by Laura Wright
“Lookie there,” he called out, knocking his chin in the direction of a manmade lake in the distance. “Some decent water. Could handle cattle and the horses. That’s good news.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him as they passed through a set of gates.
“Everything’ll be all right, Sheridan,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You look comfortable, and I really need to see the place with my own eyes.”
“No,” she corrected quickly. She was actually feeling okay. “I mean, transfer the mustangs to a different ranch? Do you really think whoever ends up with the Triple C in the end would kick them out or treat them badly?”
He didn’t answer right away. But when he did, it was after a weighty breath. “I don’t know. But I can’t take that chance.”
“If I remember correctly, you weren’t the one who brought them to the Triple C in the first place,” she said as they started up a hill. “They’re really not your responsibility.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“’Course it does.”
“Lean back in the saddle a little as we go down,” he instructed. “Horses and their welfare are my life, Sheridan.”
Her curiosity forced her to push him a little. “How long have you felt like that? Since you were a child?”
“Nope. Sometime around college.”
He wasn’t giving much away, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. She also couldn’t help the many questions that kept rolling off her tongue. “And that’s why you started working with the horses?”
“Yup.”
“When did you notice that things were going past caring for them?”
He didn’t answer. He was looking around, taking in the verdant valley below. It stretched on forever. Or it felt that way.
“That you had a special gift?” she added.
“Shit,” he said tightly. “I don’t have a special gift.”
“I just mean—”
“I’ll say this,” he began, turning to look at her. “Then I’ll be done with it, if you don’t mind.”
She nodded, her breath catching inside her chest. He’d turned serious. Storms on a sunny day.
“Horses saved me from a very dark time in my life. I will always return that kindness.”
His words settled into Sheridan’s chest with a beauty and a pain that was startling. Lord, she wanted to ask him more. She wanted to know what that dark time involved. Was he talking about Cass or something else? Someone else? But he’d been pretty clear that he was done sharing.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as her horse suddenly lurched forward, losing its footing.
James brought Brigitte to a quick stop and was off the horse in seconds, heading for her sister. His hands moved over Bardot’s neck as he whispered something so soft and soothing, it worked on both the horse and on Sheridan.
Her heart squeezed. There was nothing she wanted more in that moment than to just keep watching him with the animal. He was almost part of the landscape, of the air the horse was breathing. Like he was malleable. A strange idea, she knew, but it was how she saw him in that moment.
“You all right?” He was staring up at her now.
“Fine,” she assured him.
“Come here.” He helped her down, then ran his gaze over her, checking.
“I promise,” she assured him. “I’m okay. Good, actually. I was enjoying myself.”
He smiled. “Nice to hear.”
He turned back to her horse. “Let’s see about you, girl,” he said. “What you got yourself into.”
Under the heat of the midday sun and cloudless sky, surrounded by the sweet-smelling earth and grass, Sheridan watched this focused, gentle, and highly mysterious man check each of Bardot’s legs and hooves. When he got to the front right foot he cursed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her own height phobia aside, she liked the beautiful, sweet horse, and she hoped whatever was wrong was nothing serious—or, God forbid, something she’d done.
“She picked up a rock in her foot,” he said. “Got a stone bruise.”
“Will she be okay?”
“Oh, sure. But we need to get her back, and you can’t be riding her.” He released the horse’s hoof and turned to look at her. “I’ll take you with me on Brigitte.”
Sheridan’s cheeks flushed immediately, and she nearly rolled her eyes at herself. What. The. Hell. Seriously. The very put-together, strong-willed, professional-at-all-times Sheridan O’Neil of Dallas, Texas, and the Cavanaugh Group didn’t seem to exist when this man was around. Under the ocean-blue gaze of one James Cavanaugh, she was Sheridan, the blushing, uber-smiling, knee-weakened female. It was super irritating. Not to mention dangerous. She’d seen it firsthand. A smitten woman was not a thoughtful, rational, successful woman. She was a broken heart waiting to happen.
“We already have the lead line,” James said, cutting into her thoughts. “So we can pony Bardot here back.” He motioned for Sheridan to come to him. “Let’s get you on Brigitte. Not to worry. Everything will be fine.”
She believed him. With the horse, she believed him.
She went to him, put her boot in the stirrup right away. “I’m not nervous anymore.”
Grinning, he lifted her up, waited until she swung her leg over. “You’re enjoying yourself?”
She smiled down at him and nodded. “I feel bad about what happened to Bardot, but yes.”
“I’m enjoying myself too.” He swung up in front of her, and without him prompting her to do so, she wrapped her arms around his middle. He smelled so good. Like leather and soap.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, kicking Brigitte into an easy walk.
Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh
May 2, 2002
Dear Diary,
Tonight was the best night of my life. And the worst. I snuck out of the house after dinner. Mama was watching something on TV, and I don’t know where Daddy was off to. Deac and James and Cole were down by the creek like always.
Carl Shurebot’s old place was kinda creepy. At least when I first got there. But what do you know? Sweet had brought in some candles and some cake from Marabelle’s, and we ate it and talked. Well, I guess I talked and he listened. He’s a good listener. Doesn’t think I’m a silly thing like my brothers do. I told him all about my family and Mac and life at the Triple C.
He didn’t say much about how long he’d been in River Black or how long he planned on staying. But he did tell me that he was visiting, and that the people he was living with were strange.
We’re going to meet up again tomorrow night, if’n I can sneak off again. I hope he’ll tell me more.
Off to bed. Can’t wait to dream,
Cass
P.S. Maybe you’re wondering if anything romantic happened. I can only say that now I know what a boy’s lips feel like. Warm and a little wet. I think I like it. I know I like him.
Five
Redemption Ranch was going to be one helluva homestead when it was completed, James thought as he walked Sheridan up the porch steps to the front door. Deacon clearly knew how to showcase the views and vistas of River Black, while still maintaining a homey warmth. Though James wasn’t going to be settling here anytime soon, it was nice to know a Cavanaugh would still have a place in River Black. No matter what memories might want to drive them out.
“Sun’s going down,” James said, watching her put the key in the lock.
“That’s what happens when you keep a girl out past her work time,” Sheridan answered good-naturedly. “She’s gotta make it up after hours.”
He leaned against the side of the house. “Sorry ’bout that.”
She turned and gave him a wicked smile. “No you’re not.”
“All right, I’m not.” She could smile at him like that all day long. And maybe a few hours
at night too. “I enjoyed being with you today. Truth is, I haven’t had much fun lately. Hell, can’t remember the last time I smiled so much.”
Her eyes warmed, and her smile deepened. “I’m glad.”
“Dealing with my father’s estate, and Deacon wanting to bulldoze the Triple C to the ground, it’s been complicated at best. I haven’t felt a moment’s peace since I got here. In fact, all I wanted to do was get things wrapped up so I could leave. But today, riding out on a fresh property, you squeezing the breath out of me—”
“Hey!” she said, laughing.
He grinned. “It felt good.” He studied her. “You’re damn fine company, Sheridan O’Neil.”
She inclined her head. “Thanks. Back atcha.”
He shrugged. “We should do it again sometime.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze faltered. “I’m happy to help. Let me know when you plan to visit another ranch.”
“Doesn’t have to be a ranch visit.”
She chewed her lip for a second or two, then said, “We’ll see.”
We’ll see? He didn’t like that answer one little bit. Or how the smile had evaporated from her eyes. “That sounds like a no.”
She shook her head. “I work for your brother.”
“Right.”
“And I love my job.”
“Well, that’s a good thing.”
She gave him a look of extreme impatience. “Come on, I know you understand what I’m saying.”
“You can’t think Deacon would fire you if we . . . hung out together. If we were . . .” He paused, cleared his throat. “Friends.”
“Having a hard time getting that word out?” she observed, the lightness and humor back in her gaze.
“Not at all.” He dropped his chin and lifted his brows. “Friend.”
Her gaze shifted to the coming sunset. “Look, I don’t believe Mr. Cavanaugh would take issue with us being friends, if that’s truly what it was. But, come on—”
James didn’t let her finish. He stuck his hand out. “Then it’s settled. Friends.”
She stared at his hand.
“I ain’t gonna bite, Sheridan,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but when her eyes lifted to meet his, he saw a struggle there.
“You wanna stop hanging out with me?” he asked gently.
“No, but—”
“I don’t want to stop hanging out with you.” He shrugged. “We both know where we stand. Both know neither one of us is staying here permanent. No expectations. Just fun.”
“Just fun?” she asked. “‘Words are easy like the wind,’” she said.
Heat slashed through him. Quoting Shakespeare from those lips . . . ”What can I say, Miss O’Neil? ‘I do desire we be better strangers.’”
Her eyes brightened and for a moment he thought she might return his quote with another. Maybe something about rejection of the heart. But instead, she started to laugh.
“All right, Mr. Cavanaugh.” She slipped her hand in his and pumped it a couple of times. “Friends it is.”
Her skin was warm, soft, and her hand fit against his palm so perfectly it made his damn idiot brain conjure up other ways she would fit perfectly against him.
“How long you plan on staying tonight?” he asked, keeping her hand in his, wondering stupidly if “friends” kissed each other good night or not.
He guessed not.
“Maybe ten, eleven,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “I need to run the numbers again. I still think Mr. Palmer’s records are incorrect.”
That made him pause. “You think Caleb’s cheatin’ Deacon?”
“I don’t know. But something’s not right.”
James didn’t like that idea one little bit. River Black folk didn’t cheat one another. He didn’t know Caleb Palmer all that well, just that the man was River Black’s main contractor, and had a wife and a grown daughter. But from what he knew about Sheridan O’Neil, if she thought there was a potential issue, there probably was. Maybe he’d pay Caleb a little visit on his own.
His eyes found hers again. “How ’bout I come back and get you, take you home.”
“No.” She eased her hand from his, reminding him that he’d been holding on to her all that time.
“You don’t have a car here, Sheridan.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh instructed me to use the truck in the garage anytime I needed it.”
James snorted. “That’s a pretty big piece of machinery.”
“And?” she said, humor and pride crossing her gaze.
“Just sayin’, when you’re used to those standard commuting cars from the big city, a truck like that can be a bit of a challenge.”
“It’s a good thing I like a challenge then. I can handle it. You know my relationship to motor vehicles. Well, to their manuals anyway.” Her lips twitched, and in that moment, there was nothing James wanted more than to reach for her, take her in his arms and capture her mouth under his—taste that goddamn perfectly wicked smile. But the sound of one of those challenging trucks he’d just been talking about was hauling ass up Deacon’s driveway that very minute. It yanked his brain, and all those other parts that were growing fond of Miss O’Neil, back to reality.
Leaving the open doorway of the house and heading for the edge of the porch steps, Sheridan shaded her eyes as she tried to see who was coming. “I think that’s Mackenzie Byrd.”
“What does she want?” James muttered, coming up behind her.
Sheridan glanced over her shoulder, eyed him in an almost playful way. “That sounded hostile. You don’t like your brother’s fiancée?”
“I like her fine,” he grumbled. “Hell, I’ve known her since I was in diapers.”
“Now there’s an image.”
“I was damn cute in diapers, Miss O’Neil,” he growled good-naturedly.
“I don’t doubt it.”
He knocked his chin in the direction of the truck coming around the curve of driveway. “She just has bad timing, that’s all.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mac called from the open window as she hit the brakes, causing dirt to spit and splatter onto the stone walkway. Within seconds, she was out and rushing up the front steps to Sheridan. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”
“I hear the cell service out here is sketchy,” Sheridan said, pressing her elbow into James’s gut. “Right, Mr. Cavanaugh?”
“Yup,” James agreed, wishing she’d press the rest of herself back into him while she was at it. “You’re going to have to do something about that when you move in, Mac.”
“Great,” the woman grumbled. “One more thing to add to my to-do list.”
“Everything okay?” Sheridan asked her.
Mac opened her mouth to reply, then promptly shut it. She looked from Sheridan to James, then back again. Her eyes narrowed. “Were you two off somewhere together?”
“No,” Sheridan said quickly. Then amended, “Well, not really off together. We were looking . . . well, James—Mr. Cavanaugh—wanted to see some property, and he asked me along.”
Trying to suppress a grin, James just stared at her profile. Brilliant, efficient Sheridan O’Neil was flustered. And all because of him. Or explaining him to Mac. What did that mean? That maybe she was more than just mildly attracted to him? And if so, wasn’t that a problem to fix, not something he should be feeling all pleased about? After all, they’d just agreed to be friends. Shook on it and everything.
“So, Miss Byrd,” Sheridan began, adopting that impenetrable professional smile of hers, “Something I can do for you?”
Once again, Mac looked from one to the other. She seemed to be on the fence. Keep pressing about what the two of them were off doing and why—or go straight for the reason she’d come over. Oddly, she didn’t pick either one.
“So . . . what do I gotta do, Sheri?”
she asked, pressing her hand to her heart.
Sheridan looked genuinely confused. Probably because she’d just been called Sheri. Was that a nickname James didn’t know about?
“I’m sorry?” Sheridan asked her.
“To get you to call me Mac?”
“Oh.” Sheridan’s face relaxed, and a smile the size of Texas broke out on her face. “Let’s see. Maybe not call me Sheri?”
For a moment, Mac looked confused. Then she burst out laughing. “Done.”
Sheridan laughed too. “So, what’s going on? Everything okay?”
Quickly sobering, Mac turned and tossed James a gigantic get lost look. He found it irritating as hell, but he knew better than to piss off Mac. Besides, when women wanted their time together, you gave it to them. No discussion. No questions asked.
“Well, ladies,” he said. “I’m going to head out.” He turned to Sheridan and touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you for the help today, Ms. O’Neil.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Of course.” Then she added, “That’s what friends do.”
A growl hovered in his throat as he acknowledged Mac with a nod and headed for his truck. Yep, that had been his suggestion. His word. Friends. Not because he really wanted to be her buddy, her pal, but because he didn’t think she’d feel comfortable hanging around with him if she knew just how attracted he was to her. How much he wanted to see her again.
And damn, he wanted to see her again. Be around her. At least, until the inevitable happened. Until they both finished with River Black and moved on, moved back to their real lives.
• • •
No ass had the right to look that good in plain old dark blue denim, Sheridan mused as she stared after him.
