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“It’s good to see you, too,” Cassie said, eyeing the dirty streaks on her skirt. “Come on, let’s see what’s going on.”
With Erasmus bounding at her heels, Cassie climbed the back steps and shoved open the door. Inside, the men had gathered around the kitchen table. Newspapers, coffee cups and ashtrays covered the scarred surface. Smoke drifted to the ceiling, and all conversation stopped abruptly. Three sets of eyes turned toward her, and she felt as if she, in the very house where she’d grown up, was an intruder.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked, and her father waved her question aside.
“’Course not.”
Vince Monroe cast her a cursory glance. “Evening, Cassie,” he drawled, scraping back his chair and standing.
Always the gentleman, Cassie thought uneasily, noticing that Ryan hadn’t bothered getting to his feet. Not that she cared. His eyes followed her, and he inclined his head, though he didn’t move the one booted foot propped against her favorite chair. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, and smoke curled lazily over his head. His helmet sat on the floor next to him, and an insolent smile curved his lips.
A tense undercurrent charged the room. Cassie forced a playful grin in an effort to lighten the mood. “What is this?” she asked. “An old hens’ meeting?”
Ivan laughed, Vince guffawed, and Ryan’s dark eyes glinted.
“Yeah, that’s what it is.” Ryan finally lifted his foot and kicked the chair toward her. “Except that it’s an old roosters’ meeting. We could use a hen or two. Join us,” he invited.
Ivan’s smile fell from his face, and he sent Ferguson a warning glare.
“I can’t,” she said, glancing toward her father. “I’ve got to get ready. You, too.”
“For?”
“Nate and Paula’s party.”
“Oh, that.” Ivan shook his head and glowered at the thought of the Edwards’s annual event. “I’m not going.”
“Why not? Nate’s one of your friends.”
“I know, I know. But I got things to do,” her father said gruffly. “I think Sylvia’s going to foal tonight.” Sylvia was her father’s favorite mare—the best on the ranch. “But you go along. McLean called. Said he’d take you.”
Cassie’s heart somersaulted joyously. So he hadn’t been avoiding her! But still, that didn’t explain her father’s change of heart. Or did it?
Vince drained his coffee cup. “It’s time I was rollin’ along,” he remarked, stretching his big arms. “Otherwise the wife’ll be callin’.” He snatched his huge, gray Stetson and stuffed it onto his head, walked to the door, then paused, as if he’d had a sudden thought. His eyes found Cassie’s, and the pale blue orbs glittered a bit. “So how’re things at the McLean Ranch—those horses of his getting any better?”
“Much,” Cassie replied, experiencing a sudden chill. Vince Monroe had always made her uncomfortable, but this evening the feeling was even stronger. “Black Magic should be good as new in a few weeks, and the others—well, they’re coming along.”
“Good,” Monroe said gruffly. “Helluva thing that strangles. McLean’s lucky no more than a few horses got it.”
“I don’t think he’s feeling very lucky about it,” Cassie said, eyeing the older man warily.
“All a part of ranching. The bad part. Good night, Aldridge.” He squared his hat, exchanged glances with the other men and strode outside.
Ryan took a final drag on his cigarette and snatched up his helmet. “I’ve got to be shovin’ off, too.” His sultry gaze touched Cassie’s before he stubbed out the butt and glanced at Ivan. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ivan nodded. “If I’m not here, I’ll probably be with the mares. My guess is that Sylvia won’t wait too long.”
“I thought she wasn’t due for a couple of weeks,” Cassie said.
“She isn’t, but you try and tell her that,” her father joked, though his eyes didn’t sparkle as they usually did.
“Later,” Ryan called over his shoulder as the door banged shut behind him.
“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.
“Nope. Go along. I’ll handle things here.” Glancing down at his hands, he scratched one finger nervously across his thumb.
“I thought you were going to Nate’s party.”
