by Alison Kent
Twenty minutes later, they found Kevin where Clay had left him, still conscious, his white fur matted brick red in a big circle on one side. He lifted his head when he saw them, but dropped it just as quickly, though he did give a few solid wags of his tail.
Casper swallowed hard, taking in the situation. Moving the dog was going to hurt him, and he didn’t want either himself or Clay to get bit. A muzzle would be good, but might scare the dog more. Knowing where Philip Hart pastured his bull, it was hard to believe how far Clay had managed to carry the mutt. Kevin was not a light dog.
For sure they needed a stretcher of some kind. He did a mental inventory of the supplies in his truck, then whipped off his T-shirt, laid it out the length of Kevin’s spine. “We’ll move him onto the shirt then use it to carry him to the truck. Go on and let the tailgate down.”
While Clay took care of that part, Casper did his best to set the dog at ease, stroking his silky ears, rubbing a knuckle between his eyes, scratching the top of his head. “Hang in there, boy,” he whispered, leaning close so Kevin could look into his eyes.
“Okay,” Clay said, breathless. “Now what?”
Casper stood, squatted over the dog. “I’ll lift his hips. You slide the shirt under him. Smooth it out the best you can. Then we’ll do the same on this end. But you stay on that side of his teeth.”
“He won’t bite me. He’s never bitten me.”
First time for everything, kid. “He knows you’re there. His tail’s telling you. Now, one, two, three…”
“CLAY’S BACK,” CASPER said the second Faith picked up the phone.
“Casper?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m using the phone up at New Dawn.”
“The animal shelter? No wonder I didn’t recognize the number. What’re you doing there?”
“Kevin’s hurt. We brought him here.” He looked out the window of Mal Breckenridge’s small office to where the shelter’s owner and Doc Neal were moving Kevin on a canvas litter from the back of his truck. “That’s why Clay came back. Kevin had a run-in with Philip Hart’s big Charolais bull.”
“What? Wait a minute. Back up. I’m totally lost here.”
Casper boosted a hip onto the corner of the cluttered desk, dragging the phone with him. He didn’t blame her for not being able to keep up with his adrenaline-fueled ramblings. His head was a mess. He took a deep breath and started again. “Hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Better than fine hearing Clay’s all right. He is all right, isn’t he?”
“Tired and scared and out of his mind worried about his dog.”
“Just like you’ve been out of yours worried about him.”
“Yeah. This parenting thing’s not for sissies,” he said, rubbing the tightness from his neck. “Even if it’s a temporary thing.”
“It’s good to hear you sounding so relieved,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice.
He closed his eyes, pictured her mouth, thought about holding her close. Breathing in her sweet scent. “It was so weird. I was on my way to see you and looked up and there he was.”
“But he’s okay?”
“Yeah.”
“And Kevin will be okay?”
“Should be, Doc says.”
“So why were you coming to see me?”
Because I love you and need you and it’s been too long since I held you. He closed his eyes again, swallowed, looked back at Mal and the doc carrying the injured dog, at the boy who was almost as tall as the men hovering.
“Casper?”
He shook off his daze. “I’m here.”
“Can I do anything? Can I help?”
God, this woman…“You’ve already helped by not hanging up on me.”
“Why would I hang up on you?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” he said, leaving the desk and bracing a hand on the wall next to the window. “Not after the way things went yesterday morning.”
“When you bolted before I had a chance to say I told you so?”
Yeah. That. But he remained silent, frowning as he watched the group outside enter the shelter’s veterinary building. He needed to finish up here and join them. Who knew what the price was going to be to save Kevin’s life?
“I wasn’t going to say it,” Faith was telling him. “If you’d given me a chance to get over the shock, I had something else to say.”
He rubbed at his eyes that were full of grit and exhaustion. “You want to say it now?”
“I talked to Boone the other day.”
That had him frowning. “Before he came to your place?”
“It was probably why he knew to look for you there.”
Wait. What? “You told him? About us?”
She took a deep breath, sighed it out. “I told him he had to let me live my own life. And make my own choices.”
Well, this was news. And progress. “Even if that means putting an end to the no-sisters rule?”
She laughed, the sound soft and sweet in his ear. “Not specifically, but yes. We talked about you. And he’s smart enough to put two and two together.”
That would explain why her brother hadn’t looked too surprised when Casper had opened her door. Pissed, but not surprised. But Casper couldn’t have this conversation now, not here, not with his focus split between Clay and Kevin and Faith.
And he felt like a shit when he finally said, “Can we finish this later? I really need to go.”
“Okay,” she said, the word falling into the big, fat cavernous space his response had created between them, its echo a damning taunt.
“I’m not blowing you off, Faith.” He turned back to the desk, tugged down his hat brim, thinking it might’ve been smarter not to call until things here were settled. “I promise. I just need to see what’s going on with Mal and the doc, then get Clay fed and cleaned up.”
“Sure,” she said after a moment that dragged on longer than he liked. “Later is fine. But it’ll be a few days. I’ve got party plans coming out my ears, and I’ll be lucky to have time this week to sleep.”
Was he ever going to catch a break? “As long as that doesn’t mean that you’re blowing me off.”
“It doesn’t. I promise. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before he could say anything else.
He returned the receiver to the cradle, scrubbing both hands down his very weary face and trying to shake off the feeling he’d just stepped into something he was going to spend a lot of time scraping off his boots.
THIRTY-TWO
OVERWHELMED WITH SO much emotion she didn’t know which way to turn, Faith stood in the hallway bisecting Casper’s house and pressed her hands to her chest.
As the party crowd mingled, flowing around her like clear water over rocks, a stream of laughs and smiles and happy chatter, she fought the sharp hitch there, trapped by the buoyant joy bubbling in her throat and the sadness pulling her under to drown.
She glanced into the parlor on her left, then into the dining room on her right, knowing behind her, the large open living area and the library and den were just as gorgeously festooned. Greenery with sprigs of baby’s breath hung over the window casings, cascaded from the arched doorways between the rooms.
The woodwork had been painted a glossy white, the walls a softer eggshell. Tiny white Christmas lights peeked through the leaves, dangling and shimmering in rows from the ceilings. The buffed hardwood floors picked up the soft glow, reflecting it as if from still pools.
The rooms were empty of furniture save for what the Hellcat Saloon had provided, serving tables and smaller folding ones, all covered in white linen cloths. Kendall and Everly had made a trip to a San Antonio party supply warehouse, returning with dozens of hurricane lanterns to use as centerpieces, setting them in bowls of aromatic cedar and mesquite.
Smells of fresh paint and new construction wafted in the air with simmering barbecue sauce and smoky grilled meat and blackened chilies and rich chocolate. And in the largest space on the house’s fi
rst story, what a century ago would’ve been a ballroom, the sounds of a fiddle and a banjo and a stand-up bass tickled her from her ribs to her toes.
She was glad Casper had decided not to come. When he’d told her nearly two weeks ago that he wasn’t, she’d been hurt. At least at first. Then Clay had returned with an injured Kevin, and these last few days of party preparations had consumed her. But during that time she’d also come to realize why it was easier for him to stay away.
She wouldn’t want to face a multitude of people, many of whom she’d wronged, most of whom knew about her dirty little secrets and were standing in the house where she’d hid them. She’d intended to tell him that she understood, but that conversation, like others they needed to have, had been shunted to the back burner by life.
They’d touched base briefly a couple of times, one or the other of them too busy for more, talking in circles around what really mattered—Boone’s early morning visit and where they went from here. But the delay had turned out to be a good thing, because while looking back on their relationship in the meantime, she’d been struck by the most sobering, god-awful truth.
It wasn’t Casper’s rash behavior that was going to ruin her, but her own.
He led her into temptation, yes, but she had never, not once, put up a fight. She’d gone willingly, every time, because it was what she wanted. She was the one with no self-control, the one whose actions hurt others. The one who couldn’t get over the damage in her past.
The selfish one.
Look at everything Casper had done since first asking her for a sign—taking on Clay, changing the boy’s life and his own, dealing with the pieces of his past she’d tossed like confetti in his face. All she’d done was renovate his house, thrown an unbelievable party, lose herself in the best sex of her life.
And every time he’d asked, every time he’d pushed and pressed and needled, she’d walked away from sharing the truth about her money. She hadn’t been brave, like he had. She hadn’t pulled out her mistakes, shown him who she really was, who he was involved with.
She was afraid if she did, he wouldn’t want her anymore. That if he learned about her past, he would find her too reckless and move on.
The sound of her name being called from the kitchen brought her back to the present. She nudged a finger beneath her eyes, and was just stepping that way when an arm snaked around her waist and a voice at her ear asked, “May I have this dance?”
Her throat closed, and she turned, nearly speechless, her hands going to the dark blue tie Casper wore with a white western dress shirt and jeans. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“You’re here,” he said, his smile soft, his gaze tender, his face clean-shaven, his hair newly shorn. “Hard not to want to be here when this is where you are. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she told him, then scurried to keep up as he swept her into the crush of bodies twirling across the ballroom. She pressed close to him, her long, flowing skirt tangling with his knees, her thighs brushing his thighs, her breasts crushed against him. It was all she could do not to pull his head down for a kiss. “How’s Kevin?”
He nodded. “He’s had a rough go of it. Doc Neal says he’s got more recovery ahead, but barring complications, he’ll pull through.”
“He’s still at Mal’s shelter?”
Another nod. “Doc’s up there daily. Keeps him from having to come to the ranch, or for one of us to haul Kevin to town.”
“I can’t believe he faced down Philip Hart’s bull and won,” she said, catching a wink from Arwen Poole as they swung by. Then a frown from Marilee Banyon who worked at the high school with both of her folks.
“I know,” Casper was saying. “He’s a tough mutt.”
She shook off the sense of reproach to ask, “And Clay?”
“Feeling guilty as hell.”
“As he well should.”
“He begged me to let him bunk at the shelter,” he said, pulling her out of the way before they bumped into Josh and Darcy Lasko. “But he gave in when the doc convinced him Kevin would rest better without raising up to check on him every few minutes.”
“They are a pair,” she said as Casper spun her into the path of Sheila Edghill who leaned to whisper in Donna Wayne’s ear, both women staring, disapproving. They pointed as they moved to where her mother stood talking to Nora Stokes.
Good lord. She was dancing with the owner of the house who had allowed her to use the place for the party. What could they possibly think was wrong with that? “Where’s Clay now?”
Casper canted his head toward the rear of the house. “Knowing that kid, in the kitchen.”
“You brought him?”
“He helped out. Figured he deserved to see all of this.” He tightened his hold on her right hand, brought it with his to his chest. “Greg heard from New Mexico today.”
She pulled back to look at him. “Already?”
“I know. It’s barely been two weeks. Things look good. A couple more hurdles, but since Clay has no other family, I should be able to adopt him.”
And at that, she stopped him in the corner of the room, her heart pounding. “Adopt him? You’re not just going to foster?”
He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, a move she was sure everyone in attendance had to have seen. “I want him to know he’ll always have someone who wants him and not just the money the state pitches in for his care. He deserves that. All kids deserve that.”
This man. He’d come so far. “Do you know how amazing you are?”
“If I am, it’s because of you.”
“I have nothing to do with it,” she said, barely able to swallow. He deserved better than her; couldn’t he see that?
“Oh, baby,” he said, his eyes brimming with emotion, more blue tonight than gray. “You have everything to do with it, don’t you know?”
“Casper—”
“C’mon,” he said, still holding her hand as he pulled her through a door that led to a narrow staircase rising to what would’ve been the quarters used in the past by the help. The quarters where his bedroom had been. “I need to show you something.”
She was the hostess. She couldn’t abandon her post for long. But neither could she resist him. When had she ever been able to resist him? He tugged her behind him until she was breathless—from the climb and anticipation—but they finally reached the third floor.
Casper opened the first door he came to and pulled her inside. He seemed to do it without thinking, without realizing where they were, without remembering the last time they’d been here, the fire he’d walked out on when he’d walked out on her.
The room was empty and dark save for the light from the moon, the window glass sparkling, shadows of the tree limbs painted like murals across the bare walls. He closed the door behind them, and with his hands on her shoulders, backed her into the nearest wall, bringing his mouth down on hers.
He was hungry and desperate, and his hands were in her hair, pulling the pins from the strands she’d so carefully curled. They dropped to the floor, tiny tinkles of sound in a room that was silent save for their shared breathing and the music from the ballroom seeping upward like smoke.
She reached for his wrists to hold on, thinking to push him away, but God. How could she? Within seconds she was lost, his tongue and his lips and his teeth like wicked laughter beckoning her into his gingerbread house where everywhere she turned was temptation.
She held on to him, pressed into him, took his tongue and his desperation and every breath he breathed. His chest rose like a wall in front of her, and his belt buckle wasn’t the only hard thing branding her through the fabric of her skirt.
“This is the dance I came for,” he said minutes later, the words rasping against her cheek, his breath hot, his pulse racing to catch up with hers.
She wanted to be here with him. She wanted so much to have him love her. But her recklessness had hurt so many people. Her recklessness, not his, and it was wedg
ing itself between them now. She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t know how.
“Casper—”
“You can’t. I know.” He said it while bunching her tea-length skirt in his hands and tugging the fabric up the backs of her thighs. “Baby. No pantyhose. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“You’re messing up my clothes. And my makeup.” You’re messing up my heart and my soul, and my resolve not to hurt you.
“I’ll be careful.” He was at her panties now, the little fluff of lace she’d worn just for him, one hand breeching the barrier while his other worked open the fly of his sharply pressed jeans.
“You’re never careful,” she said, widening her stance to make room for his fingers, angling her hips so he could push one inside.
He laughed, a coarse, gritty sound like sandpaper scraping her face, or a cat’s tongue lapping between her legs. Cock in his hand, his hips tilting, his full bulbous tip spreading her moisture, he pulled his finger from her pussy and slid deep.
She gasped, impaled, her eyes rolling, lids fluttering closed. He made her spineless, and she loved that he did, loved that he stripped her to her most vulnerable self. She loved him.
Oh, God. She loved him. She loved him!
She kissed him then, her fingers digging into his biceps as she held on for fear of falling. He gripped her backside, just above her thighs, lifting her, spreading her. Opening her for his insistent thrusts. Filling her. Claiming her. Branding her.
Her skirt rode forgotten at her waist, and the delicate strands of gold around her neck tangled together as he pushed them aside with his chin and his nose, biting her skin and bruising her, his hips slamming forward and bouncing her off the wall.
She took all of him, his length and his width and his purpose. She took his power, his strength, his need that bordered on brutal, knowing she would pay later with bruises and tears.