Cowboy Reality Romance: Kip

by Erica Penrod

  Ryder and Rhett clung to Kip’s legs as a woman knelt, her black hair snaking across her shoulder. She spoke to them in a high pitch voice, like she was calling dogs and not talking to tiny humans.

  It pleased Cassie when her sons buried their heads into Kip’s jeans. Kids were good judges of character. The beautiful stranger stood up. She was thin and as put together as a mannequin on display. Makeup highlighted her dark eyes framed by meticulously arched eyebrows. Her eyelashes fluttered, choreographed to her words, and her almond skin made the perfect backdrop for her full lips dressed in pink gloss. She wore a tight black T-shirt with the word Rodeo written across the chest in tiny dots of bling. Skinny jeans the color of a mango were tucked into black-and-gray boots.

  “Thanks, Kip.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  Good grief. Cassie walked up and peeled her children from Kip’s legs.

  “You should call me sometime.” The raven-haired woman sauntered as she walked away.

  Kip touched his cheek, now laced with venom. Cassie grasped the twins’ hands and walked off before he even realized what was happening.

  “Cassie, wait,” he said, catching up to her in two strides.

  The boys practically pulled her to the ground as they dug their heels in waiting for Kip. She caught her balance, still holding tight to her children. “What?” she asked. The word came out short and clipped, and she didn’t know why she was so upset.

  “That was a girl I went to high school with, and I haven’t seen her in years.”

  She waited to answer until she calmed down. “I don’t need an explanation. I just wanted to get my boys.”

  “I know that,” he said.

  “Come on, boys.” She looked down at Rhett and Ryder. “Let’s get a drink.”

  “I’ll come,” he invited himself. “I didn’t get a chance to get anything.”

  Ryder let go of his mother’s hand and took Kip’s.

  Cassie started walking, “Oh, you got something, all right.” She turned back over her shoulder, and her eyes brightened. “But you better be careful. I think she wants to eat you for breakfast.” Surprised that she’d dared comment, Cassie held her breath.

  “Oh, you’re funny,” he said with a smile.

  Relaxing, Cassie returned his grin. They chatted for a moment, and she pushed aside the block wall keeping Kip out. He didn’t look at her like one of those girls who chased after him. Which was good. But she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the looks he did give her, because they made her feel … special.

  They reached the concession stand only to wait in the long line. Cassie stood on her tiptoes, trying to calculate the minutes. “If we wait in this line, we’ll miss Elle’s ride.”

  Kip handed Cassie his hat and swung Ryder onto his shoulders. “I think you’re right,” he said, holding on to the boy with one arm and reaching for his hat with the other. “We’ll come back as soon as she makes her run.”

  He whistled his favorite tune as they headed back to the arena. Cassie grinned, but Kip’s music didn’t drown out the comments of three girls as he walked by. That proverbial knot in her stomach cinched tighter, reminding her she wasn’t as special as she thought and that she shouldn’t forget who he was, or that beautiful females would always be after him.

  * * *

  Kip pulled into the driveway, his Dodge Dually loaded with a fourteen-year-old wearing her first-place belt buckle, two sleeping children, and their perpetually aggravated mother, at least where he was concerned. Back at the rodeo, Kip hoped Cassie hadn’t overheard the passing girls. He’d finally gotten her to relax around him. But when their gazes met, and her eyes were swampy green, he got the message. Not for one second did he think she was about to cry, because he knew lurking in the water was a creature about to pull him under. He wondered how things might be different if he’d never agreed to do the reality show, if he hadn’t put himself out there and become recognizable. Maybe then Cassie wouldn’t look at him like that. Like she was disappointed and frustrated and hurt all in one breath.

  Grace got a business call and had to leave the rodeo early. She asked Kip to drive everyone home. He obviously wasn’t Cassie’s first choice as chauffer, but not long into the ride, she closed her eyes and leaned into the seat belt. He didn’t know if she was asleep or not, but he knew better than to poke a hibernating bear.

  He shifted into park and undid his seat belt while Cassie sat up, rubbing her forehead. “That was a long day.” She picked up her purse and an empty water bottle from the floor.

  Elle’s eyes were heavy and her limbs completely limp. He gently shook her shoulder, and her eyes fluttered. She reached for him, needing stability until her mind pulled out of the exhaustion—she’d pushed hard today. He helped her out and held on until she got her balance. Her head hung down, and her feet shuffled forward at an awkward gait. The front door opened, and Grace stood on marble tile beneath the glow of a massive Ralph Lauren chandelier made of antique glass and elk antlers. She caught Elle in her arms, smiled, and shut the door.

  “Have you ever watched The Walking Dead?” Kip asked Cassie, as he carried Ryder around the truck.

  She shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Well, that was a pretty good imitation.”

  She opened the passenger door, and Rhett’s boot fell to the ground. She picked it up and reached for the boys’ jackets beneath the seat. She tucked them under her arm and unfastened the seat belt. The purse strap slid from her shoulder, taking the jackets with it.

  “Hand him to me,” Kip said, offering a vacant arm while Ryder drooled on his other shoulder.

  “I got him,” she said, as she quickly picked up her things; but when she stood, the water bottle toppled out.

  “Here,” Kip said, standing right next to her. “I can take him.” He smiled and nodded his encouragement. She laid the purse and jackets on the floor before handing her sleeping child to Kip. In the shuffle, Kip’s phone fell from his shirt pocket.

  “Can you get that for me?” he said. He bounced on his heels, raising the boys higher for a better grip. “My hands are a little full,” he said softly, his voice as tender and deep as a lullaby.

  Cassie retrieved the phone and the bottle. She collected the other items from the truck and closed the door. Holding his phone, she turned and saw Kip with her most valuable treasures and remembered the tenderness in his voice. The protective guard around her heart slipped as she recalled the many ways he had taken care of them that day. His patience was beyond measure, but it was more than that—oftentimes he’d sought them out, excited to show the kids something new.

  If there was ever a way to her heart, it was right through her boys.

  She met Kip’s midnight eyes, bright in the August moon. His gaze took on an intensity bursting with tiny lights and drawing her closer.

  Before she did something stupid, Cassie forced her feet to move, but she didn’t get far before she noticed Kip wasn’t following.

  She turned around, and he closed the distance between them. The silence, like a whispered secret, lured her in, and she followed it until she was close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

  His eyes lingered on her lips. Cassie drew in closer, forgetting all the things she shouldn’t, like bedtime and baths, and remembering what it was like to yearn for a kiss.

  Kip lowered his head, his breath warm on her lips.

  As she lifted to her toes, the phone rang, the screen lighting up the night.

  Startled, Cassie dropped her chin to see the name vibrating in her hands … Michael Sanders.

  She jerked her head back. “How do you know my dead husband’s boss?”

  8

  Kip sat on the front porch of his Texas home near Quinlan. The two-story white house, with peeling paint and a wraparound porch, had been in his family for over seventy-five years. Three dormers perched upon the roof, giving the upstairs rooms a spectacular view (if your idea of spectacular was some weathered fence, a barn rivaling
the Leaning Tower of Pisa, a couple sheds that couldn’t seem to decide if they were standing up or sitting down, and about a dozen horses on acres of hard work). The shingles sang in the wind and would more than likely blow away before Kip got around to replacing them. And that was the most beautiful part; it was his, and he would do it when he could and all with his own two hands.

  Rocking in his late grandmother’s dilapidated chair, his bare feet massaged by the gentle breeze, Kip thought of all the times he sat at her side on this very same porch, shelling peas from her garden. His stomach held more than his bowl ever had, but Grandma didn’t seem to mind as she told him stories about his great-grandfather, Joe Morgan. He passed away before Kip could hold a memory, but in his mind, his great-granddad was ten feet tall and bulletproof, just like the cowboys in his favorite western movies.

  Joe’s old boots sat on a shelf in the farmhouse. Kip knew he’d never fill them, but something in the cracked leather and worn soles rooted him to the soil, yet let him fly like dust in a Texas wind. Most of what Kip knew about horses, cattle, and working the land he’d known since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.

  Hard work wasn’t taught in a book or preached at the dinner table; it was learned by mending fence lines, doctoring a sick animal, or working the land. It was in their blood, flowing in their veins, and spilled onto the earth from generation to generation. Great-Granddad taught Grandpa and Grandpa taught his sons. Kip prayed it wouldn’t stop with him, although things had changed a lot since Great-Granddad’s day.

  Kip respected his grandpa, who never sided with a suit and tie over a pair of Wrangler’s and a straw hat. It was difficult for him when Kip’s father spent less time on the ranch, but the old boys at the coffee shop knew the story verbatim about his boy’s product and how it was sought out by equestrians all over the world. “Life’s about change,” Grandpa used to say, “and some of us old cowboys fight it like a bull and a branding iron.”

  Kip chuckled as he thought about the times Grandpa and Grandma made the trip to Utah and hit the ski slopes. They got a few stares when Grandpa pulled off his cowboy boots and slipped on the skis. Grandma managed to persuade him to leave his cowboy hat in the truck.

  Both Kip’s maternal and paternal grandparents were big factors in his life. The family split their time between Utah and Texas. Grace was from the Beehive State and wanted her children around her family. With the business headquarters in Texas, there was a reason to have homes in both places. Kip was a senior in high school by the time Ben created his company, and he graduated from public school. But the rodeo schedules demanded that the girls be enrolled in home school. Which was good, Kip thought, standing up and stretching, his cotton T-shirt peeling away from his back. Or maybe it wasn’t, because it brought Cassie and the boys to Utah.

  He had two things on his mind as he pulled his boots on: Cassie and Cassie. The woman he wanted and the one who saw fire whenever he was around. He lifted his hat and pushed the hair from his moist forehead, trapping it beneath the brim. It was longer than usual, which meant that it also clung to his neck in the heat, but going to town for a haircut was about the last thing he wanted to do. His mother said he was hiding, and well, yeah, maybe he was. But she wasn’t there that night, the night he lied to Cassie.

  It was a good lie, he rationalized whenever he doubted his course of action. She didn’t know what he knew, and the less she knew about Michael Sanders, the better. He told her the truth: that Michael Sanders was his attorney, and Kip hired him at someone’s recommendation. Sanders had a reputation for efficiency in the entertainment business, and Kip’s family lawyer felt ill-suited for the task of managing his contracts and royalties.

  But he didn’t tell her about the first time he met his new attorney. The hair on the back of Kip’s neck stood up. He knew right then and there that he should have tucked his tail and run for the porch, despite the man’s eloquence. If not for Jaxon trying to provide for his family, he would’ve driven away as fast as he could.

  He stepped down from the porch. The second stair bowed under the pressure, making it an uneven descent. He landed smoothly and kicked a rock from the cracked sidewalk. Walking towards the barn, he pulled a toothpick from his front pocket and chewed it between his teeth. Judging from her conversation with his mom, Cassie obviously knew her husband’s boss was dangerous. Maybe she understood more than he thought. But what she didn’t know was that Kip had met Danny personally … and so he lied by omission.

  Kip didn’t predict the young father’s death, but he knew business could be shady at Michael Sanders’s firm; nothing was black and white. Following Danny’s death, it became clear that whatever was going on was much deeper than Kip had realized. He doubted it was an accident that claimed the life of Danny Carter, but he couldn’t tell Cassie that. And he wasn’t about to go to the police until he had proof. There was no way to know how far Sanders’ connections went.

  Unlatching the gate, he crossed the gravel into the barnyard. In the distance, dust was parted by what could only be a fast-moving vehicle. He yanked his cell phone from his pocket, ripping the corner seam. The screen didn’t show a call or text. He thumbed through his email—nothing. Grace called this morning, so he knew it wasn’t anyone from his family, and he’d given his help the week off. This was his sanctuary, and no one was supposed to have access unless he approved. Squinting, he made out the silver BMW as it took the bend.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  Austyn Macoy, his reality show girlfriend, was the last person in Texas he wanted to see.

  * * *

  The cell phone bounced from the counter and landed on the floor, the protective case splitting in two. Oh, crap. Cassie hurried to pick up the pieces. The screen was intact, and there didn’t seem to be any damage to the phone itself. She sighed in relief. The last thing she needed right now was to pay for a new phone.

  Walking into the family room, she calculated the total between her checking and savings accounts. According to the rough figures in her head, she could send a reasonable check to the latest debt collector and make her car payment, but she had no idea how she’d cover her other financial obligations.

  Since the day she and Danny married, money was tight. Danny had only one semester left in school, so they decided Cassie would hold off her education and work full time. Once he graduated and found a job, she would pursue her nursing degree—only that plan flew out the window and into the beak of a passing stork.

  “Excuse me,” Elle said, as Cassie tripped on the young girl’s feet.

  “Sorry,” Cassie said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Yeah, I felt that.”

  “Oh, did I hurt you?” Cassie asked, looking down at purple polished nails embellished with tiny hand-painted flowers.

  Elle raised her leg, examining her toenails. “Looks like the pedicures all intact, so we’re good.” She glanced up at Cassie. “Are you okay?” Her brows furrowed with concern. “You look like Skyler on a bad hair day.”

  Cassie ran her fingers through her hair, catching on a knot or two.

  “No, not your hair. The look on your face.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.” She looked around the room and found her boys lounging on the gigantic sectional watching television. The 72-inch plasma screen hosted cartoon characters singing annoying jingles bound to repeat and replay in her head all day long. She rubbed her temples, thinking she should take preventive measures and swallow an aspirin now.

  “Okay, little Carter boys, time to turn off the television.” She turned to Elle. “Grab your sister and let’s get your schoolwork out of the way for the day.”

  “Ugh.” Elle rolled her eyes. “Do we have to do it now?”

  “Yes,” Cassie said, picking up the remote and silencing the surround sound. “Come on boys.” The vexatious choir of big-eyed birds disappeared from the screen. If only all her troubles were that easy to get rid of.

  “Can we do our home
work in the kitchen?” Elle asked.

  “I don’t care. Grab your laptop and meet me there in about ten minutes.” She felt her phone vibrate and looked at the number—her dad. “Better make that fifteen.”

  After she hung up, she found the girls busy working on algebra and US Government at the counter. Cassie supplied the boys with educational coloring books and washable markers and pulled two paper towels from the dispenser, dampening them in the kitchen faucet. She set one by each boy, complimented the artwork on the previous page, and encouraged them with a promise to send it to Grandma and Grandpa.

  Cassie sat on the empty barstool, taking the time to think about her phone call. Someone came to their house looking for her, and not one of the usual Michael Sanders associates.

  “Can you help me with this one?” Skyler asked, pointing at the screen with her finger. “I’ve no idea what it’s asking me.”

  “Sure,” Cassie said. She read the question, but retained none of it; her mind was still on her parents.

  Skyler cleared her throat, and Cassie re-read the question. She skimmed the text and pointed to the middle of the page. “Read this,” she instructed. “The answer is in this paragraph.” Her mind drifted again while Skyler studied.

  Shortly after the funeral, Michael Sanders had come to pay his respects. They’d met briefly at company parties, and he wasn’t someone you forgot. His handshake was firm, but not overbearing, and he spoke to you as if you were the only person in the room. Cassie remembered her warm cheeks when he complimented her dress and had no doubt he could sweet-talk Tara from the clutches of Scarlett O’Hara. He wasn’t much taller than Cassie and obviously worked out. Sanders was bald in a movie star kind of way, with a trimmed goatee and an artificial tan, which she noticed as he sat down on her couch. Five minutes later, she’d asked him to leave.