that decision.”
“I’ll stop you from selling.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You never were a decent person, and you’ll probably still be a coldhearted, selfish S.O.B. on the day you die. Now, let me go!” This time when Cass pulled against his hand, he loosened his hold on her arm and let her move away. “Thank you,” she said sarcastically.
His expression grim, Gard stood there and watched her walk to her horse. She mounted. He yelled as she rode away. “Have a good day, Cassandra. You sure as hell made mine!”
Internally Cass winced, though she kept going. How could those words have come out of her mouth? She had never used the word force in any description of that night at the dunes. Had it been lurking in the far recesses of her mind all this time?
She bit her lip, frowning at the ground ahead of her. Remembering Gard’s words—that it was either a stupefying, deplorable fact or the most despicable lie—caused remorse to burn like acid in her stomach. If she had wanted to finally talk to Gard about that night, why had she chosen to blurt out a ghastly accusation instead of merely...
Merely what? Hadn’t his faulty memory been gnawing at her? How dare he make love to a woman and then simply put it out of his mind, as though it had been of no more import than...than crossing a street? Why should she be feeling guilty and as though she had committed some unpardonable sin?
Tears were suddenly blurring Cass’s vision. She should have known that Gard would not only prove uncooperative regarding the contract, but that he would do something else to make her miserable. She should have left the matter in the hands of their lawyers, as she had initially intended.
Well, that was the way it would be from now on. There was not going to be any more personal contact between her and Gard Sterling, not if she had to desert the ranch and Montana to accomplish it.
* * *
Gard stared after Cassandra through narrowed, disturbed eyes as she and her horse got smaller in the distance. He had never been so shaken before in his life. How many times would some idiotic thing he’d done years ago suddenly flash into his mind and bring him to his knees with regret?
But nothing from his wild and hedonistic youth had hit him the way Cassandra’s allegation had. Was there any truth to it? She had backed down slightly, but even though he couldn’t remember the event, he suspected—very strongly—that they had made love, or rather, had sex—under some circumstance.
How old had she been when she left the valley? Gard had to think hard to come up with an approximate age. Seventeen or eighteen...somewhere along there. Damn! He slammed his fist into his other palm. A kid, and he’d made love to her and couldn’t even remember doing it.
But she remembered. Remembered so well that she could barely speak civilly to him.
Slowly Gard walked to where he’d tied his horse. The feelings he’d developed rose up to mock him. Certainly Cassandra had become interesting to him at their first meeting. He’d seen and appreciated her pretty face and remarkable figure. More, he’d felt that intangible chemistry that made one woman stand out from others.
Now there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of anything important occurring between them. He’d behaved like an adolescent, assuming that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Kissing her...pressuring her...talking like a fool about paddling her behind and making love...thinking that her protests were merely coyness and flirting.
His ego had been badly damaged today. Cassandra was no slouch in the hit-’em-where-it-hurts department, and he resented her cruel method of letting him know where they stood with each other. She could have used a little tact, couldn’t she?
But then, he hadn’t been exactly tactful, either. Meeting Cassandra at the Plantation that day had been like meeting her for the first time ever. The girl he remembered—vaguely, to be sure—had barely been recognizable in the stylish, sophisticated woman who had walked into that banquet room. He’d started off on the wrong foot with Cassandra simply because he hadn’t had a clue about her true state of mind.
Tight-lipped and tense, Gard mounted his horse and began the ride home. To his own home. What did he do now? he thought dismally. They still had the contract to deal with, even though Cassandra had plainly and angrily stated that she didn’t give a damn if he ever made a decision on that option.
Would she cool down and talk to him again? When should he try to find out? This evening? He could call and apologize, even though he couldn’t remember what he’d be apologizing for. Maybe he should apologize for that, as well. Cassandra, I’m sorry I can’t remember making love to you.
Gard winced. An apology of that sort was apt to earn him a behind full of buckshot, should he ever get near enough for her to haul out that shotgun she’d mentioned.
Admit it, Sterling. You’ve made one hell of a mess of things, and this is one time that an apology might do more harm than good.
But how did a man untangle this kind of chaotic muddle? Leaving the situation as it was now was unthinkable. Something had to be done. Cassandra thought the absolute worst of him, and that knowledge hurt like the very devil. He didn’t want her thinking he was the same careless, pleasure-seeking, self-indulgent swinger he’d been fourteen years ago. The signs of his present calm and temperate life-style were completely evident, which she would have seen right away if she hadn’t been so biased by the past.
On the other hand, he himself had negated those signs by behaving like a wet-behind-the-ears, horny kid. That was the crux of this thing, Gard thought uneasily. Neither of them were kids anymore, and for some god-awful reason their meeting had set off a sort of regression that had Cassandra despising him for something he obviously should have remembered, and him, in his ignorance, getting all silly and excited over a pretty face.
Gard got home without reaching a solution. One thing was for certain: the sparks between himself and Cassandra were real. The yielding softness of her lips wasn’t only in his imagination. For a few seconds there on the ground, she had kissed him back. The pliancy of her body under his had felt too good to have been anything else. However determined she was to hate him—and he did believe that was the case—she was affected by him physically, just as she affected him.
Grim-lipped, Gard unsaddled his horse and tended the animal. Maybe, he thought, this thing with Cassandra was a matter of which of them had the most determination. In any case, it wasn’t over. He still wanted a full explanation of what he’d supposedly done to get her clothes off, and yes, it would be mighty interesting to hear what she
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