27. Cassandra
CASSANDRA
I huffed, slumping against the countertops. “Christian, I can’t do this.”
The cabin was decorated in flickering candles and string lights. An old school record player played softly in the background as Nat King Cole spelled out L-O-V-E.
It was all too much.
“Cass.” His voice was soft. “It’s just dinner.”
As much as I wanted to fight it, I was tired. I had been working non-stop, getting all the pieces in place for the groundbreaking celebration. When it was all said and done, so was I.
The investment deal with Lawson International had been signed. I connected Christian with one of their representatives, and then made sure that she had Momma Griffith’s and Becks’s contact information just in case.
Christian had a penchant for escaping to the pastures when he got stressed. It gave me a contingency plan to make sure things ran smoothly and they wouldn’t have to call me.
But part of me—a larger part than I wanted to admit—wanted that phone call.
I wanted to be needed.
But was being needed worth getting hurt again?
“How about this?” Christian said. “If I promise not to say a word, will you eat with me?” He glanced down at the plated meal set out on the table. “Looks like the girls put a lot of work into it… Probably the least we can do before I go back and have a talk with them.”
Relenting, I sat and let him push my seat in because I knew better than to argue with him about it.
Christian’s silence was unnerving as we cut into our steaks.
They were perfectly cooked to medium rare with flawless cross-hatched grill marks. I paused with my knife over the middle of the steak. “Is that…” I cocked my head. “Is that a brand?” I asked, looking up at him.
Sure enough, there was a circle around the middle of the steak with the outline of a longhorn cow and the ranch’s initials.
Christian’s lips twitched in a smile, but he didn’t make a peep.
“Right.” I stabbed a small bite and popped it into my mouth. “Not talking.”
His eyes turned down to his plate and he kept eating.
I made it halfway through my roasted potatoes before I couldn’t take it anymore. “Fine. Let’s talk,” I blurted out, dropping my fork onto the plate with a clatter.
His beard fluttered, and I knew that jackass was smiling underneath it.
Christian slowly set his fork and knife down and looked me dead in the eye. “Would you like some wine?”
“Really? That’s what you wanted to ask? I can pour my own fucking wine.”
Apparently, Christian took that as a “yes.” He reached into the ice bucket perched on the edge of the table and pulled the cork out of a bottle of Salado Diamond Back. I watched as the red blend splashed into the crystal glass, and contemplated what the hell I was doing with my life.
I was tired.
Christian set the bottle down and slid a glass to my side of the table.
“How was your ride?” he asked, and I froze. “Yeah, I know about it,” Christian said as he resumed eating.
“It was fine,” I hedged, pushing an asparagus spear across the plate. “It’s a good way to clear my head.”
To my surprise, he nodded as he took a sip of wine. Ruby droplets clung to his mustache. “It is.”
I gritted my teeth, grinding the steak to a paste. Why was he being so amicable?
Fine. If he was going to play nice, then I’d ask what I really wanted to know. At least I didn’t have to tiptoe around him the way I used to do around Tripp.
“What are you going to tell Bree and Gracie?”
Christian sighed. His warm eyes looked like soft flames in the candlelight. “That I tried.”
Ice flooded my veins. “You tried.”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t try, cowboy. You tied me to a pole and gave me an ultimatum.”
“Fence post.”
“Same thing.”
Christian picked up his glass by the stem and swirled the wine around.
“I tried my best, Cass. Did I do it right? No. But that’s what I’m going to tell them.
Because they learn by watching me. They deserve to know that I put myself out there.
Success isn’t guaranteed. Happily ever after isn’t guaranteed.
Happily ever eternity sure as fuck isn’t guaranteed, but they learned that one a long time ago.
The only thing I expect of them is that they try in life because that’s what I expect of myself.
” His gaze was heavy and stern. “What do you expect of yourself?”
I jabbed my fork into the potatoes. “Excellence.”
Christian sat back, looking a little surprised. “And you think that excludes you from a relationship because you can’t do it… excellently?”
It wasn’t that. Not exactly, anyway. I was fine in relationships. Frankly, I was a fucking saint in relationships.
I put up with Tripp and his bullshit for years.
It was the other aspect of Christian’s life I wasn’t totally comfortable with. And, if I was honest with myself, it’s because I didn’t like being bad at things.
I wasn’t a kid person. So what? Not everyone was. I wasn’t a fairytale villain who wanted to lure children to a giant gingerbread house and cook them alive. I just wasn’t good at leveling with kids.
I was too blunt.
Too abrasive.
I wasn’t nurturing or maternal.
Christian needed someone who could fill those sensible shoes. My high heels didn’t fit the mold.
I swallowed. “It excludes me from this one.”
“Because I have kids.”
“Yes.”
Christian did the one thing I never expected.
He laughed. “Cass—” he reached across the table and laid his hand over mine “—I’m not looking for someone to be a mom.
I’m looking for someone to be my partner.
” He sipped his wine and took pause. “A prerequisite for that is that they’re trustworthy around my kids, but the girls aren’t babies anymore.
In a few years, Bree will be driving even though that makes me physically ill.
Gracie’s not far behind. And if you’ll let me pat myself on the back, I think I’m doing okay raising them.
I’m not perfect, but I try. And they know that.
I’m not looking for someone to take that over. ”
I looked down at my plate, not really feeling all that hungry anymore.
“You expected me to move here. To live here,” I said, holding tight to those last threads of my arguments. “What if I expected you to move to New York?”
“I would do that if it was in everyone’s best interest,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “But it’s not, and I think you know that. Whether or not you want to admit it, you’re at peace here.”
I scoffed. “Voluntarily riding Dottie does not make me at peace.”
“No, but asking for CJ’s help does. And my momma’s. You’re not hiding anymore.” He tipped his head to the side, debating it. “Well. Except from me.”
I knew he was prodding me to tell him more, but I wanted to know just how much he was privy to.
“You know how I am when you force me to play Russian roulette with a shotgun. I’ll shoot, and I won’t even blink.”
Christian licked his lips and his voice turned to a growl. “Something going on with CJ?”
“No,” I clipped. “He caught me sneaking out of the office to hide in the barn until the coast was clear to get back to your house, and told me to tack up Dottie. I didn’t know how, so he taught me.
I figured a general knowledge of horse care would be good if I’m going to talk up the equine program during the groundbreaking.
We’ve been going on a ride every afternoon. He’s not as nice as you are.”
Christian chuckled. “You and Carson are two of the most blunt people I know. You’re peas in a pod.”
“He keeps the rest of the guys busy for a half hour so I can shower in the bunkhouse and not be bothered.”
“You think I’d bother you if you showered at home?”
That wasn’t it. Not entirely, anyway.
I trailed my finger along the rim of my wine glass. “I think I would have bothered you.”
“I want you to,” he admitted. “Cass…” Christian sat back, took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair. “I want you to stay.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. For years, that was all I wanted to hear.
Stay.
Be here with me.
Don’t go.
But all Tripp ever told me was to go. To leave.
“You have a place here.”
“I already put my notice in. Mike knows I’m coming back to New York.”
Christian shook his head. “I don’t accept.”
I reared back. “Excuse me?”
Christian chuckled. “You think you’re stubborn?
Princess, I deal with bulls, mules, and my kids.
Two can play that game. I’ll call New York and tell them you’re not done here.
” He drained his wine and dropped the glass back on the table.
“And if that doesn’t work, I believe you know how adept Griffiths are at kidnapping. ”
I pressed my fingertips to the edge of the table. “I am not a rancher. I’m not a stay-at-home wife—er—a stay-at-ranch wife.”
“No, you’re a workhorse. You’re incredibly resourceful. You adapt to whatever is asked of you. Your skill set should be used for more than being some celebrity’s filter.”
“Like what.”
“Like being the property manager.”
I froze. “What?”
He shrugged. “Someone has to do it. It’s not going to be me.
I’ll never sleep again. Nate and Becks could help sometimes, but they’ve got their hands full and she’ll be going back to work when her leave is over.
Someone needs to be the liaison between the ranching operation and the development projects while they’re being built.
Someone is going to have to connect and manage all the people running the restaurant and the programs and lodging—all that shit.
Did you really think you could just leave? ”
“You should hire someone with management or hospitality experience. I can compile a shortlist of candidates who?—”
“You’re it.”
“Christian, stop. I can’t?—”
“What do you expect of yourself, Cass? Because I expect you to try, and you expect excellence. Where’s the hang-up?”
“You. I can’t work for you.”
“I’ll have you report to my momma. She keeps the books, it’ll be fine.”
“Chris…”