Cowgirls Don't Cry

by Silver James

  Cord leaned back in his chair and for a moment, Chance thought his brother would prop his boots up on the highly polished wood of the table. “Why not? It’s what the old man wants. And what the old man wants—”

  “The old man gets. Yeah, yeah. We’ve been saying that our entire lives, Cord. But what makes him right?”

  Cord laughed, a deep, rolling laugh straight from the gut. “I never said the old bastard was right, Chance. But he is who he is. He’s always run roughshod over anyone who got in his way. This time, it just happens to be a gal you have the hots for.”

  If looks could kill, as the old saying went, Chance’s brother would have been BBQ. “Shut up, Cordell.” He pushed to his feet and strode out the door, his brother’s laughter following in his wake.

  Nine

  Chance chewed on the handful of antacids he’d just taken. Outside his office window, Oklahoma City spread out to the southwest like a crazy quilt of buildings, parks and river. Sunlight glinted off the fuselage of a plane lining up for a landing on a runway at Will Rogers International Airport.

  The door opened behind him but he didn’t turn until he heard a heavy body drop into one of the wingback chairs arranged in front of his desk.

  “I don’t really want to talk to you.”

  Cord tilted his head. “Fine. Don’t talk. I just want you to listen anyway.”

  “Didn’t you say enough downstairs?”

  “No. I said what the old man wants to hear when he plays back the tapes of the meeting.”

  Chance pressed his palms on his desk and leaned forward. He glowered, hoping to cover up the despair he really felt. “Just toeing the family line then?” When Cord didn’t reply, he sank into his desk chair. He closed his eyes and dragged the fingers of one hand through his once carefully combed hair. “Dammit.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “What do you want me to say, Cord? Let’s trade places if you think this is so easy. Let me run the ranch and the oil company. You go to law school and do all this legal crap. You serve papers on a sweet little girl who’s just trying to do the right thing. You sit in this chair and do the old man’s dirty work.”

  “Wow. You might have a conscience after all.”

  Chance rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Jiminy Cricket.”

  Leaning back, Cord propped his booted feet on the desk. “Tell me about her.”

  “What’s to tell?”

  “Well, there must be something since she has you tied up in knots.”

  “She’s sweet and funny and doesn’t want to be a cowgirl.”

  “You forgot sexy, Chance.”

  “Yeah. She’s that, too.”

  “I finally figured out how I know her.”

  Chance rocked forward, his eyes narrowed into a glare. “You know her?”

  “Whoa, bro. Not in the biblical sense. Unlike you.” Cord waggled his brows and laughed as Chance snarled. “Down, boy. That just confirms my suspicions. She was named the championship cowgirl at the Denver Stock Show the last year we competed. She looked mighty fine in tight jeans but way too young for me.”

  Closing his eyes, Chance leaned his head back and tried to relax. “When you called me in Chicago, I was trying to pick her up. I didn’t know who she was then, Cord, not until I got home. She just wants to sell the place, pay off her father’s debts and get on with her life.” In Chicago. Without him.

  “Damn, bubba. You have it even worse than I thought.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What are you going to do? If she finds out the old man is behind her troubles, she’ll hate you.”

  “Is it too much to hope she doesn’t find out? At least until I get her out of my system.”

  Cord rolled his eyes. “Get her out of your system? Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen. You don’t have a clue, Chance. She rode you hard, put you up wet and now she’s got her spurs dug deep. If the circumstances were different, I might actually enjoy watching your fall from grace.”

  Chance raked his fingers through his hair again. “Our father is a real sonofabitch.”

  “Yeah. You got that right.”

  * * *

  Cass stared at the pile of bills in front of her. She puffed out a breath and the straggle of hair hanging in her eyes danced. Picking up the checkbook, she sighed. No matter how many times she ran the numbers, there was way more owed than what was in the bank—even if she drained her savings account. She had to get those cattle sold, and she had to do it soon.

  She called everyone on her father’s list of cattle haulers. The answer remained the same.

  “You’re from the Crazy M? Sorry, we’re booked solid.”

  “No, we don’t have even one truck to spare.”

  “Sorry.”

  Everyone was sorry. Or not. But not one cattle hauler would accept a contract from her. She placed another call to the independent hauler her dad had used for years.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do a thing for you. It’s a real shame, too. I thought the world of your dad.”

  “I can’t believe that every trucking line in three states is busy hauling cattle.”

  The man on the other end of the phone line cleared his throat. The nervous sound made Cass wonder what was going on. “You don’t have another contract, do you?” He cleared his throat again but didn’t speak. “Why? If you thought so highly of my dad, why won’t you haul the cattle for me?”

  “It’s not you, hon.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Not what. Who.” She heard him take several deep breaths. “Look, I can’t say anything more. I’m sorry. Things are what they are, and sometimes a workin’ man has no choice. Please don’t call me again.”

  The phone clicked and after a moment of dead air, a dial tone echoed in her ear. “Now what the heck was that all about?”

  Boots looked up from his paper, the crinkles around his eyes looking sad. “I was afraid that’s what was happenin’.”

  “What?” Her voice sounded sharper than she intended, but she was so frustrated she wanted to punch something. “Do you know what’s going on, Uncle Boots?”

  “It’s a long story, honey, and I’m not positive, but I have a suspicion that a man by the name of Cyrus Barron has thrown a monkey wrench into things.”

  Everyone knew that name but she asked to be sure. “As in Barron Oil?”

  “And Barron Land and Cattle Company.”

  “And Barron Entertainment?” Her voice squeaked a little.

  “That would be him.”

  “But...why in the hell would he care about me hauling five hundred head of cattle to market?”

  “I told you it’s a long story, honey. There’s somethin’ maybe you need t’know about the Barrons...”

  Before he could continue, Buddy jumped up and began barking madly. He hit the door and banged the unlatched screen open. A muffled voice greeted the dog and then boots on the wooden porch preceded a knock on the door.

  * * *

  “May I come in?”

  Cassie’s voice sounded resigned as she answered. “C’mon in, Chance.”

  He held the door and followed the dog inside. Her eyes looked bruised and something in his chest shifted. Chance glanced at the pile of papers in front of her before his gaze slid over to Boots. “Everything okay?”

  “No.”

  Chance wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. She looked so fragile...so beaten. “What’s happened?”

  Her frustration bubbled over. “I can’t get anyone to transport my cattle to market.”

  He replied carefully. “It’s spring. Everyone’s shipping their feeder calves.”

  She shook her head, adamant when she added, “No. They don’t have trucks available to me.”
<
br />   Chance cleared his throat and glanced away. “That doesn’t...make sense.”

  “You haven’t been talking to these people, listening to their lame excuses. I’m not paranoid.” She thumped the table. “I’ve called everyone listed in Dad’s files.”

  Cass blew out a huff of air that ruffled her bangs and slumped back the wooden chair. “I don’t understand why. I mean...Dad had a great reputation. He always paid his bills. I can’t even get the bank to call me back about the loan I told you about.”

  She snatched a handful of bills and waved them. “The hospital. His doctors. Even the funeral home. I can’t pay anything until those cows sell. And if I can’t get them to market, how the hell can I sell them?” Cassie looked so small and vulnerable Chance wanted to gather her into his arms. A tear spilled from her eye, and she scrubbed at her face, smearing it away. “And that’s not the worst of it.”

  He gave up. Striding across the room, he pulled her into his arms and held her. “What else is going on?”

  “I...” She shivered and he kissed her temple.

  “It’s okay, baby. I have you.”

  “My boss called. If I’m not back at my desk tomorrow morning, I’m fired. I have rent due on my place in Chicago, and bills, and I’ve spent almost everything in my checking account keeping things going here until I can get Daddy’s estate settled.”

  Chance ground his back teeth together, anchoring his anger to keep it from spilling out. He wanted to hurt someone. His father. Her boss. Himself. He was every bit as guilty as anyone. When she pushed away, he dropped his arms.

  “I’ll be fine.” Cass turned on her boot heel and marched to the door. “I need to get away for a while. I’m going for a ride.” She held up her hand, palm facing them like a stop sign. “I’m going alone.”

  The screen door banged behind her, and Buddy nosed it. He looked back at the two men and whined. Chance walked over, opened the door far enough for the dog to slip through then let it close with a gentle bump. He watched the angry but broken woman stomp toward the barn and fought the urge to follow her, to take her into his arms and promise her that everything would be fine. As long as his father persisted in this vendetta, nothing would ever be fine for Cassidy Morgan. And now the other shoe had dropped.

  “You know who’s behind all this trouble with the cattle?”

  Chance continued to stare out the door, refusing to look at Boots. “I have my suspicions.”

  “You gonna do anything about it, son? That little gal thinks the world of you, you know.”

  Would he? Could he? He’d spent his whole life in his father’s shadow. As the family’s attorney, he’d filed lawsuits and defended them, always putting Cyrus Barron and whatever Barron enterprise first. The old man was always right, and the whole world was wrong if they didn’t agree.

  Chance patted his pocket absently, hoping he’d slipped in the bottle of antacids. He hadn’t.

  Was Cord right? Was he finally developing a conscience? If so, it was a helluva time. He needed to be detached. Uninvolved. Cold. He’d meant to sleep with Cass, get her out of his system and walk away. But here he stood at the door of her house, watching her run away so she could cry alone. His father would crush her. And he could do nothing but stand by and watch.

  “I have to go.” He pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch.

  “And here I thought maybe you’d grown a pair.”

  He couldn’t even work up a smidge of righteous anger. The man was right. Cassidy Morgan had far more courage than he ever would.

  “I’m sorry, Boots.” He mumbled the words as he trudged down the steps. He didn’t know if the other man heard him and didn’t care either way. As he opened the door of his truck, he paused to watch Cass, riding the big sorrel bareback, charge out of the barn and race across the field toward a line of trees. What felt like a steel band constricted his chest, and his pulse hammered in his ears. Maybe he was having a heart attack. That would solve everything, so he almost hoped he was.

  Chance climbed into the truck, knowing he was a coward. He glanced at the house where Boots stood in the doorway watching him. The best thing he could do was leave. Get out of Cassie’s life. Do what he had to do. And then head to Vegas for a two-week binge of wild women, strong drink and lots of gambling. Except never seeing Cass again tore at his heart. The thought of touching another woman held no appeal. That left booze and poker, and he wasn’t a big fan of either.

  “I’m sorry, Cassidy Morgan. I’m sorry I’m not the man you deserve.”

  Ten

  “No.” Cass glared at the man sitting across from her in the booth at Nadine’s diner.

  “You aren’t thinkin’ this through, sugar.”

  “No, Boots. I can’t take your money.”

  “Honey, your daddy was my best friend. He was more like my family than my own blood. And so are you. Family helps family.”

  Cass refused to look at his earnest face. Her untouched breakfast cooled on the plate as she drew desultory designs on the table from the condensation ring left by her ice water glass. “Sandra agreed to box up the stuff I want to keep and ship it, and then have a tag sale to dump the rest. I gave notice so I should get my apartment deposit back and the utility deposits will pay off the final bills I owe up there.”

  “You aren’t going back to Chicago?”

  She hated the hope she heard in his voice. She’d done a lot of thinking in the few days since her firing. She loved Chicago. Loved her job and her dinky apartment and the wind whistling off the lake so cold it could cut. She hated the heat and the dust and smells of living on the ranch. The dirty, back-breaking work. Didn’t she?

  “I can’t afford it right now, Uncle Boots. Not until I get things settled here.” She glanced up. “No. I’m still not going to take your money. You need it. Daddy wanted you to be comfortable. So do I.”

  “Honey, I don’t need much. You’re just as stubborn as Ben. Always gotta do it your own way.”

  She shrugged and dropped her gaze to the water doodles she’d made.

  “What? My cookin’ not good enough for you, Miz Cassidy Anne?” Nadine had appeared, coffeepot in hand, and her voice held not a lick of chiding. “You look like you lost your best friend, hon. You wanna tell ol’ Auntie Nadine about it?”

  Try as she might not to, she felt compelled to look up at the woman. Concern radiated in Nadine’s expression even as the skin around her eyes crinkled from her friendly smile.

  “Everything looks better with a full stomach and a cup of hot coffee.”

  “I don’t think buttermilk pancakes will solve my problems, Nadine.”

  The woman shooed her over and plopped down on the booth’s bench beside her. “But sometimes, talkin’ things over with friends does. Boots told me a bit of what’s goin’ on. I’m sure sorry for your troubles. I know your daddy didn’t figure on this crap happenin’. He was a planner, Ben Morgan was. Always one step ahead of life in his thoughts. We just need to do the same.”

  For a moment, anger welled up. How dare Boots discuss her business with a stranger! But then she saw the expression on his face, and things cleared up. Nadine wasn’t a stranger. Not to Boots. He was sweet on the woman. And Nadine returned those feelings.

  “Honey, your daddy had a passel of friends. He had an open hand when it came to helpin’ folks. I’m sure they’d all step up to return the favor. You just need to figure out what it is you need.”

  “I need to get my friggin’ herd to market.” The words erupted before she could think about them, her voice filled with all the anger and frustration she’d tamped down for a week.

  A man at the counter swung around on his stool. “That’s what cattle haulers are for.”

  Cass rolled her eyes. “Duh. But none of them will haul for me.”

  The man’s brow furrowed,
and he scratched his head, which set the John Deere cap on his head to dancing. “They locked you out?”

  “Evidently.”

  “That don’t seem fair.”

  She bit back another duh. “It is what it is. I still don’t have a way to get the herd to market. If I use the old stock trailer at the ranch, I can only take a few at a time. Running them through the sale that way loses me money in the long run. I need a big ol’ chunk of money to pay off everything.” She didn’t want to mention that she could barely afford gas for the truck.

  Almost everyone in the diner turned to look at her, and she resisted the urge to bang her head on the table. A little boy perched on a stool at the counter continued to watch the TV above the cash register. An old black-and-white movie played across the screen. He tugged on his mother’s sleeve and pointed at the screen. “Mommy, can I have cartoons?”

  The young woman chuckled. “I can’t believe you don’t want to watch a cowboy movie, C.J. With John Wayne, no less.”

  The youngster offered a disgruntled expression and a deep sigh. “But...cartoons, Mom.”

  The man on the stool next to the boy winked. “Your mom’s right, son. John Wayne and cattle on a trail drive is a classic Western story.”

  “Huh.” The child scowled again before gazing at his mother impatiently.

  Nadine slid out of the booth and headed for the remote control. “I think I can get the Cartoon Network, honey. Just give me a sec to find the right channel.”

  Cass twisted in her seat to stare at the TV before it flickered quickly through several channels and cartoons filled the screen. She shifted to stare at Boots. “No.”

  Boots looked perplexed as he returned her gaze. “No what?”

  “I...nothing.” She shook her head. “Just a really crazy idea. One that is way too far-fetched to ever work.”

  “I can see the wheels turnin’, honey. Why don’t you just tell me?”

  She continued to shake her head, denying the wild scheme forming in her brain. “But...”

  Nadine returned with a fresh pot of coffee and refilled their mugs. “Boots, you ever notice she gets that same look Ben got whenever he got a wild hair?”