How Cassie Got Her Grind Back [Divine Creek Ranch 23] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Heather Rainier

  Sitting to his right was one of his oldest friends since childhood, Hank Stinson, Sheriff of Divine County, and a fellow Dominant. They were among the men serving as pallbearers while his closest friend, Joseph Hazelle, sat with Bunny and her brother, Tristan, in the front row.

  The funeral attendees shifted in their seats as the funeral director announced the service was over and they were welcome to travel in procession to the cemetery.

  The brunette across the chapel drew his eyes again as she rose from her seat. Cassandra Villalobos had changed since the last time he’d seen her on the football field at Divine High School moments after their graduation ceremony. She’d changed in all the best ways, though. Her unique sherry-colored eyes sparkled as she spoke quietly with her friends. Judging by her posture and body language, she was probably making excuses as she slipped out of the pew. She glanced up at him, and her eyes flared as she realized he was watching her, and the sparkle was replaced by a more hunted quality as she looked toward the exit.

  He recognized the pretty blonde standing beside Cassie. Grace Warner. He’d met her along with one of her husbands, Ethan Grant, when they’d joined Hazelle House. Joseph had laughingly informed him that he’d know them better if he’d pay a visit with him to the Dancing Pony in Divine every so often to break out of his work- home-BDSM-club rut. Divine. Not happening. He wouldn’t be there today, but Bunny had asked him to be a pallbearer, and there was no way he could turn the redhead down.

  Before the funeral, when Joseph had realized Samson knew Cassandra, he’d mentioned she was the owner of a popular coffee shop in Divine.

  Grace repeated whatever she’d said to Cassie, startling her, before looking his way and then back at Cassie, a speculative gleam in her eyes. She was a little matchmaker, according to Joseph.

  Samson knew Cassie was going to flee, the little chicken heart. He had one big, burning question to ask her, but he couldn’t right then. His responsibilities came first. But he held her gaze, even though another blonde was tapping her forearm, trying to get her attention.

  He felt a corresponding tap on his own shoulder, and Hank murmured, “Earth to Cutter.” He looked forward and realized the rest of the pallbearers had advanced several paces toward the front, and he took long strides to catch up.

  “You remember her?” Hank asked a few minutes later after they’d passed the casket into the hearse. “You’ve hardly taken your eyes off of her since she got here.” Hank nodded at Cassandra, indicating who he was referring to as she spoke to her friends, flight evident in her body language.

  The rays of the mid-morning sun streamed around her, casting her in voluptuous silhouette. Her long dark hair was free, and the breeze lifted strands that glimmered with red highlights off her shoulders.

  “Of course I remember her. Cassandra Villalobos.” The name rolled off his tongue like a benediction. The great start or great end to any day, whether it was just a smile, a sweetly chaste kiss on the cheek, or a searching look from her brown eyes.

  She was clad in an ankle-length black skirt that skimmed her hips, an unsuccessful yet typical attempt at hiding what he recalled were luscious rounded thighs and shapely calves tapering to delicate ankles. Her plum-colored top showed off her breasts while still being demure at the neckline.

  The years have been good to you, chiquita. Oblivious to the solemnity of the occasion, his dick tingled in agreement before he got a hold of his thoughts.

  “She goes by Cassie now, and her last name is Resendez, has been for years. Didn’t I ever mention that? You’d know if you came to the high school reunions.”

  “Shit, not this again,” Samson muttered as Hank clapped him on the back. She was married? Well, dumb fuck, over the course of thirty years that happens.

  “The thirtieth reunion of the Class of 1986 is coming up in just a few weeks. You and Ivan still have time to get your tickets. I can sell them to you right now,” Hank added as he patted the breast pocket of his uniform, a wide grin on his face.

  Samson shook his head, accustomed to the routine question Hank asked every time their high school reunion rolled around. It was harder to turn him down in person, but there was nothing for him in Divine, and no reason for him to return to the painful scene of his teenaged past, pretending it’d been a great chapter in his life. It hadn’t been any such thing.

  “This town holds too many bad memories, you know that.” His home in Morehead was close by, but Divine might as well have been light-years away.

  Undeterred, Hank continued. “Now that I think of it, if you didn’t know Cassie had gotten married, then you probably don’t know she’s also divorced. She goes to all the reunions. Seems like I recall your brother used to hang around with the two of you a lot, didn’t he?”

  “Yup.” Samson thought back to those days. Although Ivan had adored her, he’d disguised the fact because, back then, the admission would’ve gotten him lynched, spitted, and barbecued by her traditional, patriarchal family. But it had been clear what Ivan had felt for her had gone pretty deep—or at least as deep as a horny seventeen-year-old boy could go.

  “Listen, no one judges you or Ivan for what happened with your dad and Cassie’s mom back then.” Hank always made a point of mentioning it when they talked.

  “I don’t have your faith in humanity. Time may have passed, but people don’t forget or forgive easily, and neither do I, for that matter.”

  His friend continued coercing him, but his thoughts centered on the moment he’d seen Cassie again after so long, when she’d arrived at the funeral home before the service.

  His heart had lurched at the first sight of her, out of habit established a long time ago. Normally, he took his feelings swiftly in hand, cutting off the hope and desire, telling himself it wasn’t her. It never was. Many women had dark hair that sparkled red in the sun. But he was in Divine. And it was her. He’d known it by the graceful way she moved.

  She’d paused, probably letting her eyes adjust or savoring the air conditioning after coming in from the intense late-summer heat. His heart had swooped when she’d stepped beneath one of the recessed lights, which lit up the red highlights in her dark hair and illuminated her profile.

  “I don’t believe it,” he’d whispered to himself.

  After signing the guest book, she’d taken a memorial pamphlet and then had paused at the foot of the aisle and lowered her eyes. Praying. He’d known she was praying. She’d always had strong faith. He’d wondered over the years if she’d ever prayed for him and had taken comfort from the sense that she had. Relief had been evident in her demeanor when one of her friends waved her over and she’d joined the group.

  Then her eyes had widened when she’d spotted him across the chapel. Her jaw had dropped, but she schooled the reaction as she’d greeted her friends. But time and time again, her gaze flew back to him, and he enjoyed her flush and the uncertainty in her expressive eyes as she looked him over. When she’d met his eyes, he’d seen a moment of…something…flicker there. Remorse?

  A welcome breeze tempered the late-summer heat under the funeral home portico and drew him back to the present. Cassie chatted with her friends while everyone assembled, and he could tell she was nervous by the way she giggled as she searched her handbag, probably for her car keys. The more she dug for them, the more she blushed. Then she glanced up at him. The teenaged girl he’d adored was there in her tender smile and the glow in her cheeks as she talked to friends, but the woman standing across the way was a goddess in her full, voluptuous glory.

  With her keys in hand, Cassandra looked his way again and gave him a tentative wave. Samson nodded back at her and then held up a hand to halt her. He needed to head to the cemetery with the other pallbearers.

  Shouldn’t be doing this right now.

  Her throat bobbed when she swallowed as she glanced at her friends dispersing to their vehicles to join the funeral procession. She surprised him when she waited in the shade as he excused himself from Hank, who was still going on abo
ut the reunion.

  White-knuckling the strap of her handbag, she watched him as he approached. The thrill of having her on edge raced through him as he noticed her hardening nipples, visible through the brilliant plum-colored fabric of her top. He stepped just within the boundaries of her personal space so she’d have to look up at him, and her nerves were as palpable to him as the subtle floral fragrance she wore. She parted her lips to say something, but words failed her, so she held out her hand to him. He took it in both of his, and instead of shaking, he caressed her palm and the top of her hand, before drawing his fingers across her fingertips. The telltale calluses from guitar strings were gone.

  “You didn’t keep your promise, did you?”

  The light from the afternoon sun was awash in her suddenly tearful eyes, and Cassie swiped a windblown lock of hair behind her ear as she looked away. After looking down at her hand, she shifted her gaze back to him and cleared her throat. “No,” she whispered. “I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  She opened her mouth to say more, but her chin trembled. He loved setting a woman on edge. A good edge. The edge of fulfillment and release. Setting Cassandra on edge made him feel only regret, and want.

  The hearse started nearby, surprising her, and she looked at the keys grasped in her hand. “I—I have to go to work. I’m sorry.” Her expressive eyes pleaded for understanding. She didn’t owe him an explanation, but he’d wanted so much more for her than staying trapped in that little gossipy town.

  Sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he nodded and watched her walk away. Her posture was stiff, her movements jerky, as though she suspected he was watching her, which she confirmed when she glanced back and nearly tripped on a crack in the baking-hot asphalt parking lot.

  His smile wasn’t from amusement, but because she’d never been the type to strut or show off. Lord knew she had plenty worth showing off. He continued watching as she hurried through the parking lot.

  “Soon, Cassandra. Soon.”

  He’d waited nearly thirty years. He could wait a while longer.

  Chapter Two

  “Why didn’t you stay and talk to him, Cassie?” Grace Warner asked, sitting across from Cassie and Grace’s sister, Charity Connors, in the corner booth at Divine Drip. “If you were interested in each other back then, why not at least arrange to get together later and talk?”

  Cassie shrugged as she dumped a couple spoons of sugar into her black coffee and then added half and half to it, turning it a rich caramel color as she stirred. “I chickened out.” What she didn’t say was that the strong Alpha vibe he’d always exuded had strengthened with the years. “It was obvious he wanted to talk to me. I know it wasn’t intentional, we were at a funeral after all, but I felt ambushed. I didn’t know what to say.” She held her cup to her lips and breathed in the aroma of coffee mingled with sweetness and blew before taking a sip.

  He’d surprised her when she’d looked up at the funeral home and spotted him across the chapel, dressed in a dark gray three-piece suit. He’d allowed his hair to grow out, and the thick black locks were liberally streaked with silver, especially at the temples, giving him a rugged warrior-poet appearance, despite the suit. The way her heart had lurched at the sight of him had taken her back to her teenaged years, to a time when she’d hoped he was the one.

  Grace gave her a wry smile. “As one introvert to another, Cassie, I know it may be hard, but I think you should go see him, on your own terms, now that you know where he is. I don’t know him very well, but if I’d had any idea the two of you knew each other, I would’ve made sure you crossed paths before the funeral.”

  After Cassie had mentioned knowing Samson, Grace had told her that she and Ethan knew him because they were members of Hazelle House, another revelation for Cassie. No way could she picture a man as thoughtful and kind as Ethan spanking sweet Grace. No freaking way. Considering that Samson had always been one to take charge, she was only mildly surprised he was a member, and she wondered what he did there. Security? Dungeon master? Something intimidating, she was sure. Strange, how the thought sent a warm shiver racing up her spine.

  Charity nodded. “If you avoid him, you’ll regret never acting on this chance. Before the funeral, when you had no idea he was back in the area, how did you feel about him?”

  Regret doesn’t even come close. “I’ve missed him since the day we graduated from high school and he went into basic training.” She could still see him and his brother walking away from her, their arms across each other’s beefy shoulders. They’d probably been talking about their next step together before they were across the field. “Even once I settled down, had the kids, and, later, when I started my business, I wondered…how he was.” –And how Ivan was, too.

  Charity took another sip from her coffee, a thoughtful look on her face and turned to Cassie. “You graduated high school with Samson and his brother?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “And when we first got here, you were chatting with Hank about your thirtieth high school reunion coming up next month. You all graduated together.”

  Realization dawned on Grace’s face. “Maybe he and his brother will come to the reunion.”

  Cassie shook her head, relieved the reunion wasn’t something she’d have to worry about. “I’ve been at every reunion, and neither of them has ever come.” Not that I can blame them.

  Not one to miss much, Grace leaned forward. “What? What is it?”

  “Nothing,” Cassie replied. No good would come from sharing Samson and Ivan’s history. Both Grace and Charity were several years younger than her, but they might remember what’d happened in Divine back in the eighties. No point in dredging up old history, especially ugly history. “If he really wanted to see me—or his brother for that matter—they both could easily find me, through Hank…or Google. It’s not as if I’m hiding.”

  She recalled the shiver that had gone up her spine when she’d made eye contact with him at the funeral. One look and she had been enthralled, as if thirty years of hard work, one failed marriage, and two great kids raised hadn’t all come to pass. Suddenly she’d been a nervous teenager again, sweating palms, racing heartbeat, and goose bumps shimmering on her skin, but she was all too aware that she longed for what she couldn’t have, though for different reasons, in the present.

  * * * *

  Ivan Cutter smiled as he lifted the lid on the soup pot and the steam from the creamy contents invaded his nostrils. The aroma of the pancetta blending with the buttery scent of the Havarti cheese made his mouth water, and he grinned when he heard the loud grumble of Samson’s stomach. “Thought you said you weren’t hungry,” he said as he picked up the peppermill and ground just a touch more white pepper into the pot and stirred.

  “I wasn’t, but that smells good. You got any bread to go with it?”

  The words weren’t even all the way out of his brother’s mouth before Ivan was pulling two big stoneware bowls from the stainless steel shelving against the wall and hollering at one of the chef’s helpers to bring him one of the loaves of Italian bread cooling on a rack.

  The clatter of utensils and pots and pans as the kitchen geared up for the arrival of the haughty crowd that packed the dining room at Hermione every afternoon and evening was a musical din he barely noticed. He ladled soup into both bowls and set them on the small table in the corner and then grabbed a crock of softened butter for the bread.

  After handing his twin a large spoon, he joined him at the table and grinned as Samson took a long, deep sniff of the soup’s aroma and then dug in. He laughed when Samson let out a groan of pleasure at the first spoonful, closed his eyes, took another, and nodded at Ivan’s inquiring, “Good?”

  The two of them ate in a silence broken occasionally by pauses to tear off more bread, which they slathered in butter before continuing. Ivan smiled when Samson tilted the bowl to spoon up the last drops of creamy broth and refilled it for him when he looked ready to start licking the bowl clean.

  Mid
way through the second bowl, Samson glanced up as he spread butter on another piece of bread. “I ran into Cassandra Villalobos this morning.”

  Ivan sat back and nodded. “I figured you’d never go back to Divine.”

  Samson’s hand landed with a thud on the tabletop, and he dropped his spoon. “How do you know that’s where she is?”

  Ivan studied Samson, noting the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his brows. “I’ve known for a while she was there.” At his brother’s arched eyebrow, he continued. “There’s this thing you may have heard of, brother. It’s called Google. Makes finding people easier than it used to be. I looked her up out of curiosity several years ago. And even if it weren’t for the wonderful power of the Internet, I’ve heard about her little place, mostly because of her baked goods. She makes this hazelnut crème-filled cake with cream cheese frosting and dark chocolate shavings that is…”

  His mouth watered again as he recalled the cupcake creation a friend had gifted him with recently. Cassie could be working in a five-star restaurant in a big city, but that wasn’t her style.

  “You’ve been to see her?”

  Ivan shook his head. “If I never see Divine again, it’ll be too soon. And she has her own life.” Why remind himself of what he couldn’t have?

  “I would think a soft touch like you would at least go see her. I didn’t realize that’s what she did. She’s not supposed to be there.”

  Ivan shook his head. “Far as I could tell, she never left. She worked for her father and grandfather in their restaurant and eventually got married.”

  “She broke her promise.”

  “What? And we kept ours? You remember how under their thumbs her father and grandfather always kept her. Life happens, man. She has her own successful business, and she’s not at their beck and call anymore. And you’ve had quite a career, as have I. It’s not the specifics of the promise I concerned myself with. It was the spirit of it.”