Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,126
“I owe you.” With a wave, he was out the door and down the back steps.
Ivan eyed his daughter. “So what do you think about Colton losing his horse?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, watching through the window as Vince’s truck lumbered down the lane. “But I bet there’s more to it than we know.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Ivan decided, dismissing the subject. “He’s got his horse back and he’ll leave us alone.”
Cassie wasn’t so sure. Colton had dragged her into this mess, charged her father with horrid accusations, then stormed out. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to ignore the fact that he’d been wrong.
Cassie closed the cupboard and folded the empty sacks. “I think I’ll go talk with Colton and see what he has to say for himself,” she said, almost to herself. She knew she was playing with proverbial fire, but the idea grew on her. She could almost taste the sweetness of Colton’s apology.
“Maybe it would be best to leave well enough alone,” Ivan suggested. He wedged off one boot with the toe of the other.
“Like Colton did?” she responded, angry all over again at the gall of Colton McLean. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, Dad. He came busting over here and practically accused you of being a horse thief!”
“Well, he was wrong, wasn’t he? I guess he’ll have to live with that.” Ivan chuckled.
“And I guess I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” Cassie relished the idea more and more. “I’ll be back later.”
“Cass . . .”
She heard her father call her name as the screen door banged behind her, but she didn’t care. For the past few days she’d been walking on eggshells with Ivan. He’d been touchy after his meeting with Colton. She’d caught him sitting in the dark, brooding. But now it was over. Now it was time to set the record straight!
After all, she reasoned as she shifted the gears of the old Dodge truck, Colton McLean owed her an explanation. Her fingers curled tight over the steering wheel, and she squinted through the grimy windshield against the final blaze of a dying sun.
She couldn’t wait to hear what Colton had to say for himself, but her stomach churned at the thought of facing him again. There was something powerful and potent about Colton—something she could never ignore.
The wheels of the truck ground to a stop as she parked beneath a single oak tree near the front of the McLean house. Pocketing her keys, she swallowed hard, and without taking the time to second-guess herself, marched briskly up the brick path to the front door.
The McLean house was everything the Aldridge home was not. Freshly painted a light gray with slate-colored trim and blue shutters, it stood on a hill in the center of the ranch. A wide veranda flanked the house on three sides, and a sun porch had been built off the back. The yard was kept up and trimmed, even in Tessa McLean’s absence.
Cassie didn’t waste any time. She climbed the worn steps and knocked loudly on the front door. There she waited, crossing her arms under her breasts and wishing she knew what she was going to say to Colton when she came face to face with him.
Within seconds she heard the scrape of boots.
Her heart began to slam against her ribs.
The door swung open, and Colton himself, stripped bare to the waist, eyed her. His muscles were firm and sleek under skin that was surprisingly dark. Several ugly scars crisscrossed in a purple webbing across his shoulder. A white towel was slung around his neck, and from the dabs of foam near his temple and the fact that his chin was buck naked, she knew he’d been shaving.
Her throat tightened. His skin, recently covered with a dark beard, was now pale but firm. Thin, defined lips curved slightly at the sight of her, though the line of his jaw remained rigid.
“Well, Cassie,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his naked chest and leaning the battle-scarred shoulder against the doorjamb. “You’re the last person I expected to see. Don’t tell me—this isn’t a social call. Right?”
Her throat so tight she could barely speak, she stared at him. Without the beard he looked exactly like the young man she’d loved so fervently all those years before. “I—I, uh, heard you found your horse.” Dear Lord, why was her voice so soft?