Remember Me, Cowboy

by Caroline Burnes

  He took a sniff and then whinnied, turning to run back to the herd of curious mares who’d begun to close in on the two luckless humans huddled in the dirt.

  “I told you he was nice,” Lindsey said with satisfaction.

  “Lindsey O’Neal, if you ever do anything like that again—” Cassidy sat up and gave herself a moment to regain her composure. Her heart was thundering, and her emotions swung from fury at her daughter to wild joy that she was not injured.

  “Joker won’t hurt me,” Lindsey said. “I told you.”

  Cassidy grasped her daughter’s shoulders. “You’ve been raised around horses, and you know that what you did was wrong and foolish. You could have been killed, and so could I.”

  She watched the tears well in her daughter’s eyes.

  “He wouldn’t hurt us. I know.”

  “He could have, Lindsey. He could have so easily killed either of us.” She brushed a streak of dirt from Lindsey’s face. “He might not have meant to. The mares could have panicked and run over us. You can’t take foolish risks. If I can’t trust you to obey the rules, then we can’t have horses. I mean it, Lindsey. You’re more important to me than any horse. If you take foolish risks, then we’ll quit this business and move into town.”

  Lindsey brushed a tear away. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

  “And I’ll tell Cole he’s never to speak of killing Joker again in front of you. He was wrong, too.”

  Lindsey nodded.

  Cassidy gained her feet and only then noticed that several of the hands were on the fence, watching. But they weren’t watching her and Lindsey. Their attention was on Slate and Cole, who was sprawled in the dirt beside the fence. Slate towered over the rancher with a gun pointed at his chest.

  Chapter Nine

  Cassidy walked Lindsey through the barn, taking care to shut the doors firmly. She held her daughter’s hand and bent to give her a kiss. “Lindsey, Kip is making lunch. Will you help him?”

  “Sure.” Lindsey kissed her. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  Cassidy found a smile. “I know you will. I have to talk with Cole, but then I’ll be along in a few minutes.” She had a sudden thought. “Tell Kip to pack us a picnic lunch, for three.”

  “A picnic?” Lindsey’s eyes widened. “You promise?”

  “I do,” she said. “Stay with Kip until I come and get you.”

  Lindsey raced toward Kip’s kitchen, her long braids bouncing in the sun.

  Cassidy straightened and walked into the teeth of the trouble brewing between Cole and Slate.

  “You’d better get that gun off me,” Cole said as Cassidy walked up. He saw her and his face flushed with fury. Other than that reaction, both men ignored her.

  “You’ve been looking for an excuse to kill that stallion,” Slate accused.

  “I was trying to save Lindsey, you fool!”

  “You were looking for any excuse.” Slate lowered the gun and turned his attention to Cassidy. When she walked up to him, he handed the revolver to her. “It’s his gun. Give it back to him when he’s ready to leave the Double O.” He cast Cole a contemptuous look and turned to walk away.

  “If you were any kind of man, you’d be more concerned about your daughter than a horse.”

  Cole’s words were like a jolt of lightning. Slate froze in midstep. Cassidy saw his back stiffen and felt her own body squeezed free of oxygen. She knew then that she’d made a terrible mistake in not telling Slate the truth about Lindsey. She’d had the perfect opportunity, and her own apprehensions had kept her silent. Now it was too late.

  The cowhands had drawn closer, impelled by the drama. Cassidy nodded to them. “Back to work,” she said. She didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. She gave Cole a furious look and prepared herself for the confrontation with Slate.

  When he finally turned to look at her, his face was carefully blank of all emotions, his eyes a glassy green.

  “Everyone knew Lindsey was my daughter. Except me,” he said, as if there was no one there except the two of them. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  Cassidy’s mouth was as dry as the Texas plains. She swallowed. “I wanted to. I meant to.”

  “When? After you saw how I’d turned out? After you were sure I made the right decisions?” The accusation was loaded with equal amounts of anger and pain.

  “I was trying to decide what was best for Lindsey,” Cassidy said quickly. “And you.”

  “You thought it might be best for her if she never had to face the fact that her father was a convicted felon. I suspected she was mine. I convinced myself you would tell me the truth. Everyone knew but me.”

  To deny it would be even stupider than her other actions. To point out that Lindsey’s parentage was obvious to everyone who knew her and Slate would be cruel. Cassidy knew that, so she said nothing. Her gaze was locked with Slate’s, and she wanted to try to explain her reasoning, but he was in no mood to understand.

  “Can you blame her?” Cole had regained his feet, and Cassidy saw the red swelling of his jaw where Slate had obviously hit him. “Cassidy’s worked her tail off to make this place a go. She and Lindsey are happy here. They’ve made it five years while you were behind bars. Why should she suddenly open her doors and let you back into her life after you’d screwed it up so badly?”

  She saw Slate’s hands tighten and knew if she didn’t intervene, the fistfight would continue. “Cole, this is between me and Slate,” she said carefully.

  “No, it’s about me, too. I’ve waited five years for you to get over the damage he did to you. I’ve been a good neighbor, and a good friend. And just when you were beginning to see those things about me, he comes back from prison.” Cole rounded on Cassidy. “You’re so blinded by the past that you can’t see the present. I’d make a good father to Lindsey. I’d make you a good husband.”

  Cassidy felt as if she were being pulled into little pieces. She looked from Cole to Slate and realized that whatever her own bad choices had been, she was furious with both men. Cole had betrayed her, and Slate was angry over something she wasn’t sure he had a right to be this upset about. She’d wanted to tell him about Lindsey—and she’d tried, more than once, when Slate was in prison. But he’d refused to see her.

  Anger made her head pound. “I want you both off the Double O property. Now.” She brushed past Slate and hurried to the house, uncertain whether she wanted to cry or to take the gun she held and start shooting.

  SLATE LEANED HIS ARMS on the fence and watched Joker prance around the herd. Behind him, his truck was loaded with all of his belongings, and Stargazer was in the trailer behind the truck. He was ready to leave the Double O, but not before he spoke with Cassidy—and had a chance to see his daughter.

  Lindsey was his child.

  From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d felt something for her. She was a beautiful child, smart for her years. He’d thought he was responding to those traits, but somehow he’d known that she was his.

  She was the spitting image of her mother, physically. He wouldn’t have had a clue that she was his flesh and blood. Except…he’d felt so close to her. And she’d responded in kind to him. She’d welcomed him. He smiled as he thought how she’d even been the first to realize he was the trainer who should take on Joker.

  As if the horse knew Slate was thinking of him, he trotted toward the fence. He stopped a good fifty yards away, and Slate examined him once more. He was a fine horse.

  He pushed off the fence and went to his truck. Cassidy could put him off the Double O Ranch, but she couldn’t keep him from seeing his daughter. He intended to make that clear before he left. He drove slowly toward the house.

  He saw her coming out of the kitchen with a basket in one hand and Lindsey grasping the other. He looked at the child with a sense of awe, noting her perfection. She was an identical, smaller version of her mother, and yet she bore his blood. Both of them turned to look at him, and he was caught between the differing reactions.


  Cassidy’s face plainly bore worry and determination. But Lindsey—her smile was welcoming and her blue eyes were alight with pleasure.

  “Mama, it’s Slate!” She tugged at her mother’s hand in an effort to make Cassidy move toward him.

  “Lindsey!” Cassidy restrained her daughter.

  But the little girl was not to be deterred. She slipped free of Cassidy’s grasp and darted toward the motionless truck. Slate killed the engine and stepped out. He held open his arms, and she ran into them with a giggle of laughter.

  “We’re going on a picnic. Come with us,” Lindsey suggested.

  Slate didn’t need to ask Cassidy’s opinion on that. Her lips were thin and her eyes angry.

  “Slate has other business, Lindsey,” Cassidy said quickly. “We wouldn’t want to make him late.”

  For a second he was tempted to dance with the devil and accept Lindsey’s invitation, but his common sense prevailed. Lindsey would pick up on the tension. There was no point punishing the child for the sins of her parents.

  “I’m leaving,” Slate said calmly, though he felt a strong desire never to let Lindsey out of his arms. He put her down beside her mother. “This isn’t over, Cassidy. I have legal rights.”

  She cast a quick glance at the child, who was watching them both with a frown. “This isn’t the time,” she said brusquely.

  “Apparently, if I left it up to you, there might never be a time. But I’ll take whatever measures necessary. Understand that.”

  “I should have listened to my friends,” Cassidy said bitterly.

  “You should have told me the truth,” Slate countered.

  “I tried,” Cassidy replied icily. “Remember, you were the one who refused to see me. When you go toting up all the wrongs that have been done to you, you can add that in the column of self-inflicted injuries. You turned me away without even giving me a chance.” She took Lindsey’s hand, and for once the strong-willed child asked no questions but obediently followed her mother toward the farm truck.

  CASSIDY PARKED in the shade of a huge cottonwood. As she spread the picnic cloth, she listened to the leaves rustle in the breeze that made even a hot summer day tolerable.

  The location she’d chosen for her picnic with Lindsey had been meant to serve two purposes. Even as she gazed at her daughter’s happy face as she picked a bouquet of wildflowers, Cassidy’s focus shifted to the small pond only a few feet away. The water was dark blue, and she knew it was deep. She also knew that it was on Cole Benson’s property, part of the original Three Sisters Ranch.

  She’d planned the outing to include Slate. In the back of the pickup were flippers, masks and snorkels. If there was an old tractor in this pond, she’d hoped that Slate could find it.

  And now?

  She asked herself that question as she watched Lindsey shoo a bee away from a painted daisy. There were times when Lindsey was so clearly Slate’s child that any fool could see it. She was as iron-willed and determined as her father had ever hoped to be. She was also kind and loving. Cassidy closed her eyes.

  “Mama?”

  She opened them to smile at her daughter’s frown. “What?”

  “Why are you mad at Slate? Did he do something wrong?”

  Cassidy reached out and brought Lindsey into her arms. She rolled backward in the grass, tickling the child. After a few moments of play, Cassidy pulled her daughter onto her lap and held her. “Lindsey, you’re old enough to know that children have two parents, a mother and a father.”

  “But my daddy had to go away,” Lindsey said, repeating what Cassidy had told her whenever she asked. “He didn’t want to, but he had to.”

  “That’s true.” Cassidy knew that nothing but the simple truth would work. “Slate is your father.”

  Lindsey’s eyes widened. “He is?”

  “Yes, he is.” At the wide grin that spread over Lindsey’s face, Cassidy couldn’t help but smile back.

  “That’s good.” Lindsey nodded wisely.

  Cassidy was at a loss. She’d expected questions, at least. Possibly anger. “Is there anything you want to ask?”

  Lindsey’s forehead furrowed. “Can we eat the picnic now?”

  Cassidy’s laughter made her daughter smile. She tugged Lindsey’s braid and opened the picnic basket. Her daughter so often amazed her. Whenever she dreaded something or thought the worst, Lindsey accepted it with such élan and ease. And the times when she never anticipated trouble, Lindsey obliged with temper or fear.

  “What did Kip send?” Lindsey asked, abandoning her flowers on the edge of the checkered cloth Cassidy had spread.

  “Well, there’s BLT and chicken salad.” She cut several wedges of sandwich and an apple and made a plate for Lindsey. She found that she had no appetite. Though Lindsey had accepted the circumstances of her birth, Cassidy was far from over the scene that had played out between her and Slate and Cole. As she thought of Cole, her anger was renewed. He had no right to blurt out Lindsey’s lineage.

  “Mama, will Sla—Daddy come to live with us?”

  Cassidy swallowed back her quick answer. “Things are very complicated, sweetie.”

  “But aren’t daddies supposed to live with their families? Nita said that one day my daddy would come home.”

  Cassidy framed her answer carefully. “There are things that Slate has to do. And me, too.”

  “But he’ll help with Joker, right?”

  Cassidy felt helpless to find the right answer. She didn’t want to fib to Lindsey, but she also didn’t want to raise her hopes. Slate was angry at her. And she could not make promises regarding what he would or would not do. “Can we wait on answering that for a few days?” she asked, snuggling Lindsey against her. The excitement of the day and the heat were making her little girl’s eyelids droop. “Take a nap, and when you wake up, we’ll swim in the pond for a while.”

  “Okay,” Lindsey said, asleep almost before she could finish speaking.

  Cassidy leaned back against the trunk of the tree and stared into the depths of the pond. It would take only a few minutes to dive down and hunt for the tractor. After the earlier scene, she knew Cole would never allow Slate on the Vista Blue property.

  If there was a tractor beneath the water—and possibly the gun that would clear Slate—then it was up to her to find it. She was still angry with Slate, but she also had to admit that he had plenty of reason to be mad at her.

  A red-winged blackbird skimmed over the water and landed in the branches of the cottonwood. The bird’s shrill cry reminded Cassidy of a hundred summer days when she’d worked on the ranch beside Slate. When she’d begun to fall in love with him.

  The blue water looked cool and inviting. She eased Lindsey down to the ground and stood. She could explore the pond while Lindsey slept.

  Her mother’s instinct warned her not to leave her daughter unattended. Not even for the five minutes it would take to make the dive. She scanned the horizon. The summer flowers rippled in the gentle breeze. The drone of bees made the location hum with a sleepy contentment.

  Undecided, Cassidy went to the truck and got the flippers and mask. She slipped into her swimsuit and then hesitated. Lindsey was a sound sleeper. She was a smart girl; she knew better than to go into the water without an adult.

  She was also a little girl. And she had a very strong will. Cassidy edged to the water, testing it with her bare foot. It was cool, but not too cold. She waded in up to her waist and put on the flippers. The incline was gentle, designed for cattle to wade in and drink. She moved out deeper and found the drop-off. It would take one good dive and she’d have the answer to her question.

  She glanced at her daughter and saw that she was fast asleep. Adjusting her mask, she took a deep breath and plunged beneath the water.

  SLATE DROVE TO HOOK’EM’S but didn’t tarry. He unloaded Stargazer, jumped in the truck and headed back to Boerne. He had some scores to settle, and this time he was determined not to come away empty-handed. It was apparent that almost
everyone in Kendall County knew he was Lindsey’s father, but it had been a great conspiracy. No one had bothered to clue him into the facts. He was angry, and most of all he was mad at Cassidy. Not even during his trial had he felt so betrayed.

  She had denied him the most important thing in a man’s life—his child.

  And he had denied her the support of a husband and father. Caught up in his own feelings, he’d forgotten what Cassidy might have gone through.

  He remembered her at the trial, sitting with her hands clasped in her lap. She’d watched him so intently. And she had been so sad. When she’d tried to talk to him, he’d refused her, and she had no way of forcing him to listen, of making him assume the burden of responsibility that came with fatherhood. He’d avoided the truth, because he didn’t want to face her.

  He pulled his old truck to the side of the road and stopped. Leaning his forehead on the steering wheel, he was overwhelmed by regret. Lindsey did not know he was her father—but that wasn’t Cassidy’s fault. It was his own.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw the road was clear and did a U-turn. Whatever else he’d done to Cassidy and Lindsey, this time he was going to take responsibility for his past actions.

  It was not quite noon when he pulled up at the house at the Double O. Nita was on the porch, snapping beans.

  “I have to see Cassidy,” he said.

  She continued rocking, the bean snapping in her fingers and dropping into the metal colander. “She’s gone on a picnic with Lindsey. I hear there were some fireworks around this morning.”

  Slate couldn’t tell by her expression what she might feel. “I owe Cassidy an apology.”

  “I’d say you owed her a lot more than that.” Nita put the beans down and stood up. She went to the porch railing, and he saw the crisp snap of anger in her eyes.

  “Cassidy nursed your mother when she was dying. She took care of her like she was her own. And Miss Mary loved Cassidy and that little girl. I hear the cat is out of the bag and you know that Lindsey is your child. Well, know this, too. Everyone tried to make Cassidy abandon you. Men courted her. Her female friends talked to her until we were blue in the face. Your own mother urged Cassidy to get on with her life and find a mate. But she wasn’t having any part of it. She was waiting for you.”