by Dahlia West
Cassidy looked at it, really looked at it, for the first time. She’d never had anything but leather, heated seats, and a cockpit that could rival a jet plane. It was difficult to imagine her life without it, but then, she’d done all right so far without her clothes and shoes. “I probably won’t have it much longer,” she muttered to herself.
“What?” asked Dakota. “Why not?”
Cassidy shook her head and forced a smile. “Nothing.” She hit the start button and put the car in Drive.
It was a lease, and her father paid it. No doubt once he realized she wasn’t coming back, he’d cancel it. This made Cassidy pause a moment before hitting the gas. Was she going back? She couldn’t, she decided. Not after all that had happened. But where would she go? Where would she really go, to start over? Snake River was a safe haven and might have even saved her life that night, but she’d be a fool to think the invitation would be extended indefinitely.
This was a ranch. This was a family. And she had no place in either. She could make the most of the time she was here, though, so she drove toward I-89 and Jackson Hole to make sure that Dakota had a shot at happiness even if Cassidy never got one herself.
Cassidy’s earliest memories of Jackson Hole involved her mother taking her shopping there for pageant dresses and kitten heels. These days she went by herself to spruce up her wardrobe every season, but she never really stopped looking for her mother, hoping to catch a glimpse of her or run into her each time she turned a corner. If she squinted, she could almost make out a thin, glamorous woman with long, dark hair and lean legs holding a little girl’s hand in the throng of shoppers and tourists.
She ushered the wide-eyed Dakota into one of her favorite shops and closed the summer heat off behind them with a swish of the door.
Dakota balked, like a horse or a stubborn mule, though. Cassidy gabbed her hand and pulled her to a rack.
“Don’t be intimidated,” she whispered. “Keep your head up, shoulders back, act like you belong, and you do.”
“Cassidy!” sang Gloria, the saleswoman. She came out from behind the counter, beaming. Gloria was probably as good at the fake pageant smile as Cassidy was, but she liked Cassidy’s money, and Cassidy like her dresses, so the ruse had value.
“I’ve brought a friend with me,” Cassidy declared. “We’re going to look for something special.”
At the single word friend, any instinct Gloria might have had to give Dakota a disdainful look in regard to her jeans and dirty boots was cast aside. The pageant smile stayed firmly in place. “Of course. Just let me know…”
“We will.”
Gloria sashayed away, and Cassidy handed Dakota a yellow ankle-length crepe de chine. “The dressing room is that way,” she said with a nod.
Dakota took the dress but didn’t move.
Cassidy gave her a pointed look. “Trying it on isn’t buying it, Dakota.”
The younger girl bit her lower lip before finally saying, “Okay. I guess.”
When Dakota emerged, Cassidy could tell the smile the girl was wearing wasn’t just plastered on. She was genuinely happy.
“This is like my prom all over again!” Dakota exclaimed, turning toward the full-length mirror. “Except, ugh, Jake Carlson took me and got drunk and tried to lift my skirt all night.”
Cassidy laughed. “I remember him. He was loud.”
“And obnoxious. And fat fingered.” She blushed suddenly, and Cassidy giggled. “Don’t tell anyone that,” Dakota whispered.
“It’s okay,” Cassidy whispered back. “Gloria doesn’t know Jake.”
The girl blushed even harder.
“Sadly, though,” Cassidy told her. “This dress isn’t for you.”
Dakota’s jaw dropped. “But it’s perfect!”
Cassidy shook her head and turned the girl back to the mirror. “Nope. Not for you. It washes you out. I thought it would look good with your eyes, but you’ve got bigger guns than I realized,” she said, squeezing Dakota’s work-toned upper arms. “The fabric is stretching.”
Dakota frowned. “I’m an ox.”
“No, you’re not. I’d kill for that muscle tone. The heaviest thing I lift is a bottle of Fuji water.”
Dakota giggled but then stopped. “Why are you like that?” she asked suddenly. “If you know that about yourself, why don’t you just…change?”
Cassidy shrugged. “What if your father, and your mother, and your brother didn’t want you to?” she countered.
“Then to hell with them!”
Cassidy looked up at her and saw a fierce determination in those dark, wild eyes. It was obvious that Dakota Vasquez was a human version of an untamed mustang. Even her hair wouldn’t be contained in the braid she favored. Strands everywhere escaped and fluttered when she walked. Cassidy sighed and took hold of her shoulders, turning the girl around. Her fingers worked the braid loose, and she fanned the hair out over Dakota’s shoulders.
“Well, you’re stronger than I am,” she said. And she didn’t mean Dakota’s muscles. “Here. Take this one and come back out.”
Cassidy passed her a spring-green chiffon. “Hang the yellow one over the door, and I’ll hang it back up.”
Several minutes later, Dakota emerged, but she had covered her chest with her crossed arms. Her eyes darted around the store. “I can’t wear this!” she hissed.
“Don’t be silly. Come here.”
Dakota didn’t move.
“Come here,” Cassidy demanded.
Reluctantly, Dakota stepped forward, and Cassidy pulled her the rest of the way to the mirror.
For a girl with a slight frame, Dakota had ample breasts that held up the strapless bodice of the dress very well. The flirty, flowy skirt hung just above the knee, tasteful for such an important occasion as Rowan’s wedding, but with just a hint of scandal, which, for Dakota Vasquez, was practically hanging a neon sign over her head that read Ride me hard and put me away wet.
Cassidy peeled the girl’s arms away one at a time and forced them to her sides.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dakota, ogling herself in the three-way mirror.
Cassidy ignored her and arranged her beautiful hair over her shoulders and down her back. With a good washing and a few softened curls, the girl would be a knockout by anyone’s standards. “You could’ve been a pageant girl,” she murmured in wonder at the metamorphosis.
Dakota snorted. “Right, like one of those primped-up females with a hairspray bottle as empty as her head. No, thanks.”
A long silence fell between them.
“Sorry,” Dakota muttered.
“It’s okay. Anyway, this dress is perfect. We’ll get it in this shade instead of the cream. Otherwise you’ll distract everyone from the bride.”
“I feel naked,” Dakota argued.
“You look naked. That’s the point. You’re also stunning. Especially with your hair down. Look at yourself, Dakota. You’re breathtaking, and you haven’t even showered.”
Dakota glared at her but remained silent.
Cassidy grinned. “Trust me. If he doesn’t get down on one knee and propose at his own brother’s wedding, then he’s got ice water in his veins.”
Dakota scoffed. “I don’t want him to marry me. I just want him to look at me.”
“He will, Dakota. Oh my God, he will.”
Before Cassidy could stop her, Dakota plucked at the price tag and turned positively white. “I can’t afford—”
“I can,” Cassidy chirped, already gathering a duplicate dress into her arms and heading to the sales counter. “Take that one off and put it back!” she called.
More correctly, Cassidy’s father could afford it, and Cassidy figured she might as well make the most out of her Visa before he remembered that she had it.
She snagged a few things for herself, since they were here. She snuck in a dress for the wedding even though, technically, she hadn’t been invited yet. Plus, some new jeans and some shirts. There were no shoes or workboots, though,
so she’d have to make do with Dakota’s cast-offs.
“We’ll take it all,” she told the sales girl. “And we’ll need some shoes.” Cassidy might not be able to find what she needed, but Dakota certainly could get some heels.
When they stepped outside, Dakota turned toward the parking lot a few blocks away where they’d left the car, but Cassidy caught her arm and pulled her back. “We’re not done yet.”
Dakota’s brows furrowed. “What else is there to buy?”
Cassidy raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got ten bucks in my purse that says you’re wearing granny panties right now.”
Dakota gasped and looked around frantically. “Cassidy! Be quiet!”
“You do, don’t you?”
“No!”
“Let me see.”
“You’re crazy.”
Cassidy smirked at her. “Reach into the waistband of your jeans and pull out the hip strap.”
Dakota glared at her.
“Go on.”
“I’m not flashing my panties in downtown Jackson Hole!” she hissed.
“Show me the strap,” Cassidy insisted.
Dakota’s lips pursed. Finally she said, “There is no…strap.”
“Uh-huh. And they’re made of cotton. With a huge elastic waistband.”
Dakota’s face turned absolutely crimson. “I’m leaving!”
“No, you’re not,” Cassidy said, linking their arms at the elbow. “That’s fixable, too. We can get some here, though I usually get my lingerie custom made. We’ll have to make do.”
Dakota gaped at her. “Custom made?!”
“Don’t freak out,” said Cassidy as they crossed the street. “Not from Paris or Rome or even New York. I order it from a little shop just over the state line in Rapid City, South Dakota.”
“Oh. Still.”
“She does good work, as good as anything from Europe, and the prices are reasonable.”
They headed into another store that Cassidy didn’t usually frequent. They were accosted by a profusion of colors, fabrics, and half-nude mannequins. Dakota nearly bolted, but Cassidy had anticipated the move and blocked the only exit. “Panties,” she ordered. “You need panties and a strapless bra for this dress.” She rattled the shopping bag for emphasis.
Like a captured horse, Dakota stamped her booted foot on the tile floor but finally turned and headed to the first table she saw. A rookie move, for there were better finds in the back, but Cassidy let it slide because Dakota was new to saddling herself for a good ride.
The girl picked up a pair of blue hip huggers that didn’t match the dress at all and fingered the material wistfully. “I can’t imagine buying fancy panties. Or having them made.”
Cassidy snatched up several pairs and put them in the shopping basket. “Trust me,” she said. “Once you go fancy, you’ll never do granny again.” She left Dakota at the discount bin and sorted through the racks until she found a pale-green corset and a set of cream-colored lace panties that matched.
“What is that?!” Dakota asked.
Cassidy smirked at her. “The tack room.”
“The…what?”
“Your tack room. All those bridles you made me clean. They were all different. With big bits, small bits, and one was even made of rope.”
“That’s a hackamore. But what—”
“Okay, so they’re all different. And I’m going to go out on a limb and say they all serve different functions, too. Like that god awful huge thing that looked like a BDSM torture device, for instance.”
Dakota laughed. “The wagon harness.”
Cassidy handed Dakota the corset. “Honey, if you want Walker Barlow to hitch himself to your wagon, you’ve got to give him a reason to come running. Go put this on. Just the top.”
Dakota moved away, corset in hand, and Cassidy spied an electric-blue push-up bra trimmed with black lace on a mannequin in the corner. There was a matching set of thigh-high panties and a price tag that was too high for the quality of stitching, but when in Rome…or rather…Jackson Hole…
She’d like to knock that grin off Sawyer’s face for once, and the sight of her in this might actually do the trick.
“It fits,” said Dakota, emerging from the dressing room clad in her familiar T-shirt.
Cassidy took it from her and brought all the items, plus a few satin standbys from the discount bin for Dakota, to the sales counter. She drew out her card and held her breath until the purchase went through. Both women giggled furiously on their way out of the store.
“There’s a taco place on Broadway,” Cassidy announced.
Dakota snorted. “Tacos in Jackson Hole. Please.”
“No, seriously. They are amazing. The make the corn tortillas from scratch, and the green rice is to die for.”
Dakota looked dubious but followed her around the corner to the tiny eatery. “Green rice?” she asked, shaking her head. “Rich people.”
An hour later, neither of them could stand.
“Oh my God,” Dakota groaned, pushing herself back from the table.
“Told you.”
“Kale sprouts!” Dakota said, gazing at the array of side dishes Cassidy had ordered. “And what the hell is broccolini? I don’t know, but oh my God! How can fancy food taste this good?!”
“I don’t know,” Cassidy replied. “I can’t cook it, but I can sure eat it.”
“I could eat this every day!”
“Well, when Walker gets tired of seeing you in those panties, we’ll come back and get you something else. Something that will knock his boots off.”
“Thanks, Cassidy,” said Dakota, surprising her. “Even if he doesn’t notice or care. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
*
BACK AT SNAKE River it was already dark and too late to do any more work. Dakota tucked away her purchases in her closet and withdrew a bottle, waving it at Cassidy. “Let’s have a drink,” she said. “My feet hurt from walking all day, and I don’t want to go to The Spur.” She lowered her voice. “We have to go to the hay barn, though.”
“Why?” Cassidy asked.
Dakota wrinkled her nose. “Mom doesn’t approve of women drinking whiskey.”
“Gotcha. But I don’t drink whiskey.”
Dakota eyed her. “Never?”
“Nope.”
“This is good stuff. Cinnamon. You’ll like it. Let’s go.”
Cassidy wanted to say no, because she wasn’t a big drinker, but Dakota Vasquez was as close to a friend as she’d ever had. “Okay,” she replied and followed.
The barn was mostly dark, with an overhead light that cast long shadows from the stacks of hay bales that Sawyer had built. She shivered to recall his muscled form, lifting, working, straining to—
“Cassidy?”
“Sorry.”
“Thinking of Sawyer?”
Cassidy ducked her head. “Was it obvious?”
Dakota grinned and passed her a full shot glass before lifting her own. “To cocky men,” she declared.
“To the cocks of men!” Dakota said.
Cassidy giggled. “The Barlow men.”
They each took a drink, and Cassidy gasped, fighting for air. “Holy Mother of God!” She coughed.
“It’s strong,” Dakota told her.
“Tornadoes are strong! Yeesh! You said cinnamon! This is liquid fire!”
Dakota held up the bottle, which indeed read Fireball. She poured them another. “One more, and you’ll hardly notice,” she declared.
Cassidy took another drink and sucked in air through her teeth. “I can’t tell if I’m going to throw up or pass out.”
“If you throw up, go outside,” Dakota ordered then looked at her sheepishly. “Is it…?”
“Is it what?”
“Is it big?”
Cassidy guffawed.
Dakota raised her hands. “Not that I’m interested in Sawyer! God, no! But…they all look alike.”
Cassidy took another sip of Fireball and win
ced. Then she nodded. “Huge.”
“I knew it.”
“Just prepare yourself so you don’t freak out when you’re alone with him.”
Dakota frowned. “If I ever get alone with him.”
“You will. Trust me. When he sees you in that dress, he won’t be able to contain himself.”
“Maybe he’ll lasso me and take me to the cabin,” the girl said wistfully.
Cassidy peered at her over her shot glass. “Is that true? That story? Is it real? Did Kit Barlow really lasso a Mexican girl and hold her hostage in his cabin until she got pregnant and was forced to marry him?”
Dakota nodded. “Sort of. I mean, Rafaela loved him. It was just her family that didn’t approve. And Kit wasn’t about to see her with someone else. And that cabin is so far out in the wild that no one could find it. Not even now. Not unless you already know where it is.”
“It’s still there?!”
“Of course. It’s missing most of the roof and the porch is caving in, but it’s there.”
“Wow. There’s so much history here.”
“Yep, so much family history. It’s mind boggling. Mom tries to keep up, organizing the old photo albums, and the birth and death certificates in the family Bible, but it’s a lot.”
“You’re not a Barlow.”
Dakota watched the woman’s shoulders straighten. It was a pity that she only did it for her family and not for just herself. She looked formidable that way, fierce and determined. “This is my land, too,” she declared. “The Vasquezes have lived here just as long. And now that we have our land back, we—”
“Have your land back?”
Dakota’s lips thinned. “When Rafe died, he willed our original land back to us. The land we lost right before the Great Depression. I just wish Dad was here to see it. It’s what we’ve always wanted.”
Cassidy made a soft noise of sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry he’s gone.”
Dakota shrugged, but her eyes were haunted.
Cassidy knew that look.
“Yeah, well,” the girl said. “Your mom’s gone, too.”
Cassidy nodded. “Snow on the road. Car accident.”
“My dad died in the snow, too.”
