Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (6 page)

Quickly, he reached
for his billfold and extracted the necessary preventive foil. Cassie looked
impatient watching through half closed eyelids as he roughly pulled the condom
over his rigid cock. If he’d ever been harder, he couldn’t recall such a time.

He ran the tip of
his shaft up and down her wetness. Cassie grabbed his arms and pulled him
forward. Slowly, he penetrated her sex, feeling her moist heat enfold him.

“You’re filling me,”
she moaned, not taking her gaze off of his.

He nodded, seating
his entire length in her. “You’re incredibly hot. And this bed seems to work
quite nicely.”

“Oh, yes.”

 He moved
hesitantly to and fro.

She wrapped her
legs around his ass. “No need to go slow.”

Silently he agreed.
Slow would be okay later, but not now. He picked up the pace.

She matched his
efforts thrust for thrust. She thrashed about under him, resisting and then
embracing another orgasm. She howled into the night.

Clint swallowed
hard trying to keep pace with the woman beneath him. Her squeals of delight
echoed from some far off place: from the present and the past, from the past
and the future. Spinning out of control, he pumped and pumped. His hips
strained. Cassie’s fingernails dug into his back. His breathing stopped and
then he erupted. His howls echoed hers. He didn’t stop pummeling her until he
was completely drained.

His brain froze and
then slowly melted, allowing a thought or two. What in the hell had happened? She
was no reluctant lover. She’d overtaken him. Some of his questions were
answered. She did indeed emit fire when making love. He held back a chuckle. And
she made delightful sounds when on fire.

He shook his head.
Be
careful. This one could be habit forming. Don’t get burned.

- o -

Cassie huddled in
the warmth of Clint’s jacket as they neared her motel in the predawn hours. Awareness
of all they’d done on the bed of straw flooded her mind. She still found bits
of straw in her hair.
Now what? Oh my. Oh my. Oh my. It’s okay. Great sex
for a week, if I’m lucky, and then back home. It’s okay. Oh my! Oh my!

He parked the
truck. She grinned shyly at him. “I’d invite you in, but we both need to get
some sleep.”

Clint nodded,
laughing softly. “To do that, I got to get away from your burning flesh. Damn,
woman, you could devour me if I let you.”

“I just might,” she
said, leaning over to kiss him.

Breaking away from
her, he paused, obviously considering his next move. Cassie waited patiently. Although
sated for a week, she would like to see him again.

“I have to run down
to the ranch and check some things out later today. I’ll try to be back by
Wednesday or Thursday at the latest. Maybe we can pick up where we left off
then.”

Cassie hesitated. That
didn’t sound too promising. If that was the way it was, she could play it cool
too. “Sure, why not?”

All day Monday,
Cassie had expected a call from the man who had helped her soar to such heights
on shedrow. She’d fumed and sputtered about having second thoughts about the
entire trip to Wyoming, especially that tryst in the stall. Her body might still
be humming, but that didn’t soften her total feeling of rejection.

By late Monday
night she’d made her decision. It was time to go home. Her dad would be upset
with her for returning early and not giving Hope the entire altitude edge, but
she wasn’t about to wait around for some damn cowboy who had left her hanging. He
could’ve asked her to go with him to his ranch. She could’ve gotten someone to
tend Hope for a day or two. But no, the big jerk just dashed off and left her. So
be it.

Early Tuesday
morning, Cassie had her tack and horse loaded and headed east on highway 80. With
any luck, Chicago and sanity were only two days away.

- o -

Tuesday evening,
Clint stomped up and down shedrow. The damn redhead had left him high and dry. He’d
come rushing back early to hook up with her and have a fun week. He’d planned
on taking her to Salt Lake so he could treat her like the lady she was. Or at
least the lady he’d thought she was.

Instead, she’d run
out on him.

CHAPTER THREE

“Don’t know why you
had to come back so soon,” Tug groused at Cassie. “But it’s good to see you and
the filly in good health.”

“I wish you could’ve
seen her,” Cassie said, not bothering to hide her grin. “She was so fluid. Unbelievable.
We haven’t seen anything like that performance here.”

“Hope she was out
in that mountain air long enough to help her next time. So did you meet any
interesting folks? I haven’t been at that track for years, but the locals were
usually quite hospitable.”

Cassie nearly
spilled her coffee and then glanced out toward the pastures near the barn before
answering. “A few. Stayed in my motel mostly. Wasn’t a lot to do other than
make sure Hope was doing okay. Got a lot of reading done.”

Would she ever see
the Utahan again? Did she even want to see him again? Yes. No. Yes. Why was she
so ambivalent? All her friends envied her for always being so decisive. The man
could only bring her disappointment and broken dreams.

She’d done the
right thing by leaving. Cassie brushed dirt from her knee. Had she run away,
like her mother did? Nonsense. It was a fling. A one night stand. Granted, a
long, heated night.

Standing in the
shower in the studio loft apartment over the barn that served as her temporary
home, Cassie could hardly believe she’d been back for nearly two weeks. It
seemed like months since the Wyoming wind had left her breathless—since she and
the cowboy had quenched their lust in the straw.

She’d quickly
gotten back into the routine of training horses. Still, she worried about her
father. She worried about Cassie’s Hope. She worried about herself. She worried
about a dark handsome man, far, far away.

What was he doing? Why
hadn’t he called? Did he think about her as often as she thought about him? Damn,
why couldn’t she just erase those erotic images from her mind? Too many
memories of him touching her skin, of his feel under her fingertips, of
exquisite raw sex.

She shuddered and
rinsed her hair quickly. She had less than hour to finish showering and drive
to the little Italian restaurant in Arlington Heights to meet her girlfriends
for dinner. The four of them typically met every few weeks to share hopes,
triumphs and defeats, but hadn’t been together as a group since before she’d
left for Wyoming.

Would she tell her
friends about him? She thought not. Clint Travers had only been a brief
happening of little consequence.

Toweling dry,
Cassie blushed as she remembered teeth marks on each breast where the cowboy
had marked his claim. She vibrated remembering lifting them, imploring him to
take more. She grimaced. Maybe he had been more than a little consequence.

She tossed the
towel aside and slipped on a light blue blouse and black shorts. As she left,
Cassie tied her hair in a ponytail, poking it out the back of her white Wyoming
Downs cap.

Her friends were
seated by the time she arrived at Regalios. That was rare. She was typically
punctual, if not early. After the waiter filled the water glasses and took
their drink orders, the questions began in earnest.

“Tell us all about
it, Cass. How was the wild, wild West? Did you meet any cowboys?” Traci asked,
batting her dark eyelashes.

Cassie took a deep
breath and looked around conspiratorially before whispering, “Well, it was
really quite tame. I only saw six gunfights and two knife fights. Tame compared
to Chicago.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “It was a good trip. Cassie’s
Hope won her race easily. Now we cross our fingers that she can do the same
here.”

“What was Evanston,
Wyoming like?” Susan asked. “I looked it up on the map. It looked pretty
remote.”

“Small town, USA,
isn’t much different in the west than it is in the mid-west. Not much
happening. Good, decent folk. Country western, bluegrass, cowboy poetry on
Friday night. A rodeo. And of course the track. And not far away was Bridger,
the site of Fort Bridger from rendezvous days. That was interesting.”

“Ladies, are you
ready to order?” asked the waiter, his smile disarming.

No sooner than he
was out of earshot, Ashton pointed her dinner knife at Cassie as if preparing
for the kill. “Now girl,” she intoned, “tell us about the man, about the lover.”

“What?” Cassie
gasped, at her ebony skinned friend who at times seemed far too clairvoyant.

All three women
leaned in intently awaiting a response

“I said, tell us
about the lover,” Ashton reiterated. “The guy who put color back in your cheeks
and a distant look in your eyes. Don’t try to deny it. We know what we’re
looking at with envy—that’s a well loved woman. Who is he?”

Cassie blushed. She
groaned. Nodding her head, she told them of Clint Travers—her nemesis and one
night lover. She concluded her story. “So you see—it was fine, but it’s
history.”

“Fine!” Ashton
squeaked. The half dozen bracelets she wore jangled as if they too did not
believe. “You had some steamy sex with a hunk of a man. And that’s history? Why?”

“I’m here, and he’s
there,” she said, too quickly, rolling her napkin into a tight ball. Then
glancing around the table at her stunned friends, she began to relax a little. If
she wasn’t so irritated with them, the picture they made would actually be
comical. Ashton with her large gold hoop earrings swinging wildly, Traci with
her reserved trial lawyer fixed stare, and Susan—open mouthed Susan.

With a tiny smile,
Cassie reached for her glass of water, “It was just a summer chance encounter. I’m
glad it happened. Now it’s over. That’s all there is. End of story.”

“You did it in a
horse stall,” Susan squeaked, shaking her head in disgust. “That must’ve been gross.”

Cassie chuckled. “It
may have been a lot of things, but gross wasn’t one of them.”

“Did they blow up
all the bridges and airports between here and Utah? I hadn’t heard if they did,”
Traci said dryly. “If he’s as phenomenal as he sounds, why did you throw him
back in the deep blue sea, or maybe I should say, leave him to dry up in the
desert?”

“I already told you.”
Cassie lowered her voice trying not to draw attention to their table. “It was
just good old fashioned sex. No expectations. No more, no less.”

 “Well, I for one
think you made the right decision to dump him,” Susan claimed, sitting
straight, extending her already tall frame. “You don’t know a thing about him,
really.”

“I know more than
that he’s well hung, if that’s what you mean.”

“You can go back
any time, honey,” Ashton whispered, placing her hand over Cassie’s. “Your head
may think whatever happened in Wyoming wasn’t much but some good fucking. And
maybe that’s what you intended it to be, but your heart isn’t buying any of
that shit.”

“Ashton,” Susan
complained, pursing her lips.

Holding up her hand
to ward off criticism, the striking black woman continued, “What are you gonna
do about him? It’s gonna eat you up, if you let it.”

Cassie shook her
head, squeezing back tears. “Nothing,” she sighed. “I’m going to do nothing. I’m
a big city girl and he’s…he’s a man of the country.”

“Hmm,” Ashton
replied pensively. “Like the city and country have never mixed before. Well, we
can see you’ve had enough of our interrogation for now. Let’s change the
subject, ladies.”

 Cassie jutted out
her chin. “So tell me, how are the Cubs doing?”

- o -

The phone rang shrilly
in the small, drab walk-up. A brown sofa, two stuffed chairs, and a TV filled
the living room. Pictures of horses and jockeys taken in the winner’s circle
covered the walls like wall paper. Several included an old friend, Tug O’Hanlon.

“Hello.”

“Louie?”

“Yeah.”

“Let her go this
time. We’ll let the old guy win one. It’ll make the loss in the Capitol Stakes
even more bitter. Got it? Don’t do a damn thing. Let the horse run its race.

“I got it.”

“Too bad he’s got Cassie
training for him. He could’ve gone with others, even you.”

“Yeah.

“Saw your
granddaughter graduated from U of I.”

“Yeah. She’s good.”

“How many more
coming up?”

“Plenty.”

“That’s good. You
let me know when their tuition is due.”

“You can count on
that.”

“Good-bye, Louie.”

Louie Picard hung
up the phone. Would bygones ever be bygones? Like many at the track, Tug O’Hanlon
had his enemies. Most got even and went on with their lives.

Shaking his head,
Louie had to admit he’d been suckered in at first. And then betraying his
friend had become routine. Now his family depended on the financial support. No
one before in his family had ever gone to college. He was proud that his kids
had gone, and now his grandkids were going.

He’d get a call
every time Tug had a horse that looked like a strong contender for stakes
racing. He might have a claimer win five races in row. No call came. But on
those rare occasions when he had a horse that looked like the possible big
horse, the calls started up again until that horse faded.

And now there was
the promising filly Tug’s daughter trained. Picard reached for a beer sitting
on the end table and stared at the images flickering on the TV. Screwing up
Cassie’s dreams left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d known her since she was
born.

He’d helped Tug
raise Cassie after her mother left. Cassie had been one of his best exercise
riders. She’d done well for herself, real well. But she was now training a
horse that had tons of promise. He’d wondered if he’d get the call this time. Tug
wasn’t doing the training; Cassie was. The call had come anyway. At least he’d
be able to enjoy tomorrow’s race. He was looking forward to seeing how the
filly would run without the drugs slowing her down.

It was a warm,
cloudless Saturday morning, the day of Hope’s first race since arriving back
from Wyoming. Cassie sat back on her heels, running her fingers up and down the
filly’s legs, feeling for heat or any sign of puffiness. There was none. Hope
appeared fresh and ready. Cassie smiled, yet was unable to keep the butterflies
in her stomach from tumbling about. Would her dad’s strategy actually go as he
predicted? She wasn’t so certain about the altitude edge. Had she stayed long
enough?

“Well, if it’s not
the Chicago cowgirl returned.”

Cassie cringed at
the sound of Ed Harrington’s biting sarcasm. She stood up and nodded a curt
greeting. “I’m back, and we’re ready to race.”

“She does look more
eager than I’ve ever seen her. Maybe your old man’s onto something. I assume
she won out in the boonies without difficulty.”

“No problem—she won
by ten lengths.”

“Today will be
different,” he said flatly. “You’re back in the big leagues.”

“Right,” Cassie
replied warily. Her stomach cramped. She knew it could be very different.

Running his hand
along the top of Hope’s back, Harrington confided, “Say, if she wins, I’d like
to help you celebrate by taking you out for a nice dinner.”

Alarm bells rang in
Cassie’s head. Conversation with the man had always been punctuated with sexual
innuendo, but she hadn’t really thought he was seriously interested in her. Men!
One fling for the summer was enough. One fling with a horse trainer was one too
many.

“No thanks,” she
murmured. “I’ll need to get back to Dad shortly after the race, win or lose.”

“Some other time,
then,” Harrington replied with an air of cockiness.

Later that
afternoon, Cassie watched Hope prove Tug O’Hanlon to be some kind of a horseman’s
wizard. The filly won her allowance race without much trouble. Just as she had
in Wyoming, she held the lead from start to finish, winning by two lengths.

Cassie’s spirits
were sky high while cooling down her horse after the race. Even Harrington’s
congratulatory buss on the cheek outside the winner’s circle hadn’t bothered
her. All was well. She was proud of what they’d accomplished. Hope had a
promising future. Her dad would be ecstatic and could soon look for another
trainer to take over Hope’s management as well as the rest of his small string
of horses. And she, Cassie O’Hanlon, would be able to get on with her life. She
looked forward to the comfort of her high rise apartment and to the challenges
of her regular day job at the group home.

Wyoming seemed a
long way away.

Would she miss the
thrill of competition and the sweat of horses?
Shake that nagging thought
.

 “Liked what I saw
on the track this afternoon.”

Harrington always
turned up, like a lost penny. “Thanks,” she replied evenly. “She ran a good
race all right.”