administered to an abscessed tooth. That’s what her heart felt like. A deep, throbbing abscess full of decay and vile selfishness. She hadn’t been back home for a year. And now it was too late.
She reconsidered getting another drink. Or ordering a bottle from room service. She knew that wasn’t the answer. Plus, there were other drawbacks. Fighting the crowd at the airport and dealing with things at home while nursing a hangover just didn’t appeal.
Cass turned —and buried her nose in a starched white shirt.
“Easy, darlin’.”
The man’s large hands gripped her biceps and kept her upright despite the fact her knees had turned to jelly. She tilted her head to look up. Quite a ways up. She took in the chiseled jaw shadowed by dark stubble, eyes the color of amber and dark hair—thick, silky and worn just a little long so that it caressed the man’s wide forehead and kissed the collar of his crisp shirt. She swallowed. Hard.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were standing there.” At least she didn’t stammer. Two points for her. But she cringed inside at how breathless her voice sounded. It was surprise. That’s all. She didn’t want or need the complication presented by this sexy man right now.
“S’okay, hon. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She backed away from him and shook his hands free. “Scare me?” Her brow quirked as she lifted her chin. “I don’t scare, mister.” Now that she had a good look at him, her brows narrowed in speculation. “You look sort of familiar. Have we met before?”
Cass managed not to blush as those wolf-like eyes traveled over her body from head to toe and back again. A smile she could only describe as appreciative spread across his full lips.
“Honey, as beautiful as you are, I’m sure I’d remember.” He held out his hand as if to introduce himself but was interrupted when the theme song from the old television show Rawhide emanated from his pocket, startling them both.
A look of anger flashed across his face, and he muttered something that sounded like, “Dammit, I’m busy.”
Busy? She stepped back, putting more space between them. For an insane moment, she wondered if he was stalking her. She’d noticed a man in the bar watching her. This guy fit the general description even though the corners of the place were dark, and he’d remained in the shadows.
He fitted a smile on his face but was interrupted again. This time his phone erupted with the sounds of a siren. People stopped, turned and stared. She stepped back farther.
“That sounds like an emergency,” she hinted.
* * *
Chance fumbled in his jacket pocket and found the blasted phone. He planned to cheerfully kill whichever brother had reprogrammed his ring tones. Stabbing at the screen, he growled, “What!” He held up an index finger to indicate it would be a short conversation, hoping she’d stay.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Chance could feel his brother’s smirk through the phone. “It’s always a bad time when you call, Cord. Tell the old man not even he can control the weather. I’m stuck in Chicago until this freaking blizzard blows over.”
Chance barely listened, his attention focused on the blonde. Something in her expression captured his interest. Every time she blinked, her lashes appeared to leave bruises under her eyes. He peered closer and noticed the dark circles marring the delicate skin. Sadness. That’s what he saw on her face and in her eyes.
“Chancellor! Are you even listening to me?”
“No.” Not even the use of his full name could distract him.
“Well, you better. He called a family meeting for tomorrow. Clay is flying in from Washington. The old man tried to send one of the planes for you, but every pilot on staff refused to fly because of the weather. Pissed him off to no end, but he couldn’t fire all of them.”
Chance resisted the urge to scrub at his forehead. The old man’s temper and propensity for firing people kept Chance hip deep in fixing the messes made by his father. In fact, he cleaned up all the predicaments his family got embroiled in. It was his duty, according to Cyrus Barron, and part of the price to pay for being a member of one of Oklahoma’s richest and most powerful families. The perks of being a Barron were many, so Chance paid the dues.
“I have a seat on the first flight out in the morning. Any clue about the hornet’s nest we’re walking into?”
“Trouble with a capital T. The old man’s worn a path in the carpet from all his pacing. He keeps muttering something about ‘that old bastard thinks he can outsmart me by dying’ with a lot more choice cuss words sprinkled liberally throughout. He had a map spread out on the conference table, so I have the feeling he’s in acquisition mode and isn’t going to take no for an answer.”
“So what else is new?” The rhetorical nature of the question was lost on Cord. Chance resisted the urge to hang up on his brother as he continued to watch the girl. He liked her looks, but the playboy side of his brain told him to run. The abiding sorrow in her eyes boded nothing but trouble—and entanglements. With his father on the warpath, he couldn’t afford either one. He tuned back in to his brother’s voice.
“It’s not enough that Clay is a senator. The old man is bugging Chase to run for governor next year.”
This was a conversation he didn’t want a stranger to overhear. He turned his back and stepped a few feet away. “Chase? In politics? Oh hell, no. Trouble follows him like an ambulance-chasing lawyer. The old man must be losing his grip on reality.”
“Hey, at least he’s not after you or me, bro.”
Chance snorted. “I had that conversation with the old man when I was twelve.”
Cord laughed again, harder this time. “Yeah, I remember that. You couldn’t sit a saddle for almost a week after he finished tanning your hide with that switch. And he got back at you by making you go to law school.”
Chance turned around just in time to see his plans evaporate behind the elevator doors. He laughed as he saw the woman lean over to continue watching him until the doors closed. His intellect remained curious about her. His body had a more basic interest involving naked skin and sheets. He could still smell the scent of her perfume, or shampoo or simply her. Almonds, orange and a hint of cinnamon—the fragrance as distinctive as the woman. With a frustrated snarl, he focused on his brother’s voice yammering in his ear.
“The old man is livid, Chance. I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when Tammy ran off with the foreman. I’m worried he’s actually going to stroke out.”
Chance rolled his eyes. Tammy was wife number six. Or seven. Half his father’s age and built like Dolly Parton, she’d turned her charms on the ranch foreman and convinced him to take off with her. The Barrons owned the two major papers in Oklahoma so she’d threatened to go to the tabloids with fabricated family secrets. She would sink to that level to cause a scandal. As the family lawyer, Chance negotiated a monetary settlement to avoid the nuisance and filed the divorce papers while the ink was still wet on her signature.
“So what the hell’s going on, Cord? You just cost me a roll in the hay. There’d better be a damn good reason for the old man’s fit.”
