She nudged his knee, keeping her tone light and gentle. “Be reasonable, and I’ll sit with you. You can put your head in my lap.”
It was the perfect opening for some of his sharp-edged sexual innuendo. The fact that he said nothing worried her. He must feel worse than she realized.
When he finished the glass of water—and in the process downed his meds—he stretched full-length on the sofa. Mellie sat down as promised, stroking the hair from his forehead. “Do you really want to watch a movie?” she asked.
He shook his head without opening his eyes. “No. I feel like hell.”
“Okay, then...”
After a few seconds, Case’s breathing deepened, and she knew he had fallen asleep. The old house creaked and popped as it settled for the night. On the mantel, a beautiful clock ticked away the minutes.
The moment was surreal. How had she and Case transcended so many social barriers so quickly? She was the hired help. He was the rich cowboy. He had one failed marriage behind him. She’d always been too afraid of loss to give marriage a try.
Yet here they were. As intimate together as if they had already become lovers.
With nothing else to command her attention, she traced the shell of his ear with her fingertip, trying to imagine what he would be like in bed. Healthy. Vigorous. Demanding.
She pressed her legs together, her insides shaking with what could only be described as lust. Delicious, quivery, melting need. Heaven help her when Case was back to his old self.
Right now he was like some brilliant sun dimmed by a dust storm. The essence of the arrogant cowboy was still there but muted. The reduced kilowatts made it possible for her to keep up her guard. Maybe it was his vulnerability that stripped away her defenses and misgivings. Perhaps Case Baxter had seduced her without even trying.
The evening waned along with her need to hold him at bay. Would she end up sharing his bed? Why shouldn’t she? Becoming Case’s lover might well turn out to be the highlight of her adult life.
She knew most of the available men in Royal. Not one of them had sparked more than a fleeting interest in her over the years. So maybe she was destined to be happily single, a focused businesswoman, a dutiful daughter and a generous friend.
Living alone was not a dreadful thought. She understood Case in that respect. There was something to be said for peace and quiet and the chance to spend time with your thoughts. Case valued his privacy. Mellie valued her independence. It was a match made in heaven.
Temporary. Wildly enjoyable. Mutually satisfying.
Regretfully, the two of them were not going to get intimate tonight.
At nine o’clock she eased out from under her not-unwelcome burden and stood to stretch the kinks out of her muscles. Case never made a sound. He was deeply asleep.
His chin was shadowed with the beginnings of a dark beard. Even though she had seen him numerous times with his customary scruffy facial hair, now he looked far less civilized.
She felt guilty for leaving him like this. Still, he was a grown man and she was under no obligation, ethically or otherwise, to stay. Parker Reese would check on him eventually.
After tidying the kitchen and gathering her things, she slipped out the front door and locked it behind her. Unfortunately, when she arrived at home, she found her father sitting on the doorstep again.
She greeted him with a grimace. “It’s late, Dad. What do you want?”
He didn’t even offer to help her carry anything into the house. Which, unfortunately, was typical. Harold Winslow spent most of his time worrying about Harold Winslow.
“I need to borrow fifty bucks, baby girl. Just until Monday. I’m good for it.”
She’d long since given up keeping track of her father’s IOUs. His requests were always modest amounts. Fifty here, a hundred there. Even when she gently reminded him he owed her money, he was all smiles and apologies. But the repayment never took place.
It was her own fault. All she had to do was cut him off, and he would get the message...eventually. But regardless of his failings, Harold was her father. He’d helped raise her, and he’d been the one she’d clung to when her mother died. He was her own flesh and blood.
“Why do you need the money, Daddy?” She dumped everything on the kitchen counter and confronted him.
Harold gaped, his expression both astonished and cagey. She’d never before pressed him about where the cash went. She hadn’t wanted to know.
His bloodshot eyes stared back at her. “I had a lot of bills this month,” he muttered.
“Is that why you don’t have enough left for drinking tonight and tomorrow?”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” he snapped.
She had definitely ruffled his feathers. But at the moment, she was so tired and dispirited she didn’t care. “I’m not an ATM. I have expenses of my own and a business to support.”
“Where have you been tonight?”
The change of topic caught her off guard. After a split second’s hesitation, she saw no reason to dissemble. “I took dinner to Case Baxter. He has the flu.”
“Well, ain’t that sweet.”
Her father’s colloquial sarcasm nicked her patience. “I’m tired, Daddy. And it’s late. Why don’t you go home and have a rum and Coke...without the rum.”
Harold’s face turned red. “What’s gotten into you, girl? If you think hangin’ out with that fancy-ass richer-than-God cowboy makes you something special, you’re wrong. Big-shot ranchers don’t marry women who clean their toilets.”
His deliberate crudeness broke her heart a little bit. Was this what they had come to? She refused him one time and he attacked?
Her chest aching with emotion, she reached for her purse, opened it and took out a handful of bills. When she held out her hand, Harold grabbed the money as if he was afraid she might change her mind.
Suddenly, her father was all smiles. “You’re good to your old dad. I won’t forget it.” He folded the money clumsily and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, trying not to cry. “I’m done, Daddy. This is the last time. I want you to get help.”
“I told you...I’m fine. Don’t know why you’re kicking up such a fuss about a little bit of cash.”
“I’ve been looking at the rental income. You could be living like a king.” She helped out with the Winslow Properties business, and though she wasn’t in that office very often, she knew enough to realize the incoming cash was substantial. And she also knew that Harold wasn’t pouring any of that money back into upkeep and development.
“You worried about your inheritance? Is that it?”
The insult barely registered. She had figured out a long time ago that her father would be lucky not to end up a pauper. “I’m worried about you,” she said quietly. “And though you may not believe me, I’m done. No more handouts.”
He backed toward the door, his posture hunted. “I may sell the Courtyard,” he said defiantly. “I’ve had inquiries from a company called Samson Oil.”
The Courtyard was an old renovated ranch several miles west of town. It included a large barn and a collection of buildings that