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“Never again,” he told himself as the old Jeep whined and he shifted into second. “Never again.”
Chapter Three
“You’re an idiot!” Cassie muttered, kicking off her boots as she heard Colton McLean’s Jeep drive away. Angry with herself as well as the whole lot of McLeans, she marched through the kitchen and upstairs.
She had, over the years, convinced herself that she was long over Colton. But tonight, after seeing him again, she wasn’t quite so sure. The hate she’d sworn to harbor was tangled up with an emotion she’d rather not examine too closely. Their love affair, long dead, seemed closer than it had in years.
“What love affair?” she taunted her reflection as she yanked a brush through her wet hair. Love had never been a part of that summer.
A familiar ache, an old feeling she’d buried along with her foolish notions of love for Colton, wrenched her heart. Sinking unsteadily onto the edge of the mattress, she clenched her fists around the edge of her quilt. Her memory tortured her with vibrant images of a young man unjaded by the years. It seemed that it was just last night when she’d been seventeen and hopelessly in love....
* * *
It was a summer to remember, a beautiful hazy time when anything was possible. Cassie sprinted playfully along the edge of the lake. The lapping water tickled her toes, and sandy soil squished under her bare feet. The summer sun had already settled behind the western hills. Vibrant slashes of magenta and orange streaked the wide Montana sky.
“Bet you can’t catch me,” she called, glancing over her shoulder.
“Why would I want to?” Colton asked. His back propped against the scarred trunk of a pine tree, he plucked a twig from a low-hanging branch. He lifted one side of his mouth lazily as she waded ankle-deep.
“Figure that one out for yourself,” she teased.
He tossed the twig into the water, then shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his cutoff jeans, as if he didn’t care what she did. But she noticed the gleam in his eyes, the involuntary flexing of his thigh muscles, the tension in his stance. Though he attempted to appear nonchalant and uninterested, Cassie knew he was only fighting her—and fighting a losing battle.
Bending forward and running her fingers through the cool water, she grinned. She’d loved him for so long, and now he was finally returning those feelings. For the past six weeks they’d been seeing each other, on the sly, of course. Her father would kill her if he thought she was dating a McLean.
Today her heart soared as high as the hawk circling distantly overhead.
Feeling Colton’s gaze searing her backside, she turned. He had moved from his spot near the tree and was sauntering closer to the lake.
“Maybe we should go,” he suggested restlessly. His voice had grown husky, his eyes dark.
Cassie’s heart somersaulted. “We just got here.” She moved deeper; the cool water lapped against the hem of her shorts.
“Isn’t your father expecting you?”
“He’s in town. Won’t be back for hours.” Tossing her hair over one shoulder, she wiped her hands on her shorts.
“Ivan wouldn’t like it if he knew you were here with me.”
“Ivan doesn’t have to know.”
He arched one of his dark brows insolently. “Don’t use me to rebel against your father.”
“I’m not!” she vowed, her throat swollen as she gazed at him. Colton was everything she’d ever dreamed of—and more. Against a backdrop of pine and cottonwood, he stood at the water’s edge, his tanned chest bare, corded muscles visible beneath a swirling mat of black hair. His jaw was lean and sharp, less boyish than it had been the summer before, and his eyes glinted like newly forged steel.
Colton moved closer, rippling the water’s surface. Cassie’s heart hammered so loudly she could barely hear the gentle thrum of insects or the lapping of the lake.
“I don’t like sneaking around.”
“Neither do I.”
“Think about it, Cass. We both know your father would skin us alive if he found out we’d been meeting behind his back.”
“I have thought about it.”
“Have you?” he asked distractedly. His eyes slid from hers to the halter top that covered her breasts in pink gingham. The fabric was stretched taut, and she could feel a slow trickle of sweat on her skin, the tangle of damp curls against her neck.
He swallowed hard. “What do you think my dad would say?”
