Kissed by a Cowboy Read online

  She jerked harder but it was useless.

  “This is just so not right,” she muttered as a deeper weariness and feelings of ineptitude filled her. What was she going to do?

  “Okay. Back out real slow and easy,” a deep, gravelly voice warned.

  Cassidy froze and screamed silently, Who? And where had the man come from? She hadn’t heard a vehicle drive up.

  “Come on, do as I say.”

  Her weary eyes narrowed and fear shot straight to mad. “I don’t know who you are,” she growled, saying the first thing that popped into her exhausted brain, “but I warn you, I’m armed, so you better back off.” What? Are you crazy, Cassidy?

  “Well, that makes two of us,” the man drawled. “Now, come on out here.”

  Her heart leapt in her chest—he was armed. What if he was here to rob the place?

  “My patience is wearing thin and my trigger finger is itchin’, so hurry it up.”

  “This is ridiculous. Look here, bucko,” she warned, not liking yet another man trying to push her around. “I guess we will have to have our shoot-out at the O.K. Corral in a little while, because the truth is I’m stuck here. So there isn’t much that can be done until I get loose. Either help me or get off my property.”

  Laughter from the other side of the door was her only answer. A husky, wonderful laugh that she would know anywhere. “Jarrod Monahan, is that you out there?”

  “Cassidy Starr, I have seen you in some predicaments, but this one wins hands down. What in the name of thunder are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing, knitting a sweater?”

  “Well, you could be, but since your hands aren’t exactly the part of your anatomy I have a visual on, I don’t know what you’re doing over there on that side of the door.”

  Drop her in a hole and push dirt over her! She was pretty certain she was glowing with mortification in the pitch-dark house as she growled, “Get me loose, please. And stop gawking.”

  “You’ve got me on that one. I cannot tell a lie,” he drawled and chuckled at the same time.

  Memories from the past rushed by her in living color. “You’re incorrigible.” She yanked her hips hard.

  “Hey, I’m not the one stuck halfway through a doggie door.”

  “Would you please help me get unhooked from this thing so I can move?” She wondered what he looked like after all these years. She’d glimpsed him a couple of times at Aunt Roxie’s funeral, but he’d stayed well away from her at the back of the packed church. And outside he’d had his cowboy hat on, which cast his face in shadow.

  She suddenly felt his hand on her hip and she tensed.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this. Hold still.”

  He tugged on her waistband, then she heard an odd sound and felt the tightening of the hooked area. She realized she was feeling the blade of a pocket knife sliding through material.

  “You’re cutting my jeans!”

  And then she was free. Cassidy wasted no time after that. She pulled herself through the door and into the dark house. She stood up and felt along the wall beside the back door for the light switch. Thankfully she’d made sure to have the utilities turned on. She’d even asked for them to be turned on a few days before she told them she would be here, just in case. Sure enough, she’d been ready to come back home earlier than she thought she’d be, and today she’d made her escape.

  Light flooded the kitchen, and floral overload hit her as burgundy and pink rose-patterned wallpaper jumped out at her in a busy Pepto-Bismol swirl.

  It was awful, making her head bang harder. And she sneezed again.

  Aunt Roxie had inherited this decor from the original owner of the home, and she’d despised it. But she had never taken the time to do anything about it. She’d been too busy working outside to change anything inside. Now it brought back so many memories of early-morning breakfast at the old table in the corner and canning and cooking with Roxie over the large stove.

  Cassidy glanced around and felt Roxie’s absence intensely. Then she flipped on the porch light and unlocked the door. She was completely unprepared when she found herself face-to-face with Jarrod Monahan.

  He was pure, undiluted, male charisma personified, standing in the bright beam of the porch light. He had dark good looks that were intensified by the blackness of his hair, the sideburns enhancing the dark shadow on his jaw. He’d always looked like the man you’d want in your corner if the going got rough. And once upon a time he’d been in her corner.

  “Jarrod, so nice of you to drop by,” she drawled, trying for a little humor to ease her sudden, acute discomfort.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d swing over. You wouldn’t have a cup of sugar I could borrow, would you?”

  Cassidy studied him with a smile tugging reluctantly to her lips. Despite their history, it appeared he could still make her smile. He had always been able to make her smile. And rile her up at the same time. Her smile faltered.

  “It’s been a long time, Cass.”

  The way he said her name, the name he and he alone had ever called her, was like a caress, and it brought an unwanted longing along with the memory of the last time she’d seen him. She stiffened. “Yes, it has been. Where’s your truck?” she asked, needing something to distract from the awkwardness swamping her. And curious as to how he’d gotten here so silently.

  “Down the lane. I cut the lights and the engine in case you were a vandal. I wanted to surprise you.”

  Oh, he’d done that all right. “I see.”

  “So I gather you’ve just arrived?”

  “Yup, drove in thirty minutes ago.” Awkward silence descended around them and stretched between them as they studied each other.

  He rubbed his jaw. “You know you could have left your truck lights on and shined them this way.”

  Did he think she had no sense? “Yes, I certainly could have if my battery hadn’t died.”

  “That explains the light I saw from my porch.”

  “So you don’t normally just come snooping around the place at all hours of the night.”

  His brow crinkled and the corner of his lips—

  Cassidy’s pulse jumped, startling her. Stay calm, stay calm.

  “I do keep a watch out for things going on over here. An abandoned house is prime target material to vandals and thieves, you know, and since we are the only two houses out here for miles—”

  “Yes, I realize that, but I have the Burke twins watching out for the place.” She crossed her arms and tried not to let her gaze linger on him. She didn’t need him watching over things.

  “And Doobie and Doonie asked me to help them out since it is right next door to me.”

  She bristled and clamped her lips together, biting back so many things she could say to him. But those things were better left unsaid. “Well, I’m here now. I’ll keep watch on it. And it’s been a long day. I need to settle in and get some sleep.”

  “Sure. Anything I can help you with before I leave?”

  “No. I’m fine. Um, thanks for . . . rescuing me.” Boy, it hurt to admit that to him. If she could pick up her property and plop it down miles away from Jarrod’s house, she would.

  He tapped the edge of his hat, then took a step back. “Anytime. You know where to find me. My cell number should still be on Roxie’s bulletin board beside her desk.”

  “Good night.” She didn’t acknowledge his offer. If there was one thing certain other than death and taxes, it was that she would not in any way, shape, or form be calling Jarrod Monahan for help.

  Head pounding like a thousand drums, she closed the door and just stood there.

  When she made the decision to come home, she’d known Jarrod would be her neighbor. She’d known it.

  And she thought she could handle it.

  But now the reality was here and, well, there might be a bit of a hitch in that plan.

  And that knowledge was about as welcome as crawling thr
ough that doggie door had been.

  Cassidy Starr was back. Jarrod mulled that news over in his mind all the way back to his place. The distance between his house and hers was about half a mile. He could see her barn and back porch from his back porch.

  Jarrod had a few regrets in his life and Cassidy was one of them. What was she doing here? How long was she staying? For all he knew she was cleaning up the place and then moving on.

  He’d put her out of his mind and heart for eight years now. She’d been a married woman, after all, and there’d been no reason to dwell on the past too long because of that fact.

  There was no reason to dwell on it now either.

  He slammed his truck door and tromped back into his house, his boots thudding in the dark silence that suddenly seemed almost unbearable. Crossing to his kitchen window, he was drawn to the lights glowing inside her house. Memories swirled like a hurricane inside of him. He stared across the distance, unable to move for the longest time.

  Finally, he walked through his quiet, still house to his bedroom. Twenty minutes later, after a long, hot shower that should have eased the knots of tension from his shoulders and neck but didn’t, he was still thinking about Cassidy. When he finally climbed into bed, it was only to toss and turn as the fiery, green-eyed redhead remained firmly on his mind.

  He told himself he’d messed up royally where she was concerned, but it was a long time ago. Now he had commitments to the ranch and trouble brewing with rustlers. He had Pops to help and this property to get into shape. Truth was, a lot had changed since that night when he’d stepped across a line and then made the mistake of his life.

  But now she was back—and single.

  But for how long?

  And what was he going to do about it?

  The morning sun streamed through the windows and woke Cassidy. She popped one eye open, then the other. She was home. Back in her old room on the second floor overlooking the barn.

  She felt sluggish, jet lagged without the jet. Her mouth was dry and she knew water would do her good, but instead of getting up she rolled over and stared out the window. She needed a few more minutes of laziness before she got up and started working. The big double doors of the large barn were closed, but she knew the inside was packed.

  Her gaze lingered on the smaller door of the hayloft. Her place. She’d been a lonely little girl when she climbed up to that loft and spent many hours, doors open, feet dangling out as she chewed on a stalk of hay and studied the house across the pasture. A lonely young girl watching the three boys who lived in the house next door. They liked to rope anything that was standing still and sometimes moving.

  And Jarrod had been the best at roping.

  And there he was in her thoughts again.

  He didn’t come say hello or anything at Roxie’s funeral, but that had been for the best. It didn’t matter any longer anyway, not after all these years.

  What mattered now, today and for her future, was building a life for herself where her happiness was no longer dependent on a man.

  She climbed out of bed on that thought, knowing that dwelling on such things would only depress her.

  The bedroom, like the barn and rest of the house, was packed full of flea market and rummage sale finds. Hordes of knickknacks and other assortments of mismatched dust catchers sat on every available surface. An old washbasin was on an even older table in the corner. The bed frame was wrought iron. Roxie figured it had been carted to Texas in a covered wagon. Come to think of it, the lumpy mattress felt like it might have made the same trip.

  It was actually worse downstairs. Cassidy groaned as she looked about. She had loved her aunt, but this was bad, much worse than she remembered. At least, she thought, there was probably enough usable furniture in the house for the B and B.

  After a hot shower, she dug into the one suitcase she’d brought in last night and dressed in clothes ratty enough for barn cleaning. Then she walked downstairs.

  In addition to the house being full of old paintings, framed photos of her growing up, and knickknacks, it had all the books Roxie had collected. Cassidy loved those high bookshelves in the sitting room where many of them were stored. Each time her parents dropped her off at Roxie’s, she’d discover that her aunt had bought a few new books just for her. She’d even placed them on the shelves at eye level where Cassidy loved to read, sitting on the floor.

  Her aunt Roxie had taken care to do special things for her. Cassidy had needed that.

  She smiled, feeling her aunt’s warmth envelop her. This place was cluttered, but there had been love here. And for a kid thirsty for love, that was priceless. Even now, her parents were so caught up in their own lives that they seldom called, and Cassidy had given up trying to reconnect. Maybe one day. For now, she didn’t have the energy to think about it. Dealing with one failure was enough. Thinking about it wore her down.

  And she needed her energy to start new, to make this home into a lovely bed-and-breakfast. It would ooze charm. Aunt Roxie had taught her how to refurbish furniture. She had in fact gotten the flea market bug herself, though not as much as Aunt Roxie. And unlike Roxie, Cassidy knew how to say no to some things. But refurbishing the old furniture she did bring home thrilled her.

  It had always bugged Jack, though. He thought everything had to be new. Things that old meant trash to him.

  She wondered about that in all areas of her ex-husband’s life. She’d been his wife, the old love, so he’d gotten a new love. Out with the old, in with the new—well, technically, before his latest replacement, he’d had a lot of new loves. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes or have any feeling at all where Jack was concerned. She’d gone numb to any and all things that had to do with him. She cringed thinking about how fooled she’d been by him. It still dug at her pride that she hadn’t recognized he had problems from the very beginning. But she hadn’t, and there were a lot of people in his life who still had no idea with whom they were dealing. Oh, she could recognize his type from a mile away now, so there was that at least. Thankfully, she could hold up her head because she had finally decided to do the “out with the old” herself when she’d walked out.

  There just wasn’t going to be an “in with the new” for her. Nope, she wasn’t bringing in anyone new ever again.

  Knowing she had been the one to finally end the disastrous marriage, a marriage that never should have happened in the first place, helped. She should have kicked Jack to the curb in the very beginning when she’d first caught him cheating. But no, she’d been a fool.

  Okay, she hadn’t been a fool, she’d been forgiving—or tried to be. Then she’d felt dirty and angry and sometimes mean. And one of the things she hated about the person she’d turned into during the divorce. She felt ugly through and through.

  She would change that, though.

  She was getting her life back. She felt like this musty old house she was about to rejuvenate. With some house cleaning and thinning out, this farmhouse would be the most charming little inn within a hundred mile radius. Shoot, in all of Texas.

  She felt warm inside, as if she were that little girl once more being enfolded in Aunt Roxie’s exuberant hugs. Or God’s, as her aunt always reminded her. No matter what she was going through she was to put her trust in the Lord because he loved her the most.

  Cassidy blinked at sudden tears. She just wasn’t at that place right now. She knew Aunt Roxie would be upset about that, but Cassidy couldn’t help it. She was being honest.

  After the nightmare of the last few years—especially since Roxie died—she’d begun to wonder what use believing was. Where was God, anyway? She was tired of being the only one in a relationship putting out any effort, and in the end she hadn’t cared about anything except that she’d wasted years of her life on Jack.

  On that heavy note she headed outside to unpack the rest of her belongings and some supplies from her truck, affirming her new outlook as she went. “Today I will start my new life! But coffee first.” She pulled open th
e door and gasped—Jarrod Monahan stood on her porch again.

  “Huggley-muggley,” she muttered. The man’s deep blue eyes stalled her breath and sent her pulse into the stratosphere. The porch light hadn’t done him justice last night, but the morning sunlight showed off just exactly how good the years had been to Jarrod. He’d always been ridiculously good-looking, but age, the maturing of those rugged features . . . It was all superficial, she well understood, but nonetheless still a heart-soaring sight. Her head had stopped pounding, but with blood pressure like this it was only a matter of moments before the knocking started again.

  “Mornin’,” he drawled.

  There was a hint of pure tease in that drawl that scrapped her nerves raw. She frowned. “What are you doing here?” Okay, that was mean. She was supposed to be leaving mean behind.

  “I’m here to jump-start your battery.”

  She did not need her battery jump-started, thank you very much. “My battery?” she croaked, hoping he couldn’t read her mind.

  He nodded and pointed to his truck. It was parked hood to hood with hers.

  Had she been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard his truck? The shower—he must have driven up while she’d been showering.

  “Oh, right. Thanks.” She breathed a sigh of relief and moved past him, needing to clear her head, which meant getting away from the spicy, rich scent of the man. He’s not a cinnamon roll!

  She needed that coffee and bad. She had awakened in an odd frame of mind. Maybe it was the dust and the mustiness of the house.

  “I was going to call Charlie to come take a look at it. I know you have things to do.”

  “Not a problem. I figured I’d drop by on my way to Pops’s house. We’re taking him riding today.”

  “How is Pops? He was always so nice to me.” She was glad to have a new focus. And she was truly interested in Pops.