Chapter 8
F rankie’s apartment was in an unadorned, white four-plex that had no detached garage, just a large flat of cement for a parking lot. Ceramic planters with withered greens bordered each side of the door. Cash let Abbi into the entryway, where they could find the door to Frankie’s unit.
A cloud of stale cigarette smoke hung in the wide hallway. Cash half expected to be hit with the odor of cat urine, but the closer they got to Frankie’s door, the more floral the air became.
It bothered him that he didn’t know what to expect. She was his grandma and yes, he’d only known for the last ten years and he’d been gone for eight of them, but…she was his grandma.
Was he her only grandchild? Holly was her only child and Frankie had been a single mom. Had Holly tossed more children to their daddies and gone on her way?
He’d ask his parents, but he doubted they knew. As open as Frankie was, she would’ve told him. Maybe his mom would be more open to his relationship with her now that she was getting divorced.
D-i-v-o-r-c-e. How did an adult kid handle his parents’ split?
He was an adult. Did that mean it shouldn’t bother him?
Or that it should upset him less? More? No, it had to be pretty traumatic for a kid.
Listening to them argue and then watching Mom dissolve into tears was shittier when he was a kid.
If they had split, he would’ve been shattered.
And would’ve felt one hundred percent responsible. Now, he knew it was mostly on Dad.
It was still shitty as an adult, and it hadn’t even fully sunk in yet.
“Nice place.” Abbi jerked him out of his musings.
Frankie’s place was homey. Colorful needlepoint adorned the walls, flowers and uplifting sayings. Her furniture was dated but in good condition. Candles decorated shelves and end tables, giving the place a fresh atmosphere.
Meows greeted them. A sizeable orange tabby prowled toward them.
“Look at him,” Abbi cooed and dropped to a crouch. The cat bypassed her to twine around his legs. Abbi laughed. “You do attract the pussy. Where’s the other one?”
“This must be Dutchie, if Baron is the one that acts like he doesn’t give a crap.”
Abbi scratched a purring Dutchie under the chin. “Baron can’t hide from me.”
“Make sure she’s okay. I’ll find their food and load it up just in case Frankie doesn’t come home today.”
His chest grew heavy again. Hearing Frankie was sick had sent panic coursing through him.
There was so much he hadn’t told her. Like how grateful he was that she’d come into his life.
He had a great relationship with Gram, but she had five boys and ten grandchildren.
He’d had Frankie for himself, and when they talked each week, he was free to be himself.
Not the prefect son, not the perfect one-nighter, not the fun-loving cousin. Just Cash.
He rummaged through the kitchen cabinets until he found cat food.
Did Frankie think he was ashamed of her and who his birth mom was?
He’d never contacted her outside of the diner.
They’d written letters back and forth when he was gone, simple letters that updated each other’s on goings-on.
He’d never taken her out to eat or invited her over for supper.
Had Frankie ever ridden a horse? Would she?
She was less than twenty years older than his dad.
She’d had Holly when she was a teenager as far as Cash knew, and she’d talked about cutting down her hours but couldn’t officially retire.
Dad had just turned fifty. He’d been a young twenty-two when Cash had been born.
Too young for a wild man like him to settle down with a wife and kid. A kid who wasn’t his wife’s.
“What’s wrong?” Abbi came into the kitchen, holding a disgruntled calico. She lowered Baron to the floor and the kitty scurried away.
Cash topped off the cat dishes with food and water. Abbi’s gaze burned a hole in his back as he did so.
“Just thinking,” he finally answered.
“You’ve had some curveballs thrown at you in the last twenty-four hours.”
He sank back against the counter. Pressure drained from him. Abbi wasn’t prying into his thoughts, but she understood.
Abbi sauntered in front of him and cupped his face. “It sucks now, but it’ll be okay. It’s obvious they all love you. It’s them who have to learn to get along, not you who has to moderate or decide who gets your time.”
She’d nailed it. He’d felt like such a traitor for years for associating with his own damn grandma. He’d felt like he was the one who’d betrayed his mom for being born, and not his dad.
Cash laid his hat on the counter and twined his arms around Abbi’s waist. Heat infused her eyes and she pressed against him.
Her body against his was as good as before. Did she remember?
“Has any of that night come back to you?” he murmured.
Her lips parted and her gaze swept over his lips. “Some of it. The specifics are…fuzzy.”
“Do you remember this?” He dropped his head and caught her lips. A slow press at first. She tasted better than he recalled. No beer concealed her natural flavor this time. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue until she opened for him.
She rose to her tiptoes and snaked her arms around his neck.
Their kiss deepened, and they both groaned.
Blood rushed south until he considered spinning them around and stripping her down.
His hands skimmed to her sides and under her sweater.
Soft skin shivered with pleasure as he traced his fingers along the waist of her jeans and danced higher until they hit her bra.
Yes, this was what he needed. A bare Abbi in his hands. She moaned when he splayed his hands on her back and massaged in small circles. If she writhed against him anymore, he’d have to rip his pants off and take her on the floor.
A cat mewled. Cash ripped himself away, simultaneously pushing Abbi from his body and his growing erection.
He panted like he had to catch his breath. Dutchie meowed again and glided around their legs.
“That certainly jogged my memory.” Abbi’s shy smile almost undid his restraint. He’d practically thrown her off him, but she wasn’t indignant, just as sweet as she tasted.
Telling her they couldn’t do it again never made it out of his mouth. He couldn’t recall why kissing her was a bad idea.
Because he wouldn’t stop, that’s why. If they had sex again, it’d be a thing between them. Then things got complicated and someone got hurt.
He snatched his hat up and launched away from the counter. “It’s almost lunch. We should get our riding done before it gets too late.”
What was he thinking? He wasn’t as young and immature as Dad had been when he’d settled down.
But if Cash started contemplating dating a girl, she couldn’t be Daniels’s sister.
How could he ever look her parents in the eye?
They’d lost a son they thought was a hero.
And he had been. He’d signed his life away on the dotted line.
But Daniels hadn’t had to go so soon, and Cash couldn’t imagine the guilt Daniels’s parents would endure if they knew what had been going through their son’s mind before he’d stepped into that room.
Cash strode to the front door and waited for Abbi, who said nothing about his abrupt change in attitude. He’d gone from wanting to have her for lunch to barely looking at her so he’d keep his hands off her.
They got into his truck without another word. Her phone vibrated and irritation flitted through her expression when she checked the message. She’d reacted the same way when her phone had buzzed at the hospital.
She caught him watching her and tucked her phone away. “Are you coming back to town tonight to check on Frankie?”
“Yeah, I’d better.”
“Good, then I’ll ride with you out to your place and come back with you. My car should be okay at the diner.”
Abbi was his for the whole afternoon. She’d be stuck with him. At his mercy. After the kiss in the apartment, he doubted his ability to keep his distance. But it was better than being separated from her for now. She was a salve for his raw emotions.
If Cash cared for his women the way he cared for his horses, he’d win boyfriend of the year.
Abbi swayed with Mandrell’s movements. She was a fine-looking creature, even if Abbi didn’t know a thing about horses.
Cash had chattered softly to the horses while he’d saddled them.
It must soothe the creatures, but she suspected it soothed the man just as much.
He’d interrupt himself to explain to Abbi what he was doing.
Before he’d helped her onto Mandrell’s back, Cash had shown her how to hold the reins and how to talk and move the horse.
She’d whooped—quietly—when she’d landed astride Mandrell’s back without assistance.
After he had opened the gate to let them into the pasture—all while on horseback—they’d ridden out.
The land was gorgeous, even cloaked in the fading green and brown hues of autumn.
Dried grasses crunched under hooves, and flocks of geese honked far above them as they began their trek south for the winter.
Her stress drained away with the peaceful setting around her.
She rocked with Mandrell’s steps. The exhilaration of being on a horse faded to contentedness, and she understood why Cash was so dedicated to his creatures.
A herd of cattle roamed in the distance. Soft moos echoed as they munched away on what was left of green grass.
Cash pointed at them and made an arc to their left where another herd meandered. “We’ll drive them to a closer pasture for the winter. It’s easier to feed them and I don’t have to worry about them being stranded without food and water during a blizzard.”
“Does that happen often?”
“It can. Depends on the weather. You can lose several head if a freak storm hits early. The cattle freeze to death if they get separated from the rest.”
“Heartbreaking.”