Cowgirls Don't Cry. Silver James

No, you can’t bring that baby skunk inside.

      Boots sprawled in the worn wooden chair on the porch, Buddy at his feet. A small metal table separated his chair from its twin. Her father’s chair. How many evenings had she worked on her homework at the kitchen table, listening to the two men talk through the open window? She passed off an icy glass of sweet tea to Boots then grabbed a third chair, a refugee from some 1950s patio set, and settled into it.

      “What are you not sayin’, Cassie?”

      She’d put off this discussion for almost a week. So much for easing into the conversation. There was no way to soften her news, so she blurted it out. “I’m putting the ranch up for sale.” When Boots didn’t respond, she plunged ahead. “I don’t need the money. Not really. I want to set you up with a little place closer to town. A place where you and Buddy and a horse and some cows can live and be happy.”

      She gulped down a breath and continued. “It’s for the best, you know. I have a life in Chicago. A job. Friends. I left the ranch and never intended to come back, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it and...and...” Her voice trailed off as she raised her gaze to meet his. “Say something, Uncle Boots. Don’t just sit there staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.”

      “You can’t sell the ranch.”

      “Yes, I can. It’s mine.” She snapped her mouth shut. Maybe it wasn’t hers. Maybe her father had left the place to Boots. “Isn’t it?”

      “Sort of.”

      “What’s that mean?”

      “You’re Ben’s heir, but the place is in hock to the bankers.”

      “What did Daddy do, Uncle Boots?”

      “He took out a loan, Cassie, to pay the medical bills. The note on the land is coming due soon.”

      She winced, shut her eyes and rubbed at her temples. “How much?”

      “A bunch.”

      “Define a bunch, Uncle Boots.” Money. This she understood.

      “More than what your daddy has in the bank. More than what I have in the bank. And unless you’ve made a fortune I don’t know about, more than what you have.”

      “What was he thinking?” The words burst from her mouth before she could stop them.

      “He was thinking about paying his bills.”

      The censure in Boots’s tone burned, but she deserved it. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But if Dad took out a loan, he must have had a plan. He didn’t believe in being in debt.” She tried to feel hopeful while waiting for that proverbial other shoe to drop.

      “Cattle.”

      “Cattle?”

      “Before he was diagnosed, he bought a herd of five hundred feeder calves cheap. Had them on grass all winter so they’re fat and almost ready for market. Give ’em another few weeks, and they’ll bring top price. Grass-fed beef is the big thing now, so those calves should make enough to pay off the balloon payment with plenty to cover the rest of his debts to the hospital and leave you a little start-up cash.”

      “Start-up cash? Did he really believe I’d come back here to stay? With him gone? Why would I do that?” She gulped and quickly added, “Not that I don’t love you, Uncle Boots.”

      “You need to come with me.” He heaved up out of his chair.

      He limped going down the steps, Buddy close on his heels, and she remembered Boots was even older than her father. He had to be pushing seventy. Man and dog ambled toward the barn and a few moments later, Cass followed. She caught up and as they entered the dim environs of the wooden structure side by side, Buddy darted ahead. Boots paused to flip a light switch, though it didn’t add much illumination to the space. Whickers greeted them, and a few horses stuck their heads over the stall doors to watch. She recognized her father’s favorite horse, Red. A big sorrel with a white blaze, the horse neighed and stretched his neck.

      “Your dad spoiled that dang pony.”

      Cass laughed and stepped over to the stall. Red nickered and stretched his nose toward her. She reached up, and his velvet lips nibbled her palm. “I’ll sneak you a carrot later.” She patted the horse’s neck before glancing back at Boots. “So? You wanted me to see Red?”

      He shook his head before tilting it toward the stall across the way. “Nope. I want you to look over here.” He pointed to a stall across the barn. “Ben was a horse trader and that’s what he did. Just for you.”

      * * *

      Chance knocked on the door, but no one answered. Lights illuminated the windows and Boots’s rusty old truck was parked nearby. He walked to the end of the porch. A glass of tea sweated on a metal table. Then he noticed the open door and lights glowing in the barn. He sauntered that way, rehearsing what to say. Whatever he said, his heart wasn’t really in what he had to do, even as it tripped a couple of beats at the thought of seeing Cassidy again.

      He stepped into the soft gloom of the barn and stopped dead in his tracks.

      Cassidy was leaning over a stable door murmuring something he couldn’t understand. The old man stood next to her. Damn but she looked fine in jeans and boots. The plaid flannel shirt tucked into those jeans enhanced every one of her curves instead of hiding them. All the blood in his head rushed south, and he had to lean on the barn door to keep from pitching over face-first.

      Boots opened the stall door, then they both disappeared inside. Chance inhaled several times, adjusted the front of his jeans and stepped deeper into the barn so he could see what was in that stall.

      “Good-lookin’ colt you have there.”

      Cassidy jumped about a foot off the ground, whirled and gasped, her face draining of color.

      “You!”

      He stepped back in mock innocence. “Me?”

      “You! From Chicago!”

      He held his hands, palms forward, out in front of him. “Guilty. Though I have to admit Fate is being a lady today. I figured I’d never see you again.”

      “What are you doing in Oklahoma?” Her brow furrowed, and he decided her glare was one of the cutest expressions he’d ever seen. Then again, there wasn’t much about this woman he didn’t find attractive in one way or another. That seemed to be the Barron family curse—they all had a tendency to think with the wrong part of their anatomy when a pretty woman was involved. He was far from immune from the affliction.

      “I live here. What were you doing in Chicago?” As if they were playing poker, he called her furrowed brows with a sardonic grin and raised her with a wink.

      “I live there.” She sounded accusatory.

      In all honesty, he rather enjoyed keeping her off balance. “So what brings you to Podunk, Oklahoma?” Cassie bristled, and color suffused her cheeks. He wondered if the same thing would happen if she were sexually aroused.

      “Were you there this morning? At the memorial service?”

      She’d seen him, dammit, just as he’d suspected. Well, he had no choice now. “Yeah. Why?”

      “Pardon me for being a bit...suspicious. You try to pick me up in the hotel in Chicago then you follow me here and show up at my father’s funeral. What’s wrong with this picture?”

      “Whoa, darlin’.” She was a sarcastic little thing and damn if he didn’t like it. A lot.

      “Don’t call me that. I don’t even know your name.”

      “My name is Chance—Chancellor.”

      “Well, Mr. Chance Chancellor, you just turn around and walk right on out of here. I don’t know who you are, why you’re