Читать книгу Rebel Love - Jackie Merritt - Страница 5

Cass awoke in a sweat, noticing on the digital clock next to her bed that it was 1:35 a.m. Whatever had awakened her eluded her, but now her eyes were wide open and didn’t seem inclined to close again. Sighing, she got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of cocoa. Using a mix, she was soon seated at the table with her drink.

When Gard came to mind, she quickly put the blame for her interrupted sleep on him and the fact that she had agreed to meet with him on Friday. Then, to her intense annoyance, between her irritation and resentment was a memory: that infamous night at the dunes.

Groaning aloud, Cass put her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid as to actually have made love with Rebel Sterling? She’d been young and naive, yes, but had she also been dim-witted? She had been at the dunes that night, sitting in the moonlight and thinking, just thinking. Then he’d come along on his motorcycle, and she had been so thrilled by the coincidence that she had started thinking fate had intervened on her behalf.

Dropping her hands, Cass picked up her cup with a cynical expression. If fate really had intervened that night, it had been a damned cruel trick, one she hadn’t deserved.

Finishing off her cocoa, Cass rinsed out the cup, slipped it into the dishwasher and returned to her bedroom. Maybe she could sleep now, maybe not. But she was not going to spend the remainder of the night trying to second-guess fate. She had already played that futile game too many times.

It irritated Cass that she was just as nervous about seeing Gard on Friday as she’d been prior to their first meeting. Again she went through her mental list of dos and don’ts. At the Plantation she had come closer to saying what was on her mind—what had been on her mind for fourteen years—than she liked. Fortunately only a small amount of her ire had escaped, and she felt pretty certain that Gard had thought it was all because of his indecision about the contract.

There was irony in the situation. Without that old contract there was practically no chance at all that she and Gard would ever have seen each other again. It had probably never occurred to either his father or hers when they put that contract together that they had necessitated some sort of future relationship between their offspring. Without that accursed document, she would have put the Whitfield Land and Cattle Company in the hands of a real estate agent after her father’s funeral and gone home to Oregon. The place would sell, she was certain, and for her purposes, the sooner the better.

But she was virtually stuck here until Gard made up his mind, which raised her hackles every time she thought about it. She wasn’t in the best of moods when he arrived on Friday afternoon, but she managed a cool smile as she let him in.

“We’ll sit in the living room,” she told him, leading the way.

“The place looks good, Cassandra,” he said as they sat down, he on the sofa, Cass in a nearby chair. His gaze went around the room, taking in the impressive, white rock fireplace and splendid furnishings. “Great house.”

His gaze stopped on her. The “place” wasn’t the only thing looking good; Cassandra’s hair was down today, curled and swept back from the left side of her face by an amber comb. Her slacks and silk shirt were the same becoming shade of teal. She didn’t look “sassy” today, she looked controlled and dignified and...remote. Gard wondered what had happened to the young girl who’d had a bright, witty retort for every occasion. He’d been remembering little things, events, moments of conversation, where Sassy Whitfield had indeed lived up to her nickname.

Of course, in those days he was usually half-sloshed, and even those facts he did remember had blurred edges.

“Would you like something to drink?” Cass asked with a hint of snideness. Naturally he would choose a cocktail of some sort.

“Wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee,” Gard replied smoothly, realizing that she’d expected a completely different answer. A chuckle remained inward and silent, but he truly enjoyed the startled expression on her face.

“Coffee? I’ll get it.” Cass rose and left the room. Gard got up and walked around, pausing to admire knickknacks on tables and a glass case containing a collection of porcelain figurines. Then the painting over the fireplace caught his eye, and he moved closer to inspect it. It took a moment to grasp its subject, and even then he wasn’t sure if his interpretation was correct. It appeared to be a garden. The colors were wispy and dreamlike, and the foliage and flowers—if that’s what they were—were oddly depicted and even distorted. Nowhere could he pick out a rose, for example, or a carnation, and yet he had the impression of a dozen varieties of flowers. He was no connoisseur of oil paintings, of any kind of art, for that matter, and yet he felt this was a good piece of work.

Then he spotted the initials in the lower right corner of the painting—CW—and comprehension dawned. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mumbled under his breath.

Cass returned with a tray. Gard turned. “Are you this CW?”

“It’s one of mine, yes.” Calmly Cass poured coffee into two cups. She had no desire or intention to discuss her work with Gard Sterling. “Please...sit down and have your coffee.”

“Thanks.” Gard sat and accepted the cup of coffee, but he was still thinking about that painting. “Is that what you do in Oregon, or is oil painting just a hobby?”

Cass heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Gard, I don’t want to talk about me. I really don’t want to talk about you, either, except for one point. Have you come to a decision on that option?”

His eyes narrowed on her over his cup. “You don’t like me, do you? Why not, Cassandra? What did I do to make you dislike me? I know something happened, but I can’t remember it for the life of me. I’ve tried since the other day at the Plantation, but I can’t come up with anything. You obviously remember what it was, so why don’t you fill me in on it?”

The thought of sitting here and calmly narrating that night at the sand dunes nearly undid Cass. Her hand was suddenly shaking, and to avoid spilling coffee all over her own lap, she placed her cup on the table to the right of her chair.

“It seems to me that you are looking for ways to avoid discussing that option,” she said accusingly. “I am not going to talk about old times with you, Gard, neither the good nor the bad. Just give me a straight answer. Have you made that decision?”

The small crack in her rigid self-control made him wonder if he couldn’t widen it. “Then it wasn’t all bad? With you and me, there were also some good times?”

Cass’s anger erupted. She jumped to her feet. “You may as well leave. It’s perfectly obvious that you’re no closer to a decision on that option than you were at our first meeting.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “I won’t be played with, Gardiner. I think you’ve had more than enough time to ‘study the consequences,’ and just maybe a judge will agree with me.”

Gard finished drinking the coffee in his cup, slowly enough that Cass wanted to screech at him, then stood up and brought the empty cup to the same table on which Cass had placed hers. “Seems to me that you’re getting pretty riled up over nothing,” he said with annoying calmness. “As for playing with you, Sassy Whitfield, a legal battle isn’t my idea of fun.”

He was standing right in front of her, and she vowed not to back away no matter what he did. This was her house, and this whole mess was his fault. “A legal battle is what you’re going to get, if you don’t make that decision,” she said, putting it forcefully.

“Know what I think, Sassy, honey? I think you’re mad at me for something that has nothing to do with that contract.”

“That’s absurd! I told you I want to clean things up here so I can return to my own home.”

“Then you’re not mad at me for some old sin I can’t even remember?”

Cass’s lips thinned. “I don’t doubt your memory lapse. No one could remember as many sins as you’ve racked up. The list is probably still growing.”

Gard grinned. “Today I am a solid citizen, Miss Whitfield. Which brings up an interesting question. How come you’re still a Miss?”

“You nervy...” She stopped short of an insulting name. “My personal life is none of your business! I’d like you to leave. Don’t underestimate me, Sterling. I haven’t forgotten how to handle a shotgun.”

Gard laughed. “Now you’re going to shoot me? Damn, I really must have done something terrible to make you think of murder. Did I kiss you?” His eyes crinkled teasingly. “Or maybe you wanted me to kiss you and I didn’t? Was that it?”

That was all Cass could take. Her anger exploded. “You conceited, amoral egomaniac! Get the hell out of my house! Any future communication about that contract will be between our lawyers. I will not tolerate any more of—”

The rest of her words were trapped in her throat. Gard had grabbed her and kissed her so fast, she hadn’t seen it coming. His arms held her in place, and his mouth moved on hers with complete and utter possession. Her fury was so intense, it nearly burst through her skin, but there wasn’t any way to break away. She tried all the tricks, the wriggling, the stamping on his toes, the growled, unintelligible invectives. If her hands were free, she would yank out every hair on his head. But her hands weren’t free; they were trapped at her sides by the strength of his brawny arms.

And then it began happening, a deeply rooted inner response to his heat and power. To him, to Gard Sterling, the last man in the world she wanted to feel anything for.

Gard finally broke the kiss and lifted his head. His eyes contained a slightly puzzled cast. “Kissing you feels kind of familiar. Should it?”

“You’re disgusting!” Internally Cass was a mass of quivering ambiguities. How dare he kiss her? But worse than his crime was her own; although she had shown nothing of what she’d felt during that kiss, she had liked it way too much.

The word disgusting hit Gard hard. He dropped his arms and took a backward step. “Guess I’d better apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”

Cass was trembling. “You haven’t changed an iota. You still do whatever comes to your mind and to hell with the consequences. Most people have grown up by the time they reach your age. Apparently you haven’t.”

Gard was feeling a little silly. He hadn’t grabbed a woman and forced a kiss on her since...since... Hell, had he ever forced a kiss on a woman?

Still, however foolish he felt, wasn’t Cassandra overreacting? She was genuinely furious, making truly cutting remarks, casting aspersions not only on his behavior in the past but on the kind of man he was today.

His voice became noticeably cooler. “I have grown up, lady, but I’m beginning to wonder about you. You’re just waiting to pounce on whatever I say or do, and—”

Cass broke in. “I suppose kissing a woman without any warning is adult conduct? And don’t waste your time wondering about me, not in any context. You and I wouldn’t be having these abominable meetings if it weren’t for that despicable contract, and I have to question where your father’s and mine’s good sense was when they devised such a...a ludicrous agreement.”

“It was a damned good agreement in their time,” Gard growled. “And it’s still good. Let me ask you this. Why do you feel like you have to hang around until I make a decision? Go on back to Oregon, if that’s what you’re so anxious to do. You’ve got capable employees. Let them take care of the place. They probably know a hell of a lot more about it than you do, anyway.”

Cass’s lip curled. “I neither want nor need advice from you about how I should handle my life, Gard Sterling. I’m staying right here until you do something about that option, and if you don’t shake your fanny and get it done in the very near future, I’m going to start legal proceedings to force a decision out of you.”

Smugly, Gard folded his arms. “Why don’t you do that? You’ll discover one thing about me, Sassy Whitfield. I don’t take kindly to threats, and I guarantee that if you bring this to the courts, I’ll have my lawyers drag it out so long, you and I will both be too old to care who owns the land in this valley by the time it’s settled.”

Cass’s anger was shrinking, becoming less general and thus better defined. As infuriating as it was, Gard was not going to be bullied into a quick decision, nor was the threat of a lawsuit going to speed him up. She had vowed to remain cool and collected during this meeting, and instead had behaved like a shrew.

But why had he kissed her? And why had she liked it, when she was so opposed to everything Gard Sterling and every other freewheeling, skirt-chaser represented? That’s what he’d been fourteen years ago, and he’d proved this afternoon that he was exactly the same, no matter how vociferously he claimed to be a respectable citizen these days.

The result of this second dismal meeting was that she had still gained no ground on that option. Maybe the only positive thing that had come out of it was the knowledge that he was going to take his own sweet time and she could like it or lump it. It was a frustrating moment, because she could almost see her chance to buy into the Deering Gallery flying out the window.

Still, she would do no more shouting or accusing. Gard Sterling always had been as obstinate as they came, and she would bet anything that the harder she pushed, the more stubborn he would become.

“Well,” she said calmly, seating herself with an air of regained self-possession that surprised Gard. “It appears that we’ve reached an impasse,” she said. “How do you propose we deal with that?” She sent him an innocent-eyed glance, and the essence of her expression struck Gard about four inches below his belt buckle. As insulting as Cassandra “Sassy” Whitfield could be, she was as sexy as any woman he’d ever met. A thought wormed its way into his mind and dug in hard and deep, as though entrenching itself permanently. I want her. Dammit, I want her!

Clearing his suddenly clogged throat, Gard approached the sofa and gingerly sat down. There was an ache in his groin that he knew wouldn’t be appeased today, though he vowed to cure that affliction in the very near future. In the meantime, he had to make friends with Cassandra...somehow.

“I’m not sure our situation should be labeled an impasse,” he said cautiously. “But, of course, we do have to find a way around it. As I said the other day, Cassandra, I need a little more time to study the sensibility and financial implications of buying you out.” He’d said no such thing—he’d talked about studying the consequences—but Cass merely nodded her acknowledgment. “Obviously,” Gard continued, “time is more important to you than it is to me. I don’t have anywhere to go and you do. There’s one thing I need to do before reaching a conclusion, and that’s to take an in-depth look at the Whitfield ranch.”

You snake! “Are you saying you’re no longer familiar with this ranch?” Cassandra asked.

“That’s it, exactly. I used to drop in and talk to Ridge once in a while, but I never got beyond the buildings.”

“So what you’d like to do is check the land?” You big phony. Whitfield land is no different than Sterling land, and you know it as well as you know your own name! He was stalling for God knew what reason, but what choice did she have but to play along? If she could get an answer out of him in a week or so, she would do almost anything.

“Do you have any objections to showing me around?” Gard asked casually.

Cass made a small throat-clearing sound. He didn’t need her “showing him around,” the rat. He could get in his pickup or on a horse and see everything there was to see without her company. So...what was in the back of his devious mind? Another kiss? More than kisses?

She would never get over him not remembering that night at the sand dunes, and if he had any foolish ideas about luring her into bed, he was in for a rude awakening. How could she have liked that rough, overbearing kiss he’d given her a few minutes ago? Had she momentarily lost her senses?

Well, it was the last kiss between them, make no mistake, she vowed.

“When would you like to begin your inspection?” she asked in a smooth-as-honey voice.

Gard blinked. “Um...the sooner the better, I suppose. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Free as the breeze. Tomorrow, then? What time?”

“Might as well get an early start. Seven?”

“Make it eight.”

“Fine.” It was obviously time he left, though he would have thoroughly enjoyed spending the rest of the day sitting on Cassandra’s sofa and looking at her in that pretty teal outfit. He got to his feet. “Let’s do it on horseback.”

“Do it?” Cass’s face turned crimson. He hadn’t meant do it, for pity’s sake, he’d meant inspect the ranch!

Gard wanted to laugh so badly, his insides cramped and hurt. He’d “do it” on horseback, or any other place she could name, if “doing it” was what she wanted. It was an exciting goal to contemplate.

“Unless you don’t ride anymore,” he said with a completely straight face.

Was that another innuendo? Cass had to clamp her teeth together to stop herself from shrieking a vile name at him. But then a better idea came to mind and she smiled with all of the femaleness she could muster. “I...ride a lot,” she said in a deliberately husky voice. “I love...riding.”

Gard nearly choked. “Good...that’s good. Uh, I’ll ride over on my horse in the morning.”

“And I’ll have mine saddled and ready to go.” Cass stood up. “I’ll show you out.”

They walked to the front door, which Cass opened. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome.” Gard walked out and heard the door close behind him. Dazed, he made his way to his pickup, got in and then sat there. What a woman! One minute she acted as though she’d like to sock him and the next as though she’d like to... Dare he think ride him?

His teeth were gritted together as he drove away. She was still sassy, still unpredictable, and, Lord, was she exciting!

He could hardly wait for tomorrow morning.

* * *

Cass spent the evening on the telephone, talking first to her lawyer at his home in Billings, then to Francis in California. The two conversations were startlingly similar.

“Sterling’s stalling and I don’t know why. Now he wants to inspect the ranch, which is utterly ridiculous,” Cass said.

“Maybe he doesn’t have the money to buy you out and can’t or won’t admit it.”

“That’s not it,” Cass denied. “The Sterlings were always very well-off. No, it’s something else.” With Francis, she went a little further. “He’s an arrogant pain in the neck, Francis, playing some kind of silly game with me.”

“Have you told him why you want to sell so badly?” Francis asked in her naturally gravelly voice.

“I doubt very much if it would change anything.” Cass hadn’t shared with Francis her surprise at the modest amount of cash in her father’s estate. Selling the ranch was really her only means of buying into the gallery, as Francis had made one thing very clear: she would not sell that fifty percent for anything but cash. “You’d have to know Gardiner Sterling as I do to know what I mean,” Cass added. “He’s completely self-centered, and my having an urgent need to sell wouldn’t impress him in the least.”

“Please keep me informed, Cass. I don’t want to put additional pressure on you, considering what you’ve been through, losing your father and all, but...well, I think you understand my point of view.”

“I do, Francis, and I appreciate your patience, believe me. Maybe—I’m hoping, at least—to know more by the end of the week. I’ll call.”

* * *

In bed later, Cass tried again to figure out Gard’s dawdling with that option. It was such a simple decision, either he wanted the Whitfield ranch or he didn’t.

Her thoughts crept elsewhere. Could his procrastination possibly have something to do with her? Maybe he did remember that night at the dunes and what came after, and maybe he didn’t know how to apologize. After all, hadn’t he kissed her without the slightest provocation?

Cass’s heart beat faster. What if that was it? What if Gard remembered that incredible, starry night, and hoped to bring them to that same point again? Men were sometimes so peculiar and closemouthed about emotions and feelings. After all, it wasn’t impossible that he wanted to keep her in Montana, was it? Maybe deliberately delaying a decision on that option was his method of doing it.

A sigh lifted Cass’s chest. There were too many holes in that theory to put much stock in it. First of all, wasn’t she forgetting how wild and reckless Rebel Sterling had been fourteen years ago? And that he’d arrived at the dunes half-drunk and with a six-pack of beer to finish the job? It had probably been just another night to him, and why should it stand out from so many others? He didn’t remember it at all, and she may as well stop thinking like a schoolgirl.

Cass’s own memory of that night was suddenly so acute she couldn’t lie still. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed. With her arms curled around herself she paced the dark bedroom. Why did it still hurt after so long? she asked herself. She’d had men friends since, and yet that episode with Gard was the most unforgettable experience of her life.

It was also the most regrettable, she reminded herself. She had behaved badly that night, drinking beer with him, giggling over silly remarks, just so thrilled to be with him that she forgot every standard she ordinarily lived by.

But she had paid for it in the following weeks, paid for it every time she caught sight of him, every time he barely acknowledged that he even knew her with a nod or a casual hello. At the time it hadn’t occurred to her that he simply didn’t remember what had happened at the dunes, and she had interpreted every snub and slight in the most painful way possible. She still hadn’t considered a memory lapse until seeing Gard again, and now, instead of feeling miserable about it, she should be grateful he didn’t remember.

Cass returned to her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She was grateful, she told herself with teeth-gritting determination. Probably the worst thing that could happen in her present circumstances was for Gard to suddenly develop total recall.

Sighing heavily, she turned over and closed her eyes.

* * *

Riding beside Gard was discomfiting for Cass. She hadn’t lied to him about loving to ride horses, and she had done quite a bit of riding during the last month. But riding alone and riding with Gard Sterling for a companion were two very different activities.

Still, she was trying with every cell in her body and brain to appear composed and nonplussed. The day was bright and sunny, with very little breeze. Starting out that morning, Cass had asked Gard what he wanted to see first. He had named the springs and creeks, which would have made very good sense if he’d been a stranger and unfamiliar with the valley’s water sources.

Nevertheless, they rode to each of the ranch’s three springs, where Gard dismounted, walked around and checked every little thing, such as the drainage runoff, the depth and temperature of the water, and the foliage around it. He was putting on some kind of show, Cass felt, irritated by his ridiculous attentiveness to details that were perfectly obvious to anyone with a lick of ranching sense.

They then followed each of the two creeks from one end of Whitfield land to the other. Anytime they came close to the cattle, Gard gave the animals a long look and, periodically, he dismounted to inspect the grass, actually breaking off handfuls and in several instances, tasting it.

Around noon Cass mentioned the sandwiches she had made that morning, having known instinctively that Gard was going to keep her out on the range past lunchtime. Which, of course, was merely another irritating aspect of the game he was playing and she was putting up with to get this ludicrous charade over and done with.

“You packed a lunch?” Gard looked pleased.

“Nothing fancy. Just some sandwiches.” They were wrapped in aluminum foil and residing in her saddlebag, and by now they were probably overheated and soggy. Still, she was hungry and even a soggy sandwich would taste good.

Gard pointed ahead to a copse of trees and brush. “Let’s get out of the sun to eat.”

“Fine.” Actually, getting out of the saddle was reaching the necessary stage for Cass. Four hours of riding was a mite more than she was used to, and she was feeling the long ride in her thighs and back.

They reached the trees and got down. Cass wanted to moan with relief, but managed to stifle the impulse. Gard, she noted, didn’t seem to be the least bit tired.

She opened her saddlebag and removed the sandwiches, placing them on a grassy spot along with her canteen of water.

Gard sat down with his back against a tree near the wrapped sandwiches. He smiled at her and she did her best to smile back.

“It isn’t much, but dig in,” she told him, lowering herself to the grass.

They each took a sandwich and began eating. Gard removed his hat and laid it on the grass next to him. “Nice out here. Thanks for thinking of bringing along lunch.”

“Such as it is, but you’re welcome.” Cass swallowed a bite. “Have you seen enough to make that decision?”

“Well...I’ve been thinking of that high ridge at the western perimeter of your land, Cassandra. You must remember the spot. Anyway, we had an extremely heavy runoff this spring—about twenty feet of snow in the mountains last winter—and I’ve been wondering how it affected that ridge. It was always a natural boundary between Whitfield land and forest service property, as I recall.”

Cass stared at him. “Even if the ridge was entirely wiped out, what possible difference could it make to your decision?”

“We could be talking about some major environmental damage, Cassandra.”

She spoke sarcastically. “I’m sure Dad would have told me if melting snow had washed away a ridge of land that was at least forty feet higher than the valley floor, Gard.”

Gard shoved the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth. “Did you and your dad talk very often?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. Look—”

“Didn’t it bother him that you preferred Oregon over Montana?”

“Of course it didn’t bother him. Why should it? Listen—”

“Tell me about your home. Do you live near the coast?”

Internally Cass was seething. He kept interrupting her, deliberately avoiding conversation about that option.

“I live on the coast. My house is on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Gard—”

“That sounds terrific. Bet you have a great view.”

Her patience came to an abrupt end. “You are without a doubt the most irritating person I have ever known.” Scrambling to her feet, she bent over to pick up the foil wrappers from the sandwiches. “You’ve ridden me around in circles all morning, and now you want to ride for another two hours to see a ridge that couldn’t possibly be washed away from spring runoff, no matter how much damned snow piled up in the mountains during the winter.”

“Now you’re mad.” Gard spoke in a hurt, disbelieving voice, as though she were the most unfair woman on the face of the earth. Or in Montana, at least.

Cass faced him, all but breathing fire. “If I were a man, I’d punch you right in the nose!” Then she whirled to go to her horse and get away from this infuriating person. She was all through being nice to him, option or no option.

Gard, still sitting, caught her by the ankles. Down she came, landing mostly on top of him. “You...” The names she shrieked at him were very unladylike and quite descriptive. “Let me go, you snake in the grass, you weasel, you...” Again the unladylike names rolled out of her mouth.

Neatly and with a minimum of exertion, Gard rolled them over so that he was on top. “You sure do have a mouth on you, Sassy Whitfield. I think it’s time someone taught you better manners.”

“And you think you’re the man to do it?” Cass let out a screech so loud and piercing, Gard thought it probably echoed throughout the entire valley. But she didn’t only screech, she started fighting to get away.

And the wrestling match began.