“Yes, it does,” she said ruefully. She glanced toward the stairs one more time. “But the reason my ex really makes me mad is the way he treats Zak. Promising to visit, and then not showing. Not calling when he says he will. No wonder Zak tries to shut down his emotions. He’s scared of getting hurt all over again.”
It sounded to Andrew as if Cassie Warren had a very complex life. Too bad he wasn’t going to find out any more about the complications. He was going to get his business done in Montana—wrap up Hannah’s affairs—and return to Texas as soon as possible. That meant he would probably never see Cassie again.
But, for now, he was sitting here across from this beautiful woman, eating ice cream. Andrew had learned how to enjoy the moment. He knew it was indeed possible to block out the past and the future, and simply savor the present.
Cassie seemed to be relaxing a little, too. She leaned back in her chair, turning her glass around. “Forget about me,” she said. “Let’s talk about your romantic troubles, Andrew. From what your grandmother said, you’ve had plenty of them…plenty of women, at least, who’ve wanted you to tie the knot. Apparently, though, you’re not the knot-tying sort.”
“That’s what she always said.”
Cassie gave him a shrewd look. “Tell me, have you tried dating any divorcées? A lot of the time they don’t want to tie the knot. They’ve already done it once, and found that quite enough.”
“Meaning,” said Andrew, “that you don’t intend to get married again.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Cassie stopped playing with her glass. “I’m going to check on Zak. Be right back.” She stood and headed for the stairs. Andrew watched her go. She moved with a natural, unaffected grace. He wondered if she realized how attractive she truly was.
When she came back down a few moments later, she looked troubled. “He fell asleep,” she said softly. “Right next to a book about knights in armor. I can’t figure out if he wants to be a knight, or be rescued by one.”
She didn’t sit down again, even though she hadn’t finished her ice cream—or her wine. Andrew decided the message was clear: the evening had ended. He stood.
“Thanks for the invitation,” he said.
“Thanks for coming,” she said after an awkward pause. “It seems strange you staying at a hotel instead of at your grandmother’s house.”
“Guess I like the idea of neutral territory,” he said.
Cassie studied him. “You don’t give anything away, do you?” she murmured. “I practically told you my life story tonight, but you’re as much a stranger to me as when you walked in the door.”
A stranger…somehow he didn’t like the sound of that. Unable to explain the impulse guiding him, he stepped nearer to Cassie. With his good hand, he gently ran a finger over her cheek. Her skin was soft.
She drew in her breath. “Andrew…”
He heard the warning in her voice. Feeling that stir of regret, he stepped away again. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting the wrong idea. That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?”
“Something like that.” Suddenly brisk and businesslike, she led him to the door. “Good night, Andrew.”
“Good night.” His rental car was parked out on the driveway, waiting to take him back to his empty hotel room. The prospect didn’t seem inviting. Maybe that was why he acted on impulse again. He turned to Cassie and took her into his arms. And then he kissed her.
Her lips were soft, too. She tasted sweetly of vanilla. And, after an initial, very brief attempt to pull away, she kissed him back. Her hands moved up to his shoulders. He was looking forward to whatever might happen next.
He didn’t count on what did happen, however. There was a slight scuffling sound. With a gasp, Cassie broke away from him. They turned at the same time. And there, facing both of them, was Cassie’s seven-year-old son, Zak…gazing at them with a solemn, unreadable expression.
So much for a romantic mood.
CHAPTER THREE
CASSIE EASED OFF the gas. The road she was traveling happened to be well maintained, and she could have safely gone ten miles faster. But she always slowed down at this point. She always dreaded returning home.
Young Zak seemed to feel no such reluctance. He strained against his seat belt, sticking his face out the window as if to smell the ranch air. Cassie had known that smell for as long as she could remember—a potent aroma of cattle and rich red earth, prairie grass and wildflowers. She considered turning the car around and heading straight back to Billings. But she had come here for Zak. Despite all his efforts to hide his emotions, she knew that he loved Walking Stones Ranch.
Cassie slowed her Toyota a bit more, prolonging the moments before she would need to confront her family. But just then a figure appeared on the horizon—a large, broad-shouldered man astride a powerfully built horse. The image of man and steed seemed to shimmer in the bright morning light. Cassie heard Zak draw in his breath. And, as she pulled over and got out of the car, Zak scrambled out to stand beside her.
The figure drew nearer, Stetson shading his weathered face. He was, of course, none other than the boss himself—Robert Maxwell Sr., owner of Walking Stones. Cassie’s stomach tightened, and she felt all the old familiar emotions roiling inside. Defiance, anger, fear…love and worry. Her father’s bay mare came to a halt on the verge of the road. Robert Maxwell remained in the saddle, callused hands resting on the horn, hazel eyes surveying Cassie with neither welcome nor approval. She tried to think of something diplomatic to say.
“Dammit, Dad, you’re not supposed to be galloping around on a horse! You want your heart to give out right here and now?”
Robert Maxwell stared at her for a long moment. And then the grim lines of his face rearranged themselves into the semblance of a smile. A sardonic smile.
“Glad to see you, too, Cassandra.”
No one else called her that. She might as well have been ten years old again, a scrawny insecure kid wearing a too-big name. Now she tried again.
“Seriously, Dad. What does Jolie have to say about you disobeying doctor’s orders?”
“Your sister has plenty of patients without me,” he said dismissively. And then he focused on his grandson. “Hello there, Zachary.”
“Hello,” Zak answered in a small voice, gazing awestruck at the old man. Hero worship…that was probably the best term for what Zak experienced whenever he was around his granddad. Robert Maxwell was one of the few people Zak had responded to since the divorce—and that was why Cassie made the drive from Billings every three or four weeks. She would do anything for her son, even come home to Walking Stones.
Robert Maxwell Sr. fished in a pocket of his weather-beaten dungarees, producing an apple. He leaned down to hand it to Zak. “Here. Snowdrop’s been waiting for you.”
Zak took the apple and held it out cautiously to Snowdrop—so named for the pure white triangle on her forehead. The mare observed perfect manners, snuffling the fruit from Zak’s open palm. The little boy grinned for the briefest instant, and Cassie felt a brief surge of gratitude toward her father. She knew he’d pocketed that apple especially for Zak, especially for this moment.
“Zachary,” said Robert, “by now your aunt Thea’s figured out I made my escape, and she’s about to come chasing me down. You want to head her off?”
Zak nodded, and went racing off in the direction of the ranch house. Cassie watched him go, then turned back to her father.
“Dad—”
“Hold on. Before you start lecturing me about my heart, I’ve got something to say to you.” He swung down from the horse almost as nimbly as he had