Redeemed by the Cowgirl (Mills & Boon Desire)

by Silver James

  “I’m sorry.” She all but swallowed the last word trying to get it out around the lump in her throat.

  “For what? For sneaking into my office?” Life came back into his eyes and they sparked with temper. “For watching me get eviscerated by my father? Mocked by my brothers?”

  Anger, no matter how bitter or directed at her, was better than the defeat of a devastated man who looked like he’d been abandoned by his last friend. She stepped around the desk, wanting to be closer to him.

  “I didn’t sneak into your office. You asked me to meet you here and your assistant showed me in.”

  “Why the hell did you hide?” He stalked toward her but stopped after a couple of steps. His fists clenched at his sides and he was all but swaying with the effort to regain control.

  “Uh, duh? You were with your father.”

  Cash frowned. “So?”

  “After my last little run-in with the man, I figured it was better for us if he didn’t find me in your office.”

  He scrubbed at his forehead with the heel of his palm and Roxie could almost see the headache forming. She wanted to make him sit down so she could rub his temples, massage his shoulders, kiss him. Something. Anything. Whatever it would take to make him understand he wasn’t the worthless son his father accused him of being.

  Cash, with studied casualness, skirted her location as he moved behind his desk and sank into the chair. “Sit down, Roxie,” he said without looking at her.

  She obeyed, sinking onto the edge of the nearest visitor’s chair as Cash swiveled so that his back was partially to her and he could look out the window. Oklahoma City was spread out below—a blend of old and new, greenery and concrete, a place the Barrons considered their domain.

  Silence stretched between them. She would have given anything to know what Cash was thinking. He was worlds away from the man he’d been the night before. The sex was always good, but last night had been special. He’d been tender. Loving. He’d shared his feelings with her. Today, that man no longer existed and her gut twisted up in greasy knots as she feared the worst.

  “You shouldn’t have hidden, Roxanne.” Cash’s voice was toneless.

  “So, I should have stood here and defended our relationship?” Her chest was tight and her nose burned with tears threatening to appear. She knew what was coming, braced herself for his words.

  “We don’t have a relationship.”

  Cement solidified in her lungs, and she went cold as all her emotions drained away.

  “I’ll have Bridger arrange for someone to accompany you to the condo to pick up your things, take you and Harley home.”

  Roxie sat there too staggered by his proclamation to move. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to break us just like—” she snapped her fingers “—that? Are you joking?”

  Now he turned to stare at her. His eyes held nothing but disdain. “I never joke, Roxanne. It was fun while it lasted but there was never any us to break. At this point in time, I don’t need your assistance any longer, nor do I want you in my bed.”

  She was all but sputtering now. “My assistance? My assistance?” Her voice climbed in pitch and volume. “Is that what last night was? What the last few weeks spent in your bed, on the floor, in the shower, were?” Damn her red hair—for her temper and the way her skin colored when she was angry.

  “I am not a prostitute, Cash. And you just made me feel like one. Maybe your father was right after all, because from where I’m standing? The apple didn’t fall far from that tree.”

  She ducked around the desk, grasped the back of his chair and spun him around. Leaning down, she pinned him in by placing her hands on the arms of the chair. Spitting mad, she swallowed and narrowed her gaze on his eyes.

  “You, Cashion Matthew Barron, are a major jerk. And you want to know something else? I think you try to be a major jerk. Look at your brothers. Clay is the leader. Cord is the responsible one. Chance is the smart one. Chase is the lovable rascal. And you? What is left for you? Being the jerk. In fact, I think you cultivate this whole persona because deep down, you’re just a scared kid who—”

  Cash grabbed her arms and shoved her backward as he surged up. Less than a second later, her back was pressed forcibly against the window glass and she was on her tiptoes. A mishmash of emotions suffused his face—anger, shock and, when his eyes dropped to her mouth, lust.

  “Leave my brothers out of this.”

  “No. They are as much a part of this as your father is.”

  “You don’t know anything about my family. About them. About him.” He was growling the words and when he stopped to breathe, his chest pressed against hers. His whole body was vibrating from his barely-leashed anger. “And you know nothing about me. Nothing at all, Roxanne Rosetta Rowland.”

  Now his entire torso was pressed against her, chest to hips, and she was shocked to discover that Cash was aroused. A weird, detached part of her brain wondered if that was the reason angry make-up sex was so good.

  “Let me go, Cash.”

  “No.”

  His grip on her biceps tightened and he lifted her high enough that her feet no longer touched the floor. Cash was scaring her a little but, positive she’d both touched a nerve and hit on the truth, Roxie pushed her luck. Cupping his face in her palms, she softened her voice.

  “I know more than you think, Cash.” She closed her eyes, let her own pain, her own fears, well up so they’d show. Then she raised her eyelids. “I know what having a bullying father is like, what it’s like to have brothers who think you’re nothing but a means to an end.”

  Cash loosened his fingers and her feet hit the floor. She dropped her hands when they started to tremble. Her voice was thick with suppressed hurt as she continued.

  “You at least had your brothers, Cash, when you were growing up. You had Miz Beth and Big John after your mom died.” He squeezed her arms again and his look turned fierce, but she wouldn’t be deterred. This was too important. He was too important, and if they were ever to have a chance, she had to convince him of this.

  “You had people who cared. I didn’t. I never knew my mother. My father was a stranger and my brothers treated me like a stray puppy.” She swallowed the spit that pooled in her mouth as she considered what she would reveal next.

  “When I was five, my brother Dexter accused me of murdering our mother, of depriving the rest of them of her love. She died when I was born, you see.” Roxie dropped her gaze, watched cars crawling along the street thirty-four floors below. “The next day, Lex—who was barely eighteen, by the way—loaded me into a car with one little plastic suitcase and drove me to a boarding school. He left me standing alone at the gate. I clutched my suitcase and watched the taillights disappear.”

  She dashed tears from her eyes, tears that blurred her sight when she really needed to be able to see Cash, to see his reaction. “You aren’t the only orphan in this room, Cash. You aren’t the only one who worries you aren’t good enough to be loved.”

  “You’re full of crap.” He let go with one hand and ran it through his hair. His gaze moved from her to the vista outside the window. “I don’t believe a word of this. You’re as big a con as the rest of your family. Lies come out of your mouth as easily as you breathe.”

  Her heart was shredded into tiny pieces but at least her tears dried up from the force of the anger that overrode her anguish. “You don’t get it, dumbass. Your father is a piece of work—as bad as mine, only yours claims to be legitimate in his feelings for you. That man wouldn’t know love if Harley was covered in it and bit him on the butt. He’s egotistical, hard, uncaring and a right royal bastard. Just like my father. Max Rowland lives for the game. The con—long or short. Using people and discarding them is his stock in trade. And I’m just one more asset to be used up and discarded. He has you in his sights and you know what? Despite everything you’ve said to me, I’ll still do my best to protect the Barrons.” She brushed her sleeve under her nose to avoid sniffling.

&nbs
p; “I made a promise to you. To help you stop him. To stop my family, even if it means sending them to prison. And I will, regardless of what you think of me, or what you believe my motives to be.”

  Roxie jerked her other arm free and ducked away from Cash. “But there is a difference between your family and mine. A huge difference. My brothers only want to use me. But your brothers? They love you. A whole lot by everything I’ve seen. Mine are as bad as my father. They’ll use me up and abandon me just like they did when I was five. Just like they did when I was sixteen. Just like they did in Vegas. You have a chance, Cash. A chance to be part of a family. A chance to be loved. Go make up with them while you can.”

  Cash’s expression didn’t change. She marched to the door, pulled it open and paused. “I’ll get out of your life, but dude? Throwing me out is one of the biggest mistakes you’ll ever make. In case you ever wake up and realize what an idiot you are, you know where to find me. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll still love you. But you’d better be ready to crawl back. Groveling always works best.”

  She walked out, closed the door gently despite wanting to slam it. The darn thing was hung wrong for a dramatic exit. Placing her hand against the door in a final farewell, she called softly, “You can do it, Cash. You can find your family again.”

  Seventeen

  Cash didn’t remember covering the distance to the door. He leaned his forehead against it and heard Roxie’s murmur. “How am I supposed to do that?” he asked the closed door.

  Straightening, he wandered to the window and stared out. Taking a moment, he sent a text to Bridger. Any of the men hanging around the office could deal with Roxie, with getting her out of his life, but he didn’t trust just any of them to do it right. He didn’t hate her. No, he reserved that emotion for himself. Loathing what he’d become, he’d done what was needed. He knew all too well what his father’s ultimatums meant.

  Orders given, he remained at the window, ignoring both his phone and the pings coming from his computer whenever an email hit. He was done with the world for today, so he watched shadows grow, the spiked silhouette of the Barron Tower acting as a sundial. Roxie would be packed by now, her clutter cleared out of his condo. He wondered if Bridger had assigned Alan to her, then shoved those thoughts away.

  He was a busy man. He didn’t have time to moon over what might have been. Roxanne was the enemy; the Rowlands were out to harm the Barrons. She had to be in on it. Forget the sweet noises she uttered as he made love to her. Forget the way she made him laugh. Forget—

  Cash banged his fist against the window hard enough to bruise the side of his hand. She was wrong! He couldn’t fix things with his brothers. He was his father’s son, through and through. His gut churned when he thought of the things he’d done in the name of family. Despicable. That’s how Chance’s wife, Cassidy, had described him, and she’d told the truth. He’d done everything his father asked of him. Everything. It didn’t matter that he hurt the women his brothers loved. He hadn’t cared that he’d betrayed the four men who deserved his absolute loyalty.

  Family is the only thing that matters. How often had he heard his father spout those words? More importantly, when had he swerved from that premise to blindly follow his father’s orders? He’d stopped questioning and just accepted that the old man was doing what was right for the family—for everyone in the family.

  He paused his pity party long enough to text Bridger. He didn’t get a reply.

  A few lights flickered on below him. The Barrons pretty much owned everything within sight. But historically, what they had in business prowess, they lacked in their personal lives. At least that was the case for him and his father. Roxanne was wrong. His brothers didn’t love him. They couldn’t. Not after what he’d done. Because no matter what, Cash was his father’s son. Cyrus had shaped him. Trained him. Molded him into the son he thought he wanted, only to discover Cash was a flawed creation.

  By the time he left the office, hard dark had fallen and city lights painted an urban glow against the night sky. Cash should drink himself into a stupor. Yet going to a bar, even a quiet pub like Donovan’s, didn’t appeal and the thought of a nightclub filled with noise and crowds curdled his stomach. He should have just gone to his place but the thought of facing the empty space troubled him. He headed toward the ranch instead. He needed something—anything—that felt like home, and his vacant condo wasn’t that. It would be filled with the lonely echoes of Roxie’s presence, filled with what-ifs and what-might-have-beens.

  * * *

  Who was she to lecture Cash on the meaning of love? Or family? Her brutally honest recitation outlining her own childhood meant she had no more insight—and probably less—than he did. The families of her fellow boarding school “inmates” hadn’t inspired confidence in families and love, either. But through it all, she’d remained a cockeyed optimist when it came to love. Love existed. Families supported one another, took care of one another.

  Roxie caught glimpses of it from time to time, and since being in Cash’s sphere of influence, she’d gotten firsthand experience. Miz Beth and Big John had been married fifty years and they were still as much in love as they were the day they pronounced their vows. Cash’s brothers tended to avoid him, as did their wives. She hadn’t forgotten the confrontation with three of them that time in Bricktown. While the women appeared angry, she still had the sense they were sad about the estrangement—that their husbands missed their brother. The Barron brothers seemed close-knit, at least the other four. Did Cash purposely hold himself apart from them or had they segregated him, like her brothers had her? She knew all about being the odd one out. She’d watched her brothers from afar, had seen how they all seemed so bonded, a pack of puppies tumbling around the feet of their father. And there was never time for her—no place for her in their testosterone-laced circle. She definitely had no right to spout off about family dynamics.

  As she packed her things, to the accompaniment of Harley’s soft grumbles, she tried not to think. Yeah, like that would ever work. Maybe this was a good thing, Cash sending her away. Her heart was growing way too fond of him, her dreams far too focused on a future with him. But there would be no future now. Or ever. Her fleeting hope of forming a family with him, of finding the kind of love she saw shared by his brothers and their wives, was just a pipe dream.

  People like her weren’t made for relationships. Evidently, neither were people like Cash. Harley, on the other hand, didn’t want to leave. She understood his reluctance. She didn’t want to go, either. Still, it was time. She couldn’t stall any longer.

  Roxie sat stiffly in the front seat of the Ford Expedition. The man who’d taken her to Cash’s condo loaded the vehicle with her things and Harley, then drove with a reckless abandon that had her clenching her jaw more than once. And she didn’t miss the side glances he angled in her direction. He’d rolled down a back window and now the Newf had his head stuck out, jowls and ears flopping in the wind.

  Tired of the strained silence, she shifted in her seat to face Bridger Tate. She hadn’t known him long and the taciturn man flummoxed her. She had no clue what he thought of her, of the way things had shaken out between her and Cash.

  “Get it off your chest.”

  Bridger braked the SUV and idled at a stoplight. “Got nothing to say.”

  “Really?” She gave him the stink-eye. “Could have fooled me.”

  “He’s my cousin, Roxanne. Family. What am I supposed to say?”

  She flung out her hands. “I don’t know. You must like him...” She studied his expression. “Or is it just because he’s your boss?”

  He glared at her so long the car behind them honked. The light had changed. He tromped the gas pedal and the big SUV jerked forward. “Yes, Cash is my boss. He’s my cousin. He’s also my friend.”

  “Huh.” She packed a lot of sarcasm in that one syllable.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Seems like you and me are the only two around who
actually like him.”

  “I’m not discussing this with you.”

  “Ah. Gotcha. I’m the outsider. The one he kicked out of his bed when his father snapped his fingers.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Were you there?”

  Bridger stopped for another red light. Anger sculpted the planes of his handsome face. “No.”

  “Well, I was.”

  His head whipped around so fast she was worried he’d pull a muscle or something. “What do you mean? Uncle Cyrus threw his tantrum in front of you?”

  She could actually feel the blush crawl up the skin of her throat and face. “Not exactly.”

  “Explain. Exactly.” He sounded like a cop—or a drill sergeant.

  “I was waiting for Cash in his office and I was sort of...um...looking at some stuff—”

  “What stuff?” Bridger’s eyes turned the color of a natural gas flame burning blue hot.

  Roxie would have backpedaled if they’d been standing in a room. As it was, all she could do was press harder against the door to eke out extra space between them. Then she figured out why he was upset. “Oh! No, not that kind of stuff. No...no. I wouldn’t... I wasn’t spying. He has this really cool snow glo—”

  “His mother gave that to him. He and Chase both had one. Chase broke his. It’s the only thing Cash has left that belonged to Aunt Helen.”

  She pressed her lips between her teeth to help rein in her emotions. “That was his mother’s name?”

  Bridger nodded. “Yeah. Did he tell you how she died?” After she shook her head, he continued. “Drunk driver. She was DRT.”

  “DRT?”

  “Dead right there. And it’s weird, but I think Uncle Cyrus really was torn up by her death. At least according to my mom. He was still an SOB about things, but Mom says he mourned her.”

  “Huh. I think I might be surprised.”

  “I know, right?” Bridger winked as he divided his attention between her and traffic. “So...the snow globe?”