Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid (5 page)

On the other hand, Slater's return was a rock-solid guarantee that the whole ugly business was going to be dredged up all over town, anyway. She might as well get used to answering questions about him. “It was a long time ago,” she said tersely. “We were engaged, but it didn't work out.”

There. That was a nice, succinct—if wildly understated—version. It seemed enough for Greta. “You were engaged to the CEO of Maverick Enterprises?”

“Like I said. A long time ago.”

“Wow! That's so romantic. Maybe he came back to try to win your heart again.”

When pigs fly.

“I strongly doubt it,” she murmured, then tried desperately to change the subject. “When you're done there, you can start squeezing the orange juice.”

Greta wasn't so easily distracted. “For what it's worth, I think he's gorgeous. Like some kind of movie star or something.”

Gorgeous he might be. But Cassie didn't have the heart to tell the starry-eyed teenager that beyond that pretty face, Zack Slater was nothing but trouble.

 

She was telling the truth.

Two hours later Zack poked at a runny omelette and half-cooked hash browns with his fork, trying hard to pretend he didn't notice the sullen whispers and the not-so-subtle glares being thrown his way by the Salt River locals.

When he had lived here before, Murphy had a well-earned reputation for good, hearty meals. Either the service and the menu had drastically gone downhill or Murphy was saving all the edible food for his other customers.

He supposed he was lucky to get anything, given the overwhelmingly hostile atmosphere in the diner.

When he walked into the café—with its red vinyl booths and mismatched paneling—the breakfast conversation of the summer crowd had ground to an awkward halt like a kid cartwheeling down a hill and hitting the bottom way too fast.

At first he figured everybody focused on him only because he was a new face in town. It was a sensation he was well acquainted with after spending most of his life being the worthless drifter who would never quite belong.

By the time the waitress slammed a menu down in front of him, the tension in the diner still hadn't eased a bit, and he began to suspect the attention he was receiving had its roots in something else.

So a few people remembered him from a decade ago. Big deal.

Soon the whispers began to reach him, and it didn't take long to hear his name linked with Melanie Harte's.

Cassie hadn't been making it up. Judging by the reaction at Murphy's, everybody in town thought he had not only had been chicken enough to run out on his sweet, loving bride-to-be less than a week before the wedding but that he'd stolen her brother's wife in the bargain.

The one taste of greasy eggs he'd managed to choke down churned in his gut.

Son of a gun.

He had known that leaving so abruptly a decade ago would cause a scandal, that Cassie would be hurt by it. He'd had his reasons for going, and at the time they had sure seemed like good ones.

Hell, when it came right down to it, he hadn't really been given much of a choice, had he?

At the time—and in the years since—he had tried to convince himself that leaving was the least hurtful option. He was going to break her heart eventually. He knew it, had always known it, even as they had planned their future together.

This way was best, he'd decided. Better to do it quick and sharp, like ripping off a bandage.

But he would have stayed and faced all the grim consequences if he had for one moment dreamed everybody would link his disappearance with a twisted, manipulative bitch like Melanie Harte.

What the hell were the odds that they both had decided to run off on the same night?

Cassie would never believe it was only a coincidence. He couldn't blame her. He had a hard time believing it himself.

Giving up on the eggs, he sipped at his coffee, which was at least hot and halfway decent. Of course, Murphy and his glowering minions probably hadn't had time to whip up a new pot of dregs just for him.

What was he supposed to do now? Going into this whole thing, he'd been prepared for a tough, uphill climb convincing Cassie to give him another chance.

To forgive him for walking out on her.

Tough was one thing. He could handle tough, had been doing it his whole life.

But he'd never expected he would have to take on Mount Everest.

Maybe he ought to just cut his losses and leave. He had plenty of other projects to occupy his mind and attention. Too many to waste his time on this hare-brained idea.

This little hiatus from company headquarters was playing havoc with his schedule. Maybe it would be best for everyone involved if he just handed the Lost Creek over to one of the many competent people who worked for him and return to what he did best.

Making money.

He sipped at his coffee again. Why did the idea of returning to Denver now seem so repugnant? He had a good life there. He'd worked damn hard to make sure of it. He had a penthouse apartment in town and a condo in Aspen and his ranch outside of Durango.

He had a company jet at his disposal and a garage full of expensive toys. Everything a man should need to be happy. Yet he wasn't. He hadn't been truly happy since the night he drove out of Star Valley.

“You want anything else?” The waitress stood by the table with a coffeepot in her hand and surliness on her face.

Yeah. He wanted something else. He wanted a woman he couldn't have. Was there anything more pathetic?

“No. I'm finished here.”

“Fine. Here's your tab. You can pay the cashier.” She yanked the ticket from the pocket of her apron and slapped it down on the table, then turned away without an ounce of warmth in her demeanor.

Okay. So this little junket into town had established he wasn't going to be welcomed back to Star Valley with open arms by anyone. He fingered the tab for a moment, tempted to climb into his Range Rover parked outside and just keep on driving.

No. That's what he had done a decade ago, and look where it had gotten him. He wouldn't give up. Not yet.

He could show Cassidy Harte—and everybody else
in town, for that matter—that his stubborn streak would beat hers any day.

With new determination he slid out of the booth, reached into his wallet and pulled out a hundred, just because he could. He left it neatly on top of the ticket then walked out the door, leaving the whispers and glares behind him.

The morning air was clean and fresh after the oppressive atmosphere inside the diner. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day in the Rockies, clear and warm.

He nodded to a man in uniform walking through the parking lot toward him, then did a double take.

Hell.

Cassie's middle brother, Jess, was walking toward him, fury on his features. Great. Just what he needed to make the morning a complete success.

U
ncomfortably aware of the patrons inside the café craning their necks out the window to watch the impending scene, Zack straightened his shoulders and nodded to the other man.

Hard blue eyes exactly like his sister's narrowed menacingly at him, and Jesse folded his arms across his chest, a motion which only emphasized the badge pinned there. “Slater.”

“Chief,” he answered, remembering that Cassie had told him her brother now headed the Salt River PD.

The other man stood between him and his vehicle and showed no inclination to move out of the way as he stood glowering at Zack. Yet one more person who wasn't exactly overjoyed to see him turning up in Star Valley again.

Zack couldn't say he was surprised. For while he hadn't known Jesse as well as Matt, Jesse had at least tolerated him.

Even so, neither brother had been exactly thrilled at the developing relationship between their baby sister and the hired help—a penniless drifter without much to his name but a battered pickup and a leather saddle handed down from his father.

Although they hadn't come right out and forbidden the marriage, they hadn't been bubbling over with enthusiasm about it, either. He hated to admit their attitude had rubbed off on him, making him feel inadequate and inferior.

He'd gotten their unspoken message loud and clear. Their baby sister deserved better.

Jesse had been a wild hell-raiser back then. Hard drinking, hard fighting. In a hundred years Zack never would have expected the troublemaker he knew ten years ago to straighten up enough for the good people of Salt River to make him their police chief.

Of course, the fact that Jesse was a cop didn't mean a damn thing. Not around here. Zack knew more than most that a Salt River PD uniform could never completely cover up the kind of scum who sometimes wore it.

He shifted, wary at Jesse Harte's continued silence. Either he was gearing up to beat his face in or he was going to order him out of town like a sheriff in an old Western.

The irony of history repeating itself might have made him smile under other circumstances.

And while he was definitely in the mood for a good, rough fight, he had a feeling Cassie wouldn't appreciate him brawling with her cop of a brother on Main Street.

If he had learned anything after ten years of building a successful business from nothing, he'd learned that sometimes diversion was the best course of action. “I
understand congratulations are in order,” he finally murmured, stretching his lips into what he hoped resembled a polite smile. “When's the big day?”

Jesse continued watching him with that stony expression. “Next month.”

“Lovely time of year for a wedding.”

The other man had apparently contributed all he planned to in the conversation because he didn't respond. Zack finally gave up. “Nice talking to you,” he murmured coolly, prepared to walk through him if he had to.

Jesse stepped forward, shoulders taut and his face dark. “You're not welcome here, Slater.”

Big surprise there. He felt about as wanted in Salt River as lice at a hair party.

Jesse took another step forward, until they were almost nose to nose. “Now, why don't you make this easy on yourself and everybody else? Just go on back wherever you came from and forget about whatever game you're playing.”

He tensed. “Who says I'm playing a game?” he asked, even though he was. It was all just a risky, terribly important game.

“I don't care what you're doing here. I just want you to leave. No way in hell will I stand by and let you hurt my family again.”

The hands he hadn't even realized he had clenched into fists went slack as he remembered what people thought of him. What Cassie thought of him. That he had run away with Melanie, destroying her own dreams as well as her brother's marriage.

What a mess. Damn it, Melanie had left a new baby, no more than a few months old. He remembered a
sweet little thing with dark curly hair and big gray eyes who had immediately stolen her aunt Cassie's heart.

Melanie had abandoned her husband, her baby daughter, her whole life here in Wyoming. And everybody thought she did it because of him.

No wonder the whole town despised him.

“I'll be keeping an eye on you,” Jesse muttered. “You screw up one time—drive one damn mile over the speed limit—and I'll be on you like flies on stink. I'll tie you up in so much trouble you'll be begging me to let you leave town.”

He didn't doubt it for a minute. “Good to know where we stand.” He offered a bland smile but wisely refrained from holding out his hand. “Nice seeing you again.”

Since the police chief still showed no inclination to step aside and let him pass, he finally moved around him and headed for his Range Rover.

Leaving would be the easy thing, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed on the road back to the Lost Creek. The smart thing, even. But he'd taken that route once and lived with the guilt and self-doubt for a decade. He wasn't ready to do it again.

Not yet, anyway.

 

Cassie hung up the phone in her small office off the main kitchen of the ranch and fought the urge to slam her forehead against her messy desk three or four dozen times. If she received one more call about the scene in front of Murphy's between Slater and Jesse that morning, she was afraid she couldn't be held responsible for the consequences of her actions.

She had a whole afternoon of work ahead of her, planning menus and ordering supplies, and she didn't
have the time—or, heaven knew, the inclination—to sit there listening to salacious gossip.

What had Jesse been thinking to confront Zack in front of the most popular hangout in Salt River, where he could have optimum visibility? As if all the busybodies in town needed a little more fuel to add to the fire. She was sure the grapevine was just about buzzing out of control over Zack Slater's triumphant return.

It all made her so furious she wanted to punch something. She had spent ten years trying to live down the past, hoping people were starting to forget the scandal.

Hoping
she
was starting to forget.

And now here he was again, stirring them all up like a boy poking at a beehive with a stick.

Still, Jess had no business pulling his protective, big-bad-cop act in front of Murphy's. She could just picture him scowling and threatening, trying to intimidate Slater into leaving town.

As if he could. She leaned her head back in her chair with a grimace. Two of the most stubborn men she had ever known going at it like a couple of bull moose tangling racks.

And Slater. She blamed him even more. None of this would have happened if he had stayed clear of town.

Why did he have to go into Murphy's for breakfast, anyway? Didn't he think the food at the Lost Creek was good enough for him? He was sure willing to pay a heck of a lot of money for it.

With a stern reminder, she caught herself just before she could build up a good huff. She didn't really give a flying fig what Zack Slater thought of her food. He could eat at Murphy's three meals a day if the mood struck him. It was none of her business. She ought to be grateful to him for staying out of her way.

She forced her mind back to her work and dialed the number to the small grocery store in town. Alvin Jeppson, the owner and produce manager, was a good man. She'd gone to school with one of his five daughters and Al had coached her ponytail softball team several years running. Maybe it was all that cheering he did back then—or maybe just the din created by five daughters—but over the years he had become a little hard-of-hearing.

In typical stubborn Western male fashion, he refused to turn his hearing aid up loud enough, which resulted in some interesting twists whenever she tried to purchase supplies from him.

When he picked up the phone, she automatically raised her voice several decibels. “Mr. Jeppson, this is Cassie Harte at the Lost Creek. I need to check on my order.”

She smiled while Alvin greeted her with warmth and affection. The smile faded to a grimace when he immediately launched into a diatribe against that “no-good cowboy who done her wrong” daring to show his face in town again.

“If he turns up in my store, he'll wish he hadn't. I can tell you that much for darn sure.”

She had a quick, undeniably gratifying mental picture of old, deaf Mr. Jeppson whacking Slater with a can of cream of mushroom soup. “Like it or not, it looks like he's going to be the new owner of the Lost Creek,” she said loudly. “You're going to have to do business with him.”

“What's that? You say I'm going to have to learn to swim? What does that have to do with anything.”

“No! I said you'll have to do business with him
when he takes over the ranch,” she repeated in a near-shout.

“I won't do it. Not after the way he treated you and your kin. He can buy what he needs over in Idaho Falls and that's that.”

Even though she was touched by his loyalty, she knew Jeppson's couldn't afford to give up the guest-ranch account. She was about to tell him so when her shoulders began to itch and she sensed someone standing behind her in the doorway. She swiveled slightly and spied a pair of worn jeans covering long, muscled legs.

They ended in a pair of scuffed boots that had definitely seen better days. She knew before her gaze traveled up the rest of that frame who was standing in her doorway leaning against the jamb.

How long had he been there? She felt hot color climb up her cheeks, grateful he couldn't hear Alvin Jeppson's diatribe against him. “Mr. Jeppson, I'm going to have to go. I just wanted to let you know there was a mistake on our order. I need two hundred pounds of potatoes, not tomatoes. Potatoes,” she enunciated carefully. “Idaho russets. Yeah. That's right. I'll send someone to pick them up this afternoon. Okay. Byebye.”

She hung up while he was still ranting about the injustice done to her by the man standing in front of her. It would probably take Alvin at least five minutes to realize she was no longer on the line.

She swallowed hard and turned toward Slater, cursing her pulse for jumping at the sight of those hard, masculine features. “If you're looking for something to eat, there are box lunches in the refrigerator,” she said curtly. “We never fix a formal meal for lunch
since most of our guests are busy with sight-seeing or riding around the ranch.”

He continued watching her out of those gold-flecked eyes like a cat ready to pounce on a helpless mouse. “Thanks, but I'm not hungry right now.”

“No. I imagine you had your fill at Murphy's, didn't you?” She couldn't resist the gibe any more than she could keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He didn't respond other than to raise an eyebrow. “News travels fast.”

“This is Salt River, Zack. What else did you expect? I imagine phones started ringing the moment you passed the city limits sign yesterday, and they haven't stopped since.”

“So you've probably heard I had a little chat with big brother number two.”

“Yes, I heard. Repeatedly.” She glared at him. “Congratulations. The two of you and your little contest have now replaced Peggy Carmichael and her hernia operation as the biggest news in town.”

“Well,
that's
something,” he murmured, his voice dryly amused.

She wanted to ask what they had talked about, since none of her informants had been close enough to hear the conversation, but she figured she could guess. “It's a good thing Jesse wears a badge now, or you'd be smiling with a few less teeth from now on.”

He demonstrated his still-intact dentistry by flashing her a devastating grin. “I think it's fair to say he was still sorely tempted to take a swing or two at me, badge or not.”

The smile faded as suddenly as it appeared. He was silent for a moment, his face solemn, then his gaze met hers. “And I would have deserved it.”

Before she could answer that startling admission, the phone rang again. She gazed at it with loathing, wishing fiercely that she could ignore it. The last thing she wanted to do was try to appease someone else's prurient curiosity about Zack Slater in the presence of the man himself.

It might be important, though. Maybe Alvin needed to double-check something. Something that couldn't wait.

She glared at the phone for a few more seconds but finally picked up the handset after the fourth ring. “Yes?” she asked, her voice sharp enough to slice through concrete.

“Cassie? Is that you?” a deep voice asked, and she barely managed to choke down her groan.

She definitely wasn't in the mood for this. She almost thought she would prefer talking to the worst gossip in town rather than Wade Lowry right now.

“Yes, Wade,” she murmured, her voice as stiffly polite as an army cadet. “How are you?”

Out of the corner of her gaze, she saw Slater stiffen suddenly, but she didn't have a chance to figure out why.

“You'll never believe what I heard at the bank this morning,” he exclaimed, shock and dismay in his voice.

“Oh, I'm sure I will,” she murmured.

He went on as if he hadn't caught her sarcasm, which was probably exactly the case. “I heard Zack Slater is back in town. Is it true? Have you seen him?”

“Yes. And yes.” She'd seen way too much of him in the last twenty-four hours for her sanity's sake.

“How does he have the nerve to show up around here again after everything he's done?”

“That's something I'm sure you'll have to ask him,” she murmured, surprised by the depth of his outrage. She and Wade were friends and had dated on and off for the past few years, but she would never have expected the bitter fury in his voice when he talked about Slater.

“You can be sure I'm going to do exactly that if I see him,” her would-be champion answered.

He continued in the same vein for a few more moments, apparently expecting little more than monosyllabic responses from her. Good thing, since she couldn't come up with anything more intelligent to offer. Not when Zack stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his muscled chest as he blatantly eavesdropped.