lady. What I’d really like to know is why I didn’t notice that before you left the valley.”
The strength drained out of Cassandra. The wretch really had no memory of that night. For fourteen years she had lived with periodic bouts of despising him, even while knowing that deep down she had never despised him. That had been the problem. She had suffered such an all-consuming crush on bad-boy Rebel Sterling that a mere glimpse of him had made her weak in the knees. After that night at the sand dunes, she had realized that her mind had been even weaker than her knees.
And he didn’t even remember it.
Maybe she did despise him. Certainly, looking at that cocky grin on his face at this moment, despising him was as natural as breathing.
Walking over to the table, she picked up her purse. “Your opinion of my looks is completely immaterial. All I want from you is a decision on that option.” Despite her determination to remain composed, her voice rose. “I don’t know what game it is you’re playing, but you won’t convince me that you’re not up to something.”
“Tell you what,” Gard said matter-of-factly. “Give me a few days and then let’s get together again. How about on Friday? I could come to your place, or you could come to mine. Meeting here is kind of silly, don’t you think?”
“A few days?” Would he really have an answer in a few days? Cass didn’t want to be gullible about this, but she wanted this ridiculous situation over and done with. At least she wanted the freedom to call Francis and say, “The legal problems are over. I can put the ranch on the market and I’m sure it will sell quickly.”
And now that she’d actually seen Gard, and survived, it really didn’t matter where they met. “All right, fine. You may come to my place on Friday afternoon.” Besides, it probably wouldn’t hurt her case for him to get a good look at the Whitfield property. Lord only knew the last time he’d been there, and it was beautiful, in wonderful condition. Cass had kept the same employees who had worked for her father, and everything was in perfect order.
Gard smiled and nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Cass acknowledged the agreement with a slight nod of her own, then turned to walk to the door.
But then she made the mistake of stopping for one last look at Gard Sterling. The light flowing through the large windows behind him shadowed his features, but his height, his build and his long legs were all too visible. A choking sensation rose in her throat. Until this moment she’d been rather proud of her performance during their meeting, but now it was all she could do to restrain fourteen years of anger and resentment from spewing out of her mouth.
“See you on Friday,” she mumbled, and all but ran from the room.
Surprised by her hasty exit, Gard almost laughed. But then the impulse died a sudden death and he frowned instead. There was more behind Cassandra’s frosty attitude than that contract, probably something to do with the past. Gard groaned right out loud. What had he done to Cass Whitfield that he couldn’t remember but she, apparently, had never forgotten? His youthful “good times” had caused him problems several times in the past few years, and he had a hunch the worst was yet to come.
He thought about that for a minute, then started for the door himself. Regardless of the past and its mysteries, he still wanted to know Cass better.
And surely he could make amends. Whatever he’d done couldn’t be that bad.
Two
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
