Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Read online

  Sitting on a backless wooden bench with a thin windbreaker tugged snugly about her torso for warmth, Cassie oohed and aahed with the rest of the fans. It had been years since she’d been to a rodeo under the stars. It was much more refreshing than watching in an enclosed arena that a day later would house a rock concert or an antique show.

  After the last cowboy was thrown by the final bull, she strolled through the small carnival area, stopping along the midway to buy some cotton candy, which she hadn’t eaten since she was a teenager. She laughed at grown men trying to knock over wooden milk bottles with three baseballs to impress their female companions. She watched the Octopus spinning and jerking up and down and listened to the girls scream as guys bent over to whisper in their ears. Didn’t sound any different than the teens she worked with. Same bravado, jeers, and cheers. “Oh well,” she yawned, heading for the parking lot. She must be getting old.

  Nearing her vehicle she frowned and slowed. Three young men slouched haphazardly against the hood of her red pickup.

  A tall wiry blond-mustached cowboy stumbled toward her, slurring his words as he spoke. “Well, if ain’t the fancy lady trainer from the east. Welcome to our town.” The tipsy stranger doffed his hat, mocking her. Without moving, his two friends smirked.

  “Did you spend all that purse money yet?” the first man asked. “Or are you gonna save it for a rainy day?”

  Cassie stood stock still, poised on the balls of her feet with arms hanging loosely at her sides. If necessary, she expected she could out run these jerks back to the lighted carnival area. But she really wanted to get back to her motel.

  “Bet she’s like all women. She’ll spend that money on frilly things,” said a burly man, pushing himself away from the truck. A cigarette dangled from his upper lip as he spoke. “Silk panties, soft bras, peek-a-boo nighties. Bet you’d look damn good in ‘em, ma’am. All dolled up and ready to play.”

  “Maybe we can convince her to model for us,” the smaller third man piped. He lurched unsteadily forward. The men formed a semi-circle between her and her truck.

  “Cat got your tongue lady?” the tall blond man asked. “I know where I’d like your tongue.”

  He lunged for her. Cassie kicked her booted foot firmly into the man’s crotch. He wailed a piercing sound, doubling over on the ground. His friends froze for a moment, and then began edging toward her with more determination. She was about to turn and sprint toward what she hoped would be safety when she heard a familiar low voice slice through the dark shadows. Her heart skipped a beat in recognition.

  “That’s about enough, boys. You congratulated the lady. Now it’s time to move on.” Clint Travers stepped into the diffused light. His firmly fixed stare and straining muscles served due warning.

  “Aw, shit,” the stocky man complained, “we was just gonna have some fun. Wasn’t gonna hurt her none.”

  “Yeah,” his partner whined, “she didn’t need an Indian raid to save her.”

  “You may be right about that.” Clint scowled darkly at the man struggling to pull himself up off the ground. “But I’m here now. You have two of us to deal with. What’s it gonna be?”

  Cassie winced, but was pleased that Travers had included her when counting the odds.

  Letting out a deep breath, the stocky man ground his cigarette into the dirt and grumbled, “Not a damn thing. Come on, boys. Think there’s a beer waiting for each of us down at Randy’s. The chief can have his cowgirl, for all I care.”

  The injured man wrapped an arm around each of his companions and limped away.

  When they were out of earshot, Clint whirled on Cassie. “What the hell are you doing out here by yourself?”

  “Son of a bitch,” she spat out in return. “And a good howdy-do to you, too. I’m a big girl. I’m used to being on my own—even in the city. Didn’t you see that bastard dragging his ass out of here?”

  Clint grimaced. “Every place has its danger and its scum. You’ve encountered some home-grown kind here tonight.”

  She nodded. Unable to fuel her anger at the man who had helped her out of a tight fix, she mumbled, “Thanks. So what were you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d see what was happening.” He offered no further explanation, but his features softened. “I better take you back to your motel. Your truck will be here tomorrow.”

  “I said thank you, but I think I can drive myself back safely,” she declared hotly. “I’m not that frazzled by a few overgrown juvenile delinquents.”

  “You might want to look a little more closely at your transportation, Ms. O’Hanlon,” Clint replied dryly. “It’s not usually a good idea to drive on rims.”

  “The dirty bastards!” Cassie shrieked, racing around the pickup. All four tires were flat. Each had been punctured with a sharp object.

  “Afraid you can’t prove it was them.”

  “Son of a bitch, I can’t believe they did that.” She was reeling. If they could slash her tires…”They invaded my space. They violated me. My god.” Her hand flew to her throat. “What might they have tried if you hadn’t come along?”

  Clint shrugged. He looked uncomfortable. “Don’t know,” he drawled. “I’ve seen those boys around, but don’t really know them. I don’t think they were as drunk as they made out to be. Or maybe your toe sobered them up quickly.”

  “Oh my god,” Cassie cried. “I’m so prepared in Chicago, but here, I thought I was safe for some reason. Thanks,” she said, throwing herself into the security of Clint Travers’ arms.

  She trembled. She cried. She clung to him, garnering strength. A shock of energy emanating from her loins raced like a runaway horse through every fiber of her body. She pulled herself up short. Oh no, that was more than comfort; that was raw sexual desire. Hers. She didn’t know about him. Actually, his hardness pressing against her belly allowed for little doubt.

  Embarrassed by her momentary lapse, Cassie staggered away from him. “Sorry for being such a blubbering idiot,” she muttered, wiping tears away with her knuckles. “My kids would laugh like hell right now if they could see me.”

  “Kids!” Clint said, taking a step backwards. “Didn’t know you were married. You don’t wear a wedding ring.”

  “I’m not married,” Cassie said. “Oh. Not my kids.” Why couldn’t she speak coherently around the man? And why was it so important that he understand? “The kids I work with. Troubled kids, delinquents.”

  “Ah, you’re one of those liberal do-gooders.”

  She bristled immediately. “I’m a social worker. If that means I do some good, so be it. But I’ll have you know I’m damn good at kicking ass.”

  Clint bent back his head and howled. “I never doubted that for a moment. There’s some guy limping around here wishing that was all you kick.”

  “Oh,” she sputtered, stomping the ground with her foot, “you’re impossible!”

  Why did this man get to her so? He was a hunk—no question about that. But hunks had never mattered before. He was conceited and always bothering her. Well, he had been helpful tonight. Why did her muscles tense and then turn to mush whenever he smiled, which wasn’t often, but still?

  Damn, he looked good. Her brain seemed to do a double click. It had been a while. Had she forgotten the alarm bells? Could her body be telling her it was ready for a safe, out of the way fling? No muss, no fuss. Just good uncomplicated sex. Clint stood with hands on hips grinning crookedly at her as if he were inside her head. Never mind, she told herself, it wasn’t a good idea anyway.

  “Guess we might as well go,” she fumed, kicking at a flat tire. “Maybe it won’t look so bad in the morning.”

  “My truck’s right over this way,” Clint said, leading the way. “Is it okay with you if we stop by shedrow? I’ve got a horse to medicate yet.”

  “Sure,” she agreed. “That’s fine. It wouldn’t hurt for me to check on Hope’s knees again.” Being with her horse might help take her mind off the night’s events and off her escort.

&n
bsp; Once in the truck, Cassie couldn’t figure out what to say. Maybe she was coming down from the adrenalin rush caused by her would-be tormentors. The silence hung between her and her driver like a heavy quilt.

  At last, Clint asked, “I’ve been wondering—is Cassie short for Cassandra?”

  She laughed easily. “No. I’m not a Cassandra. It’s short for Cassidy. My dad was a huge Hopalong Cassidy fan.”

  Clint looked sharply her. “I’ll be damned. Cassidy. I like that. Your dad must be quite a character.”

  “That, and more. He’s the reason I’m here. For his whole life he’s chased the dream of having a stakes contender. Hope came along with a lot of potential.” Leaning her head back, Cassie relaxed. “In March, Dad had a pretty bad stroke.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s why I got recruited for this job. When Hope had troubles in her first two races, Dad encouraged me to bring her out here so she could regain her confidence.”

  “I think she found that today. So you’re doing all of this as a favor to your dad.”

  “Mostly. I doubt any of us always understand our motivations for doing things.”

  “True enough. But what you’re doing requires a kind of courage and loyalty that’s rare. Don’t suppose many social workers trade in their desk jobs to be at a track at five in the morning until who knows when.”

  Cassie didn’t respond to this sudden praise. She was struggling to control the toasty feeling rushing through her veins. She hadn’t predicted that he could be kind and gentle. Powerful. Sexy. Demanding. But not kind and gentle.

  “Well, here we are,” Clint said, pulling to a stop in front of a row of horse stalls. “Let me change a poultice on old Storm Jet, and then we can see how Hope is doing.”

  “Okay,” Cassie concurred, aware that without saying so he didn’t want her walking shedrow alone. Given her earlier evening experience, she swallowed whatever pride was left and waited. Besides, she enjoyed watching the tall tough cowboy speak tenderly to his horse. His fingertips moved gingerly up and down Storm Jet’s foreleg, feeling for anything hot or out of place.

  Cassie had seen many men and women do the same thing to horses hundreds of times, if not thousands. Why were his movements so erotic? She felt as if he were touching her leg, her thigh, her breast. She shivered.

  Clint glanced at her standing in the doorway. His nostrils flared. He looked quickly back his work and continued rubbing his hands over the leg and knee.

  She thought she heard him say, “Damn, you’re tempting.” Which didn’t make sense at all.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  “Just talking to my horse. There.” He stood and looked at his handiwork. That should hold her until tomorrow. I’ll stop by in the morning before I head home. Guess we ought to check in on your winner.”

  Cassie nodded, grinning broadly. “Winner—that’s an intoxicating word!”

  - o -

  As they walked to Cassie’s horse, Clint felt her tug at his arm to stop him. She scanned the starry sky. She seemed to stop breathing for a long moment.

  “Damn,” she said in a hushed tone, hugging herself, “we don’t see a sky like that in Chicago. Looks like you could pluck your own personal star.”

  “Yeah, it’s fantastic. I never tire of watching Father Sky change hour by hour and season by season. Here, put this on,” he offered, taking his heavy jacket and draping it around her shoulders. “Wyoming evening air can get nippy.”

  “Thanks,” she said, shuddering. He watched her breathe deeply. He’d swear she was savoring his scent. Abruptly, she scurried toward Hope’s stall.

  Clint lengthened his stride to keep up, painfully aware of her sensuality. While unable to read her thoughts, he sensed the electricity pulsating between them. He’d been attracted to the firebrand since he first saw her rear end sticking out beside her filly as she bent over a hoof. But now he was having second thoughts. She had beware of danger written all over her. He doubted she’d had many casual relationships.

  If he didn’t watch it, he was going to willingly fall into a snare large enough for any man, and he didn’t even know who’d set the trap. Was it her? Was it him? Was it the universe? This woman wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex. And he certainly needed no emotional entanglements, particularly with a temperamental woman from the big city.

  After running her hands up and down Hope’s front legs and knees, Cassie announced, “They’re cool. That’s a relief.”

  She stepped out of the filly’s stall and turned toward him. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask. What did that guy mean tonight when he talked about me being saved by an Indian raid?”

  Clint glowered at her. Her blank look told him everything. He spun as if to bolt.

  She caught him by the arm. “What did I say wrong now? I can’t ever seem to talk to you for more than five minutes without one of us getting upset.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t mean to insult you, but you are beyond naïve at times. Did you think this skin was created by the sun? I’m half Ute. My mother is a full blood. My father was a mixture of all those things whites tend to be.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I hope I didn’t offend you. I work with people of color all the time—guess maybe I’m sort of color blind.”

  He had a difficult time believing her, yet he knew intuitively that the outspoken, fiery Cassidy O’Hanlon did not lie. She might have many faults, but he was sure lying was not one of them.

  Narrowing her eyes, Cassie quipped, “You know, tonight I think I’m very pleased to have been rescued by an Indian raid rather than by the local cavalry.”

  Clint smiled at the mischievous woman. One moment she hissed at him and the next she tempted him. She never ceased being provocative. He could almost feel her surging heat. When she was busy he took the opportunity to rearrange his erection, which had become incredibly hard and uncomfortable.

  - o -

  Cassie stepped into the next stall, bent over, and rummaged though a pack. Finally she emerged with a tube of ointment.

  She turned and fixed her green sparkling eyes on his. “Caught you gawking at my butt. See anything you like, Mr. Travers?”

  “I’ve wanted to see your hair down,” he said softly, “since I first saw you. Do you always keep it in a ponytail?”

  “No,” she responded weakly. She wet her lips. Was this it? Was he going to kiss her at last? Was she ready for him? She didn’t do flings. But she was a thousand miles from home. So, why not? Her nipples hardened. She felt the sure sign of wetness in her pussy. She had her answer—she was more than ready. Her fingers trembling slightly, she removed the band holding her hair in place and shook out her long tresses, letting them fall loosely over her breasts. Smiling, she arched her back and thrust her pelvis forward in silent invitation.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Clint muttered, closing the distance between them. Gently, he ran his fingers through hair, grazing her breast in the process.

  Cassie’s eyes went wide and she bit her lower lip.

  He smiled and bent his neck, leaning toward her.

  She stood on tiptoes, raising her lips to meet his. Their lips brushed. His tongue sought her mouth and she opened to him, chasing his probing tongue with her own. Suddenly overwhelmed, Cassie slid off his lips gasping for air. She shook her head trying to find clarity. Spasms of desire raced from her toes to her most private place. His arousal pressed against her tummy; his hands clutched her buttocks. Thinking was a nearly impossible task. If she wanted to change her mind, this might be her last chance.

  He held her tight as if he feared she’d run. He seemed to be smoldering just as much as she was. Were they ready to chance a wildfire?

  She was certain of only one thing: she’d not had enough. Not hardly. Crushing her lips against his again, she tried to swallow his tongue as it searched her mouth. They fell to their knees. She slipped a hand inside his shirt and massaged his rippling chest muscles.

  Clint cupped a breast. Sh
e moaned softly. Quickly, together, they unbuttoned her blouse, giving him more access. Her bra fell away, an easy victim before their quest.

  “My god, you’re beautiful. Your breasts are so exquisite,” he whispered, cupping one in each hand and tapping the nipples with his thumbs.

  His words enthralled her. His caresses sent a jolt of fire straight to her loins. “Not too small? Most guys seem to prefer big tits.”

  “Perfection,” he murmured, lowering his head.

  She looked down to watch him surround her nipple, then felt a jolt of electricity as he began to suckle. Her hands ruffled his thick black hair while she muttered unintelligible sounds. Her body was no longer her own. There was only an urgent demand for fulfillment. Her pussy throbbed with need. Her panties were already sticky from her juices.

  Cascading her hair over her face as if attempting to hide would make things easier, Cassie let her thumbs pop open the buttons holding her jeans together. Determinedly, she pulled the zipper down. She stood and he helped her step out of boots, jeans and panties.

  He remained kneeling before her. His gasp thrilled her. Only dimly could she see him through the fall of her hair, but she felt his ragged breath as he covered her mound. His fingers explored her heat. Would her rubbery legs give way? She leaned into him for support.

  His tongue grazed her clit. Her hips swayed under the onslaught. Her fingers tightened around his head. His fingers, his tongue drove her to the brink. She rose on her toes and arched against him driving his fingers and tongue deeper.

  “I’m coming,” she squealed. “Oh god, yes.”

  And then her juices spilled over. His mouth covered her. She felt him swallowing and purred his name softly. Her muscles seemed like just so much loose powder.

  Keeping his mouth in place, coaxing even more from her, he clasped her torso with both arms, or she would have certainly fallen.

  She smoldered, savoring his touch, his strength, and his protective instincts. Shattered, but not lifeless, Cassie gradually came back to him. She traced his neck cord with her tongue silently thanking him.