10. Christian
CHRISTIAN
“ H ave a good day,” I said as the girls climbed out of the truck and onto the sidewalk.
Teachers and parents stared when they realized I had a woman in the front seat.
Rumors about my dating life circulated from time to time, but I kept to myself. It minimized the fuel for the wildfire of small-town gossip.
“Love you, Daddy,” Bree said.
“Love you too, beautiful.”
“I love you, Daddy,” Gracie chirped as she shouldered her backpack.
“I love you, pretty girl.”
Before I could get another word out, Gracie beamed at Cassandra. “Bye, Miss Cass. Have a day as pretty as you are!” And with that, she skipped down the sidewalk, laughing with her sister.
The carpool monitor shut the doors, and I pulled out of the line to head into town. Cassandra didn’t say a word, but the corner of her lips twitched.
When my tires left the school property, she broke. “Let me guess. I’m about to get chewed out.”
I caught a whiff of expensive perfume and wondered if it was a fragrance she chose for herself or if her dick-face fiancé had bought it for her.
“Go ahead,” she said, closing her eyes as she relaxed on the headrest. “Let me have it.”
“Why do you think I’d chew you out?” I asked as I shifted, resting my wrist on the top of the steering wheel.
She tapped a finger on her lip. “Where do I even begin? For corrupting your children. For talking to her like an adult. For?—”
“Telling my girl how to advocate for herself?” I cut in.
Cassandra peered over at me.
A sad smile crept up without warning. “They’re growing up. It’s probably good that someone balances out my desire to keep them little forever. Once in a while, at least.”
She pretended to gag, and it made me laugh under my breath.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about me,” Cassandra said as she inspected her nails. “But I’m not a kid person.”
“You’re not much of an adult person either,” I added. “Or an animal person.”
“I’m not big into being needed. I like my space.”
“That’s funny coming from someone whose whole career is based on being needed.”
“There’s a difference between wanting to be needed and needing to be in control. I like being in control.”
I bet Cassandra thought she liked control, until she finally let someone else take it.
I pulled into the small downtown district and parked along the sidewalk. “I’ll be a few hours. I’m meeting a grain supplier, then I gotta run some errands and pick up supplies from the hardware store.”
She eyed the line of quaint storefronts. “A few hours alone of shopping and—” she spotted the coffee shop with a blinking WiFi sign “— high speed internet .” Cassandra lunged for the door. “Sweet, sweet civilization. I missed you.”
I managed to make it out and around to her door before she jumped out, but just barely. I grabbed the door handle and blocked her in.
“Please,” she begged.
Huh. I liked that.
“What’s the rule, Cass?”
She rolled her eyes.
I pressed in, wedging my knee between hers as she pivoted in the seat to climb down.
God, that perfume was so fucking pretty…
“Please,” she groused.
“I open the doors.”
“Let me out,” she pleaded in a whisper. “I need society. I need to walk into a store. I need to see asphalt and cars. I need coffee that’s made in an espresso machine.”
“Cass.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes, but turned and sat back in her seat.
I closed the door. With a dramatic flourish, I re-opened it and offered my hand to help her down.
Her palm was soft as it slid into mine. Delicate fingers draped over my skin.
She stepped down and stopped when we were hip to hip. “Dramatic much?”
“Was it so hard to let me do that for you?”
Thick lashes lifted and her stormy eyes met mine. “Yes.”
I smirked. “Deal with it, Princess.”
Cassandra didn’t move. Her tongue peeked out and wet her lip. I was captivated by the way her throat constricted as she swallowed.
The sparks were back, dancing off of us in sprays.
My hand brushed hers; fingers almost twining. The sharp edge of her ring caught me by surprise.
I moved back and took a breath, letting her step up onto the sidewalk.
That fucking diamond sparkled in the morning sun.
“You, uh—” I cleared my throat. “You have my number, right?”
She looked at me like I was daft. “We’ve spent nearly every waking moment together since I got here. When have I needed your number?”
I held my palm out and she relented, giving me her phone.
When I gave it back, she looked at the screen. “Really?” Her tone was flat and unamused.
I grinned. “What?”
She turned the screen around. “Daddy Griffith?”
“I figured since you’re so opposed to children and people in general, that’ll lessen the likelihood of you calling.” I stepped off the sidewalk and shut the passenger door. “I put CJ’s number, Nate’s number, and the main house’s landline in there too.”
Cassandra looked down and scrolled through. “Daddy Griffith… Cow Boss … GI Joe… Prison.” She slid it back into her oversized purse. “Very funny.”
“See you in a few hours, Cass,” I called as I walked around to the driver’s side.
“It’s Cassandra,” she said, pivoting on those fuck-me heels to head toward the coffee shop.
I pressed my fist to my mouth to hide my smile. “Stay out of trouble, Princess.”
Her ass had an extra swing in it as she strutted away.
I climbed in the truck and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes.
I just needed a minute.
It usually took me two or three minutes of breathing to let the stress go, but after a mere thirty seconds, I was calm.
Cassandra’s perfume lingered in the cab, dancing over my morning coffee and the ever-present smell of cattle and diesel. It was sweet and sultry. Womanly and strong.
I had risen with the sun since I was a child. Mornings were my favorite time of day. But now, all I wanted was to fall asleep to that scent.
I didn’t have time for that, though. The day was wasting away while I sat and fantasized about a woman who wasn’t mine.
Whispers floated through the bank lobby as I filled out deposit slips.
Muttered comments were made as I perused the boot store.
Chatter ran around the hardware store as I loaded up the bed of my truck with fencing.
Murmurs filled the diner as I sat with George Thompson, negotiating prices for the winter feed I was sourcing from his farm.
All those rumblings were about one person.
Her.
I gave Mr. Thompson a firm handshake and thanked him for driving out here from Maren.
Cassandra hadn’t texted or called, so I assumed she was alive and headed to the gas station.
A familiar truck pulled through the Buc-ee’s lot and parked in a space by the front doors.
I let out a sharp whistle as the numbers on the gas pump ticked higher and higher.
Nate’s head whipped around as he jumped down and slammed the door shut. “Hey,” he hollered as he crossed the parking lot.
I tipped my chin. “What’chu doing in town?”
Nate shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Becks had a craving.”
“Should’ve called. I would’ve brought something back so you didn’t have to drive all the way out here.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t know how long you’d be.”
He was in a t-shirt today, which surprised me.
Nearly ten years ago, he had been injured during a tour in Iraq. Burn scars mottled his hand and arm. He didn’t talk about it much, and usually wore sleeved shirts so it wouldn’t upset our mom.
Guilt seared me like a brand.
When we got the call that he was being treated at the Army hospital in Germany, my world came crashing down. Gretchen passed not long after that.
Thank God for Ray.
The other middle Griffith brother was Uncle of the Year to Bree and Gracie when I could barely function as their father.
I couldn’t save Gretchen.
I couldn’t keep Nate from getting injured by a suicide bomber.
It should have made me hold my girls closer. It should have made me grateful that Nate was okay.
But it only made me guilty.
“Had to take care of some business.” I yanked the pump out of the gas tank and put it back on the cradle. “Brought Cassandra with me so she could pick up some stuff she needed.”
Nate let a smile slip as he crossed one arm over the other. “How’s she doing?”
I worked it over in my brain for a second. “She’s tough. She’ll be alright.”
“Sounds like Becks when I met her on deployment.”
I laughed. “Nah. It’s not like that. We don’t actively hate each other.”
Her snippy remarks didn’t bother me. Our banter—it wasn’t fighting . It felt like foreplay.
“How are you doing with it?” he asked.
“Unaffected,” I lied, leaning casually against the truck.
Nate howled. “Now you sound like me when I met Becks. So, bullshit.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that. She’s engaged.”
“And I was still trying to convince Vanessa not to divorce me,” he countered.
“It’s not the same thing.”
Nate’s ex-wife was a cold-hearted bitch. Cassandra’s fiancé was a sneaky little weasel.
Nate lowered his voice. “It’s been ten years.”
“And in those ten years I’ve gone to more therapy than you have.
” I raised my hands. “I’m good, man. I’ve dated, I’ve had flings.
I’m not repressed and I’m not blind. Cass—I like her even though I think she’s dead set on trying to make me hate her.
And yeah. I think she’s attractive. But I’m not crossing any lines with an engaged woman, or with my girls under the same roof. ”
He stepped back and nodded. “That’s fair. I’m just making sure your head’s on straight.” Checking the time, he added, “I’d better run in and get Becks her brisket tacos.”
We split, Nate heading inside and me jumping back in the truck. When I put my number in Cassandra’s phone, I called myself so I’d have hers. I fired off a text.
Christian
Heading back your way. Where are you at?
Cass
I decided that “Daddy Griffith” makes me think of your father, so I changed your contact to “Cowboy Daddy.” I’m at the nail salon getting some work done while this lovely lady makes my feet look less ogre-like. Be done in half an hour.
Christian
You seem like you’re in a better mood.
Cass
A proper latte, retail therapy, and a mani-pedi will do that.
Christian
See you soon, Princess.
Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled up to the nail salon. Instead of waiting it out in the truck, I moseyed inside and spotted her sitting tall in a throne.
While the nail artist finished her pedicure, I squared up with the receptionist.
“What’s the damage, Margo?” Cassandra asked, appearing next to me at the front desk when she was done.
Margo, who was apparently Cassandra’s new best friend, beamed. “Not a dime, honey. Mr. Griffith took care of it. Tip and all.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she whipped around. “You did what?”
I didn’t want to talk about it, so I reached for her shopping bags instead. “Let me carry those.”
“I can—” she paused and huffed. “You’re going to make a scene if I carry my bags and open the door, aren’t you?”
I smirked. “Yes, ma’am.” Looking over her head, I nodded toward the salon. “Have a good day, folks.”
“You paid for me?” Cassandra asked abruptly when we hit the sidewalk.
I unlocked the truck and put her shopping bags in the back before opening her door. “Yeah.”
She paused in front of me instead of climbing in. “Why?” It wasn’t curiosity. It was blatant mistrust.
“Because I thought it’d make you happy,” I said simply. “You’ve had a time of it out here, and if I can do something easy like that to make it better, I will.”
Then, just because I knew he wouldn’t give her a fucking compliment without it being backhanded as hell, I said, “Your nails look real pretty.”
Blush painted her cheeks as she climbed into the truck and picked up the box that was waiting for her in the seat.
“What’s this?” she asked as I slid behind the wheel.
“Boots.”
She lifted an eyebrow as she shimmed open the box. “You wear a women’s size seven?”
I chuckled. “They’re for you.”
“Why?”
“What’s with you and all your why’s?”
“Gifts come with strings,” she said as she smoothed her fingers down the lacquered leather.
“Not mine.” I pulled out of the space and headed toward the ranch. “I said that I did something easy to make it better for you. I never said I would take it easy on you.” I stretched my arm across the back of her shoulders. “How was the nail salon? Up to your big city standards? You feel pampered?”
She smirked, a wicked look lifting her lips. “Oh, it wasn’t pampering.”
“No?”
She cracked her knuckles. “It was reconnaissance.”