Hoyt's father offered an arthritic hand in congratulations.
“Thank you, Mr. Temple.” Cassie shook his hand. The older man's heart attack had diminished his physical strength, but he still wore that aura of power he'd used so often and well in Coyote Bend. She met his friendly but unyielding gaze as an equal, determined to find as much success in her chosen field as he'd found in his.
Still wrapped in the warm afterglow of the audience's approval, Cassie was pleased to discover that she wasn't the least bit intimidated by this self-made cattle baron who'd ruled his widespread domain with an iron fist before relinquishing the responsibility to Hoyt.
“Haven't we met somewhere before?” A lacy network of crow's-feet deepened in the weather-beaten face. “Maybe you just remind me of someone I used to know.” He shrugged but his age-dimmed blue eyes continued to study her face.
“You haven't forgotten Will Creighton's daughter, have you, Dad?” Hoyt sauntered around the corner.
Cassie's glance darted from father to son, and she held her breath, preparing for the older man's certain snub when he placed her.
Hoyt's father had carved a notorious reputation in his day for enjoying aged bourbon, pliable women, and fast horses, both before and after the death of his Southern Belle wife. Hoyt seemed to be a chip off the old block, especially when it came to women. Suppose he'd bragged about her?
“Your daddy was one of the finest hands I ever hired.” Remembrance flared in those blue eyes that were the Temple legacy. “I've known the Creightons since forever, and could probably tell you a few stories that would make your head spin.”
“I'd enjoy visiting with you sometime.” Cassie's knees almost buckled with relief. She liked this crusty old gentleman and would have hated for him to think badly of her.
“Come see me if you ever have a hole in your schedule, and we'll talk. Your grandparents were pioneers in west Texas. I owe my entire operation in Coyote Bend to their hard work and dedication.” The affairs of his mind finally in order, Mr. Temple excused himself with a courtly bow. A uniformed nurse led him away to greet the other guests. The disembodied voice of the rodeo announcer encouraged everyone to grab a seat for the upcoming competition.
“Television doesn't begin to do your talent justice, Cassie. You're very good.” A strange smile turned up the corners of Hoyt's mouth. “I could have laid some important groundwork for you if you'd let me in on your secret ambitions a little sooner.”
“I had enough on my mind without having to worry about singing you to sleep, too.” She cut him off curtly and pivoted to walk away. She might be poor white trash, but she had enough pride not to want her nose rubbed in the past. Hoyt grabbed her arm before she could take two steps and forced her to accompany him along a gravel path toward the shade trees.
“Let go of me,” she hissed furiously, but kept her face composed so as to avoid creating an embarrassing scene. “You're wrinkling my shirt.”
“I'll buy you a new one.” His lean jaw was set and his expression warned her not to argue with him.
“I'd rather wear rags,” she snapped.
“How often do you get away with passing off this bitchy side of your personality as artistic temperament?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“You seem to be the only one who inspires it in me, Hoyt,” she cooed, but her voice was edged with sarcasm. “Now, let me go. I've got arrangements to study and the guys will be looking for me.” She tried to ignore the trip-hammer beat of her heart. He tightened his grip on her arm when she continued to struggle. “What are you trying to prove— that you're physically stronger than me? Why don't you go find your polished blonde leech and bully her around like this? She looks like the type who'd get a kick out of a little rough treatment now and then.”
“Are you jealous, Cassie?” Hoyt's mouth slanted in ironic amusement at the thought
“Jealous!” Cassie almost choked on the word. “You should be so lucky. If that's all you want, you're welcome to it.” She tried again to pull her arm away, but failed. “You know, Hoyt, you really ought to consider lining up all your women in the middle of the arena and running a barrel race around them. It would certainly be a fitting testimonial to your steer-sized ego.”
“Shut up and keep moving,” he said in a quiet voice. “I want to talk to you and we don't have much time.”
“We said everything we had to say in Coyote Bend, Hoyt.”
“Not quite.” He stopped abruptly and spun her around to face him. “Are you under contract to Allen Ingram?”
“Sort of. Why?” Cassie rubbed her upper arm, perplexed by the change of topic.
“'What about those scruffy characters in your band? Are you involved with any of them?” The question was casual, but she had the distinct impression that he was daring her to admit a liaison with Scrappy or Mike or Jess.
“What is this— kiss and tell?” she demanded hotly.
“I don't play games, darling. You know me better than that.” His gaze slid up and down her body and she caught the double meaning behind his words. “A simple yes or no will suffice. It could be important to you professionally.”
“First you insult my band, and now you're nosing around in my affairs like they're of some concern to you— ”
“They may be.” Hoyt interrupted her tirade. “As I remember, you do have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions.”
“And you have a bad habit of interfering in people's lives,” she reminded him.
“I hate to waste your precious time or pique your nasty temper again, but I will point out that it takes two willing people to have an affair.” His blue eyes blazed. Then he smiled. “And you used to be a
very
willing person.”
Cassie felt the scarlet heat flood into her cheeks.
“Well, that's changed, in case you haven't noticed.” Her heart pounded frantically, but she used every ounce of willpower she had to keep a casual tone. “I'm enjoying every second of my new life and I don't regret leaving Coyote Bend— not one iota.” She gave a slight shrug, as though confirming her point. “We seem to be at a stalemate here, Hoyt, because we have absolutely nothing further to discuss. So just get out of my life and leave me alone.”
“You're right. Your affairs aren't any of my business— at least not yet.” Hoyt pulled on the leather glove that would protect his hand from bridle burns during his ride.
“Not yet— and not ever.” She tried to push past him in the direction of the arena, but he pulled her up short.
Those ecstasy-washed memories hung in the corners of her mind like old cobwebs. She shivered, remembering the feel of his body against hers, the primitive ache that had swelled inside of her whenever he was near. The shape and texture of Hoyt's lean frame were as familiar to her as her own body. But as real as their passion had been, it wasn't enough to overcome the differences that yawned between them like the canyons that carved the Panhandle.
“I want to help you, Cassie.” Those astoundingly blue eyes— she'd tried to forget how striking they were— held her spellbound. “I
can
help you, if you'll let me.”
“I told you once before that I intended to do this on my own.” Her voice was tight with anger. If she didn't get away from him, the past was going to spill into the present, and she'd be right back where she'd started— trapped. “I'm quite capable of handling my own career. As a matter of fact, I think I've managed to do a pretty good job of it Everything I have, I've
earned.
And I'm pretty damned proud of that.”
“Congratulations,” Hoyt drawled. His concentration seemed fixed on adjusting the fit of his cowhide glove, but Cassie knew he was on top of the situation. “Now, if you could only manage to keep quiet long enough for me to get a word in edgewise, I'll tell you how I'm going to help. Are you interested in working the Petroleum Club?”
If Hoyt had dropped his pants and started whistling “Dixie,” Cassie couldn't have been more stunned. The Petroleum Club was the prime showcase in Dallas!
“What's the catch?” Caution wagged a finger. She knew he was capable of tying up his offer with a maze of strings that would make a cat's cradle seem uncomplicated.
“Let's call it a compromise,” he suggested. “I'm in the process of expanding the Diamond T's holdings. If you'll shake Allen Ingram and the Texas Twisters so that I can manage your career, I'll book you into the Petroleum Club.”
“You must be joking! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.” She laughed, a short, curt sound. “Allen gave me my first break, and I happen to enjoy working with the Twisters. Forget it.”
“Your loyalty to those amateurs is admirable but foolish, Cassie,” he warned. His sapphire eyes were as hard as stones, and she realized how seriously he must have considered his offer before he'd made it. “Ingram hasn't drawn a sober breath in years, and he's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. Neither you nor your band is underhanded enough to outsmart him. You're all going to wake up in the gutter some morning wondering what it was that hit you the night before.”
“Tell me, Hoyt, what's prompted this generous offer that you're making? Just what is it that you'd expect as a return on your— your investment?” Something about his intensity had triggered off an alarm in the back of her mind.
“I'd take the standard fifteen percent, of course.” His insolent gaze slid over her. “Anything else would be optional.”
“I may not be as well educated as you are, but I'm not exactly dumb.” Her violet eyes shot resentment at him. “I don't need— or want— a sugar daddy to buy my opportunities. I know you well enough by now to understand that you aren't satisfied until you
own
whatever it is you want.” She was ashamed that she'd ever let him touch her. “I'm not for sale, Hoyt.”
“And I'm not interested in acquiring anything but the right to manage your career.” His snapping retort made her flinch. “I wouldn't be buying your opportunities, baby. You'd have to earn every ounce of recognition that you might receive. I'd simply introduce you to the people that I know in the recording business. If they like you, we go from there.”
“Is that really all you'd expect from me, Hoyt?” Cassie's voice was plated with steely pride. “It sounds to me like you think you've named my price. How many of those people that you happen to know in the recording business would dare stand up and tell the head of Diamond T enterprises that they didn't like his singer?”
The announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, introducing the competitors for the fat purse that the best all-around cowboy stood to win.
“Think it over.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Your voice and my money would be a hell of a combination.”
“You've paid me for an afternoon's entertainment, Hoyt, and you aren't getting your money's worth.” She hoped he felt the amethyst daggers she aimed at him. “If you'll kindly move out of my way, I'll go get ready for the second set.”
“You don't realize what a dog-eat-dog world the music field is, Cassie. Wolves like Allen Ingram will chew you up and spit you out like a wad of bad tobacco before breakfast.” Hoyt drove his point home with sharply pointed accusations. “If he can't get rich quick off you, he'll dump you and latch onto some other performer who's willing to settle for second-rate jobs and sleazy skull orchards like the Stardust.”
“Stop it!” She tried to clamp her hands over her ears, but he grabbed her wrists and forced her to listen.
“Before you give me a definite answer, I want you to think a few things over very carefully,” he insisted. “Who keeps the books for your group? I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that you and your band have been so busy trying to get ahead that you haven't even seen a third of the money you've made. If Ingram's such a good manager, why hasn't
he
been able to book you into the Petroleum Club? I'll tell you why. Because no reputable owner in Dallas wants anything to do with the biggest liar and cheater who ever walked the pike.”
“Are you quite through?” Cassie was shaking with rage. Allen had his faults, no doubt about it. But he'd broken through some of those seemingly impossible barriers that a beginning singer runs up against, and he'd done it without ever laying a finger on her. “What do you know about having to struggle day in and day out just to put food on the table?” she demanded. “How can you stand there and put Allen down when everything you own has been handed to you on a silver platter? What right— ”
“I'm not through yet, and you're going to hear me out.” Hoyt kept her handcuffed. “When you take off those rose-colored glasses you insist on wearing, maybe you'll realize that your dear old manager has ruffled more feathers than a fox in a chicken house. And his reputation hangs around your neck and weights you down just as surely as if it belonged to you.”
“If I'm making a mistake, Hoyt, then I'll pay for it.”
“You certainly will, little lady. You certainly will.”
The crowd in the stands whooped in excitement as the first bronc barreled out of the chute. The horse twisted and bucked in a frantic attempt to throw the rider off its arching back.
Hoyt jerked her forward then, and before she could utter a sound, his mouth came down on hers in a harsh kiss that set her head spinning like a top. Everything about his kiss revived the memories she'd tried over and over again to shake. A languorous warmth curled through her body and she almost— almost let herself drown in a whirlpool of sensations. His hands moved possessively, claiming territory that Cassie had once given him freely.
“No!” She pushed away and her arm flew up in an automatic rejection. She was through being used. The stinging crack of her palm against his cheek filled her with an intensely savage pleasure that shocked her.
“The last person who tried that woke up in the hospital.” Anger seeped into Hoyt's eyes, lighting them with a vicious blue warning. He cupped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I'd hate for you to have to explain to an audience where you got a bruised eye.”
“I hope you break your neck!” She spun and ran for the van, pursued by a stampeding herd of memories. “Damn you, Hoyt Temple, and damn everything you stand for!”
Chapter 6