Chapter Four
Freezing water blasted from the barn wash stall nozzle and hit Cassidy’s skin like liquid ice, shocking her system with a violence she welcomed.
She didn’t care about the temperature; she needed the cold. So she turned the faucet handle as far as it would go, hoping the water would penetrate her bones and freeze out the fire that was still raging in her blood.
Numbness took over as she stood in the center of the concrete stall.
The drain gurgled at her feet, swallowing the muddy water that ran off her shivering body.
She was still wearing her clothes, which were now soaked through.
Heavy denim clung to her legs like a second skin, weighing her down.
Her flannel shirt was plastered to her back, restricting her movement like a straitjacket.
Cassidy grabbed a bar of green industrial soap from the wire rack. It was a harsh lye and antiseptic brick meant for scrubbing tack and cleaning wounds on livestock, not for human skin. She scrubbed at herself anyway.
She drove the rough grit of the soap into her neck, targeting the sensitive skin where Sterling’s mouth had been only moments before. She scoured her inner thighs through her jeans where the phantom heat of his large hands still lingered, burning like a brand against the freezing water.
“Stupid,” she whispered through chattering teeth. “You are so stupid.”
The soap’s sharp, chemical smell filled the tiled enclosure, burning her nose with its potency. But underneath the lye and the damp concrete, she could still smell him.
Sandalwood. Expensive wool. Musk.
It was burned into her olfactory memory and etched into her pores. The scent was a physical thing, heavy and masculine, mocking her attempt to wash it away.
She had let him take her. She had let the man who was actively destroying her heritage bend her over a saddle rack and claim her body. The submission didn’t shame her, but her enjoyment of it did.
The shame made her stomach churn, and it was the reason she was trying to freeze the feeling out of her veins.
She had not just submitted; she had reveled in it. She had craved the weight of him pressing her down and needed the pain of his size stretching her open. For ten minutes in that dusty room, she hadn’t been a grieving daughter or a failing rancher. She had just been his.
She dropped the soap, and it hit the wet concrete with a dull thud that echoed in the small space.
She leaned her forehead against the cold wall. The water pounded against her shoulders, but she barely felt it anymore. She was shaking so hard her knees felt liquid, and her breath came in short, ragged gasps that misted in the frigid air.
She had to get back to the house to change her clothes and find her spine, so she willed herself to turn off the faucet. The sudden silence in the barn was deafening, broken only by the soft snorting of the horses in the nearby stalls and the water dripping from her clothes.
Cassidy wrung out her hair then pushed the wet strands back from her face with trembling fingers. She stepped out of the stall, grabbed a rough towel from the hook and wrapped it around her shoulders. It offered no real warmth against the chill that had settled deep in her marrow.
Using the towel and resisting the cool barn air, she proceeded to hastily blot herself dry from top to bottom. Memories of the intense sexual encounter between her and Sterling popped in and out of her mind as she moved the towel over her body. His hands had touched each of those places.
She stepped on the towel to dry her feet then finished by lacing up her boots.
She moved as quickly as possible in her wet clothes, keeping her head down.
If I can just make it to the side door, she thought.
She wanted to sprint to the ranch house without being seen and put physical distance between herself and the tack room.
She turned the corner into the main aisle and stopped dead. Sterling Thorne was leaning against the door frame of the exit, checking messages on his phone and waiting for her.
He looked exactly as he had before the madness in the tack room.
His midnight blue suit was immaculate, the fabric holding its sharp lines despite the humidity of the barn.
His tie was perfectly knotted against his crisp white collar.
His hair was smoothed back. There was no evidence that he had just ravaged her against a wall.
There was no evidence that he had lost control for even a second.
The phone screen cast a pale blue light on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw. He looked bored, like a man who had simply finished a business transaction and was moving on to the next item on his agenda.
Sterling looked up casually. There was no more heat in his eyes. The predator was gone, and in his place stood the cool and detached CEO.
Then he noticed her wet clothes, shivering form, and the water pooling around her boots on the dirt floor.
“You will catch pneumonia,” he said. His voice was flat, devoid of sympathy, like he was delivering the farm report.
“Move,” Cassidy croaked. She cleared her throat, trying to find some semblance of strength. “Get out of my way.”
Sterling did not move. He slipped his phone into his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. The movement drew attention to the width of his shoulders, a silent reminder of the physical power hiding beneath the expensive tailoring.
“We have a schedule adjustment,” he said.
Cassidy stared at him in disbelief. He was talking about schedules after what they had just done? After he had been inside her?
“I don’t care about your schedule,” she said, clutching the towel tighter. “I quit. That’s what you want, right? I quit.”
“You cannot quit,” Sterling said calmly walking toward her. “You are the executor of the estate. You are legally bound to the transition process until the asset is liquidated.”
Cassidy took a step back. She felt small and exposed, like a wet rat cornered by a panther. The memory of his hands on her skin was still too fresh, too raw.
“Stay back,” she warned.
Sterling stopped to maintain a respectful four-foot distance like they were in a business meeting. Cassidy recognized the calculated insult. He was proving to her that he could turn his desire off like a light switch while she was still burning.
“I have a dinner meeting tonight,” he said. “At The Obsidian Lodge. Seven o’clock.”
The name of the restaurant was noteworthy. The Obsidian Lodge was the most exclusive venue in the valley, a place of black timber and stone fireplaces where the wealthy played cowboy while drinking three-hundred-dollar wine. Cassidy had never set foot inside.
“Congratulations,” Cassidy said. “I hope you choke on the steak.”
“You will be joining me,” Sterling said.
“I will be doing no such thing,” Cassidy snapped. “I am going to my house and locking the door behind me. Then I am going to call a lawyer.”
“The buyers are from a development group in Tokyo,” Sterling continued, ignoring her threat as if she hadn’t spoken. “They are hesitant about the location. They feel it lacks…authenticity.”
He looked her over again in her wet work-worn clothing. Cassidy tried to maintain the fire in her eyes and a defiant posture.
“They want to see the ‘real West,’” he continued. “They want to see the rugged history they are buying into.”
He checked his Rolex, the gold glinting in the dim light of the barn.
“Wear something appropriate to the occasion,” he said. “Jeans, boots… The buyers will expect that. Do not try to dress up.”
A realization hit her like a slap. “I am not a prop,” Cassidy whispered. “You want me to perform and play the part of the cowgirl so you can sell my home out from under me?”
“I want you to be an asset to this place,” Sterling said. “For once.”
“Go to hell,” Cassidy said.
“The Obsidian Lodge at seven,” Sterling repeated. “We will drive together so I know you will not be late. Meet me at this address at six-thirty.” He handed her one of his business cards with an address handwritten on the back.
“The contract stipulates your cooperation in all marketing efforts,” he warned “If you refuse, I will consider it a breach of terms, and I will freeze your severance account and expedite the eviction notice.”
“You are a monster,” Cassidy said.
“I am a businessman,” Sterling said. “And right now, you are expensive.”
Having delivered his order, he was done with her and turned to leave.
Cassidy’s phone buzzed in her back pocket, startling her. In her wet jeans it felt like a large insect crawling on her skin.
She ignored it, glaring at Sterling’s back, her chest heaving with indignation. Then it buzzed again persistently.
Sterling paused and turned to look back at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Answer it,” he said. “It might be the creditors.” Then he continued walking away.
Cassidy reached into her pocket with a shaking hand and pulled out the phone. She looked at the caller ID on under the cracked screen protector. There was no name, just a number she didn’t recognize. It could be the feed store or the vet calling about the old mare.
She swiped the screen and put the phone to her ear, pulling the towel tighter around herself.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Cass.”
The smooth, warm voice sounded like summer rain and sweet tea, but the blood in Cassidy’s veins turned to ice.
The cold of the wash stall had been nothing compared to the absolute chill that seized her heart now.
Her whole world narrowed down at the sound of that voice.
For once, she wished it was the creditors.
“Travis,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
At the sound of her whispering, Sterling went still and turned back to try and make out what she was saying. She didn’t notice him watching her intently.
“You were always a creature of habit, I was wondering if you’d kept the same number,” Travis Miller said casually, like he was calling to shoot the breeze. “You didn’t keep it, but I found you anyway.”
The air in the barn felt thin and insufficient, and Cassidy couldn’t breathe. The smell of the harsh soap vanished instantly and was replaced by the phantom scent of mint gum and gun oil. It clogged her throat and made her stomach heave with nausea.
“How…” she choked out. “How did you get this number?”
“I have my ways, darlin’,” Travis said. “You know that I’m good at finding what belongs to me.”
The world tilted, and the barn began to spin around her.
She hadn’t heard from him in three years.
Three years! She had left in the middle of the night with nothing but a duffel bag and hid in the mountains.
She changed her name on the lease and changed her phone number, convincing herself it was enough to keep her safe.
“I don’t…” Cassidy stammered, gripping the phone so hard the plastic creaked under the pressure. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“That’s not very nice,” Travis said, the warmth dropping out of his voice. It was replaced by the flat, dead tone she remembered too well that always preceded violence. “After everything I did for you? I made you.”
Cassidy backed up, hit the wall of the stall, and slid down slightly, her boots skidding on the dirt. Her legs wouldn’t hold her anymore.
“Leave me alone,” she said in a high and thin voice. She sounded like a child, terrified and small.
“I’m close, Cass,” Travis said. “I’m real close. You look good. Have you been working out? You look…tight.”
He had been watching her.
Cassidy’s head snapped up, and she looked around the barn and loft. She noted the dark windows high above the stalls.
“Where are you?” she screamed into the phone.
“I’ll see you soon,” Travis said, and the line went dead.
Cassidy lowered the phone and stared at the black screen. Her hands were shaking so violently she almost dropped it into the mud.
He had found her, which meant she wasn’t safe on the ranch.
When Cassidy looked up, she finally noticed Sterling standing there. He had moved closer while she was on the call and was now watching her with a burning intensity.
He didn’t know who was on the phone, but he’d noticed her terror. Now her skin had gone gray, and her pupils had blown wide with panic.
“Who was that?” Sterling asked. The tack room predator was back, his voice demanding and sharp.
Cassidy shook her head, not able to speak. If she said his name, it would make it real and bring the nightmare into the daylight. She continued pressing her spine against the wall, trying to disappear into the wood.
“A vendor,” she lied. “Just…a wrong number.”
Sterling stepped closer, invading her space and looking down at her. His deep-blue eyes searched hers.
“You are lying,” he stated. “Your pulse is visible in your neck, and you’re hyperventilating.”
“I’m cold,” Cassidy said. “You must see I’m freezing.”
Sterling looked at the phone in her hand then back at her eyes. He knew she was lying. He was an expert at reading people and knew fear when he saw it. But he misinterpreted the source. His expression hardened as he buttoned his suit jacket and retreated behind the wall of his indifference.
“You are overwhelmed,” he decided. “The reality of the liquidation is setting in.”
He checked his Rolex again.
“Get yourself together, Ms. West,” he ordered. “Panic is unprofessional…and useless.”
He turned on his heel. “Six-thirty,” he called over his shoulder. “Be ready at that address I gave you, and I’ll drive us to The Obsidian Lodge.”
He walked out of the barn into the sunlight—a figure of absolute control in a world that was falling apart.
When he left, Cassidy slid the rest of the way down the wall to sit on the cold concrete floor. She pulled her knees to her chest.
She was trapped. On one side was Sterling Thorne, taking away her home and using her body to sell it. On the other side she had Travis Miller who wanted to take her life.
She looked at the phone in her hand and realized she would have to go to the dinner meeting and play the part. Because if she stayed here alone tonight, with the shadows lengthening and the wind howling…
Cassidy shivered as the cold of her wet clothes soaked into her skin and fear and anxiety ran through her bones.
Travis was close. For the first time in her life, Silver Creek Ranch didn’t feel like home. Instead, it felt like an open grave she would slip and fall into, losing herself forever.