Chapter 4
Chapter Four
CORD
"You named your bull Hamburger?" Cassia asks, staring up at me with the prettiest doe eyes I've ever seen. It might be my imagination, but they're full of outrage, like she's pissed I named the bastard Hamburger even though he just tried to split her from her alabaster throat to her soft belly.
"Don't tell me you're one of those PETA people," I mutter, running my hands all over her curvy body, worried as fuck the goddamn bull hurt her before I got to her.
Seeing her running for her life shaved a good ten years off mine.
As soon as I heard the screaming, I came running to see what the hell was going on.
Never expected to see her fleeing in terror from that fucking bull.
"PETA people?"
I opt not to answer her question. Just in case she is one.
I've got nothing against vegans, hippies, conservationists, environmentalists, or anyone else really.
But the fact that I raise cattle tends to rile most of them up.
Never mind that my family and my ranch have done more to solve problems than they'll ever know.
"Are you hurt, pretty baby?" I ask.
"No." Her breath hitches when I call her pretty baby. And then she seems to catch hold of herself. Her stubborn little chin comes up and she swats at my hands. "Would you stop trying to touch all of my parts and let me up?"
"I'm checking for injuries."
"On my boobs?" she hisses.
I glance down and realize she's right. I've got a hand full of one perfect tit.
It overflows my meaty palm, making me grin.
God yeah, she's perfect. Exactly as soft as I knew she would be.
The kind of sweet a man like me could drown in and not regret a second of it.
Even covered in mud, she's somehow erotic as sin and as adorable as a day-old kitten.
"What the hell are you wearing, princess?
" I ask, doing a sweep from head to toe.
Her black coat hangs open over a black long-sleeved t-shirt that stretches tight across her tits.
Her matching leggings hug her thick thighs.
They're soaked all the way to her knee on one side.
She looks like a cat burglar. One ill prepared for the weather and the ranch.
"Clothes," she sniffs, pushing at my shoulders. Is it my imagination or are her cheeks red? "Will you get off me, you giant bully? Jeez, you're bigger than that maniacal bull."
"Told you he was a bastard," I grunt, jumping to my feet. Hamburger stands a few yards away, his big body positioned between us and the herd. He's protective of the heifers…which is precisely why he still has horns. He's far better security than any cowboy with a gun. Meaner too.
I glance toward the ranch to see Jace and Toby hauling ass toward us.
Of course, neither of them was smart enough to saddle a horse.
It's a good thing Cassia isn't hurt. Fuck.
I need to hire better help around here. I've got a ranch full of horny cowboys without a lick of goddamn sense between the lot of them.
"Excuse me?" Cassia sits upright behind me. "T-told me? I don't know you."
I turn to face her, wondering what the hell she's playing at. Surely she remembers calling me a video game playing basement dweller? The way she avoids looking directly at me tells me plain as day that she remembers me just fine. She just doesn't want me to know that.
"I'm a cattle thief," she blurts before I can sort out why.
"You're a cattle thief?" I blink down at her, trying not to laugh in her face.
If she's a cattle thief, I'm a fucking ballerina.
Why am I smiling so hard? Better question, why the hell couldn't her friend pick a better day to camp out at Cam's?
I need him here to deal with…everything so I can carry this sassy little thing upstairs and plant my kid in her.
"Yes. A cattle thief. You should call the police and have me arrested."
"Right." I chuckle, running a palm over the top of my head.
The only time she'll be going near the police station is when she's bypassing it on the way to the courthouse to marry me.
But I don't tell her that. I'm guessing by the panic in her voice, she doesn't want me to know who she is.
Until I figure out why, I'll play her little game.
But we're playing it by my rules. "Well, come on then, little cattle thief. Let's go."
"Oh, good, you believe me," she says, her shoulders sagging with relief.
"Any reason I shouldn't?"
"Nope, none at all." She beams at me, smiling so brightly the heavens part and angels actually fucking sing.
My cock and heart throb, the blood in my veins resonating in time to that heavenly chorus.
I've never been a religious man, but something about this wild woman has me ready to drop to my knees and praise Jesus.
Instead, I watch as she rolls to her knees. She tips her head back, her pretty eyes crawling up my body. I don't imagine the way they go glassy or the heat that steals across her round cheeks. Nor do I imagine the pink tip of her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.
"You're naked."
"Not yet," I say, grinning ear to ear. "But I'm willing to change that for you, princess."
She scowls at me. "I mean you're half naked. It's winter. Wear clothes."
"Tore my shirt."
"How? Hulking out of it?"
"Fixing the fence."
"You didn't do a very good job. Your bull was in the woods."
"He doesn't like fences. Actually, he doesn't like much of anything but heifers and raising hell."
She's too busy staring at me to hear what I said. She likes what she sees, even if she doesn't want to admit it. It's a good thing because she'll be seeing a whole lot of it real soon if I have my way. I'm not much to look at. I'm an old bastard compared to her.
This way of living is rough. I spend most of my time with the sun beating down on me, yelling at ranch-hands.
Ask any of them and they'll tell you my bite is a helluva lot worse than my bark, which is bad enough.
Soft, I'm not. But I don't get the impression this girl needs soft.
She's a wild one, full of fire and spirit.
I've read every word she's written. I know what makes her tick, what she dreams about, what she craves on that soul-deep level. Cassia Murphy wasn't made for a soft ass man. She was made for me. She might not know it yet, but she will soon enough.
Her breath trembles as she stares up at me, want stamped into every line of her gorgeous face.
Soon, pretty baby. Soon, I silently promise.
She seems to understand my promise and narrows her eyes in suspicion before sniffing loudly. I grin when that chin thrusts stubbornly upward, her nose shooting into the air.
Fuck me. Didn't think it was possible to be this hard over something so goddamn adorable, but here we are, my dick wedged so tightly against the zipper of my Wranglers, I pity the bastard.
"What's your name?" I ask, curious as hell to know what bullshit lie she'll tell me.
"Cass…iopeia."
"Cassiopeia?"
She nods miserably, curling in on herself.
Huh. She didn't lie, and she doesn't like her full name.
"That's a terrible name for a cattle thief."
"Blame my mom," she mutters, wincing as she climbs to her feet. She favors her left foot, keeping her right off the ground.
"Shit. You're hurt." I take two steps toward her, kneeling on the ground at her feet.
"No, I'm not."
"Let me see it."
"I'm fine."
"Let me see it," I growl.
She reluctantly places one hand on my shoulder, holding her foot out to me.
Her black sneaker is soaked. I peel it and her sock—also black—off.
Her delicate little foot is so cold it's damn near blue.
I'm not surprised to see black polish on her toenails, but it makes me smile anyway.
Of course she painted her nails black for whatever bullshit she's up to today.
I prod gently at her foot and ankle, but don't feel anything broken.
Her pained whimper breaks my heart when I gently rotate her ankle.
"It's not broken, but it looks like you twisted it pretty good."
"Stupid root in the stupid woods," she mutters under her breath.
"You fell?"
"No. A root tried to murder me, and a log decided to help."
I bite my lip, trying hard not to laugh at the offense in her voice. I tuck her sock into my back pocket and then grab her shoe before hauling myself back to my feet. She squeaks like a bird when I swing her up into my arms.
"What are you doing?" she cries. "Put me down!"
"You can't walk all the way back to the ranch with a twisted ankle."
"You're supposed to be calling the cops," she says, glaring at me.
"Cassiopeia…Can I call you Cassia?"
"Why?"
Because I won't call you a name you hate.
"Because Cassiopeia might have been beautiful, but she was a mortal queen. You're a fucking goddess, pretty baby. And you damn sure wouldn't have been placed in the heavens to be tortured for all of eternity," I growl.
"Oh," she whispers, her body softening in my arms. "I guess you can call me Cassia."
"Cassia," I say, fighting a smile when she softens further. "How do you expect the cops to arrest you way out here in the pasture?"
Her teeth sink into that pouty bottom lip as she looks around, sheepish. "I didn't think of that," she mumbles. "Fine. I guess you can carry me to the ranch." Her eyes narrow in warning. "But keep your hands to yourself or I'm telling."
"Yeah? Who you tellin'?"
"Everybody."
I can't fight my smile this time. I think I'm in love.
"Hey, boss! Everything okay?" Jace yells, finally making it to us with Toby hot on his heels.
"Get that damn bull in the barn before he wanders off again," I order, not surprised the bastard brought himself back home this time.
It's going to snow later today. He wants no part of that.
I swear to God, he's escaping just to fuck with me at this point.
"And then get the rest of the herd inside before the storm hits. "
The damn fence will have to wait.