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“And Black Magic?”
“He’s a little improved,” Colton said, taking her chilled fingers in his large hands. “Come on, you can take a look for yourself.” He pulled her through the door, kicked it closed and walked along the hall toward the back of the house.
“Cassie!” Milly chimed as Colton led her through the kitchen. “You’re just in time for dinner!”
“Not tonight—really,” she said when she read the disappointment in Milly’s eyes. “Another time.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Other plans?” Colton asked, one dark brow rising.
She didn’t respond.
“Seriously, why not stay?” Colton asked. He had let go of her hand long enough to open the back door to the porch and start yanking on his boots.
Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “Unfinished business.”
Looking at Milly, Colton cocked his head in Cassie’s direction and explained, “I insulted Cassie this morning.”
“Did you?” Milly smothered a smile as she glanced from Colton to Cassie and back again. “Then I guess you’d better apologize and ask her to dinner.”
A lazy smile tacked to his face, he drawled, “I just might.”
Cassie’s blood began to boil. How ingratiating! How absolutely conceited!
Milly lifted the lid of a pot on the stove. Spicy-scented steam filled the room. “Did you get hold of that Grover fella?”
Colton grunted as he pulled on his other boot. “I did.”
“And?”
“And I told him I was too busy to hop the next jet to South Korea.”
Cassie glanced up at him sharply. Was he serious? His responsibilities here superseded his need to live life on the edge? That would be a first.
“Come on,” he insisted, reaching for her hand again. He held open the door as she slipped through. “There’s another reason I decided to stay.”
“Oh? And what was that?”
“A beautiful woman.”
He heard her swift intake of breath, saw a glimmer of hope spark in her gray-green eyes. “I saw you getting out of the truck and I . . .” He let his voice trail off. Colton had never been good at making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Nor did he believe in painting a rosy picture that might someday dim.
Cassie angled her face up at him, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her expression serious. His hands felt so warm.
“Well, I guess you were right,” he admitted. “There is some unfinished business between us. Lots of it.”
“And you want to finish it?” she asked, doubting him, pulling away so she could think.
His eyelids lowered a fraction. “I don’t think we can leave it as it is.”
“Don’t try to snow me, McLean,” she said, remembering all too vividly the accusations that hung between them. Marching stiffly along the trail leading through the grass to the stable yard, she said, “I’m not as easily conned as I was when I was seventeen. Dad was right, you know. You McLeans are all cut from the same cloth!”
“I never conned you.”
“Seemed that way.” She reached the old foaling shed and grabbed for the door, but as she pulled on the latch, the flat of Colton’s hand slammed the door back against its casing. Looking up so that her gaze collided with his, she thrust out her chin mutinously.
“Let’s not get into all that, Cassie. What we’re talking about is the here and now. The reasons these horses are sick. That’s all.”
