Cowgirls Don't Cry. Silver James

in an attempt to grind the other man beneath his boot heel. But Ben Morgan didn’t have any “give up” in him. He’d made a life for his wife, first as a supplier of rodeo stock then as a horse trainer.

      Chance rubbed the back of his neck. His father was a royal jerk. He couldn’t even let the man have peace in the grave. The email from Cord first thing this morning had confirmed that Morgan had taken out a loan at a small bank—the bank recently purchased by a subsidiary of Barron Enterprises, and he’d used the ranch as collateral. The old man wanted Chance to stop off and pick up the file before coming into the office. Since he could no longer screw with Ben Morgan, Cyrus planned to screw with any heirs or successors his old nemesis might have by calling the note.

      Yeah, leave it to his father to be four moves ahead of any opponent. Chance had to admire the old man’s business acumen. He’d thought the acquisition foolish at the time and certainly not worth the hassle of the federal and state banking regulators’ paperwork. Chance had hired a couple of experts in banking law to handle it because Cyrus had remained adamant. The old man wanted the bank. So they’d bought it. Chance knew why now. He tossed off a mental shrug. Barron Enterprises could afford it.

      Closing the laptop, he held up his mug for a refill as the flight attendant hovered, a ready smile on her face.

      “You know, I have layovers in OKC sometimes,” she whispered. She wrapped one hand around his to steady the cup as she poured, a move he recognized as an excuse to touch him.

      Chance glanced up. She was a brunette, in her late twenties, and her trim uniform fit in all the right places. The girl was just his type—female—but even as he smiled, another face appeared in his memory. The blonde from the hotel. His abdomen contracted, and his heart thundered for a few beats. He hadn’t even gotten her name, yet here she was haunting him.

      “Sorry, hon. This is just a quick trip for me.” The lie flowed smooth as honey from his mouth. As disappointment registered on her face, Chance wondered what the hell had gotten into him. Why would he turn down a sure thing?

      While it was unlikely he’d ever cross paths with the woman, he did have a brother who was a private investigator and ran Barron Security. He’d sic Cash on her trail. All Chance wanted was one night to get her out of his system. That’s all it would take.

      He shifted in his seat, glad the tray table and computer disguised his discomfort. He couldn’t pinpoint why the woman had gotten under his skin but she had, like a burr under his saddle. He shoved thoughts of her away and opened his laptop again, hoping to concentrate on the task at hand. He had to squelch his libido and his uneasiness over what his father wanted—the combination made for an odd sensation in and of itself.

      The flight attendant scurried toward the economy section. He leaned into the aisle to see what was happening. Three attendants hovered around a row of seats toward the back of the plane. Everyone with aisle seats had twisted to watch the commotion, too. He heard raised voices, but the conversation was too indistinct. Within moments, the situation calmed. He returned his attention to the problem at hand.

      Once the plane landed, he was the first one off. With no luggage to retrieve, he headed straight for the parking lot. He stepped into the gentle March sunshine, glad he hadn’t bothered to shrug into his heavy winter jacket. The storm pounding the upper Midwest hadn’t dipped as far south as Oklahoma, and Chance was thankful. He hated cold weather. Of course, he hated hot weather, too. If he had his way, he’d live somewhere where the temperature remained at a balmy sixty-eight degrees year-round.

      He dug out his car keys, hit the button for the auto-unlock and dumped his carry-on suitcase and laptop case in the passenger seat before settling behind the wheel. With a reckless abandon born from experience, Chance maneuvered his sleek, phantom-black Audi R8 sports car toward the parking lot exit. The car swooped down the exit ramp, slowing to a stop just long enough for him to pay the attendant.

      Without looking for merging traffic from other lanes, he downshifted and gunned the powerful 571 horsepower V10 engine. A flash of rust in the corner of his eye and the sound of squealing tires had him handling the powerful vehicle like a race car to avoid a collision. Caught by the next traffic light, Chance glanced over at the beat-up old pickup in the next lane. He looked away then looked back. He didn’t recognize the old man in the driver’s seat but the passenger? Oh, yeah. It was her! The blonde from the hotel. She’d rolled down the window, and her glare could melt the metallic paint right off the Audi.

      His windows were tinted dark, and he doubted she could see him. When the light changed, instead of accelerating the way he normally would, he eased off the clutch, making sure the clunker pulled ahead of him. He made a mental note of the license plate. Now he’d have a chance to sic Cash on her and move in for the kill after all. He grinned, unable to calculate the odds of seeing her again, especially here on his home ground. Excitement tingled in his fingertips. Life was looking up. Gunning his engine, he headed toward I-40 and the command performance he had to attend.

       Three

      “Did you see that idiot? He could have killed us!”

      “City folks drive a bit faster, sugar. That’s all. We didn’t wreck.” Boots turned his head and spit out the window.

      “You shouldn’t chew, Uncle Boots. That stuff’s bad for you.”

      “It’s the only vice I got left, Cassie, and I ain’t gonna live forever. Give an old man some peace.”

      She ground her back teeth together but held her tongue. The seat cover—an old horse blanket—made her back itch through her cotton turtleneck. She’d shed her heavy jacket as soon as she’d stepped out of the terminal. Compared to Chicago, the fifty degree temperature in Oklahoma City felt positively balmy. The Australian shepherd sprawled on the bench seat between them yawned, and she absently scratched his ears.

      “I want your life, Buddy. Nothing to do all day but nap in the sun and chase squirrels. And you don’t have to put up with the stupid people of the world. You can just bite ’em or piss on ’em.”

      “You watch your mouth, Cassidy Anne Morgan. I won’t have you corrupting this poor dog with such language. Ol’ Buddy here is sensitive.”

      She rolled her eyes but reached over to pat Boots on the shoulder. “Yessir.”

      They rode in silence for several minutes. The old man cleared his throat but didn’t speak. A few blocks later, caught by another red light, he glanced at Cassie. “I’m gonna miss him, sugar.” Buddy whined softly and shifted to lay his head on the man’s thigh, as if to say he’d miss Ben, too.

      Cass pressed her lips together and lost the battle with her tears. They streaked her cheeks even as Boots pulled a faded red bandanna from his pocket and offered it to her. She took it and dabbed at her runny nose, but the tears continued. She leaned her head against the window.

      “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “Tell you what, Cassie? I asked you to come home lots of times.”

      “You could have told me he was dying.”

      “I told you he was sick.”

      Her temper flared. “There’s a big damn difference between sick and dying, Boots!” Her tears stopped as her anger surged.

      “And there’s a big damn difference between being too stubborn to come home and make amends and being too busy to worry about your daddy.”

      “He started it.” She winced. That sounded so petulant. But it was true. Her dad had fought her plans the whole way. If she had to go to college, why wasn’t one of the local universities good enough? Why did she have to go traipsing off where he’d never get to see her? She’d saved her barrel-racing money and made straight As to get an academic scholarship. Even so, she’d had to wait tables to make ends meet while in college. Then she got a job with the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Granted, she was far from rich, but she didn’t have to haul her butt out of bed at the crack of dawn to do barn chores. She didn’t have