” he muttered, grabbing the dark brown suit coat that went with the trousers he wore. Picking up a red-white-and-blue tie, he quickly wrapped it around his neck.
Clarissa stood in the doorway. Her husband’s normally genial face was tense and she saw anger lurking in his dark brown eyes. Washington? she wondered. Her mind focused on part of the phone call she’d heard. Was there a Sinclaire in the senate? No. Maybe a congressman or woman? No. Surely, he couldn’t have meant the Sinclaires of Wyoming. She knew Matt was a firefighter and that his family owned a ranch outside of Jackson Hole.
Carter drew a deep inner breath. Thank God Clarissa hadn’t heard his phone call. That had been close! Trying to stop his hands from trembling as he shifted the tie into place around his neck, he managed a grimace. “You’d think on the day of our country’s birthday that everyone inside the Beltway back in D.C. would be on their best behavior.”
“Mmm,” Clarissa said, trying to sound sympathetic. She wondered about the cell phone he’d used. Something bothered her about his angry, shouting words about Sinclaire. Knowing Carter was hurrying around, Clarissa decided that after he left, she’d search his office for the cell. It would have the phone number of whom he called. That way, she would be assured that his angry words were probably just letting off steam about a D.C. colleague. “Bob is downstairs with our limo.”
“I know, I know,” Carter rasped, grabbing his suit coat and rushing out of the room.
“You have your speech?” she wondered.
“Yes…yes.” He’d nearly forgotten it! Angry at himself for being scattered, Carter ran back into his office and scooped up the papers. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He gave her a tight, stressed smile. “Gotta go press the flesh…”
“I’m glad it’s you and not me,” Clarissa sang out as he moved into the kitchen, jerked open the door that led to the underground garage and disappeared.
Clarissa waited for a moment, then changed into a pair of fashionable pale pink slacks and a colorful Hawaiian silk blouse. Going to the master bathroom, she made sure her coifed hair was in place. In the walk-in closet, she chose a pair of pink leather sandals and opened her huge hundred-drawer wall jewelry chest. Clarissa loved jewelry and she moved to the pink section and chose a strand of tasteful freshwater pearls that had faceted pink tourmaline spacers between them.
Feeling properly dressed, Clarissa clicked down the pine hall to her husband’s office. The sunlight spilled brightly into the large rectangular room. Spotting the cell phone on his desk, she went over and picked it up. Frowning, she realized this wasn’t the cell he carried on him all the time. That’s odd. Turning it over, Clarissa flipped it open. Recognizing this was a cheap throwaway phone, Clarissa grimaced. What on earth was Carter doing with this cheap, shoddy-looking thing?
Punching a few keys, she saw the phone number he’d just called. She was familiar with all the important numbers he used. This wasn’t one of them. And when she scrolled through the rest of the phone’s addresses, there were none. Just this one number. She was stymied; this didn’t make sense to her. Writing down the number, Clarissa turned off the cell and flipped the case down. She placed it on the desk where she’d found it.
Part of her job was to keep Carter’s list of donors and this might be a new one. If so, the person needed to be added to the database. That, she could do. But what was his or her name? Carter was always good about giving her the info on a donor. His political life depended upon these people.
Something didn’t feel right to Clarissa. Tucking the piece of paper into her pocket, she turned her attention to the barbecue party they would be giving for their supporters at 5:00 p.m. today on their large, beautiful patio. Her chef, Sadie Parker, would be arriving at any moment now. Maria, the maid, would be coming back with all the food that Sadie had asked her to buy for tonight’s celebration. Forgetting about the incident, Clarissa hurried down the hall toward the kitchen. There was plenty to do. An army of trucks and men from Cheyenne would be arriving to set up the fifty chairs and tables and umbrellas. The circular flagstone plaza in the backyard would be turned into a red-white-and-blue extravaganza that Clarissa had planned with this company months earlier. Now, under her direction, the huge backyard that looked upon the grandeur of the mighty Tetons would be the perfect backdrop for the monied guests who were Carter’s top donors.
Still, as she walked out the back door to the patio, Clarissa couldn’t shake the name Sinclaire. Who in D.C. had Carter been yelling at? Was something going on that she didn’t know about? A slight, warm breeze moved strands of her hair across her brow and Clarissa pushed them back into place. Usually she knew Carter’s enemies and friends. She’d become the bulwark of his new senate campaign. Something caut
ioned her not to talk to Carter about this incident right now. She decided to set the incident aside. She wanted her husband to focus on getting these fifty donors to fork over more cash for his war chest. That was the focus. No money, no senate seat.
MEGAN RAN DOWN THE GRASSY knoll after the red ball that Matt had thrown to her. She’d missed it and it had bounced on the slope. Casey stood at the top with Matt’s father, Lou. They had driven to Cheyenne to the family Bar V Ranch where Matt had his roots. His father was a strapping man—six foot three inches of towering strength and hard muscle. At fifty years old, Lou Sinclaire looked like the proverbial cowboy from the Old West. He wore a black Stetson and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows that showed off his lean, hard forearms and hands. Casey saw a lot of scars on his hands and knew they were from his ranching life.
“Megan’s just so purty,” Lou drawled. “Val, my wife, always said she’d grow up to be a beauty. She was right,” he said, draping his hands over his narrow hips.
Casey smiled faintly. Lou Sinclaire was a mountain of a man, lean and carved out of the elements of the tough Wyoming landscape. “She’s getting more and more vocal. Matt’s hoping that one day soon, she’ll start talking again,” Casey confided to him. She watched daughter and father running down the slope after the escaping red ball. Their laughter was infectious as Matt allowed Megan to beat him to the ball as it rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill.
Grunting, Lou muttered, “Yeah, I certainly hope so. This has been hard on my son. He lost Bev and then his child goes mute.” Shaking his head, his green eyes narrowed, he added, “Just ain’t right. Matt’s suffered enough.”
Silently, Casey agreed. This was the first time she’d met Matt’s father. The Bar V was a sprawling three-hundred acre ranch outside the capital of Wyoming. Lou ran five thousand head of cattle. He had seven wranglers who worked under him. Matt was the spitting image of him. Both men were terribly handsome in a raw, natural way. Both were practical and common-sensed about everything in life.
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