And she loved Slate.
“You’re not supposed to come up here,” Nita admonished Slate as he put one booted foot on the steps. “You can’t see your bride on her wedding day.”
Cassidy and Slate both laughed. This was one day Cassidy didn’t intend to let Slate out of her sight.
The front door burst open and a blur of blond hair and a white lace dress flew across the porch. Lindsey never paused, she simply launched herself into midair, trusting that Slate would catch her. And he did.
“I’m the flower girl.” She held out a white wicker basket that was empty of the rose petals that had been there earlier.
“You’re the prettiest thing I ever saw,” Slate said, kissing her as he winked at Cassidy.
Nita looked at her watch. “Slate, Cassidy, you have an hour until show time. Now, scoot!” She took the flowers from Cassidy’s hands. “I realize this is a horse farm, but I want both of you in the shower and dressed before the minister gets here.”
Holding Lindsey between them, Slate and Cassidy headed into the house.
At her bedroom door, Slate stopped. He bent to kiss Lindsey, and then pulled Cassidy into his arms. “This is better than I ever hoped,” he said.
“It’s odd, but I knew it would be this way. Even when you had no memory of me, I could still see a future for us.” She had never felt such peace and contentment. Beneath it was excitement at her wedding, but her love for Slate was so sure, so strong, that a public commitment was not necessary. It was icing on the cake.
“I love you both,” Lindsey said, drawing their attention back to her.
Laughing, Slate bent down. “Now, help your mommy get dressed. We don’t want to be late for our own wedding.”
“I’m ready,” Lindsey said, holding out her dress.
Cassidy checked her watch. “See you in forty-eight minutes,” she said to Slate. “On the porch.”
She closed the bedroom door, knowing that Slate would never again be on the other side of it.
She chatted with Lindsey while she bathed and put on the simple white dress she’d chosen for her wedding five years before. Slate had made her a garland of roses from the flowers in her garden, and the scent reminded her of Mary Walker as she placed it in her hair. But today was a day of happiness. Mary would have been ecstatic, and Cassidy held that thought as she took her daughter’s hands and walked to the porch to the cheers and applause of more than a hundred people who had come to wish her well. And then Slate had stepped onto the porch, and she forgot everyone else.
The ceremony was a simple one. They exchanged the traditional vows, and Cassidy found herself in Slate’s arms as his wife. She had never felt happier.
Slate bent to whisper in her ear. “Whatever memories I may have lost, I’ll never forget this moment. We’ll build new memories together, Cassidy. For the rest of our lives.”
They were surrounded by well-wishers and pelted with rice as they ran down the steps and hurried into the rose garden, where a reception had been set up.
Cassidy had turned to join a cluster of ranch wives who’d been stout friends during the past five years, when Rusty came up to her and Slate. His face slightly flushed. “I wanted to tell you personally that I made a serious mistake. I assumed that Slate and his father had retrieved the gun long ago. It never occurred to me that someone had created such a complicated frame-up, involving a duplicate weapon.” His flush intensified. “You didn’t have a memory so you couldn’t have rebutted the testimony. But I should have known better. I should have questioned the evidence and gone into that pond to see if I could find a gun. I can only say, Slate, that in the future I’ll be more careful. I’ll remember that a person accused deserves every chance to prove he’s innocent.”
Slate started to say something, but Rusty wasn’t finished. “Last night Cole admitted that Dray was supposed to kill you in the bank. Dray was reluctant and his aim was off. It was a fluke of fate that you hit your head and lost your memory. Otherwise, Cole’s plan would have been foiled right then and there. I’m sorry, Slate, Cassidy. Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
Cassidy could find no hard feelings for the past on her wedding day. She squeezed Rusty’s hand. And Slate shook it. “The past is over and done,” Slate said. “We’re looking to the future here at the Double O.”
Cassidy heard the honking of a car horn and stepped out of the rose garden to see who had arrived with such fanfare. The big black truck bore the sign of Ramsur Rodeo on its side as it stopped.
“I hear tell you have a prize bucking stallion here,” the man driving said. “I’m T. R. Ramsur, and I want to buy the horse you call Joker.”
Cassidy shook her head. “He’s not for sale.”
“Ma’am, I’ve been left short of stock due to a bad deal with one of your neighbors. I need that horse.”
“Joker’s not for sale,” Cassidy repeated, aware that Hook’em had stepped up to her side. “He’s going to have a good life as a performance horse,” she said. “Besides, my husband has ridden him. He isn’t the bronc folks say he is.”
“That’s not what I hear.” Ramsur’s dark blue eyes lightened. “I hear he’s got more fire than Mr. Twist.”
“You ain’t never seen an animal that can twist and buck like Joker,” Hook’em put in.
“He can buck,” Cassidy agreed. “But he’s not for sale. At any price.”
T.R. opened the truck door and stepped out. He was a small man wearing a bolo tie clipped with a gold image of a bucking horse. “I heard you wouldn’t sell him. But consider this. I’m set for a big rodeo event up in Fort Worth. And I need a star. The news about this horse is all over the circuit. How about you let me borrow him for one event.”
Cassidy saw Slate coming toward them. She explained Ramsur’s offer, sure that Slate, too, would refuse.
“Sorry,” Slate said. “We’re gentling Joker. He has no future in rodeoing.”
Ramsure grinned. “One event. Three-hundred-thousanddollar purse. And you can compete.”
Slate laughed. “But I’ve ridden him.”
“I hear he likes bucking,” Ramsur insisted.
Cassidy hadn’t seen Clay and Randy join them, but Randy spoke up. “That horse loves to buck. Sometimes when he’s out in the corral he does it just to get us to come and watch him. He’s a ham bone, Slate. You should give it a try. Joker will love hearing the crowds.”
Hook’em cleared his throat. “He is a ham, Slate. Set up your rules. No spurs, no strap, nothing to make him buck. Either he bucks or not. He’s smart enough to know it’s a show. Hell, he was down there puttin’ one on for me not two hours ago.”
“I can’t,” Slate said. “I’ve already ridden him. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Ramsur laughed. “Let me worry about fair. Walker, your reputation is still well known in Texas. There’s a young cowboy, Dillard West, from out of Waco, who claims he can ride better than you. I want a match between you two on that stallion.” He pointed down the drive to Joker, who seemed to know the gist of their conversation. As they watched, he jumped, arched, spun and crow-hopped a complete circuit around the corral. “Even if you don’t win, I’ll give you five thousand just for bringing the horse to Fort Worth.”
Slate looked at Cassidy. “What do you think?”
Cassidy considered. Joker was an actor. And he was a ham bone. He was good when he needed to be, but mostly enjoyed being wild. There was also the matter that the three hundred thousand would give Slate a chance to buy back his mother’s ranch. With Cole headed for prison, the land would be up for sale. “It’s up to you,” she said.
“Three hundred thousand, no spurs, and you know I’ve already ridden him once?” Slate confirmed.
“Winner take all.”
“What if he doesn’t buck when I get on him?” Slate asked.
“Then you’re the luckiest man I know,” Ramsur said with a grin. “No one believes a horse is smart enough to know when to buck and when not to.” He tipped his hat. “See you tomo
rrow in Fort Worth, folks. It’s going to be one helluva day.”
SLATE GRINNED as Dillard West picked himself out of the dust. He’d lasted seven seconds on Joker’s back before he’d found himself sailing through the air and falling in a tangle of chaps and dirt. As Slate watched, Dillard bent to pick up his hat and dusted it against his legs. Joker eased up behind him and pushed him hard with his nose. Dillard sprawled facedown in the arena to the roar of the crowd.
“My God, he is a ham, isn’t he?” Cassidy asked. She straightened Slate’s kerchief and kissed his cheek. “Are you sure you can ride him?”
“Nope,” Slate said, grinning. “That’s what makes it fun.”
The announcer opened the microphone. “We’re giving Joker a small rest before Slate Walker tries to hang on. You folks remember Slate. He almost made it to the top five years ago, and this is his comeback ride on the buckingest horse I’ve ever seen.”
There were cheers and whistles, and Slate had the crazy sense that he was closing the door on a part of his life. Rodeoing had once been a way to show his skill and make money. But he no longer needed the thrill or the test of his courage. This was his last ride, and he only hoped that Joker wouldn’t break his bones.
“You’re up,” the gate handler called to Slate.
Slate approached the chute where Joker seemed to be waiting with the patience of an old cart horse. But Slate saw the fire in the stallion’s eyes. “Remember, I’m the one who feeds you,” Slate said as he climbed the side of the chute and settled his legs around the stallion.
He could feel Joker bunch beneath him, and Slate knew that the stallion would give him no quarter. This was going to be a ride.
In the distance he heard the announcer, the gate opened, and he was out.
Slate concentrated on holding on, on keeping his hand in the air and his hat on his head as the screaming faces around the arena became a blur of color and noise. Slate had never ridden anything as twisty as Joker, and he knew the horse was putting his heart into the performance. And it was a performance.
At the eight-second buzzer, Slate freed his hand and jumped clear of Joker’s flashing hooves. The ride was over and he’d won. He felt a friendly muzzle in his back and turned to find Joker standing docilely behind him. He turned to wave at the crowd, his grin wide. He was completely unprepared for the giant push Joker gave him.
Slate felt himself falling hard, and then there was the taste of dirt in his mouth. For Joker, the crowd gave a standing ovation.
“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” Cassidy asked as she leaned on the rail and watched Lindsey riding around the corral on the big bay stallion.
“Joker loves her. He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her. And she’s a fine rider. Good balance, good instincts.” Slate leaned across the rail and kissed Cassidy. “They’re fine, Cassidy. Don’t worry.”
Cassidy grinned. She wasn’t worried. She was in heaven. “As soon as she’s finished riding, send her up to the house. Nita is waiting for her.”
“How about a ride?” Slate asked. “I thought we’d go down to the swimming hole. Take a dip.” His smile said there other things on his mind.
“In the middle of the day. In the open. We’re an old married couple,” Cassidy answered, unable to hide her own grin.
“And it’s time we took advantage of the privileges,” Slate responded, his hand moving up her arm to gently brush across her breast.
Cassidy felt the familiar rush of desire that Slate always evoked. “Ten minutes,” she said softly. “I’ll get some towels.”
eISBN 978-1-4592-6175-4
REMEMBER ME, COWBOY
Copyright © 1998 by Carolyn Haines
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention
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Printed In U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
About the Author
Books by Caroline Burnes
Title Page
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Copyright
Remember Me, Cowboy Page 23
