Overstepped that one, cowboy. “Yeah, I know.” Clint paused to regain his balance. “Doesn’t mean my ego doesn’t get in the way, though. I’m not looking for a wife anymore than you’re apparently looking for a husband.”
“Well, a husband would be okay,” Cassie demurred. “But he’d have to be just right. And while you are a fantastic lover and I’m sure you’re a great person, I’ve sworn to God and any who will listen that I will never ever marry a horse trainer.”
“What?” She’d done it again, and he couldn’t stop his words. “You mean you would throw me out of long term consideration just because I train horses?”
“Absolutely,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest and covering herself with the sheet.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Before he could continue, Cassie broke in, “I’ve bounced from track to track. I know the life of the backside. I don’t want to raise a family that way. I know about broken promises and broken dreams.”
“Then why the hell did you come back to the Downs? And why are you in my bed?”
Cassie smiled ruefully. “You fail to remember that my first order of business is making Hope a stakes contender for my father. Cassie’s Hope is probably his last dream of a big horse. After his stroke, I doubt he’ll ever work again. It’ll be a small miracle to get him to the track to watch Hope race.”
“I’m sorry,” Clint said frowning. “I forgot. Guess I’ve never been bitten by that big horse bug. Running around the bush tracks is good enough for me.” He winced—he wasn’t telling the entire truth, but then he doubted the redheaded minx had been entirely honest with him, either.
“Well, it shouldn’t be!” Cassie said. She clamped her mouth shut, but then went on. “You have some good horses, but you’re not giving them a chance. If you’re going to be in this game, you should be playing to win. Why don’t you take them to California to race? I’ve watched you, and don’t understand why you’re satisfied playing around at tracks that can’t pay horse owners and trainers enough to meet expenses.”
“Well, well. You’ve been bottling a lot up, haven’t you? For someone who can hardly wait to get out of the horse business, you sure are long on advice. Maybe I like to just play at horse racing.” Becoming somber, Clint added, “Maybe I got other responsibilities that keep me close to home.”
Cassie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. Christ, I’m in no position to judge how you or anyone else chooses to run a life.”
Her eyes smoldered caressing his body. “As to your second question awhile back—why am I in your bed—that answer is easy. Because you are a terrific lover who dragged me off in his pickup to see his world.”
Clint’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah…Wendover. Right…Don’t worry, I’ll be there day after tomorrow…Don’t nag me about it—I said I’d be there, and I will. Yeah, me too.”
He put the phone back in its holder and scowled. “Let’s get dressed and go down and have breakfast.”
Cassie climbed off the bed and started getting dressed. With bra and panties on she turned and confronted him. “Hey, if you don’t have time to show me around, I’ll understand. You can take me back to Evanston and I’ll be fine. Really.”
“Don’t even think about it. I cleared my calendar to spend time with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He laced his fingers in her hair and pulled her close. Her scent was intoxicating. “You got away from me once. Not this time.”
Now what kind of questioning look was she giving him? He wasn’t going to go after that and apparently, for once, she was prepared to let things drop. He’d forgotten how much of challenge it was spending twenty-fours with a woman.
Should he really take her to the ranch? That was his safe house, his private life. He couldn’t explain to himself why it was important to show her who he really was. Cassie O’Hanlon was a joy to be around, but she was a high strung, complex woman—a woman who still had danger written all over her. He’d better keep his heart protected.
After two days poking around Salt Lake City, Cassie was pleased to be heading toward eastern Utah and Clint’s ranch. She was more than a little curious about how he lived.
She was still high on adrenaline. How could life get any better? From the winner’s circle to the last few days being with Clint—it just couldn’t be topped.
They’d been traveling over a well maintained dirt road for the last twenty minutes. He’d announced when they’d entered his land. It didn’t look any different than the landscape they’d been driving through for quite some time: reddish soil, dry and windblown. Mountains graced the horizon.
“There’s the buildings,” he said with pride, pointing ahead and to her right.
Several buildings were visible nestled among cottonwoods. The stable area appeared fairly new and well maintained. The house had that ever-evolving look of so many ranch houses she’d observed while traveling through the west. It looked like the original builders had only built for their current needs, then added on as the family grew or as owners changed.
As they got closer, she could see that Clint’s house certainly wasn’t ramshackle, but it was sprawling and low to the ground. Everything was on one floor, shaped in a U. That was another element it shared in common with most every structure she’d seen on their trip across Utah. People didn’t build high. They didn’t have to—they had plenty of space. And a lower structure probably caught less wind, which might be quite significant in the winter.
Clint pulled into the dirt driveway and stopped close to the house. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you around.”
He headed immediately for the kitchen. Cassie followed, noting along the way what was likely his den and also glimpsing a wide open living room. What she could see was typically manly. Heavy furniture, bare floors and pictures of horses adorned the walls. The kitchen was surprisingly decorated in warm tones and was neat and looked quite functional.
Clint opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer for each of them. He clinked his bottle against hers. “Welcome to Utah, Cassie O’Hanlon.”
“Thanks. It’s lovely. You have a huge place here. Do you ever get lost?”
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her hand and heading toward the entryway. “I’ll show you the stables. That’s much more interesting than the house.”
Now who was nervous? It should be her, not him. This was his lair. But he seemed much more fidgety and much less certain now that he’d gotten her here. He hadn’t bothered to give her much of a tour of his house.
As they neared the stable, she spied a beautiful black stallion prancing, rearing and then galloping off in a nearby pasture. “He’s handsome,” she said. A half dozen or so mares were in a paddock on the other side of the stable. And out beyond she could see over twenty colts and fillies of various ages mingling and grazing.
Squinting against the low sun, she breathed sharply. Some of those horses were like those he’d raced in Wyoming. But the majority of them were not. Definitely not. They were high class thoroughbreds that could rival many a horse at the best tracks in Illinois, Kentucky, New York or California.
She let Clint lead through the immaculate stable and came to yet another pasture with older mares. Leaning against the rail fence, admiring the animals, Cassie said, “You’ve been holding out on me, Travers. These aren’t bush league horses. You do race at the larger tracks.”
“Nope,” he replied, shaking his head. “Told you I didn’t. Some of my horses do, but I don’t. Mostly, I sell well-bred racing stock to those who want to risk a lot more than I do for a dream.”
“Really? Where do you get them?”
“I’ve picked up the breeding stock over the years, improving as I go. Sometimes I travel to the big sales at Keeneland or Barretts. Some call me a pinhooker. I’ll buy yearlings, train them, and then sell them back as two year olds. There’s good money in it if you’ve got an eye for horseflesh and the economy is doing well. I’d like to rais
e more from breeding stock. But I admit I find it hard to travel back from an auction with an empty trailer.”
“But you don’t race these horses in Wyoming?”
“Nope. A lot of things can happen when a horse steps on a track, most of it bad. I wouldn’t want to risk a missed step or a collision with these babies.”
“And you don’t want to take the purse money from the small, local trainers.”
Clint shrugged without responding. She saw the smile in his eyes.
“You are a very complex man, Mr. Travers.”
“To bad you don’t have the time to try and figure me out.”
On the way out of the barn, Cassie waited for Clint to give instructions to an attentive, dark haired, dark skinned young woman who smiled at him, flashing pearly white teeth. Cassie felt her innards cringe when the woman’s calculating stare swept up and down Cassie’s body. Grimacing, not knowing quite what to do with her hands, she shoved them in her back pockets.
Seemingly unaware of the feminine byplay around him, Clint continued to talk with the woman about preparing some yearlings for a Kentucky sale. He would be back in plenty of time to oversee shipping them and last minute preparations at the auction. The young woman nodded, then briefly cast a menacing look at Cassie before heading toward one of the back paddocks.
Clint turned, smiling at Cassie. “My sister can be quite protective at times.”
“Your sister! Oh.” Why hadn’t he introduced the two of them? Was she the secret, or was the sister?
“You may have a chance to meet her another time. Silver Hawk is not predisposed to be kind to whites—especially,” he added, “women who might be interested in me.”
Trying to ignore her rising anger and his implication, Cassie asked, “How many people do you have working for you?”
“Three, year-round. When things are really hectic preparing for sales, I may hire a couple part-timers to handle more of the menial work. By the way, Silver Hawk is damn good with yearlings and two year olds. The two of you would like each other, if we could get her to sit down and talk horses.”
“That’s our loss, isn’t it?” Cassie regretted the catty remark as soon as it was out of her mouth.
“Women,” Clint mumbled, walking rapidly toward the house.
Cassie hurried to keep up; did he expect his women to walk three paces behind him? Why was he so cross? She knew he wasn’t like that.
Clint set immediately to work in the kitchen. “Hope you like omelets? That’s what I do best when it comes to cooking.” Cracking eggs, dicing ham, cutting cheese and green peppers, he maintained a chatter that seemed uncharacteristic.
Again, he seemed out of sorts with her in his house. They’d made love on shedrow and almost incessantly in Wendover and at the Salt Lake hotel, but this was his home. Would it be that intimidating...making love in his bed?
“So how many women do you have over, Travers?” Cassie cracked, in an effort to lighten the mood. “You have enough supplies to feed an army.”
“None,” he responded. Clint turned to look into his guest’s questioning eyes. “I have a large family.” He laughed. “Hell, the entire community will show up unannounced. It’s the way things are here. You have to be prepared.”
- o -
Had he just dodged a bullet? Clint busied himself at the stove. Why couldn’t he simply speak the truth to this woman? Why did he think he could bring her here without opening a large can of worms?
Turning over an omelet, he knew the answer to why he’d taken such a risk. He wanted her to know he was no cowboy drifter—he was a person of some substance. He wanted her respect. But that left a remaining question...why?
Minutes later, Cassie dug into the large omelet he’d set before her. “This is delicious, Clint. Your kitchen may say down home, but this food is first class.”
“Omelets are my specialty.”
She pointed her fork at him. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
He flinched, then gave her an easy smile. “Have to keep you on your toes, or you’ll be getting so comfortable you’ll want to stay.”
She flushed. “No chance of that,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a horse to run and a job waiting back in Chicago.” She caught him grinning broadly.
- o -
Later that evening, they sat on a blanket watching the flames of Clint’s fireplace dance about leaping upwards as if to find new dreams and fresh hopes. Cassie sat between Clint’s legs and leaned back against his chest. She sighed. His place was so comfortable. There were moments in life that deserved replicating, and this was one of those.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Clint whispered into her ear.
Without pulling her gaze away from the fire, she said, “You can get more for your penny than that.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
She laughed, turning toward him. “Whatever you want.”
He rubbed his face in her hair and lifted it away from her neck. His lips on her bare skin soothed and excited. She studied the fire again and let his hands roam freely over her body. They squeezed her jean-clad thighs, skimmed her crotch, and slid under her tank top, making their way to her breasts. She wore no bra to impede his efforts. His fingers played with her nipples until they quickly hardened.
She sensed his breath catch.
“You’re an intoxicating lady.”
She hummed, thrilled by his words and his fingers.
He tugged at the snap of her jeans. She smiled and helped him ease them off along with her panties. She tried to focus on the flames in the fireplace while Clint stirred her inner heat.
He eased a finger into her moist crevice and she arched her back against his chest. She covered his hand, guiding him, helping him with his exploration. He blew warm air on her neck and began a steady cadence with his buried finger. A second finger joined the first. The flames of the fireplace drew her; her inner flames gathered momentum. She brushed a thumb across her clit. She closed her eyes and leaned heavily against Clint.
“So sweet,” she moaned. She felt his fingers curl up inside, searching. Leaning forward, she yanked her tank top off and settled back again, twisting her nipples as he found what he’d been seeking. “That’s it. You’re right on it.”
“Come for me.”
“I will. I am.” She spread her knees as wide as she could while bucking against his fingers. “That’s it. Almost. Keep going.”
She arched forward and backward, panting with anticipation. “Now!” she yelped. “Oh god, yes!”
Her body went rigid and then collapsed against him. “No more,” she whimpered. “Please. No more. Give me time. I’ll be back. Trust me.”
- o -
Clint eased his fingers out of her heat and held her close. Her body convulsed. It seemed to take forever for her breathing to steady. He wasn’t certain he’d ever been closer to a woman’s orgasm. She’d been so hot, so vital, so alive. Clint held her tight, not wanting to lose their bond.
“I need you in me,” she whispered a few minutes later.
“Okay.” He quickly shed his clothes and lay back down beside her.
“Can we just lie here and watch the fire?” she asked, turning onto her side and pushing her backside against him. Her voice seemed smaller than normal.
“Sure. That sounds fine.” He cuddled her body until they were snug. His stiffness rested on the rise of her buttocks. They lay there like that for several minutes, each of them watching the flames, both lost in their own thoughts.
He inhaled deeply. He loved the smell of her, the feel of her. He loved the fact that she could be wildly sexy at times and so quiet and comforting at others. She was so warm and toasty he was afraid he might melt into her like butter.
She reached a hand between her legs and sought him out. He shifted lower and she guided him to her pussy. He cupped her to him, seating himself fully in her sex.
She sighed heavily. “That feels wonderful. I’m not sure I can get enough of this.
I’m yours, do with me what you want.”
Her words washed over him. He eased back and then forward. He slowed and quickened. Her breathing changed to soft panting.
“I’m going to come again.”
He smiled at her announcement—as if he couldn’t tell. Steadily, he stayed the course.
“Oh god,“ she moaned. “So deep. Fuck me. So good.”
Clint didn’t let her catch her breath this time. His hips pistoned against her shapely butt until he filled her with his wanting and she called out his name in thanksgiving.
He held her. Remaining joined, they dozed.
Clint awoke still nestled against her body. Carefully, he withdrew his still semi-hard cock, retrieved a blanket and covered his naked lover.
After getting a beer from the kitchen, he sat on the livening room couch studying Cassie as she slept soundly, seemingly fully sated at last.
He’d been startled by her words I’m yours, do with me what you want. Did she know what she was saying? Were they just words of lovemaking? Were they words intended for his ears? He doubted that.
How had he let this woman get in his blood so quickly? He truly loved giving her pleasure. She was so gloriously responsive. What they shared didn’t happen often—he knew that for a fact.
What the hell was he going to do about it? And did she have even a glimmer of an idea what was possible for them? Probably not. She’d been so determined to define them from the beginning as a fling.
He’d had flings before, and this wasn’t feeling like one of those. This woman was different. He liked the way she laughed. He liked the way she embraced new experiences. He liked the way she felt in his arms, like liquid fire. He even liked her saucy temper. Cassidy O’Hanlon was something else, and Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to let her come and go as easily as she’d planned. Yet, realistically, what more could he expect from her than a fling?
Clint drained the bottle, stretched out on the floor, pulled up a blanket, and fell into a fitful sleep. Beside him Cassie slept peacefully with no awareness of the shadows chasing her lover.
Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Page 8
