Remember Me, Cowboy

by Caroline Burnes

  “I’ve already told him.” Cassidy’s cool voice made Amanda stop with her mouth open.

  “You’ve told him? And he didn’t get furious?”

  “He was glad I got it. Remember, his memory is gone. He doesn’t remember owning it, so he isn’t defensive about it. He said he was glad I got it because he could see that I loved it.”

  Amanda leaned forward in her chair. “You took my breath,” she said softly, then she inhaled shakily and gave a half laugh. “You always were the one with the surprises.” Amanda quit rocking. “Are you going to tell him about Lindsey?”

  Cassidy didn’t answer immediately. Her feelings for Slate were very confused. There were moments when she knew that she loved him as deeply—maybe even more—than she ever had. And there were times when she convinced herself that she was too smart to let her heart rule her life. That Lindsey was her top priority now. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “You can’t do that, Cassidy. You can’t!” Amanda struggled out of the chair. “It isn’t fair to Lindsey.”

  Cassidy motioned her to sit back down. “Not telling her may be what’s unfair. You should see them together, Amanda.” Cassidy inched her chair closer. “They’re drawn to each other. It’s an attraction that exists—that’s so strong it frightens me as much as it amazes me.” She saw the concern in Amanda’s eyes.

  “Lindsey is fond of every ranch hand here, and she worships Hook’em. That doesn’t mean she needs to think any of them are her daddy.”

  “That’s not fair,” Cassidy protested. “None of them are her father, and this…bond between her and Slate is different. You’d have to see it to believe it.”

  Amanda looked out toward the barns. “You’ve done a good job here. I never dreamed you’d be able to make a go of it. When you borrowed the money from the bank, I was afraid you’d lose everything. I almost went to Mr. Barlow and urged him not to make the loan.” She pressed her lips together. “I was wrong about that, but I’m afraid I’m not wrong about Slate. Please, Cassidy, I’m begging you to fire him and encourage him to move on. He deserves to find a new life, and so do you. This only keeps the past alive, and we both know there’s no way to get it back.”

  Cassidy felt her heart pounding. Amanda’s words brought pain, but also a truth she couldn’t deny. There was no going back. And Lindsey was her first priority. Before she did anything that would damage her daughter, she would walk on hot coals. But the rub was that she didn’t know what was best for Lindsey. Or Slate. Or even herself.

  She settled on stating the obvious. “Right now, Slate needs a job and I need him. He has the right to a second chance.” That’s all she was giving him. A chance to prove himself.

  “There are other horse trainers,” Amanda pointed out.

  “Not like Slate. He’s the best trainer around.” Cassidy held her ground. “And you know it.” Cassidy knew it, too. There were no other men like Slate.

  “He’s a good trainer, but is it worth the price?”

  “I don’t know what the price is yet,” Cassidy said slowly.

  “You don’t want to find out. Listen to me, Cassidy, don’t let this happen to you. He’s been gone for five years, and you were finally getting over him. Whenever you walked into the bank, I could see a difference in you. It’s been a hard time for you, raising Lindsey on your own and running the ranch, but you’ve done it Don’t throw it away.”

  “Why did you come out here, Amanda?” Cassidy had watched the play of emotions on her friend’s face. She was extremely upset. It showed in the tremble of her hand and the way her voice shook.

  “What do you mean?” Amanda’s face pulled into a frown. “Are you implying that I have some ulterior motive? I came here to warn you. To be a friend.”

  “I’ve been out here for three years and you’ve never once come out to visit.” Even as Cassidy laid down the obvious, she saw that Amanda was not well. The trip to the Double O was exacting a toll on her.

  “I care about you, Cassidy. I care what happens, even if I haven’t been the best of friends lately.” Tears sprang to Amanda’s eyes. She dashed them with the back of her hand. “I’m all emotional with this pregnancy, but even so, your implication hurts. You sound like you think I’m not a true friend.”

  Cassidy felt bad about the tears, but she couldn’t help herself. “It seems to me that our friendship cooled when Slate was tried for bank robbery. It’s a little odd that his return would spark a renewal.”

  Amanda struggled to her feet. “You’re right. I felt like a creep for testifying against the man who was the father of the child you carried. It’s called guilt, Cassidy, and I had a lot of it. That’s why I quit visiting. I was ashamed.”

  Cassidy reached out and caught Amanda’s hand. “As far as the trial goes, you did what you had to do. You told the truth, and that’s all anyone can do.”

  “It doesn’t make me feel less guilty.” Amanda turned away. “I have to get home.” She glanced nervously down and then back up. “Slate tried to talk to me at the dance. Dray was furious. If he tries it again, there’s going to be trouble.”

  “Do you want me to convey that to Slate?” Cassidy was shocked by the anger she felt Amanda had come to deliver a warning, but it had nothing to do with Cassidy’s welfare. It was meant for Slate—leave me alone, or else. It appeared that Amanda’s newfound concern for her was just a pretext. “I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

  Amanda grasped the handrail as she went down the steps. At the bottom, she turned back to face Cassidy. “I was hoping we could be friends again, the way we used to be. I’ve quit the bank and I’m going to be home, now that I’m pregnant. I thought maybe we could…” She stared at Cassidy and then turned back to her car. She drove away with dust jetting from the tires.

  SLATE WATCHED THE RED Mercedes pull away from the house before he stepped out into the twilight. He’d heard the last of the conversation—enough to know that Cassidy had been put in a position to defend him. He didn’t like that she was having to choose between him and her friendships.

  “Slate!” Cassidy saw him and spoke his name on a rush of air.

  He realized he’d startled her, stepping out of the semidarkness.

  “I came for some alfalfa,” he said softly. “I realized when Danny got out to the herd that we’d forgotten feed. I don’t think it would be smart to put those wild horses on grain, but a little alfalfa would win their hearts.”

  “Good idea.”

  Slate smiled. She knew he hadn’t come back to the ranch for horse provisions. He could easily have sent Danny. “I also wanted to be sure you were okay. We had a rough day. Getting shot at tends to have an aftereffect.”

  He took three steps closer and could feel the tension in her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was breathless.

  He stepped closer. “Are you?”

  “I am.” She sighed, turning so that he could see only her profile, her eyes downcast. “I found the shell casings. A .22, just as you said.”

  “And the tracks led back to the ranch?”

  She shook her head. “They weren’t clear.”

  “I’ve been giving it some thought. The rock slide couldn’t have been directed at either of us. There was no way anyone could have predicted that we would be going through that pass. I think someone was after Joker and the herd.”

  “And the gunshots?”

  “That’s different. Someone followed us. Now, whether they followed us because of the horse, I can’t say.” Her eyes lifted to his, and for a split second, Slate thought he saw unlimited possibility. The idea, as foolish as it was, that she might care for him, was staggering.

  Her gaze locked with his. Slate put his hand on a post to steady himself. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms and feel her body against his. It seemed as if she were a part of him, severed by some cruel event. The sense of her as a missing part of him was acute, painful.

  “Slate?” There was apprehension in her voice, but her
gaze held.

  His hand lifted to touch her face, the skin soft and barely warm beneath his fingers. He traced her jaw with a gentle touch and then let his fingertips drift slowly across her lips. They parted slightly, and he felt her breath. He closed his eyes and had the strangest sensation that her face was as well known to him as the land on which they stood. She caught his hand and held it against her lips. He felt the softest kiss.

  Though he had nothing to offer her, and he knew it, he could not stop himself. His arms moved around her and he held her, at first marveling at the known quality that made her so unique and special. It was as if her body evoked a thousand memories that served to anchor him, to give him a connection that he so desperately needed.

  His hands moved over her back, familiar with the angle of her shoulder blades, with the narrowing of her ribs down to the waistband of her jeans. He knew the swell of her buttocks as his caresses grew more intense.

  Her touch, too, was electric. The way her hands coursed up his chest and moved around his neck, the fingers tangling in hair that he’d considered too long, the gentle tightening of those fingers as he pulled her up against him—it was as if he’d traveled this path before, and relished every step of the way.

  He felt her face lift, and he bent to kiss her. He caught the clean scent of shampoo and the rich smell of leather cleaner. He kissed her lightly, too aware of the fullness of her lips, her breasts pressing into his chest. Her mouth parted beneath his, and Slate knew that he was lost. He could no longer dance around the edges of control. His arms tightened around her and he kissed her with a need and urgency that blotted out all past, and all present. There was no room for thought or reason, he simply felt. And what he felt was a longing and desire for the woman in his arms, so intense that he accepted the possibility that it could be fatal. Nothing had ever seemed more important.

  CASSIDY CURLED HER fingers in his hair and had the hopeless sensation that she could save herself by holding on. But even as she opened her mouth to his kiss, she knew she was lost. Slate’s hands moved over her with a fluid grace that seemed to set her skin ablaze. This was a familiar dance.

  She closed her eyes and the past five years evaporated. It was 1993, a hot summer evening before the big rodeo. The Double O vanished, and instead they were down by the small creek, the cottonwoods rustling in a summer breeze. They had known each other so well, and yet each time they made love it was like the most wonderful present. Each touch was new, each glance a pleasure undiminished by familiarity.

  She felt Slate’s fingers tugging her blouse free of her jeans, and she knew exactly the way he would slip his hands so gently on the bare skin of her back. He would leave them there, the thumbs circling her waist, and with the most teasing pressure make certain that she accepted his touch.

  Perhaps it was that he took nothing for granted. No touch was ever by rote. He always asked—in the most persuasive way.

  His kiss deepened and caught her by surprise. Her desire for him was suddenly overwhelming, and she felt her legs tremble. He felt it, too, and his support tightened. Her hands went to his jaw, feeling the strength there, the lean muscle so much more clearly defined in the last few years.

  She had dreamed of him, of touching him and being held in his arms. She had longed for him in a way that went beyond sexual or even physical. And when she had given birth to his daughter, while he was in prison, she had mourned for him, that he had missed one of the most important moments in his life.

  But she had never thought it possible that she would again feel his hands at the buttons of her blouse, feel the cool teasing of a summer breeze on skin that he laid bare, feel the warmth of his mouth travel down her neck, moving slowly to the top of her breast, which was now covered only by the sheer lace of her bra.

  She was aware that dusk had fallen around them. There was the sound of the men bringing in the show horses and taking care of the barns. They were distant and posed no threat. Lindsey had finished her supper and was reading stories with Nita.

  The moment opened to her, and she knew she would not pass it up. Whatever the future cost, she had longed for Slate too long, too hard, to pass up a chance to be with him. It was foolish and foolhardy, but she didn’t care.

  Her arms circled his neck, and she felt his arms tighten even more, compressing her body fully against his so that she had no doubt that he wanted her.

  “Slate,” she said softly. He eased the pressure, and she slipped her arms down him until she grasped his hand. “Come with me.”

  Her bedroom was on the far end of the house with a private patio. She had designed it so that she could get up in the morning and watch the sun rise, or sit in the old rocker she’d placed beneath the shady live oak and read on those rare days when she had a moment to sit still. Now the private entrance afforded another reward, and she felt her heart race at the idea of what lay before her.

  In the darkness, she led Slate to the small gate. The ivy she’d planted had flourished, and she found that the handle was hidden in the green leaves. Breathless with anticipation, she fumbled and heard Slate’s soft chuckle behind her.

  His hand slipped past her in the vines, and she heard the latch finally yield to his greater strength. Before she could step through, his hands caught her shoulder. She felt herself being turned, and then his lips were on hers. Her body eased back into the cushion of ivy on the wall.

  Slate transferred his weight to his hands, easing slightly away from her. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure.” Cassidy felt no qualms.

  “And Lindsey?”

  “She’s with Nita. She’ll be fine until I tuck her in.” She saw the expression of concern on his face, and for one heart-stopping second, she thought he would leave her there. “What?”

  “I don’t want to involve you in something bad. I’m a convicted bank robber.”

  “I never believed you did it.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter now, Slate. Give me this one night. I won’t hold you to anything else.” She had known all along that he would more than likely leave Comfort. And she would not try to stop him. Not even if it broke her heart—again. But this was one night she wanted, devil pay the price for it.

  She felt his arm slide under her knees, and he was holding her. He ducked under the thick curtain of ivy and stepped into the adobe-walled garden. The scent of summer roses was so strong that he halted.

  “I know this smell,” he said, filling his lungs.

  Head on his shoulder, Cassidy smiled. “They were your mother’s favorite flowers. I dug them up from the old ranch and moved them here.”

  Slate looked down at her, at the moonlight on her fair skin and the silvery shimmer of her blond hair. The weight of her in his arms, the smell of the roses after a long day in the saddle. He could not begin to talk about what he felt, but it amounted to the awareness that he had somehow arrived home.

  Chapter Six

  Cassidy felt the cool sheets against her bare back, and the shock of losing Slate’s body against hers registered as he laid her on the bed and sat down beside her. Moonlight laced through the live oak in the garden and fell through the window and across Cassidy’s skin in intricate patterns. Slate gently traced one hand across her stomach, his finger slowly moving lower.

  Her body trembled.

  He eased beside her on the bed and kissed her, his hand moving slowly over her flushed skin.

  At first, Cassidy thought the gentle tap on the door was her heart pounding against her ribs. Slate froze, and before she could answer he was out of bed.

  “What is it?” Cassidy called.

  “Mr. Lucky is here to see you. He says it’s very important,” Nita said, her voice heavy with worry. “Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Cassidy held calm in her voice. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” She got up and fumbled in the darkness for her clothes. Slate was almost dressed.

  “You sound strange,” Nita said, still at the door.

 
“I’m fine,” Cassidy said, and this time it sounded as if she meant it. “Where’s Lindsey?”

  “Watching one of her movies.”

  Cassidy buttoned her shirt. “Tell Lucky I’ll be there in a minute.” She turned to Slate in the darkness and found that he was standing in the patio doorway, poised to leave.

  “Should I see what’s wrong?” he asked.

  Cassidy shook her head. “No, I’m sure it’s something that could have waited until morning.” His gaze made her self-conscious. “I feel like a teenager caught by my parents,” she said, trying to interject a bit of humor. “This is crazy.”

  Slate was only a darker shadow in the moonlight. “Maybe you wouldn’t feel so guilty if you didn’t think it was wrong,” he said slowly.

  The words were like a blade. She felt the cut. “It isn’t that.” But there was no power in her voice. Her protests sounded feeble even to herself. “Slate, we have to talk.”

  “Later,” he said. “I should have been back with Joker long ago. When you’re talking with Lucky, you might ask him where he was about ten o’clock this morning.”

  Cassidy made the connection perfectly. “You think he’s the person who shot at us?”

  “If it was someone on your payroll, he’s my pick of the litter.” Slate put his hat on, a tall, lean silhouette in the moonlight He disappeared through the doorway. There was the crunch of his boots on the gravel path, and then the reluctant working of the gate latch. Then nothing.

  CASSIDY TOOK IN THE SCENE of Lucky sitting on the floor with Lindsey as the little girl pointed to the television, where the Scarecrow danced over the yellow brick road.

  “He’s a good scarecrow,” Lindsey told Lucky, but her face failed to show the animation she normally had for her favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz. “He’s going to help Dorothy.”

  “There’s a witch in this story, isn’t there?” Lucky asked. Instead of looking at Lindsey, he was glancing around the room.

  “She’s very mean,” Lindsey said, nodding. “And she’s green.”