CHAPTER NINE

Sam understood why Casey wasn’t sharing more, and he’d concluded a) he wanted her, b) was falling in love with her, and c) needed to gain her trust. Especially given what she’d told him that afternoon. The best way he could think of was to disclose his secrets. Okay, not really secrets, but still… A crummy marriage, a witch of an ex-wife, and a boatload of money.

Given her apparent view that “rich” people ruined her life, his money could be an issue. He’d kept his wealth under the radar for years. Maybe it was guilt at making millions.

Ten years ago, he’d been thirty-two, his daughter, Natalie, was eleven, and his marriage had been in trouble for a long time.

The mirror reflected back his image. “She’s younger than you, old man.” Nothing he could do about it, so he checked his attire. Jeans, white cotton shirt, single pocket, snap buttons, and a bolo tie, which had a square turquoise set in a silver clasp. He nodded, thinking his clothing appropriate for the evening’s activities.

Emma was picking up Natalie from the regional airport, and though anxious to see his daughter and hear about her third year at Stanford, he was worried that after their ride today, Casey would be a no-show for the tree-decorating tradition.

Then again, if things went according to plan, if she showed up, he’d have at least twenty minutes alone with his newest ranch hand.

***

Casey spent extra time getting ready. The shower had helped wash off all of the dirt, and some of the pain of confessing her past to Sam. She wanted to smell good but not in an attention-getting way, so she’d used her bergamot body butter. Putting her nose to a bare arm, she sniffed. “Not bad.” She wanted Sam to find her delicious, irresistible, to want her despite the flaws.

The need to look her best was tied in part to Sam’s daughter coming home, but mostly because she was in the throes of falling in love. Which was why she’d opted for the dangerous little black dress. That, and the fact Emma said the family dressed for the occasion. Casey glanced at the big mirror in the foyer, trying not to be hypercritical. The fabric, a spandex blend, hugged what curves she had, and she worried it might be too much.

She stepped down into the living room, reminding herself she’d be leaving soon enough. There was no end to irony because now, of course, she didn’t want to go. It was a hell of a predicament. The big stink she’d made about staying at the ranch even one night felt like eons ago, not just six days.

And it was hard not to be angry at Sam what with his not joining her the last two nights on the porch, skipping breakfast in the kitchen, cutting out on dinners. Until this morning, and the invitation for the ride, he’d been MIA in general.

Sam’s invitation to join in the family tradition decorating the tree was before his disappearing act, and the morning ride. Does he even still want me here?

She stared at the big tree, tall and stately, but still empty of ornaments. She enjoyed the white lights strung carefully amongst the many branches. Still, her continued efforts at settling her emotions failed. She sighed, then whispered to the tree, “I could use a drink.”

She looked around the room: exposed beams, supple leather furniture, and a dark wood coffee table adorned with three iron reindeer of various sizes placed in a garland of fresh pine.

“That little black dress, ma’am? Stunning, but not exactly ranch fare.”

Sam.

Damn stealthy cowboy. She sensed him standing directly behind her, smelling woodsy with a hint of fresh soap. His nearness made her already frazzled nerves tingle. Blood raced through her veins, sizzling like a live power line.

She turned to face him. He was stupid handsome, and she wondered if a few Hail Marys would keep her from simply fainting to the floor.

Sam held out a flute of champagne, which she took, slugging half its contents with her first sip. The mirth in his eyes suggested she was busted for being nervous. He’d dressed up a little, or maybe it was a lot for him. What did she know? Until six days ago, her preconceptions of life on a ranch were based on reruns of old westerns on TV.

The reality was far different. She long presumed all cowboys were good-looking, and of course, that wasn’t true. Except God help her, Sam was. She took a deep breath at the same time he bent to place his glass down on the coffee table, turned back to her, and stepped close.

“You smell delicious.” Casey almost choked on her second swallow of champagne when his words mirrored her earlier thoughts. She kept the flute in front of her, thinking it could act as a defense to any advances.

And who was she kidding?

She wanted him. All of him.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, Ms. Pickett.” His eyes smiled, and since he was only inches away, she fell into his gaze, heart pounding, a throbbing ache in her core. She held her breath, longing for a kiss.

“Hey, Dad? I’m home. Are you in the living room?”

Casey took a sharp breath and stepped back from Sam, watching as he turned, a spectacular grin breaking out on his face. “Natalie?”

The girl was stunning—tall and slender like her father. Her hair was more auburn than Sam’s, and her skin coloring confirmed a life in California sunshine. She bounced down the stairs, a thick ponytail bobbing as she hugged her father. “I missed you. I really, really missed you, Dad.” Natalie Wagner buzzed with joy as she turned, “And you must be Casey. Dad’s told me so much about you. You are staying through to Christmas, right?”

Wrong. Casey put out her hand and was rewarded with a firm grip of a handshake. “It’s still up in the air, Natalie. But thank you for the kind invitation.” Her head was spinning because Sam had obviously spoken of Casey to his cherished child. She tilted her head, trying to get rid of a buzzing between her ears.

The young woman’s eyes twinkled. So much like Sam.

“Oh we’ll talk you into it.” She turned to her father. “Won’t we, Dad?”

“We’ll try, Nat. We’ll sure try,” Sam answered. Turning, and so only she could see, he winked at Casey. When she started breathing again, Casey chugged the rest of her champagne.