“… what you expected?” I finish his sentence dryly.
“No,” he says, his eyes calculative. It’s obvious he’s read stuff about Tamara and thinks she’s some kind of slut he can have a roll in the hay with. He has no idea what a tyrant she really is. If I had been her, he’d be licking my boots right about now.
“Life is full of surprises,” I say lightly.
“It sure is.” I see him make a quick recalculation of his strategy. His eyes darken as he takes his time looking me up and down.
I frown at the slow look. “Shall we start?”
‘Sure thing, doll.”
“Well, the last time I rode Misty,” I say, getting straight to the point.
But he doesn’t take his eyes off me or move an inch. “You got a man waiting for ya back in the city.”
“What?’ I explode.
“You know. A boyfriend.” He winks. “A lover.”
“None of your damned business,” I say through clenched teeth. There are all kinds of bad words clawing up my throat, but I swallow them down. I just want to learn to ride.
“Pipe down, sweet cheeks. It was a fair question. City folk are always runnin’ around.”
That does it. I suddenly decide I don’t like the idea of him training me one bit. What if I fall and he has to catch me the way Lars did the last time?
A) I didn’t trust him.
B) I didn’t want him anywhere near me, let alone, touching me.
But if I refuse to let him teach me, I’ll just get into trouble. Lars could tell Tamara’s father. There is a better way.
“This time I want to ride Thunder?” I say.
“Thunder?” he exclaims with a disbelieving laugh.
“Yeah, Thunder,” I reply firmly.
He shakes his head. “You want to learn horseback riding on a wild Arabian race horse?”
I nod.
A sly look comes into his face. “You’re used to handling big males, huh?”
I know what he is alluding to, but I don’t bite. “Don’t you think I can ride him?” I counter, knowing instinctively that I can. For the last few days, I’ve been sneaking carrots and sugar cubes to him and we’ve become buddies. I think he completely trusts me.
“Oh, baby. I know you can ride a big man, but how about we do your riding lesson on another horse—any other horse.” The man with the perfect smile, straight nose, and crystal blue eyes finally shows an imperfection. He’s scared of Thunder.
I raise an insolent eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re afraid of a horse?”
“Damn straight, I am? That horse is a hammerhead.”
“Hammerhead?”
“A bad horse,” he explains briefly.
“No, he’s not. Anyway, you won’t be riding him. I will.”
He shakes his head and takes a step away from me. “Nah, no way. I ain’t taking that responsibility.”
“It sounds to me like you don’t have the balls.”
He flushes brick-red with anger and I want to laugh. Men are so predictable. Maybe this is the only way to get what I want.
“You betcha,” he snarls. “That brute is damn near two thousand pounds dry, and I ain’t stupid enough to put a greenhorn prune picker on it.”
“Did you just call me a prune picker?”
“You’re from California, ain’t you?” he asks belligerently.
I fold my arms stubbornly.
“I was told to teach you to ride. Are you going to make my job impossible?”
“Your job wouldn’t be impossible if you’d let me ride the horse I want,” I snap.
“Quit your yammerin’, woman,” he bellows. “That horse deserves to be sent to the glue factory for the trouble it’s already caused. I’m telling you now. You’re not riding that horse. We can’t even get him to cooperate being led on a rope.”
“I can lead him,” I retort.
“No, you can’t,” he says, jamming an accusing finger at me.
“Want me to prove it?” I challenge.
“No, I don’t. For Pete’s sake, just pick another goddamn horse, or I’ll pick one for you.” His face is nearly purple, and he is irate and completely frustrated at this point. I consider backing off. My dad used to say there are times when pressing to get something you want is a good, healthy action, and there other times when it is downright dangerous and it’s best to concede to the whims of your rival. Unfortunately, I’ve always been bad at determining which situations are dangerous and which are acceptable.
“No,” I growl.
“You will get on a damned horse if I have to throw you over my shoulder and put you on the horse myself,” he shouts, completely losing his temper with me.
“Screw you,” I shout and stomp away from him.
For a second, he is too shocked to respond, then I hear him coming up behind me with the rapidity of a wild animal. I stop dead in my tracks and whirl around. “If you so much as touch me, you’ll have a roomful of sharp-suited lawyers come down so hard on your ass you’ll wish you never heard of Tamara Honeywell.”
And just like that, I unintentionally become Tamara Honeywell’s protégée. My sass combined with her money is probably not a good combination.
He blinks as if suddenly remembering that I’m not his equal.
Chapter 18
Cass
As I walk away from the barn, my fists are balled and the blood is pounding in my veins, but I revel in my disobedience. It felt invigorating to be able to threaten someone with the force of the law like that, have them quake in their boots with fear, and immediately back down. What must it be like to have that kind of power for real? No wonder Tamara is such a bitch.
As I get to the house, my anger turns toward Lars. That will teach him for setting me up with a complete douchebag. I walk around the side of the house and go in through my patio door into my living quarters. I have a quick shower, change into clean clothes, and go into the kitchen. Emma Jean is just beginning to gather the ingredients for dinner.
“Need help?” I ask her. She looks surprised to see me.
“What are you doing back so early? Aren’t you supposed to be having a riding lesson?” she asks with a frown.
“Nope. I’m done for the day. I don’t have anything to do but lend you a hand.” And it’s true. I’ve already called Jesse and given her a brief synopsis of the day’s events. During my lunch break, I contacted Mrs. Carter and begged her to please help me by paying my dad’s hospital bill from what I’ve already earned. She agreed to do it in the morning. I’ve also called hospice to check that my dad’s condition is stable. It is. So, I truly have nothing else to do with my time.
“Do you know how to cook?” Emma Jean asks.
“Not a clue,” I admit with a big grin. “But I wouldn’t mind learning from you. You’re easily the most amazing cook I know.”
Emma Jean preens at the compliment. She looks at the ingredients laid out on the counter and then back at me. “Well, then. Neither my son nor daughter ever wanted to learn to cook, and their ankle biters are too young to teach, so you can be my girl for the evening.”
“I would love to.” A warm sensation fills my stomach. My life would be perfect if I could live here forever on this ranch with her.
“I’m making stuffed shells. Have you ever had ‘em?” she asks, tossing me a box full of giant pasta shells. I catch them midair and study the box curiously.
“I think I’ve eaten them before,” I reply slowly. “But it may have been spaghetti and shells.”
“There is no mixing up the two. If you’ve had ‘em, you’d know. There’s nothing like stuffed shells and pork chops if you know what you’re doing.” She gives me a big smile. “And I’ve been known to make the best stuffed shells this side of Montana if I do say so myself.” She fills a pan three-fourths full with water. Waving me away, she carries it to the stove, sets it down, and turns the knob to the highest setting. Blue flames spring to life.
“I hope I don’t ruin anyth
ing.”
“Don’t you worry, Poppet,” she says, tipping salt into the water and covering the pan with a lid. “They’ll never notice anyway. They come in so hungry they’ll quite happily eat the north end of a south bound bear.”
I smile at the description, but there is no way that is true. She’s trying to make out they’ll eat a scabby donkey, but in the time I’ve been here, everything I’ve tasted has been superb. Better than anything I’ve ever had in Chicago. I licked the plate for Pete’s sake.
“Can I dump these in now?” I ask, shaking the box of pasta.
She gives me a sideways glance. “Does that water look like it is boiling yet?”
I shake my head.
“There’s your answer.”
“Right. The water has to be boiling to soften pasta?”
She looks at me curiously. “Haven’t you ever cooked ramen noodles before, child?”
“I stick them in the microwave. Four minutes, max,” I say with a grin.
“Oh, Lord help your soul,” Emma Jean prays. “Then again, I suppose with your lifestyle there’s not much call for cooking. You’re probably dining in them fancy restaurants most of the time.”
I nod, say a silent sorry for the lie, and don’t tell her that far from fancy restaurants, my dad and I lived almost entirely on takeout and frozen dinners. Cooking wasn’t our thing. My mom died when I was so young that I have no memory of her at all. All I have are photos of a smiling, fair-haired woman holding me as a baby.
Growing up, people used to look at me with sympathy. I was too proud to let them pity me, so I shrugged and told them it’s difficult to miss something you never had. But there was always something missing, and I’m forever subconsciously drawn to surrogate mother figures.
“I’ll be your new teacher, honey,” Emma Jean breaks into my thoughts. “By the time you leave this ranch, you’ll be an expert on all things culinary.”
At the tail end of her sentence, the front door opens and slams shut so hard, the decorations on the walls tremble.
Emma Jean sighs and murmurs, “Oh dear.”
“Tamara,” Lars roars.
I widen my eyes and bite my lip.
“We may have to wait until tomorrow to teach you to cook,” Emma Jean says.
What did I do this time?
Chapter 19
Cass
I hear Lars charging through the house like a raging bull. My mouth is suddenly dry. I cross my arms in front of my chest in a subconsciously defensive gesture and warily watch the doorway to the kitchen. He soon fills the entire entrance, his straight black hair slightly mussed and his face black as a thundercloud.
“You made my farm hand quit,” he yells at me.
I snort and shake my head. “That’s a bit overdramatic.”
“Overdramatic?” he explodes. “He’s packed his bags and gone!”
“Oh, that was quick. I didn’t actually expect him to quit,” I say with a broad smile. “But it’s wonderful to know that I have such a profound effect on people.”
“What did you do?” he asks, taking an intimidating step toward me.
I’m usually not easily scared, but my heart rate rises and I have to swallow the urge to move backward. His eyes are spewing venom and a bunch of there-is-no-way-back-from-this vibes, and it suddenly occurs to me that I might have royally screwed up this time.
I shrug. “I refused to ride any other horse other than Thunder.”
He looks at me in disbelief. “You what?”
“You spent an entire evening teaching me to mount Misty and ride her around the ring on my own, and I might add, with no problems.”
He glares at me.
“While you’ve been away, I’ve been sneaking carrots and sugar lumps to Thunder and making friends with him. He trusts me now. Anyway, it’s time I learn to ride my horse,” I say defiantly.
His breath escapes in an exasperated rush. “First of all, Thunder isn’t your horse. Second, he is dangerous, and I specifically asked you to choose another.”
“I want Thunder and none other,” I say calmly.
He walks over to me, every step vibrating with menace and aggression. He is gritting his teeth so hard his handsome jaws must ache. He stops right in front of me, right in my personal space, and my hands itch to shove him backward. I dislike angry people as much as I despise drunk people.
“I thought you said that you wanted this to be an easy month. Weren’t you the one who intimated that you wanted to take the easy way out of everything?” he growls, looking at me as if he wants to skin me alive with a blunt cheese grater.
Up this close, he is terrifying, but I lay my hands on his rock-hard chest and shove at it with all my might. He doesn’t move an inch. I give up and take a step back instead. “I never said I wanted to take the easy way out. I stated that I didn’t want to be here, so don’t you dare put words in my mouth you freaking…big…wall you,” I spit.
Without warning, his hands shoot forward and grab my shoulders. He gives me a small shake. “You’ve done nothing but cause trouble since you came here, and I swear, one more cock up from you, and I don’t even care if it’s not your fault, I’m sending you home. So, you better fucking shape up and fast,” he shouts in my face.
“Obviously, you haven’t noticed because you’re so damned busy,” I cry hotly, “but I have shaped up. I do all my chores, even though they seem like they are chosen on the basis that they are the most disgusting tasks around. I get hardly any sleep, and I’ve not complained one single time. All I ask is that you allow me to ride the horse I want. It’s not such a difficult proposition, is it?”
‘Fucking hell! Am I talking to a brick wall here?”
I don’t notice Emma Jean approach, but suddenly she is between us with a hand on each of our shoulders. The little lady has a hard time reaching Lars’ shoulder, so she settles for his upper chest. “You two have a lot to talk about. Go take a walk outside and don’t come back until you’re happy with one another’s decisions.”
“I-” I begin to protest, but she cuts me off.
“It’s not open to discussion. You have an hour until dinner.”
I look at Lars and expect him to argue, but he simply nods tersely at Emma Jean. He clearly respects her as a person, but agreeing to her every whim is something I wouldn’t have expected from him.
As if we are two bickering children, Emma Jean steers us out the door and closes it with a firm click behind our backs. I’m still tense with anger as we cross the porch and start down the steps. He acts as if I am the worst person who has ever stepped foot on this ranch, but I know for a fact that I am the most hardworking.
When we’re on the long gravel road, Lars speaks once again. “Why did you threaten to sue him?”
“He was going to throw me on just any horse, and I was not about to let that happen,” I defend.
Lars stops and turns toward me, dragging his fingers roughly through his hair. “He was planning on forcing you onto a horse? He wouldn’t have done that.”
“Aww…how loyal. It could never be me telling the truth, could it?” I sneer, strangely and stupidly hurt that he’d rather believe that jerk than me.
He scowls. “Are you?”
“What do you think?” I retort crossly.
He stares at me with an odd expression.
I return the stare. “Someone I knew once said, you can’t really know anyone until you get them in an unexpected situation and there is no telling what they’ll do. He didn’t like that I wouldn’t pick another horse. And he’s a leech. He tried—”
“—What?” he asks, but he has suddenly become very still.
I look at him with surprise.
The change is remarkable. His nostrils flare as he inhales sharply.
“That’s right, your precious groom, the one that you’d rather believe than me, came on to me.”
“What did he do to you?” he asks, his eyes glittering with a totally different kind of anger.
I shift
nervously. I can handle the raging bear, but I don’t know what to do with this ice-cold stranger. “Nothing. He found out quickly that I’m not his type. I’m not inflatable.”
He exhales audibly, some of the tension seeping out of him.
“He also didn’t like it that I said he had no balls,” I add, just to throw something into the awkward silence that has descended between us.
He blinks with surprise, then bursts out laughing.
I don’t acknowledge the sound and keep marching forward at a steady pace.
“You told him he didn’t have balls?” Lars asks, catching up with me easily and laughing loudly.
“Yes,” I agree shortly.
“You’re something else, you know.”
“Are you going to keep pawning me off to rookies who are afraid of a horse, or are you going to man up and teach me yourself?”
His chest rises and falls as he regards me.
If I’m going to convince him, now’s the time. “I wasn’t sent here to be miserable. I was sent to learn to ride, and I can’t do that without your help.”
“Tamara, most people take a while to master horseback riding, but you did it in a day. You’re already ready to ride. All that’s left to learn is barrel jumps,” he says.
“But what if I want to find out more? I don’t want to have come all the way to Montana only to learn how to sit on a horse’s back. I want to know how to live on a ranch, and race a horse over the open ground with the wind in my hair,” I tell him. I know it’s unlike Tamara to have aspirations that aren’t completely materialistic, but this is the real me. I’m kind of done acting and pretending to be someone else. I may look like her and go by her name, but that’s all. I’m going to be me.
Lars looks at me in confusion. “You do?”
“Yes, I do,” I say sincerely.
“You actually want to learn about life on a ranch?” he repeats incredulously.
“Yes, Lars. I want to learn about the ranch, the animals, the seasons. Yesterday, I made a garlic braid with Emma Jean and I really enjoyed it.”
“It was like pulling teeth to make you do anything a few days ago. What’s changed?”
The CEO & I Page 23