Read Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) for Free Online Page B

hung between her
and her driver like a heavy quilt.
    At last, Clint
asked, “I’ve been wondering—is Cassie short for Cassandra?”
    She laughed easily.
“No. I’m not a Cassandra. It’s short for Cassidy. My dad was a huge Hopalong
Cassidy fan.”
    Clint looked
sharply her. “I’ll be damned. Cassidy. I like that. Your dad must be quite a
character.”
    “That, and more. He’s
the reason I’m here. For his whole life he’s chased the dream of having a
stakes contender. Hope came along with a lot of potential.” Leaning her head
back, Cassie relaxed. “In March, Dad had a pretty bad stroke.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s
why I got recruited for this job. When Hope had troubles in her first two
races, Dad encouraged me to bring her out here so she could regain her
confidence.”
    “I think she found
that today. So you’re doing all of this as a favor to your dad.”
    “Mostly. I doubt
any of us always understand our motivations for doing things.”
    “True enough. But
what you’re doing requires a kind of courage and loyalty that’s rare. Don’t
suppose many social workers trade in their desk jobs to be at a track at five
in the morning until who knows when.”
    Cassie didn’t
respond to this sudden praise. She was struggling to control the toasty feeling
rushing through her veins. She hadn’t predicted that he could be kind and
gentle. Powerful. Sexy. Demanding. But not kind and gentle.
     
    “Well, here we are,”
Clint said, pulling to a stop in front of a row of horse stalls. “Let me change
a poultice on old Storm Jet, and then we can see how Hope is doing.”
    “Okay,”
Cassie concurred, aware that without saying so he didn’t want her walking
shedrow alone. Given her earlier evening experience, she swallowed whatever
pride was left and waited. Besides, she enjoyed watching the tall tough cowboy
speak tenderly to his horse. His fingertips moved gingerly up and down Storm
Jet’s foreleg, feeling for anything hot or out of place.
    Cassie had seen
many men and women do the same thing to horses hundreds of times, if not
thousands. Why were his movements so erotic? She felt as if he were touching
her leg, her thigh, her breast. She shivered.
    Clint glanced at her
standing in the doorway. His nostrils flared. He looked quickly back his work
and continued rubbing his hands over the leg and knee.
    She thought she heard
him say, “Damn, you’re tempting.” Which didn’t make sense at all.
    “What did you say?”
she asked.
    “Just talking to my
horse. There.” He stood and looked at his handiwork. That should hold her until
tomorrow. I’ll stop by in the morning before I head home. Guess we ought to
check in on your winner.”
    Cassie nodded,
grinning broadly. “Winner—that’s an intoxicating word!”
     
    - o -
     
    As they walked to
Cassie’s horse, Clint felt her tug at his arm to stop him. She scanned the starry
sky. She seemed to stop breathing for a long moment.
    “Damn,” she said in
a hushed tone, hugging herself, “we don’t see a sky like that in Chicago. Looks
like you could pluck your own personal star.”
    “Yeah, it’s
fantastic. I never tire of watching Father Sky change hour by hour and season
by season. Here, put this on,” he offered, taking his heavy jacket and draping
it around her shoulders. “Wyoming evening air can get nippy.”
    “Thanks,” she said,
shuddering. He watched her breathe deeply. He’d swear she was savoring his
scent. Abruptly, she scurried toward Hope’s stall.
    Clint lengthened
his stride to keep up, painfully aware of her sensuality. While unable to read
her thoughts, he sensed the electricity pulsating between them. He’d been attracted
to the firebrand since he first saw her rear end sticking out beside her filly
as she bent over a hoof. But now he was having second thoughts. She had beware
of danger written all over her. He doubted she’d had many casual
relationships.
    If he didn’t watch
it, he was going to