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
