by Dahlia West
“And I’m sorry for you,” Walker replied, twisting the knife deeper.
She rolled her eyes because, as she’d learned over the years, it was the best way to fight off tears.
“You’re worth more than that,” he said, startling her. “And if your father can’t see it, then he must be fucking blind. I could’ve left all this to Sawyer, coming here and bringing you back home. But I came because I want you to know that I want you to come back. I don’t want you to ever worry that we’re merely tolerating you for Sawyer’s sake. That’s not what this is. Not anymore. I want you back home, Cassidy. Where you belong. Where we’ll protect you if your family won’t.”
The tone in his voice sounded as though it was the truth, but it was impossible to know for sure. Not that it mattered. Genuine invitation or no, what she and Sawyer had had never been real, and there was no reason to think a new start, a real start, would fare any better. His abandonment had cut her too deeply. She’d given him everything, every single thing he’d asked for, and he’d thrown it back in her face. To make matters worse, she had lied, had betrayed people, had been as bad (or worse) as her father and her brother.
They couldn’t trust each other. It had all gone too far wrong. And what did they have, anyway? Really? A couple of pranks and some good sex. She should never have let herself want too much, hope too hard. She’d told him too many secrets, and if he walked away again…well, she already knew what that felt like. She couldn’t go through it again. She wouldn’t survive it. Her mother hadn’t. Cassidy’s mother had been rejected one time too many by the man she’d loved, and ended up in a twisted, burning wreck on the highway.
She looked only at Walker because Sawyer was no more than a ghost in her life now, a faulty memory, a lottery ticket that was one number off. She shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Cassidy!” Sawyer cried.
She ignored him. “Get out,” she said, nodding to Walker and his boot.
Walker finally looked shocked, but he didn’t move an inch.
Cassidy squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and looked the Barlow Beast right in his face. “Get your goddamn boot out of my goddamn doorway, and get your goddamn brother out of my face. Now.” she said to Walker.
“Cassidy—” Sawyer began again in earnest, but Walker finally saw Cassidy, the real Cassidy, and he had enough sense to do as he was told.
He removed the offending footwear, took his younger brother by the arm, and dragged him back.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Sawyer barked.
“Come on,” Walker urged.
“No! I’m not leaving. Let go.”
“She’s done,” Walker declared, pulling Sawyer along.
“Well, I’m not!” Sawyer shouted to both of them. “I’m not done!”
Cassidy slammed the door between them and locked it again, this time sagging against it for good measure. Walker was right about one thing. She was done.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‡
SAWYER GAPED AT the closed motel room door, entirely confused. He tried to shake Walker’s hand off and go after her, but Walker held him tightly, refusing to let go.
“You’re going to end up in jail again,” he warned. “And I don’t think the sheriff is going to be as easy on you this time.”
“I don’t give a shit! Let them cuff me, right after I get my say with her.”
“You had your say.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t even get a word in!”
“She didn’t want to hear it, Sawyer. Not right now. And if you get a restraining order slapped on you, she’s never going to hear it. Now get in the truck.”
Sawyer weighed the pros and cons of ignoring Walker’s order. He’d gone long enough without her and didn’t want to waste one more day, one more second without her. But Walker wouldn’t just let him tear down The Dusty Rose to get to her, and even if he did, even if Sawyer managed an actual conversation with her, Walker was right. She didn’t want to hear it.
He didn’t understand why she’d said no—and desperately wanted to—but she’d slammed the door in his face, and only a fool or a madman would try to push her on it tonight. And Sawyer was neither.
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he turned and headed back to Walker’s Ford. Perhaps if she had time to think it over, time to sleep on it, she’d wake and call him in the morning and ask him to come get her. He hoped it was true as he closed the passenger door. At least Palmer was finished, out of her life for good. Sawyer felt confident now that the man understood just how far Sawyer was willing to go to protect her. Judging by the way things had gone at the Spur, the fight with Sawyer was likely the only fight Palmer Conroy had ever had with a grown man. And it would most likely be his last.
The ride back to Snake River was long, too long, and Sawyer was agitated as hell when they finally turned down the long, winding drive to the homestead. Walker parked in front of the house, but instead of letting Sawyer go off on his own, he gestured to the wooden steps of the porch. Sawyer considered declining but followed his brother anyway, into the house and to the office, where Walker took out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of the desk. He poured them each two fingers and set one down in front of Sawyer.
Sawyer took it, begrudgingly. “You’re just trying to get me drunk.”
“Yep,” Walker replied, waiting until Sawyer took a drink before raising his own glass to his lips. “This way I know where you are.”
“I’m not giving up,” Sawyer told his brother.
“I know it. And I’m not trying to stop you, generally speaking. But not tonight. She’s obviously been through enough. Wait. Have some patience.”
Sawyer snorted. “The way you do? With Dakota? It’s catching up to you. You nearly put her up on Mrs. Burns’s desk and took her right there.”
Walker scowled. “I didn’t expect to see her there. I thought she got hurt.”
Sawyer shook his head. “I’ll never understand you. You want her, but you won’t do anything about it.”
“My choices aren’t your concern. Now finish your drink.”
“I’m not going back there tonight.”
“Damn right, you’re not. Drink.” Walker leaned back in his chair and sighed. “And I really am damn sorry for all the shit she’s been through. No one should ever go through life not even able to trust their own family.”
Sawyer nodded. All his life he’d known his family, his brothers, had his back. It must be pure hell to go through life alone, the way Cassidy had. “Thanks, anyway,” he told Walker. “For trying make her feel welcome.” He grimaced. “I think I’m regretting letting you talk first, though. Frankly, I thought for sure you’d be the biggest obstacle.”
Walker raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m a cold-hearted son of a bitch?”
“Something like that.”
Walker grunted. “Yeah, well, whatever’s going on in that head of hers, it isn’t the fear of me that’s making her hold back.”
“No,” Sawyer agreed. He didn’t know what it was, exactly, but Walker wasn’t to blame for it.
“Well,” said Walker, standing up. “Whenever the two of you figure it out, she’s welcome here anytime.” He left the bottle and the light on and left the room. Sawyer heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs.
Left alone to his own devices, he picked up the bottle and poured one more finger of whiskey into his glass. He hadn’t expected this. Of course, he hadn’t expected to end up in a pool game with Cassidy Conroy, one hundred bucks and a one-night stand on the line, either. Hadn’t expected to want more. Hadn’t expected to fall in love with the Lincoln County Fair Queen. But he had. He’d fallen hard, too hard, and landed badly. All that was left was to pick himself up and get back in the saddle. Because he wasn’t letting her go. Sawyer Barlow, above all else, was a man of his word. He wasn’t done with Cassidy Conroy. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
‡
CASSIDY WOKE IN the morning bu
t didn’t really feel rested. She managed to drag herself out of bed, though, and walk to the Feed and Seed on time. Thankfully she didn’t see Sawyer anywhere. However, it seemed every one of the Housewives had suddenly found themselves out of birdseed. And they all queued up in her line from the start of her shift until she finally punched out for the day. Cassidy wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d started whipping out their cell phones and taking photographs of her.
She should’ve seriously considered plucking the rhinestones out of her tiara collection and hawking them for cash. Surely there was a group of scrapbookers or Bedazzler enthusiasts who would contribute to the cause. She smiled at Rhonda Mooney, who set a pair of gardening gloves and a packet of seeds on the conveyor belt. If Rhonda Mooney knew how to spell zucchini, Cassidy would kiss the woman’s moony white butt.
Cassidy felt like a zoo animal on display. She was used to people looking at her, of course, with envy, though, not pity or worse—condescension. She rang up every customer, though, with a smile so wide her face was starting to hurt. As far as she was concerned, her shift couldn’t be over soon enough. When it finally ended, she headed back toward The Dusty Rose. At the last second, though, she pointed her boots toward The Silver Spur. Yet another night staring at a dark television screen in her empty motel room wasn’t all that appealing to her.
Inside the darkened honky-tonk, she waded through the teeming crowed, ordered a beer, and headed back toward the pool tables, pretending she wasn’t searching for anyone along the way. She found someone, though—a whole lot of someones. A group of men from her high school had gathered at one of the pool tables in the back, and they looked up when they saw her approach.
These weren’t her friends, but this was certainly a low place, and Cassidy Conroy no doubt had the blues.
Someone ordered her a round. She didn’t even look up to find out who. Two shots and two beers later, she felt better than she had when she’d dragged herself in through the doors, at least. But then she looked at her watch and realized how late it was, and that he wasn’t likely to show up at this point. She slid out of the chair and smiled to the group. “Gotta go!” she sang, hitching her purse up on her shoulder.
Someone tried to grab her wrist, but she snatched it away at the last second.
“Oh, come on, Cassidy,” said Dutch Boyle. “Stay. Have another drink.”
The group concurred that she needed at least one more. Dutch was already reaching for his wallet.
She put on her pageant smile, laughed, and spun away from them…and crashed right into the hard, muscled torso of Sawyer Barlow. Her breath came out in a surprised whoosh as she blinked up at him. “What…what are you doing here?” she asked.
Stupid question. One, it was a public place. Two, she absolutely knew that there was a possibility that he would be here. She’d wanted to see him, to catch a glimpse of him. Yet didn’t at the same time. The thought of seeing Sawyer dancing with anyone else, going home with anyone else, was torture, but one she’d tacitly agreed with herself to endure, just to see him again. Or maybe she’d thought she’d take a spin on the dance floor while he watched. And he, overcome with jealousy and despair, would swoop in and put her on his horse—his truck would do—and whisk her away to a secluded cabin where he’d tell her he loved her and that he’d made a mistake. Somehow they’d get past their own burning wreckage.
But that wasn’t happening now. Now he was just looking down at her, with anger and disdain.
That was the problem with not thinking things through, with allowing yourself to be so blinded by pain and heartache that you couldn’t draw things out to their logical conclusions and make better, saner choices in the first damn place. The final act of this particular drunken romp being that she’d end up face to face with the man she loved, a beautiful specimen laid out under glass that she couldn’t touch.
Well, she could touch him, she supposed. And she did, gripping his arms hard under the pretext of having literally run into him. He felt warm and solid, better than the cold, lifeless sheets she clung to at night these days. People are pain, she told herself. Like it was a spell or a mantra that would protect her from her own traitorous heart. People are pain.
“Come on, Cassidy,” Sawyer declared. “We need to go.”
She blinked rapidly, certain that while her eyelashes were fluttering, her heart had actually stopped entirely. “Go?” she asked quietly. Go? Go where? Go with him? Go home? Her breath caught in her throat.
“You’re drunk,” he replied sternly. “Ian wants you out of the bar.”
Disappointment caved in her chest at the same time rage began bubbling out of it. Of course. Sawyer didn’t want her, hadn’t come for her. Ian had asked him to get her out of here. A tipsy beauty queen was a weekend draw, but a sloppy drunk one was bad for business.
“I can be here!” she cried and shoved him. He didn’t move, of course, but it felt good anyway. “I can go anywhere I want! I can do anything I want.”
“Ian wants you to leave.”
She turned and glared at the bartender. “You’re not going to kick me out. Out of The Spur? Out of this shit hole? Are you kidding me? I’m Cassidy Conroy!” She waved Ian away like he was so much dust in the air and turned to Sawyer instead.
“You want to play again?” she asked, picking up a cue. She reached for the chalk but knocked it off onto the floor accidentally. “Damn it,” she muttered, bending forward to scoop it up. She barely got her fingers on it before she lost her balance, pitched forward, and nearly fell.
“Cassidy, let’s go,” Sawyer demanded.
“No,” she snapped, swiping the chalk cube over her cue. “I want to play a game of pool.”
“I don’t want to play pool. I want—”
“I don’t care what you want. And I let you win that night anyway. You know that? I let you win. Because…because I wanted…” Her voice caught in her throat, and she shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. “I let you win.”
“I know you did,” he said quietly.
“I don’t care what you want,” she muttered to herself and turned to break. She couldn’t keep the cue ball in focus, though, and she shot too hard, missing the ball entirely and ripping the felt.
“God damn it!” Ian snapped, wrenching the cue from her hand. “Cassidy, you’re going to have to pay for that!”
Cassidy laughed and waved him away. She tried to turn away, but Sawyer grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her back. “How could you let her drink this much?” he asked Ian.
“I didn’t!” Ian replied, glaring at her. “She got those cowboys to buy drinks for her. I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
“Here!” said Cassidy, pulling out a wad of bills from her pocket. She shoved them at Ian. “I’ll pay! I can pay! I have a job. A real job.” She tried to hand Ian the crumpled cash, but Sawyer took it from her instead. He stuffed it into the pocket of his shirt.
“Bill me,” he told Ian. “Send it to me. I’ll take care of it.”
Cassidy yanked her arm back so hard that it caught Sawyer off guard, and he actually lost his grip. Free, she smirked at him. It felt like such an amazing victory, the only one she’d ever have. “I don’t need you to take care of my problems!” she told him. “I’m just fine! Give me my money.” She reached for it, but Sawyer pushed her hand away.
“You’re drunk,” he informed her again. “And you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”
“Fine! Don’t give it to me. I don’t care. I…” She blinked and placed a hand on the table she’d just ruined, trying to keep her balance as the room spun around her. “I’ll earn more.” She turned away and headed toward the front door, weaving through the crowd of dancers. She didn’t make it far, though, before Sawyer caught up to her in the parking lot. He reached for her again, but this time she was prepared for him, and she snatched her hand away.
“You can’t walk all the way back to The Rose, Cassidy.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“Cassidy,” he said, his voice now maddeningly calm. “You’re drunk, and it’s not safe.”
Tears stung her eyes as she looked down Main Street. It was dark. Most shops were closed. Only the traffic lights blinked. Her breath started to come faster and faster, like a car spinning out of control.
Sawyer grabbed her and pulled her away, tucking him underneath his arm. “Don’t do this here,” he whispered fiercely as he guided her away from the other people in the parking lot. “Just take a deep breath and hold it,” he ordered.
He steered her toward his truck, and she stumbled every step of the way. She slid into the passenger seat of his truck and rested her head against the cool window glass, but it didn’t help. Her vision blurred even as the world around her twisted and rolled.
She closed her eyes to fight off the dizziness. “Why isn’t she here?” she asked out loud.
“I don’t know, baby,” Sawyer replied. “I just don’t know.”
Cassidy sobbed. Huge painful jerks wracked her body, and her lungs burned for lack of air. She pitched forward, forehead almost to her knees. “I miss her!” she screamed. “Oh God, I miss her so much. And I’m just like her. I’m going to die just like her.”
“No, you’re not,” Sawyer argued as they sped out of the parking lot of The Spur. “No, you’re not, Cassidy.”
“Yes, I am. Maybe not in a car. But…alone. I’m going to die lonely.”
“No, baby,” he insisted. “I won’t ever let that happen.”
They made it as far as the Dusty Rose, and Sawyer barely had the truck pulled to a complete stop before Cassidy opened the door and lurched out of the vehicle. She heard a door slam, and he was at her side again, guiding her toward her room. She dropped her keys, and he scooped them up, opening the door for them.
“Get undressed,” he told her then disappeared into the bathroom.
Cassidy made it to the corner of the bed and sat down hard.
Sawyer returned just seconds later with a washcloth in his hands. “I said get undressed.”
