5. Christian
CHRISTIAN
I studied Cassandra from across the table as she was peppered with questions. Her posture was proper, her lips were pursed as she chewed, and she answered with as little information as possible.
Bree and Gracie looked at her like she was a movie star, asking for every detail about her life in New York.
Guilt boiled up inside of me over the fact that I rarely took the girls outside our little town, much less Texas.
New York probably seemed like somewhere that only existed in the movies.
Becks was chipper as she reminisced over her days as a Manhattanite.
It was weird to think that my brother shared some of that history with her.
Up until her third trimester, Becks had continued to be Rebecca Davis , foreign affairs correspondent.
Nate traveled with her as her security detail after retiring from the military.
Hearing her tell the girls about her days as the lead evening news anchor was wild.
It was all taxi cabs, makeup artists, and high heels.
I saw the stars in Bree’s eyes.
Or maybe that was just the reflection of the diamond sitting on Cassandra’s finger.
CJ’s brow furrowed as he stabbed his pot roast. “So, Cassandra, how do you know Becks again?”
She paused and took a sip of water, composing herself. “We work for the same media conglomerate.”
“The network’s parent company also owns the PR company she works for,” Becks said.
A ruby-lipped smile curved at the corner of Cassandra’s mouth. “I have no desire to be in front of the camera. Just the puppeteer behind it.”
CJ’s eyes cut to our dad. “And why does the ranch need a publicist?” He washed down his bite with a sip of tea. “We raise cattle. Not like we’re the Kennedys with some Camelot shit or skeletons in the closet.”
“Language, Carson James,” Mom chided.
One would think that four boys raised on a generational cattle ranch would grow up to be carbon copies of each other, but we couldn’t have been more different if we tried.
Nathan was the stereotypical oldest child. He was a natural-born leader. A protector. None of us were surprised when he made it into West Point with visions of a career in the Army. He was driven and determined. It served him well during his twenty years in the military.
Then there was me.
Too sensitive for his own good. Chris needs to toughen up. Comments like that had always been written on my report cards as a child.
The ranch had always been my safe place. It was a haven. I loved the quiet. I treasured the lack of people for miles and miles.
I liked to think that I stayed soft, but life had toughened me up. With Nate doing back-to-back tours overseas, I married my high school sweetheart, had Bree and Gracie, and worked sun-up to sundown to learn everything I needed to know from my old man.
Then I lost Gretchen.
My world ended the day a cop pulled down the long dirt drive, stirring up a dust storm with his tires.
Gretchen had been on her way home from the grocery store. It was her weekly solo trip into town; leaving three-year-old Bree and one-year-old Gracie with my mom so she could have a few hours of peace to run errands.
Hit by a drunk driver.
Gone in seconds.
And just like that, I became a single father. A widower.
The place I had always looked at as my haven had become my altar.
I prayed for weeks, pleading for whatever higher power was out there to bring her back.
I had seen the mangled station wagon.
I had held her lifeless hand when the cop took me to her body.
Then I went home to my baby girls, who looked to me for answers. For strength. For stability.
And I had to swallow it all down for them.
Ray, the next youngest of the Griffith boys, had just started out on the rodeo circuit when it happened. He stepped into the role of the fun uncle, helping with Bree and Gracie while I dealt with funeral arrangements and stole brief moments to grieve.
When he wasn’t traveling on the circuit, his home base was in Colorado. I missed him like hell and always looked forward to the rodeo coming to town.
Mom always set a place at the table for him, even if she knew damn well that he wouldn’t be here. Today, Cassandra was sitting in Ray’s seat.
Carson James—the youngest and only one of us who got in trouble enough to be regularly called by his first and middle names—had only been seventeen when Gretchen passed. It seemed like a far cry from the twenty-seven-year-old man who was sitting across from me now.
I didn’t know how my parents did it. Four unruly boys had turned into slightly less feral men.
I had my hands full with just two. I couldn’t imagine doubling that.
“I’m just saying,” CJ cut in again. “We’re finally out of the red. Shouldn’t we be upgrading the equipment or something? Not spending money on labor?” He cut his eyes to Cassandra. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she said without a care as she discreetly studied the table, taking in every breath and micro-expression.
Becks set her fork down and groaned, closing her eyes.
Nate nearly jumped out of his skin. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she choked out, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry about it, Red,” Nate growled.
“Braxon-Hicks?” I guessed.
Becks nodded. “They suck.”
I gave her a sympathetic nod. “I remember Gretchen hating them. Gracie gave her a time of it.”
Becks pursed her lips, fighting against making a sound as she worked through another practice contraction.
“That’s it.” Nate wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin down. “We’re going to the hospital.”
Becks rolled her eyes and turned to Cassandra. “He threatens to take me to the hospital at least four times a day.”
Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because you’re high risk.”
“Because I’m forty,” Becks countered. “Everything else is normal. I’m not going to explode. Now, will you calm down?”
Bree, Gracie, and my mom giggled. Nate looked like he was strangling his glass.
Cassandra was unfazed.
I was starting to think that unimpressed face of hers was really a cool facade. I saw the wheels turning in her head.
She was sharp and assessing, taking a wait-and-see approach as she studied the family dynamics.
“Do you know any celebrities?” Bree asked through a mouthful of potatoes and carrots.
“Table manners. You’re not a wild animal,” I reminded her.
Bree swallowed her bite. “Do you know any celebrities?”
Cassandra dabbed her lips, leaving a crimson print on the napkin.
Shit. I discreetly adjusted my dick under the table.
“Yes,” she said.
Bree’s jaw hit the table. “Who?” she whispered reverently.
Cassandra didn’t flinch. “I sign strict non-disclosure agreements with all my clients.”
“What does that mean?” Gracie asked.
“It means they could kill someone and I wouldn’t say a peep. So, no, I don’t name-drop.”
Gracie’s eyes turn to saucers. “Did someone here kill someone? Is that why you’re here?”
Becks laughed. Nate chuckled. CJ spat his tea out. I dropped my head into my hands. “No one killed anybody, Grace.”
“Then I don’t get it. What’s Miss Cass gonna do on the ranch? I don’t think you can herd cattle in heels.”
“My name is Cass andra .”
My hackles raised at the tone she took with my girl. She could talk to me that way, but not my daughters.
Gracie was seemingly unbothered by it, though. “But what does a publicist do?”
“I’m a publicist for people,” Cassandra said as she gingerly pushed her plate away.
“I control their image, branding, and message so their public-facing persona is consumed by the masses in the right fashion. For businesses it’s similar.
I act as a consultant, creating and implementing new strategies to open up additional revenue streams and widen their reach beyond their original concept, ingratiating the company to their local market.
I control their branding, message, and narrative throughout the changes to maximize the efficacy of the projects and return on investment. ”
The corporate fruit salad she spoke fluently was going to give me a migraine.
Bree blinked at Cassandra like she was staring at an angel and couldn’t believe her eyes.
Gracie reached for another dinner roll. “That’s cool. I want to be a marine biologist when I grow up.”
Nate frowned. “What new income streams are we talking about?”
Nathan didn’t work for the ranch, but he and Becks had a house on the property like the rest of us, which meant he had the same vested interest.
Cassandra folded her hands neatly. “I have a few thoughts, but I’ll be able to present my findings and recommendations for what’s possible after a full assessment of the property, finances, and the surrounding area.”
CJ grunted in displeasure.
I didn’t blame him.
There were few things I hated more than outsiders sticking their noses in our business.
In my business.
“How long do you think you’ll be with us?” Mom asked.
“At this moment, I don’t have a firm timeline. Depending on the scope of what you’re wanting to do, it could be a few weeks to a few months.”
Months.
Shit.
What was I going to do with her for a few months ?
My dick twitched again.
What was I going to do for a few months?
And changes? Geez, I couldn’t think of anything worse.
The ranch was finally doing well again. We’d made it through a drought that gutted our finances. There were lean years, and then there were years that were barebones.
We’d finally dug ourselves out of it.
We didn’t need this. Didn’t need her .
Cassandra cleared her throat. “I do need to know about my living accommodations.” She put on a placid smile. “The… cabin I was shown is unacceptable.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, running a hand over my beard.
Becks frowned. “I’d offer our place, but we’re not even sleeping there because of the water damage.”
“Bunkhouse is full,” CJ said around a mouthful of food. He cut his eyes at Cassandra, stealing a glance before quickly looking away. “Not that I’d recommend sleeping there anyway.”
“She can stay in my room!” Gracie squeaked.
I had just opened my mouth to say “no” when Cassandra beat me to it.