CASSIDY HARTE AND THE COMEBACK KID

by Reanne Thayne

  She didn't want to hear that from him. He had seen the shock in her eyes. Hell, it went beyond shock. Her pupils had widened with something close to horror.

  Could he blame her? A decade ago he had left her heart shattered, the subject of gossip and speculation.

  Zack knew what small towns could be like; his father had carted him through enough towns from Montana to Texas. He knew damn well how the scandalmongers had probably circled around her like a howling pack of wolves, just waiting their turn to gnaw at her.

  She had every reason to be bitter.

  He was crazy to think he could make right in just a few precious weeks what he'd done to her. How could he make her see past his desertion and the terrible wrong he had unwittingly done her by leaving the same night as Melanie?

  He might have had a chance if people thought he'd just taken off, gotten cold feet and wandered off to greener pastures. After all, he was the son of a drifter, a rambling man.

  But there was Melanie. It was a far different matter for everyone to believe he'd taken her along for the ride.

  Where was the blasted woman? he wondered again. He had already contacted the discreet team of private investigators he used to see if they could get a lock on her current whereabouts.

  If he could find her, she could corroborate his story—that they hadn't run off together and it was just lousy timing that they'd both decided to leave Salt River on the same night.

  So far the investigators had come up dry. They couldn't seem to find any trace of her after she left the Star Valley.

  Anyway, even if he managed to locate her and somehow drag her here, what reason would Cassie have for believing Melanie, anyway, when she obviously had no inclination to think he was telling the truth?

  With a sigh he finished hammering the final tent stake and stood back while two of the Lost Creek wranglers quickly shoved in the poles and erected the structure.

  "Thanks for your help, Mr. Slater. I think we can handle it from here." Like everybody else, Kip Dustin, the lead wrangler, couldn't seem to look him in the eye as he offered the words.

  Zack ground his teeth at the "Mr." business. All the wranglers—hell, all the employees of the Lost Creek—teetered on an awkward, precarious line, torn between loyalty to Cassie and showing proper respect for their new boss.

  "Call me Zack," he ordered.

  "Yes, sir," the wrangler mumbled, his big ears going red under his slouchy felt Stetson.

  He didn't want to make the man uncomfortable. He only wanted to be clear that he didn't expect to be treated any differently from the rest of the guests on the trip.

  One of the other wranglers called out a question to Dustin about a couple of the horses, and the man escaped with alacrity to answer it.

  With most of the work setting camp finished, Zack was left with little else to do. While they waited for the evening meal, some ranch guests had headed down to the small mountain lake to fish with tackle supplied by the ranch. Since he hadn't brought along waders or his own custom-built fly rod, the idea of drowning a worm didn't hold much appeal.

  Others were holed up in their tents, probably stretched out on their sleeping bags as they tried to relax sore muscles unused to spending a hard day's work in the saddle.

  He knew if he retired to his tent, he wouldn't be able to think of anything but the woman twenty feet away who was bustling about cooking. He'd rather sit here and watch her, he decided, and settled back against a tree trunk.

  He loved looking at her.

  With her face a little rosy from the sun and her short cap of dark hair tousled from the breeze, she looked sexy and mussed, like she'd just come from a lover's arms.

  He closed his eyes while memories haunted him of watching her sleep tucked against him, her breathing deep and even and a soft smile on her face as she nestled closer.

  She had loved him so generously, without reservation, throwing her whole heart and soul into it. The first time he had kissed her, in the hushed silence of the night on that other long-ago cattle drive, she had looked at him with dazed delight in her eyes.

  "Wow!" she had said in a breathless voice. "So that's what all the fuss is about."

  He remembered laughing roughly and giving her another light kiss on the tip of her nose. After she had gone inside her tent, he had stood outside for a long time under the moonlight studying the vivid red marks on his palms where his nails had dug into skin to keep from devouring her.

  He opened his eyes, chagrined to realize he had clenched his hands into fists again just at the memory.

  He jerked his mind from the past and saw that the Carlson twins, Maddie and Max, were now pestering her at the camp cookstove, apparently bored with fishing.

  Their parents were among those resting in their tent. He suspected it had more to do with taking a short break from the twins' incessant chatter than with aching muscles.

  He sympathized with them. The twins were two ferocious bundles of energy. Their blond curls that had looked so shiny and clean that morning were now coated with dust, and they each had pink cheeks that would probably be a full-fledged sunburn in the morning.

  They looked hot and dusty and cranky. He rose with some vague idea of rescuing Cassie from their clutches, though he didn't have the first clue where to begin.

  As he drew closer he could hear them bickering about who would be able to eat more peach cobbler. Cassie stepped in before the argument could get more heated. "I could use a couple of strong hands to bring me more water from the spring to purify. There might be a cookie reward in it. Anybody interested?"

  They both jumped at the chance, bickering now about who could carry more water without spilling it. She handed them each a blue-speckled enamelware coffeepot, and they rushed eagerly down the trail toward the cold spring at one end of the lake.

  "That ought to keep them occupied for fifteen minutes or so," he murmured.

  Her shoulders stiffened and she looked up at his approach. "I can only hope."

  "You're good at that."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Cooking Dutch-oven potatoes? I've had plenty of practice."

  "I meant with the kids. You're a natural."

  "I've had plenty of practice with that, too."

  He was confused for a moment, then remembered. "That's right. You helped your brother with his little girl. Lucy, right?"

  "Yes." For a moment he thought she might have forgotten his presence. Her mouth curved into a wistful little smile while she peeled and sliced potatoes in a steady rhythm. She was so preoccupied that she didn't seem to notice when he picked up another knife and began doing the same.

  "Is she as much of a handful as those two?" he asked after a moment of working beside her.

  The smile became more pronounced. "She was always the sweetest little girl. So loving and eager to help. She still is, but now that she has Dylan for a stepsister and partner in crime, I have a feeling Matt and Ellie are in for one heck of a wild ride."

  "You miss her, don't you?" he asked quietly.

  Her hands went still. "Why would I miss her? I see her all the time. Every Sunday at least, when we all get together for dinner."

  Though she spoke with casual acceptance, he thought he saw a deep ache in her eyes. This was boggy, tricky ground, made even more treacherous by her stubborn refusal to listen to him about Melanie. Still, he longed to comfort her. Or at least to acknowledge her pain.

  "It's not the same, is it?"

  "No. It's not the same." She was quiet for a moment, the only noise the solid thunk of the knife slicing through a potato. Her expression softened, her columbine-blue eyes turned thoughtful. "For nine years she was my child in everything but name. I taught her to read and to do cartwheels and to always tell the truth. I suppose in some ways she'll always be the daughter of my heart."

  The softness vanished as suddenly as it appeared and her movements became brisk, even though he thought he saw just the faintest sheen of moisture in her eyes. "Anyway, now she has Ellie and Dylan. The
four of them are a family. A wonderful family. And Ellie couldn't be a better mother to both girls."

  His heart twisted for her, for those tears she wouldn't shed. Despite her brave talk, it couldn't have been easy to leave the Diamond Harte. To leave the child she had nurtured and loved for ten years into another's care.

  He knew all about walking away and how it could eat away at a person's soul.

  He almost reached out and pulled her into his arms, but he knew she wouldn't welcome the sympathy or the gesture. "She was lucky to have you," he murmured.

  The sloshy ground he'd been worried about suddenly gave way. Her gaze narrowed as she seemed to remember who, exactly, she was talking to. "I didn't have much choice. Thanks to you and Melanie, there was no one else, was there?"

  The fragile moment of shared intimacy shattered like a bird's egg toppling from a high tree, and he mourned its loss.

  "I didn't leave with her, Cassie. What is it going to take to convince you?" He set down the knife and sighed, more defeated than angry. "I couldn't look at any other woman but you. I still can't."

  She hitched in a sharp breath, and for a moment their gazes locked. Awareness bloomed in those blue depths like the carpets of wildflowers they had ridden past earlier in the day.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  He had to kiss her.

  The urge to step forward and take her in his arms trampled over him with more force than a hundred bawling Herefords. Before he drew breath enough to move, though, two bickering voices heralded the return of the Energizer Bunny twins.

  "We brought your water, Miss Harte," Maddie reported, arms straining to carry the full coffeepot.

  Cassie jerked her gaze away from his, her color high. "Thanks," she said to the twins. "I really appreciate your help."

  "Max spilled some on the trail but I didn't. I didn't spill a drop."

  "Did so," her brother argued.

  "Did not! I was way more careful than you."

  Because she looked about ready to pour the rest of her water all over her brother—and because he had a feeling Cassie would prefer to dump the other pot on his head—Zack intervened. "I was just going to see how the fish are biting at the lake. Anybody want to come with me and help put the worms on my hook?"

  "That's so easy!" Max exclaimed, showing off a couple of empty holes in his grin where a tooth used to be. "My dad showed me when I was just a little kid."

  He swallowed his smile at that. "All right. The job is yours, then. Fifty cents for every worm you put on the hook for me."

  "Wait!" Maddie exclaimed, not to be outdone by her brother. "I know how to put worms on hooks, too!"

  He pretended to consider. "I don't know. I think one fishing guide is probably enough."

  She looked so disappointed he had to relent. "All right. You can each take turns. And then when we come back, Cassie, here, will fry up all our trout for us, right?"

  She sniffed, but he thought he detected just a hint of a smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes. "I'm fixing barbecued chicken and potatoes tonight. If you're in the mood for fish, you can fry them yourself."

  He whistled as he walked down to the lake followed by two little chattering shadows. He was making progress with her, he knew it, despite the occasional bumps along the way.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Hours later Cassie sat on a fallen log at the lakeshore, listening to the darkness stir around her.

  Night creatures peeped and chirped, small waves licked at the pebble-strewn shore in a steady, comforting rhythm, and a cold wind whistled in the tops of the pines. All of it was punctuated by the occasional soft slap of a fish leaping to the surface for a midnight snack.

  She huddled in her denim jacket, unwilling to face the warm comfort of her sleeping bag just yet even though she knew she was crazy to linger out here in the cold.

  The rest of the Lost Creek guests and wranglers had turned in long ago. She had watched the last flashlight flicker out inside a tent at least fifteen minutes ago.

  And still here she sat.

  A gust of wind whistled down the mountain toward her, and she shivered. If she wanted to sit up all night, she could at least stir the glowing embers of the campfire back to life and enjoy its warmth a little instead of lurking down here at the water's edge alone.

  But there was something restful about watching that pale spear of moonlight gleam across the rippled surface of the lake. Something soothing, calming.

  Heaven knows, she needed anything peaceful she could find.

  She wouldn't be able to sleep. Even as tired as she was after a long day on the trail, she recognized her own restlessness far too well to think she might even have a chance, not with all these thoughts chasing each other through her mind.

  And every single one of them centered on the lean, dangerous man sleeping a hundred feet away.

  Damn him. Damn him straight to the burning hell he deserved for shaking her up like this. He had no right to say what he had earlier in the day. To mention so coolly that he had come back for her—as casually if he were talking about the low-pressure system building over the intermountain West or how his favorite baseball team would fare in the conference championships this year.

  What did he expect from her? That she could just blink her eyes and make the past disappear, all the heartache and loss and disillusionment she had suffered because of him?

  She drew a ragged breath. Why was she letting the blasted man tangle up her thoughts like fishing line jumbled into a pile? Zack Slater could say anything he wanted. He could say he came back to Salt River to plant palm trees down

  Main Street

  for all she cared. She felt nothing for him. Nothing but anger and the echo of a long-ago hurt.

  She closed her eyes to the night and huddled lower in her jacket. Who was she kidding? A part of her wanted to do exactly that—snap her fingers and make the past disappear. To recapture that magical summer when the world stretched out in front of them, full of joy and promise.

  There were invisible ties between them. She had felt them tug at her even over the ten years since she'd seen him last. Since his return, they wound tighter and tighter, until she was beginning to fear she would never be able to break free.

  Maybe it was because he was the only man she had ever slept with. The only one she had ever wanted to be with.

  How pathetic was that? She had remained faithful to a man who had deserted her.

  Not that she'd ever dreamed he would come back. She had dated in those ten years. Not a lot—she'd been busy with Lucy, after all—but she had been out more than a few times over the years.

  But nothing serious. Nothing lasting. She had never made love with any man but Zack Slater.

  Her first and her only.

  Back then he had been as cautious about intimacy as he was about everything else, wanting to take things slowly. Finally, with the single-minded purpose only an eighteen-year-old girl in love can claim, she had decided to take matters into her own hands.

  On her suggestion, they had taken his pickup up the network of dirt roads crisscrossing the foothills overlooking Salt River, looking for the perfect spot to watch the town's annual July Fourth fireworks display. She had packed a picnic of sorts. Fresh strawberries. Crusty French bread. A bottle of wine she had been forced to ask the clerk at the store to pick out for her.

  All carefully designed with seduction in mind.

  She felt ridiculous that it had come to that, to seducing her own fiancé. They were getting married in less than a month. She had her dress picked out, the flowers had been ordered and she was in the middle of addressing all the invitations.

  But while they had done just about everything else together, from sweet, tender kisses to long makeout sessions in his pickup that left them both trembling with need, Zack had stubbornly refused to take things all the way.

  He wanted to wait, he said. She had to be sure.

  "You're so young," he had said with
those rough, callused hands tracing bare skin just above her hip. "I don't want your brothers or anybody else saying you rushed into this just because of this...heat between us."

  In those miserable weeks and months after he left, she finally realized that even then he must have been having doubts that he would be able to go through with the wedding. His feet must have already been chilling in his boots even as she set out to remedy her lack of experience.

  At the time, though, she had known only the frustration of thwarted desire and had finally convinced herself to take matters into her own hands.

  She had loved Zack Slater. Completely and forever. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together and she wanted to take this natural step with him more than anything. So she had packed a thick blanket and her seductive food and suggested they drive above the town lights, where they could watch the fireworks away from the noisy, boisterous crowd.

  She closed her eyes now and could see it as vividly as that morning's trail ride.

  The evening sky was streaked with purples and reds as the sun began to set in a blaze of glory. After driving around for a while, Zack had finally parked his battered old pickup on a plateau high above the valley.

  She sat next to him, her nerves dancing. She wanted to do this. Wanted it more than she wanted her next breath. But she had to admit she was also scared to death.

  "Does this look like a good spot?" he asked.

  "Yes," she mumbled through a mouth that suddenly felt full of dusty rocks. "I think so."

  He spread the thick blanket in the bed of the truck, then lifted her up easily with those powerful hands that could touch her with such breathtaking tenderness.

  He seemed a little distant at first, maybe picking up on her own nervousness, but as the sky began to darken and the stars came out one by one, they both began to relax. They laughed and talked and fed each other strawberries.

  When she produced the wine and the plastic cups the clerk at the liquor store had graciously provided, he raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

  He must see right through her, she thought, a blush scorching her cheeks. All this time she thought she was being so clever, he knew exactly what she was planning.