Opposites Attract (Nerds of Paradise Book 1)

by Merry Farmer

Ted shook his head and held up a hand. “Casey didn’t just do rodeo. She was a champion. One of the best barrel racers Wyoming has ever seen. You should see her trophy case back home.”

  “Wow. I’d love to see her ride sometime.”

  “She gave it up,” Ted said, and judging by his expression that wasn’t a good thing. “After Mom died. Which is why I’m a little nervous that all of a sudden she has the same sort of energy back again.”

  “You think she sees me as her latest challenge?”

  “Absolutely.” Ted nodded. “And she’s a merciless competitor.”

  Rather than giving him pause, the thought kinda turned Scott on. No, it turned him on a lot. He glanced to the door, hoping that Casey would make a magical appearance and spend the evening debating with him. He would bet she was pretty hot and spicy in the sack too.

  Although even thinking that with her brother sitting a foot away from him at the bar was territory he did not need to explore.

  “Well,” he said, reaching for a handful of nuts from the bowl on the bar, “she can bring it on, as far as I’m concerned. I look forward to the challenge.”

  Ted laughed and shook his head, then took a long drink of his beer. “Your funeral, buddy.”

  Scott grinned. If there was one thing the day had proven, it was that he was more than happy to be on his way to counting himself as a Haskellian. Ted was the kind of guy he’d have been friends with one way or another, but it was an extra treat to know that he approved of him getting to know Casey better.

  Chapter Six

  If someone had confronted her with it, Casey would have denied that she was avoiding the stable on her ranch. She’d have said that life had just gotten too busy and she had too many responsibilities to play with the horses. But as she walked through the wide door and into the sheltering warmth of the stable, the scent of hay and dirt and animal sharp in the air, the familiar hum of the heaters and scuffling of the Flint family’s horses—half a dozen in number—a tightness formed in her stomach.

  “Hey, Carrot.” She greeted her mare with a smile, walking over to give her chestnut coat a good rub.

  Carrot whickered and turned her head in an attempt to nuzzle Casey as she continued to stoke her side.

  “I know, I know. I should come around more often. But I’ve got so much work to do, buddy, and I can never seem to…” She let her words fall away. She was justifying herself to a horse.

  No, she was justifying herself to a dear, old friend who she hadn’t been spending nearly enough time with. The hollow feeling that gave her piled on top of every other bad, awkward, and guilty feeling in her chest.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she told Carrot, opening her stall door and leading her out and over to where the tack was stored. “Most of the last snowfall has melted, and we’re not supposed to get another one for the next few days. The ground should be nice and solid for you, and it won’t be too cold.”

  She settled Carrot, then turned to the wall of tack. “Mom, can you hand me the—”

  She froze, heart breaking all over again. It was only natural to ask for her mom’s help. The two of them usually went out riding together. Her mom had always been there to set the horses up. They’d worked out a perfect, tag-team system.

  Misery pressed down on Casey’s shoulders as she walked over to get the bridle herself. She was perfectly capable of saddling and bridling a horse on her own, but every movement she made seemed twice as hard now, and the saddle seemed to weigh ten times as much as she shifted it into place and tightened the girth.

  When at last she mounted Carrot and nudged her toward the door, not even the comfort of riding or the nip of the January air could shake the lethargy that had come over her. It wasn’t just grief that pressed down on her, it was the complete and utter injustice of having to continue living in a world when one of its brightest lights had gone out. It simply wasn’t fair to have to carry on alone. And now the ranch was threatened on top of everything. It was too much.

  “Whoa. Whoa, boy.”

  Scott’s voice penetrated the gloom sinking in around Casey. She sat straighter as she rounded the corner of the stable and found Scott walking Ted’s horse, Boomer, in the corral. Petting Carrot hadn’t lifted her mood. Getting back in the saddle hadn’t bolstered her spirits. But seeing Scott atop a horse made something click inside of her.

  “What the heck are you doing?” She nudged Carrot to change directions, heading over to the side of the corral instead of proceeding out onto the barren land of the ranch.

  “Casey?” Scott glanced over his shoulder as Boomer walked along. He then focused his attention on the horse long enough to give it the command to turn and head over to the fence where Casey was approaching.

  “That wasn’t half bad,” she said, nodding to Boomer, unsure how she felt about Scott on a horse. Dressed in jeans and a thick jacket, and wearing a hunter’s hat with the flaps covering his ears, he almost looked like he belonged. The glasses, though, both set him apart and made him look compellingly sexy.

  Scott chuckled. “I’m still learning.

  Casey shook herself out of all thoughts of his sexiness and sent him a wry smile. “Cute. It’s nice of you to put in the effort.”

  “Oh, it’s not just effort,” he said, leaning forward to pat Boomer’s neck. “I fully intend to become a master horseman before all is said and done.”

  Casey laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Then you’ll be the first one I show off to when I have all the skills,” he fired back.

  She grinned. Warm tendrils of excitement laced through her. It didn’t make sense to her, but there it was. “All right, hot shot. You wanna show off to me? Let’s go for a ride around the ranch.”

  “I’d love to.”

  He was far more pleased by her ironic invitation than she intended for him to be. And she was far more excited about it than she should have been herself. She walked Carrot to the corral gate and hopped down long enough to open it and let Scott and Boomer out. For a second, her heart stopped as Boomer shot forward, glad to be out of the pen and into the wilderness, but Scott pulled him to a stop and waited for Casey to remount. As she did, she quietly admitted to herself that whoever was teaching Scott to ride had done their job well. It was obvious he was getting the hang of it.

  “So who’s giving you riding lessons?” she asked as they walked sedately around the stable and headed out over the frozen, open land of the ranch.

  “I took a few initial lessons from Louise Meyers, but Ted has been giving me pointers too,” Scott answered. “He helped me get this good boy ready this morning before he had to go off to check on a couple of cows who had frostbite.”

  Casey laughed. “Cattle don’t get frostbite.” She paused. “Okay, well, they can. They can lose ears and tails. But not our herd, and not in this weather. Ted was probably going out to make sure everyone is safe and sound in the barn.”

  “A couple got out last night,” Scott told her. “I think that’s what he was checking on.”

  Casey sat straighter in her saddle and turned toward the barn, which sat just past the stable. Concern for the cattle eclipsed everything else for a second. They were family too, after all.

  “I think he’s got it under control,” Scott said in a reassuring tone. “Your dad was out there helping too.”

  “Maybe I should go,” she mumbled.

  “If you want to. I don’t need a tour of the ranch at this exact moment.”

  Casey chewed her lip and glanced from the barn to Scott. The slow, shocking realization that she would rather ride around the ranch in freezing cold weather with Scott Martin than help her dad and brother with the cattle snuck up on her.

  “We can go check on them, if it’ll put your mind at ease,” Scott said.

  The calmness in his voice and practicality in his demeanor settled the rumbling uncertainty in Casey. It was weird. Good, but weird. Not many people had the ability to make her feel at ease just by being.


  “They should be okay,” she said, settling back in her saddle and urging Carrot forward. “Besides, I’ve got all sorts of stuff to show you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Scott grinned, and they set off into the open.

  “Definitely,” she replied. “I keep trying to tell you, this ranch is loaded with history. It’s been in the family for generations, ever since Virginia Piedmont, the original Howard Haskell’s sister who moved out West with him, willed it to her foreman, my ancestor, Jarvis Flint.”

  “Jarvis. That’s a fun, old fashioned name,” Scott said.

  “I’ve always liked it.” Casey turned just a bit defensive. “Anyhow, Virginia Piedmont’s husband died young, and they never had any kids. She never remarried, but came to think of Jarvis and his wife, Alice, like her own kids. Her property was technically part of the original Paradise Ranch. Those old ranches were gigantic by our standards. Hundreds of square miles. When Virginia passed away in 1887, her will stipulated that her portion of the ranch should become a completely separate entity and be given to Jarvis and his family.”

  “And it’s been yours ever since?”

  “Yep,” Casey said proudly. “Look over there. That’s the site of the original house. Unfortunately, it was destroyed by a tornado in the 1950s. Dad was a kid, but he says he remembers it.”

  They rode on, Casey telling more stories and pointing out more features of the old ranch. Scott seemed highly interested in everything she had to say, and it dawned on her that maybe if he knew enough about the ranch’s history, he’d see that there was no way he could tear it apart and build his house. But by the time they reached the old skating pond—which had been little more than a large, shallow scoop in the land since the old creek dried up in the 1920s—and the boulder where Howard Franklin Haskell II had carved his name as a boy—and ruined his father’s best hunting knife in the process—Casey was so filled with the buzz of her family history and the sense of place and purpose it brought with it that she forgot to push for Scott to give up his plans for his house.

  “I knew the Haskell family was loaded with colorful characters,” Scott said as they looped back around toward the stable after traveling the full circuit of the vast ranch, “but I had no idea that the Flint family was such a spectacle too.”

  Casey laughed. “All of the old Haskell families have bizarre histories. I think it comes from the fact that Haskell has always been unique.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Well, we were welcoming to all races from day one,” she said as they neared the paddock where her old barrels were still set up so she could practice racing. She deliberately looked away from them and focused on her explanation. “I mean, a lot of towns out West were welcoming to former slaves and Mexicans at first. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all, and they needed every pair of able hands they could get on the frontier. But in most places, by the late 1880s, that had all changed, and the same prejudices you’d find back East reared their ugly heads in the West.”

  “But not Haskell?” Scott asked.

  “No.” Casey shrugged, as baffled by the anomaly as she was proud of it. “Haskell was always welcoming to everyone. Probably because the Haskell family and a few other prominent families—like the Templesmiths—were pretty vocal about their support of different people. But also because those original Haskell families got pretty protective about who they let move to town by the turn of the century. They didn’t want to be overrun with outsiders looking to cash in on the good thing they had going, so they kept a low profile, didn’t advertise how unique they were. They worked to preserve what they had at all costs.”

  To her surprise, Scott grinned. “That sounds familiar.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Casey shot back with a frown that even she didn’t know whether was genuine or teasing.

  Scott shrugged. “I have no idea.” But his eyes twinkled all the same.

  They rode on in silence for a few more yards. Casey had no idea how to reply to his implication, or the flirty looks he was sending her. She wanted to flirt right back, or at least part of her did. The rest of her still wanted to fight. Although sometimes fighting and flirting weren’t that different.

  “What are those things out there?” Scott nodded toward the barrels.

  Casey didn’t need to look at them to know what he was referring to, but she glanced toward her old practice course anyhow. “Oh. Those are just for barrel racing.” She pretended to make light of it.

  “Oh yeah,” Scott said. “I heard that you used to be a pretty good racer.”

  “Pretty good?” She fixed him with a flat stare, but instead of going on to brag about her times and her victories, she clammed up.

  “Were you?” he asked.

  She glanced back to the course, tightness spreading across her chest. Carrot seemed to feel it as well. She snorted and bobbed her head, sidestepping as though she longed to get back out on the course.

  “Yeah,” Casey said at last. “Though it’s been ages since I competed.”

  Scott stopped his horse, turning to face the course. “How does it work? I don’t know anything about rodeo or the events or rules.”

  Casey bit her lip, staring at the course with narrowed eyes and aching heart. “There’s a set pattern that you have to race around the barrels. Sort of like a clover. The point is to get around them and back to the start as fast as possible.”

  “So you’re just running a horse in circles?” Scott sounded disappointed.

  Casey’s brow flew up in offense. “It’s way more than just running in circles. It’s about the relationship between the horse and rider. It’s about connection and communication, speed and agility. Those skills could have meant the difference between life and death back in the days of cattle drives and the open range.”

  “I see.” Scott nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose, as if studying the course from an academic angle. “All right,” he said, turning to her with a grin. “Let’s see you do it.”

  “What, run the barrels?” she balked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  Because it would hurt too much, her mind answered.

  “I’m way out of practice,” she said aloud. “And the conditions are too harsh. If I pushed Carrot too hard, she could be seriously hurt. I’m not willing to risk that.”

  “You could do it without pushing her,” Scott suggested. “Sort of like doing the course in slow motion?”

  “Carrot is as out of practice as I am,” she continued with the excuses. “I’d need to work with her for a while before either of us was up to speed.”

  Something in the way Scott looked at her told her he knew she was lying, or at least avoiding the issue. But instead of arguing with her, he said, “Okay. Some other time, then.”

  She gave him a long, sideways look as they nudged their horses forward again, heading back to the stable. Was he really going to let it drop, or would he attack her with demands that she get back in the saddle again, just like everyone else? She hated the way everyone had been pushing her for so long.

  But Scott didn’t push. Instead, he asked her to show him everything he needed to know to take Boomer’s saddle off and put him and the tack away. Casey showed him as she took care of Carrot. For a second—just a fleeting second—she had the same sort of comfortable feeling she’d had when working in the stable with her mom.

  “I think I might buy a horse,” Scott said just as those thoughts were beginning to turn Casey around a corner of emotions she didn’t want to deal with in front of him.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Scott shrugged and hung Boomer’s bridle on the peg where it lived. “I’m going to be living here for a while, if what Howie tells me is true. This awesome stable is nearby, and Ted hinted that he’d give me a good deal on boarding fees. It seems like a natural thing to do.”

  Hot and cold shivers flooded Casey. The idea of Scott owning and regularly riding his own hor
se did things to her that Melody would be proud of. At the same time, it gave her an idea.

  “You know,” she said, leaning against the door of Carrot’s stall once she was safe inside, “horses are expensive. Mind you, I think it’s an excellent idea for you to own one if you’re going to live here, but you can’t really split your finances between a horse and, say, a house.”

  Scott’s grin told her he was on to her from word one. He sauntered closer to her. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah,” she went on, even though she knew he could see right through her. “So if you want to buy a horse—and I totally think you should—maybe you shouldn’t dive into building that house of yours so fast.”

  “Is that what you think?” He moved closer still. Something deliberate and panther-like in the way he moved made Casey’s heart pound.

  “It is.” She tried to force herself to remain calm and not to jump him.

  He came to a stop only a foot in front of her, far closer than was polite. His lips twitched with either amusement or hunger…or maybe both. Fire danced in his eyes. They were a lovely shade of hazel, like summertime on the prairie. She’d never noticed that before. Or the way his lips were soft and kissable.

  “Good thing that I have more than enough money for both, then,” he said.

  Casey blinked. The prickles that had broken out down her back and around her suddenly sensitive breasts froze for a moment. “Wait, you have that kind of money?”

  “Uh-huh.” Scott nodded.

  He didn’t give her time to react, though. His arms slid around her, molding her to his chest, and his lips slanted down over hers. Her body and mind short-circuited, and she let her arms slide around his waist. He was every bit as firm and solid as she’d imagined he would be, even with a thick coat on. She would have given anything for it to be June right then. It was certainly getting hot enough.

  His lips were where the real magic was. He knew exactly what he was doing. His kiss was gentle at first, hesitant enough to hint that he was judging her reaction to see where to go. And damn her hide, she reacted like butter left in the sun. So much so that he amped things up in a hurry, backing her against the stall door and nudging his knee between her thighs. His lips parted hers, and with a sound that showed just how much he enjoyed kissing her, his tongue slipped along hers.