Love Me Tender (11 page)

Once they were seated, each stuffing tortillas with whatever combination of fillings appealed to them, the conversation turned to safer topics. Robin asked questions about Karen and Jamal's wedding, and she told stories about her mom's last group of students at Boots.

When they'd eaten all they could and started to clear up, Dave's cell rang. He checked the display, then answered.

“Hey, Jessie.”

He listened, then said, “Hang on a minute. I'll talk to Rob.” He went over to his daughter, who was putting leftovers into containers. “Your mom and Gramma Brooke are checking about that babysitting offer you made.”

“You don't mind if I have the babies here, do you, Dad?”

“Not at all.” A note of sadness in his voice made Cassidy think that he and Anita had planned to have kids. Another thing he'd lost. “Cassidy, we invited you for the evening, maybe for a movie. How do you feel about having a couple of infants along for the ride?”

“I love babies.” In fact, she loved people of all ages, as long as they were good-hearted.

“Or you and Cassidy could go line dancing,” Robin suggested.

Cassidy immediately thought of their slow dance last night.

Dave glanced at Cassidy and heat sparked in his eyes. “Maybe we will.” His gaze locked with hers. And this time, for once, he didn't look away.

“I'd like that.”

Back on the phone, he said, “Bring the babies along. We'll see you in a bit.”

He studied Cassidy again. “Other Sunday nights, you've been working. Haven't had a chance to try out line dancing. You think you'd be up for it?” His tone was teasing, but a note of something else, something sexy and purely male, lurked below the surface. Was he talking only about line dancing, or asking whether she was still interested in hooking up?

She struck a pose, one hip cocked. “I'll have you know, I've line danced in Austin, Texas. Jimmy B and Bets can't toss me anything I can't handle.” Nor could Dave, sexually, and the prospect of “handling” him made her breath quicken.

He gave an appreciative grin, which faded to a look of concern. “How about your leg?”

“It feels fine.” She'd be furious with her stupid leg if it ruined another special moment.

“You really should see a doctor.”

“It's just a pinched nerve or something. I strained it and it's never quite healed.”

“If it's a pinched nerve, it might do some permanent damage.”

A few minutes ago, he'd looked at her as if he thought she was sexy. Now he was lecturing her. Bummer. “Dave, I'm not your daughter.” She tried to keep her voice even, but a touch of snippiness crept in. “I'm a grown-up and I can look after myself.”

“Well, pardon me for—”

He broke off, but she knew he'd been about to say “caring.” She also knew that he didn't mean anything more by it than if he'd been nagging Madisun or Sam about something.

“Doctors are okay,” Robin said. “They fix you up, and then you're on the go again.”

“I'll think about it.” They had valid points. If it was a pinched nerve, maybe the doctor could send her for physio or whatever.

But what if it wasn't? she wondered as she rinsed dishes and handed them to Robin to put in the dishwasher. Gramps's mother-in-law had had multiple sclerosis. GG had deteriorated until she couldn't talk properly, couldn't walk, and was incontinent. Cassidy, a little kid at the time, had almost been glad when she died and there were no more visits to the care home. When Cassidy was a teen, Gramps had told her to watch out for symptoms because it was one of those diseases where there could be a genetic predisposition.

She'd argued that no one else in the family had it, and he'd said it was possible his wife did, and that she'd died before being diagnosed. She had been only twenty-eight—a year older than Cassidy was now—when she'd fallen down the basement steps and broken her neck. What had caused her to fall? Had her leg tingled, gone numb, and given out on her?

No. Cassidy refused to consider that possibility. No way was she going to lose her mobility, her freedom, her independence.

Cassidy's expressive face told Dave that she was troubled. But she'd made it clear she wanted him to butt out. He couldn't help but worry about that leg thing, but he wouldn't push anymore tonight. He only hoped his and Robin's words sank into Cassidy's brain the way her advice last night had with him, about letting his daughter talk about Anita.

The kitchen tidy now, Robin turned the dishwasher on. She said to Cassidy, “Want to watch an episode of
Heartland
?”

“What's
Heartland
?”

“You'll love it! It's a TV show set in Alberta, about this family who have a ranch and lots of horses, and they've also got guest cabins.”

“Sounds cool.” Cassidy's interest seemed genuine.

“Totally,” Robin said eagerly. “And they take in kids who are, you know, in trouble. But the coolest part is the star, Amy, who's, like, a horse whisperer.”

“Wow.”

“Did you know that Mom knows a horse whisperer? He heals rescue horses and Mom uses some of them at Boots. He and his wife live down near Vancouver and they said I could come stay with them and learn from him. But”—she frowned at Dave—“Dad said I can't until I'm eighteen. Which is, like, forever.”

“Hmm.” Cassidy tilted her head consideringly. “But if you stayed with them, you couldn't help out at Boots. What would your mom do without you?”

Huh. Dave would've expected her, with her “new day, new adventure” attitude, to support his daughter. He mouthed a silent “Thanks” over the top of Robin's head, which Cassidy acknowledged with a slight dip of her head.

“Well yeah, that's true,” Robin said thoughtfully.

“C'mon, let's go watch
Heartland
,” Cassidy said. “It's on TV tonight?”

“No, I have DVDs. Dad gives me each season's for my birthday, because I want to watch them over and over.”

“Seems like you have a pretty good dad,” Cassidy said. “Even if he does have some pesky notions like not wanting you to get hurt or to grow up too fast. You should be glad he's paying attention.” There was an edge to her voice when she made the last comment.

He gathered that her parents had been so caught up in their marital dramas that they hadn't paid enough attention to Cassidy and her brother. She spoke very fondly of her grandfather, but she'd lost him when she was fifteen. She always seemed so self-sufficient and poised. Happy to sample bits of life here and there and then move on. Was it her lack of stable, loving roots that had turned her into an independent gypsy?

When he'd first met her, he'd thought she might be superficial, but no, she was responsible and perceptive. She'd helped him recognize that it wasn't healthy for him or Robin to not talk about Anita. Yes, his throat hurt when he spoke Anita's name, and dredging up memories brought an ache to his heart. But hugging Robin while they shared their grief had felt good.

Cassidy paid attention to others. But who was paying attention to her? Did she settle in one place long enough to give anyone that chance?

She and Robin had headed into the living room, with Merlin on their heels. Dave followed, finding Cassidy seated on the couch, her bare feet resting on a magazine on the coffee table. Robin sorted through DVDs and Merlin was settling in his usual spot on the rug.

Dave took the recliner chair. When he glanced at Cassidy, her clear gaze met his. She cocked an eyebrow in a silent question.

He wasn't sure what she was asking, nor was he sure what he intended to say when he smiled at her, except that he was glad she was there.

She smiled back, and neither of them looked away. It was weird how natural this felt. Having dinner together, cleaning up, settling in to watch a show with Robin.

“Okay,” Robin said. “Cassidy, this is from season one, and it's the episode where Amy gets this race horse that needs healing. It's a really good one.” She clicked the remote, then hunkered down by Merlin.

As she watched the show, Robin combed grass seeds and burrs from the dog's coat and silky ears. Cassidy seemed to quickly be caught up in the adventures at
Heartland
.

Dave did enjoy the show, for the scenery, the horses, and the family drama—which made his own rather unusual family seem almost normal—but tonight he had trouble concentrating. It wasn't because he'd already seen this episode. It was Cassidy's presence.

What was this woman to him? A friend, yes. Did he want more? A sexual relationship?

In three years, she was the only woman he'd felt this way about. She wasn't like some of the women who'd come on to him. Her sexiness wasn't about abundant breasts and hips in a tight shirt and painted-on jeans. It wasn't about made-up eyes and red lips. No, it was in her animated face and pixie haircut, the gentle sway of slim hips in nondesigner jeans, the row of snap buttons down the front of her thrift store shirt. And there was more to her appeal than sexiness: her musical burble of laughter, her easy way with Robin, her persistence in trying to drag him out of the past.

Her itchy feet made her safe. She didn't want things he couldn't offer: commitment, love, a future. For her, those things were undesirable.

For him, they'd once been the most important things in the world. He'd lost them, and that agony was something he never wanted to—never would—face again.

As he'd told Cassidy, he'd never been into casual dating and sex. But he was feeling pretty darned motivated to try it out.

 

 

Oh yeah, Dave thought a couple of hours later, Cassidy sure did know how to line dance. She followed even the most complicated movements, and looked as if she wasn't even trying.

Watching her, Dave, who'd been line dancing since he was a kid, found himself stumbling in his cowboy boots. He didn't know whether to be glad or sorry when Jimmy B and Bets called a break.

A couple of women headed for the jukebox to cue up some tunes. Keith Morton, a young cowboy who was popular with the ladies, came toward Cassidy, his intent clear on his face.

An unfamiliar sensation stabbed Dave. He moved fast, touched Cassidy's shoulder, and identified that burning in his gut as jealousy. His grip tightened and Keith veered off toward one of the other women. “Dance with me,” Dave said to Cassidy.

She glanced at his hand. “Only if your dance hold won't bruise my shoulder.”

“Sorry. Let me try that again.” He let go and held out his arms in an invitation.

“Much better.” She slid one hand into his and rested the other lightly against his shoulder.

“Know the two-step?” he asked.

“You bet.”

He wrapped his arm around her back and, as Shania Twain sang “Any Man of Mine,” he led her into the quick-quick, slow-slow motion of the dance. She did know the moves, following him easily. Though she felt delicious, all warm and vital, he couldn't relax. He spun her out and brought her back. “Keith is interested in you.”

A knowing smile flickered. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you interested in him?”

“Not in the dating sense. I've hung out with Keith. A few other guys too.”

Last night, when she'd said she was trying to seduce him, he'd figured she must not be dating anyone else, but he needed to make sure. “Just hung out with?”

“Drank some beer, shot some pool. No, I'm not dating anyone.”

“Why not?”

“You're the only man I'm interested in. In that way.” Her hips shifted forward, brushing his, leaving no doubt what “that way” meant.

His body reacted immediately. Though he wanted to grab her and pull her tighter, he forced himself to ease away. Two-step wasn't a clutch-and-sway dance. “Jeez, Cassidy, let's not give Caribou Crossing something to gossip about.”

“Then you shouldn't have raised the subject here.”

He gave a rueful huff. “I can't argue with that. But I had to know. The way Keith was eyeing you . . .” He spun her out.

When she returned, she said, “You grabbed my shoulder like you were staking a claim.”

“Life was straightforward before you came to town,” he complained.

“But not half as much fun.”

She said it so confidently that he had to grin.

“Okay,” she said, “one of the things that worries you is that I work for you. You don't want anyone thinking you're being unprofessional. Right?”

He nodded, leading her into a promenade.

Gazing sideways at him, she said, “So, while it's been nice of you to dance with one of your staff, we should both now dance with someone else.”

He didn't want to. “You're right.”

“The next time we both have some free time—personal time, not on the job—we'll get together and”—she winked—“
talk
about where we want to go with this. Or better still, not talk at all. Because, you know, actions speak louder.” And with that, she whirled herself out of his arms, leaving him gaping after her.

 

 

Wednesday night, pacing his suite while Merlin watched curiously, Dave was nervous as hell. After three nights with him, Robin had gone back to her mom and Evan's house. And Cassidy was coming over.

She'd turned down his offer to take her out for dinner—in a neighboring town, so the gossips wouldn't go nuts. Instead, she said she'd drop over after dinner and bring a movie.

It sounded low key, no pressure, except that he'd be alone with her in his apartment, with the bedroom just down the hall. Casual dating didn't necessarily mean casual sex. But it might. She'd made it clear she was open to it. He'd even taken a drive to the next town down the highway and bought condoms. Just in case.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tan shorts. He had no idea how he ranked as a lover. Since high school, he'd slept with only two women. Cassidy, though . . . How many men had she slept with? A dozen? More?

When her light knock finally sounded, he flung open the door with a mix of pleasure and trepidation. Merlin bounded over to join him.

“Hey there, beautiful boy.” She was talking to the dog, bending to greet him.

This wasn't some femme fatale in a revealing dress, just Cassidy in a purple tank top and shorts. But that was plenty sexy. Toned arms and legs, the wild goose tattoo, slim curves, pink straps along with the purple ones. Lots of women layered their tops. If she'd gone braless and he'd seen her nipples, that would be blatantly sexy. Why was it a turn-on to see those pink straps and wonder whether they belonged to another tank top, a sports bra, or something lacy?

Straightening, she said, “And hello to you, too, handsome man.” She stretched up to press a kiss to his cheek. It was a quick, light one, but tingly heat radiated out from the spot, all the way to his groin.

She held up a cloth tote. “I brought wine, popcorn, and a movie.”

“What movie?” Her movie choice might give him a clue as to her expectations.

“Dirty Dancing.”
She pulled a DVD case from the bag and handed it to him. “Tell me you don't hate it.”

The name rang a vague bell. “I don't think I've ever seen it.”

“Seriously?” She cocked her head. “I know you were a baby when it came out, but it's a classic. I can't believe no woman got you to watch it.”

“Jessie doesn't like movies unless they have horses in them. Anita was into foreign films.” It was getting easier to say her name, to share memories. Some of the memories even made him smile, like now when he added, “She needed glasses to read the subtitles, and that bugged her.”

Cassidy smiled back. “I hope you like it. I'm going to make the popcorn.” She headed for the kitchen with the poodle trailing after her.

“Be right there.” Dave slipped the disc into the DVD player and strolled into the kitchen.

Cassidy had already opened the wine—a pinot gris from Grey Monk—and poured two glasses. She handed him one. “To getting to know each other better.”

He touched his glass to hers, then took a sip. The chilled wine was crisp and fruity. “Thanks for bringing this. You didn't have to. I mean, I have wine, and popcorn as well, and—”

Cassidy pressed her index finger firmly against his lips, silencing him. “You've taken me riding, fed me dinner, let me freeload off your parents. I wanted to do this.”

She lifted her finger and he missed its warm, gentle pressure.

“You didn't have—”

The finger silenced him again. “Just say thank you.”

Actually, he'd rather suck that finger into his mouth and nibble on it. And maybe, later tonight, he would. For now, he didn't stop her from easing her finger away. “Thank you, Cassidy. I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome. Now give me a microwave lesson.”

He did, then found a bowl for the popcorn and filled a ceramic wine cooler with ice.

As popping sounds filled the room, she said, “I bought plain popcorn because I wasn't sure how you felt about butter and salt.”

“I like them, but I'm good with plain too.”

“God no. If butter and salt are an option, I'm so there.”

Her enthusiasm made him smile again.

The microwave pinged. Cassidy took the popcorn container out and poured the contents into a bowl, while he melted butter in the microwave. He scooped a few kernels of plain popped corn into the dog's dish and let Cassidy doctor the humans' treat.

On the way out of the kitchen, he told Merlin, “Stay in the kitchen, pal.” The poodle was well behaved, used to being banished occasionally when Dave had company. He curled up in the basket by the kitchen window, rested his head on his front paws, and sent Dave a soulful look.