Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (10 page)

Several buildings
were visible nestled among cottonwoods. The stable area appeared fairly new and
well maintained. The house had that ever-evolving look of so many ranch houses
she’d observed while traveling through the west. It looked like the original
builders had only built for their current needs, then added on as the family
grew or as owners changed.

As they got closer,
she could see that Clint’s house certainly wasn’t ramshackle, but it was
sprawling and low to the ground. Everything was on one floor, shaped in a U. That
was another element it shared in common with most every structure she’d seen on
their trip across Utah. People didn’t build high. They didn’t have to—they had
plenty of space. And a lower structure probably caught less wind, which might
be quite significant in the winter.

Clint pulled into
the dirt driveway and stopped close to the house. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll
show you around.”

He headed
immediately for the kitchen. Cassie followed, noting along the way what was likely
his den and also glimpsing a wide open living room. What she could see was
typically manly. Heavy furniture, bare floors and pictures of horses adorned
the walls. The kitchen was surprisingly decorated in warm tones and was neat
and looked quite functional.

Clint opened the
refrigerator and grabbed a beer for each of them. He clinked his bottle against
hers. “Welcome to Utah, Cassie O’Hanlon.”

“Thanks. It’s
lovely. You have a huge place here. Do you ever get lost?”

“Let’s go,” he
said, grabbing her hand and heading toward the entryway. “I’ll show you the
stables. That’s much more interesting than the house.”

Now who was
nervous? It should be her, not him. This was his lair. But he seemed much more
fidgety and much less certain now that he’d gotten her here. He hadn’t bothered
to give her much of a tour of his house.

As they neared the
stable, she spied a beautiful black stallion prancing, rearing and then
galloping off in a nearby pasture. “He’s handsome,” she said. A half dozen or
so mares were in a paddock on the other side of the stable. And out beyond she
could see over twenty colts and fillies of various ages mingling and grazing.

Squinting against
the low sun, she breathed sharply. Some of those horses were like those he’d
raced in Wyoming. But the majority of them were not. Definitely not. They were
high class thoroughbreds that could rival many a horse at the best tracks in
Illinois, Kentucky, New York or California.

 She let Clint lead
through the immaculate stable and came to yet another pasture with older mares.
Leaning against the rail fence, admiring the animals, Cassie said, “You’ve been
holding out on me, Travers. These aren’t bush league horses. You do race at the
larger tracks.”

“Nope,” he replied,
shaking his head. “Told you I didn’t. Some of my horses do, but I don’t. Mostly,
I sell well-bred racing stock to those who want to risk a lot more than I do
for a dream.”

“Really? Where do
you get them?”

“I’ve picked up the
breeding stock over the years, improving as I go. Sometimes I travel to the big
sales at Keeneland or Barretts. Some call me a pinhooker. I’ll buy yearlings,
train them, and then sell them back as two year olds. There’s good money in it
if you’ve got an eye for horseflesh and the economy is doing well. I’d like to
raise more from breeding stock. But I admit I find it hard to travel back from
an auction with an empty trailer.”

“But you don’t race
these horses in Wyoming?”

“Nope. A lot of
things can happen when a horse steps on a track, most of it bad. I wouldn’t
want to risk a missed step or a collision with these babies.”

“And you don’t want
to take the purse money from the small, local trainers.”

Clint shrugged
without responding. She saw the smile in his eyes.

“You are a very
complex man, Mr. Travers.”

“To bad you don’t
have the time to try and figure me out.”

On the way out of
the barn, Cassie waited for Clint to give instructions to an attentive, dark
haired, dark skinned young woman who smiled at him, flashing pearly white
teeth. Cassie felt her innards cringe when the woman’s calculating stare swept
up and down Cassie’s body. Grimacing, not knowing quite what to do with her
hands, she shoved them in her back pockets.

Seemingly unaware
of the feminine byplay around him, Clint continued to talk with the woman about
preparing some yearlings for a Kentucky sale. He would be back in plenty of
time to oversee shipping them and last minute preparations at the auction. The
young woman nodded, then briefly cast a menacing look at Cassie before heading
toward one of the back paddocks.

Clint turned,
smiling at Cassie. “My sister can be quite protective at times.”

“Your sister! Oh.” Why
hadn’t he introduced the two of them? Was
she
the secret, or was the
sister?

“You may have a
chance to meet her another time. Silver Hawk is not predisposed to be kind to
whites—especially,” he added, “women who might be interested in me.”

Trying to ignore
her rising anger and his implication, Cassie asked, “How many people do you
have working for you?”

“Three, year-round.
When things are really hectic preparing for sales, I may hire a couple
part-timers to handle more of the menial work. By the way, Silver Hawk is damn
good with yearlings and two year olds. The two of you would like each other, if
we could get her to sit down and talk horses.”

“That’s our loss,
isn’t it?” Cassie regretted the catty remark as soon as it was out of her
mouth.

“Women,” Clint
mumbled, walking rapidly toward the house.

Cassie hurried to
keep up; did he expect his women to walk three paces behind him? Why was he so
cross? She knew he wasn’t like that.

Clint set
immediately to work in the kitchen. “Hope you like omelets? That’s what I do
best when it comes to cooking.” Cracking eggs, dicing ham, cutting cheese and
green peppers, he maintained a chatter that seemed uncharacteristic.

Again, he seemed
out of sorts with her in his house. They’d made love on shedrow and almost
incessantly in Wendover and at the Salt Lake hotel, but this was his home. Would
it be that intimidating...making love in his bed?

“So how many women
do you have over, Travers?” Cassie cracked, in an effort to lighten the mood. “You
have enough supplies to feed an army.”

“None,” he
responded. Clint turned to look into his guest’s questioning eyes. “I have a
large family.” He laughed. “Hell, the entire community will show up
unannounced. It’s the way things are here. You have to be prepared.”

- o -

Had he just dodged
a bullet? Clint busied himself at the stove. Why couldn’t he simply speak the
truth to this woman? Why did he think he could bring her here without opening a
large can of worms?

Turning over an
omelet, he knew the answer to why he’d taken such a risk. He wanted her to know
he was no cowboy drifter—he was a person of some substance. He wanted her
respect. But that left a remaining question...why?

Minutes later,
Cassie dug into the large omelet he’d set before her. “This is delicious,
Clint. Your kitchen may say down home, but this food is first class.”

“Omelets are my
specialty.”

She pointed her
fork at him. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He flinched, then
gave her an easy smile. “Have to keep you on your toes, or you’ll be getting so
comfortable you’ll want to stay.”

She flushed. “No
chance of that,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a horse to run and a job waiting back
in Chicago.” She caught him grinning broadly.

- o -

Later that evening,
they sat on a blanket watching the flames of Clint’s fireplace dance about leaping
upwards as if to find new dreams and fresh hopes. Cassie sat between Clint’s
legs and leaned back against his chest. She sighed. His place was so
comfortable. There were moments in life that deserved replicating, and this was
one of those.

“A penny for your
thoughts,” Clint whispered into her ear.

Without pulling her
gaze away from the fire, she said, “You can get more for your penny than that.”

“Is that a threat
or a promise?”

She laughed,
turning toward him. “Whatever you want.”

He rubbed his face
in her hair and lifted it away from her neck. His lips on her bare skin soothed
and excited. She studied the fire again and let his hands roam freely over her
body. They squeezed her jean-clad thighs, skimmed her crotch, and slid under
her tank top, making their way to her breasts. She wore no bra to impede his
efforts. His fingers played with her nipples until they quickly hardened.

She sensed his
breath catch.

“You’re an
intoxicating lady.”

She hummed,
thrilled by his words and his fingers.

He tugged at the
snap of her jeans. She smiled and helped him ease them off along with her
panties. She tried to focus on the flames in the fireplace while Clint stirred
her inner heat.

He eased a finger
into her moist crevice and she arched her back against his chest. She covered
his hand, guiding him, helping him with his exploration. He blew warm air on
her neck and began a steady cadence with his buried finger. A second finger
joined the first. The flames of the fireplace drew her; her inner flames
gathered momentum. She brushed a thumb across her clit. She closed her eyes and
leaned heavily against Clint.

“So sweet,” she
moaned. She felt his fingers curl up inside, searching. Leaning forward, she
yanked her tank top off and settled back again, twisting her nipples as he
found what he’d been seeking. “That’s it. You’re right on it.”

“Come for me.”

“I will. I am.” She
spread her knees as wide as she could while bucking against his fingers. “That’s
it. Almost. Keep going.”

She arched forward
and backward, panting with anticipation. “Now!” she yelped. “Oh god, yes!”

 Her body went
rigid and then collapsed against him. “No more,” she whimpered. “Please. No
more. Give me time. I’ll be back. Trust me.”

- o -

Clint eased his
fingers out of her heat and held her close. Her body convulsed. It seemed to
take forever for her breathing to steady. He wasn’t certain he’d ever been
closer to a woman’s orgasm. She’d been so hot, so vital, so alive. Clint held
her tight, not wanting to lose their bond.

“I need you in me,”
she whispered a few minutes later.

“Okay.” He quickly shed
his clothes and lay back down beside her.

“Can we just lie
here and watch the fire?” she asked, turning onto her side and pushing her
backside against him. Her voice seemed smaller than normal.

“Sure. That sounds
fine.” He cuddled her body until they were snug. His stiffness rested on the
rise of her buttocks. They lay there like that for several minutes, each of
them watching the flames, both lost in their own thoughts.

He inhaled deeply. He
loved the smell of her, the feel of her. He loved the fact that she could be
wildly sexy at times and so quiet and comforting at others. She was so warm and
toasty he was afraid he might melt into her like butter.

She reached a hand
between her legs and sought him out. He shifted lower and she guided him to her
pussy. He cupped her to him, seating himself fully in her sex.

She sighed heavily.
“That feels wonderful. I’m not sure I can get enough of this. I’m yours, do
with me what you want.”

Her words washed
over him. He eased back and then forward. He slowed and quickened. Her
breathing changed to soft panting.

“I’m going to come
again.”

He smiled at her
announcement—as if he couldn’t tell. Steadily, he stayed the course.

“Oh god,“ she moaned.
“So deep. Fuck me. So good.”

Clint didn’t let
her catch her breath this time. His hips pistoned against her shapely butt until
he filled her with his wanting and she called out his name in thanksgiving.

He held her. Remaining
joined, they dozed.

Clint awoke still
nestled against her body. Carefully, he withdrew his still semi-hard cock,
retrieved a blanket and covered his naked lover.

After getting a
beer from the kitchen, he sat on the livening room couch studying Cassie as she
slept soundly, seemingly fully sated at last.

He’d been startled
by her words
I’m yours, do with me what you want
. Did she know what she
was saying? Were they just words of lovemaking? Were they words intended for
his ears? He doubted that.

How had he let this
woman get in his blood so quickly? He truly loved giving her pleasure. She was
so gloriously responsive. What they shared didn’t happen often—he knew that for
a fact.