Her Cowboy Dilemma. C.J. Carmichael
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She stared at him mutely. How could he talk as if he knew her so well, when she, herself, had never quite figured out why she’d acted the way she had that night? She hadn’t been then, and wasn’t now, a man-crazy sort of woman who liked to go on lots of dates and play one guy off another.
“I should get going. I’ve got another call to make before I head back to my office. You’re clear on how to handle the strangles?”
She nodded, not bothering to point out that he’d only eaten one of her mother’s sandwiches. She guessed that her company wasn’t conducive to a good appetite on his part. She’d been so wrong to think that talking about that night would clear the air between them or ease her guilty conscience.
If anything, she felt worse.
It wasn’t the classiest move I’ve ever seen, Cass.
God, she felt about four inches high right now.
Clumsily she got to her feet, almost knocking over her mug of coffee as she moved out from behind the desk.
Farley’s eyes stayed cool. “I can see myself out.”
“I know.” She followed him, anyway. “But I just wanted to ask you about something else.”
“What is it?”
“You said I should watch the rest of the horses in case they get sick, too. But what, exactly, should I be looking for?”
“Glad you asked that.” Farley opened the office door, waited for her to pass through, then exited himself. “Don’t wait until you see nasal discharge or hear the horse coughing. If any of your horses go off their feed, or seem to lack their usual energy, separate them from the rest of the herd immediately and give me a call.”
“Okay.” They both washed up at the sink again and used the boot dip before leaving the barn.
Midafternoon sun had Cassidy wishing she had the sunglasses she’d left behind in her truck. Squinting, she glanced at Farley, who was setting a quick pace toward his own vehicle.
“How long will we be under quarantine?”
Farley tossed his black case into the passenger side of the truck. He paused a moment to consider her question. “If you’re diligent with disinfecting, if Lucy recovers quickly and if none of the other horses come down with it, I’d say about three weeks.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah, but better to contain this thing now before it spreads and becomes a bigger problem.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or were you not planning to stay in Coffee Creek that long?”
“That depends on whether I get a job offer or not.”
“You excited about spending your life as a pencil pusher in a city high-rise?”
“Why not?” she countered, placing her hands on her hips and narrowing her gaze. “You think swabbing mucus from a sick horse’s nostril is so much better?”
“Actually, I do.” He reached for his hat, settling it on his head, before giving her a final, parting nod. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand why. Though the little girl who grew up on this ranch would get it.”
* * *
“T AKE A LOOK at these paint chips, sweetie,” Olive said. “Which one do you like better with these fabric samples for your new duvet cover?”
Cassidy had just hauled her suitcase into her old bedroom, halting when she saw her mother sitting amid piles of fabric swatches and paint chips spread over the blue-and-white quilt she’d had as long as she could remember.
The handmade quilt was an heirloom from her grandmother Lambert. Cassidy had always loved it, though admittedly the fabric was now threadbare on the edges.
“What’s this about, Mother?” She was tired after the long drive and the stressful encounter with Farley. Bad enough that they had strangles on the ranch and that she was in charge of containing it. If only her mother could have called some other vet rather than Farley.
“We haven’t decorated your room since you were a little girl. Don’t you think it’s time to spruce it up a little? I thought we’d paint and order new curtains and bedding. That desk in the corner is too small for you now. What do you say about replacing it with an armoire? A beautiful antique would look lovely in that corner. I saw one in Lewistown the other day that would be perfect.”
Since the bed was unavailable, Cassidy hoisted her heavy suitcase up on the desk that her mother had just pointed out. “What’s the point in fixing up the room when I’m only here for a few weeks?”
“That’s if you get the job,” Olive reminded her. “It’s always good to have a backup plan and you know you always have a home and a job here with us.”
“Mom, I’ve told you that isn’t what I want to do with my life. If I don’t end up getting this job, I’ll apply for another.”
“So you really mean to follow in B.J.’s footsteps, do you?” Her mother did nothing to hide her disappointment.
B.J. had been traveling the rodeo circuit for almost as long as Cassidy could remember. He’d left home at eighteen and though he made the occasional pit stop at home, he never stayed long.
“I’m not planning to start competing in rodeos, Mom.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. This land has been in our family for five generations. Your father and I planned things so we have room enough and work enough for all of you.”
Then why didn’t Dad build me one of those cottages he had made for the boys?
Cassidy didn’t voice the question, even though it was often on her mind. The truth was, she’d never wanted to live so close to her mother. Nevertheless, it did rankle that she’d never even been offered what had been so freely given to her brothers.
“Mom, you just finished helping me get five years of higher education. Surely you must want me to put it to good use.”
“You could take over the bookkeeping and taxes here at our ranch. Handle our dealings with the bank and manage our investments.”
And be under the thumb of her mother and brothers for the rest of her life? “Mom, I have to make my own way. Do my own thing.”
“You think you’ll be happy living in Billings for the rest of your life?”
“It’s not that far. I’ll visit. Like I did when I was going to school in Bozeman.”
Her mom pressed a hand to her forehead. “That is not the right plan for you. I promise you, Cassie, you’ll be making a big mistake if you walk away from your heritage.”
Stay calm. Stay firm. That was Cassidy’s new mantra and she was determined to stick to it. “It’s my life, Mom.