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Rebel Love
Jackie Merritt
Future Bride? Years ago, Cassandra Whitfield became a woman in bad boy Gard Sterling's arms. To Cassie, their shared passion seemed filled with promises - yet the very next day, Gard didn't even know her name! but now, the terms of her father's will brought her back to Montana - to face the last man she ever wanted to see again.Forgotten Lover? Gard had come a long way from town rabble-rouser to respected rancher. And he was willing to do just about anything to get close to the beautiful new owner of the Whitfield ranch. But what had he done to make her so mad… ?




Rebel Love
Jackie Merritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Contents
One (#ub5d09f7f-d846-5a08-a2ca-c754ee0fbced)
Two (#ued5ae1bf-9b61-5836-adee-7ee55817331d)
Three (#u9f266234-fc38-52b8-bf56-44ddf6e731b7)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

One
The Plantation was easily the nicest restaurant in the town of Huntington, Montana, and the surrounding area, but as the meeting was set for midafternoon, there were only a few cars in the parking lot.
Cassandra Whitfield drove into a space, turned off the ignition and then sat there. The truth was, she hated walking into that restaurant to meet with Gardiner Sterling, and she wasn’t positive she could bring it off with her dignity intact. What was he thinking right now? Assuming he was inside waiting for her, of course.
Swallowing a sudden spate of nervousness rising in her throat, Cass pulled out her compact for a final check of her makeup and hair. She had dressed carefully and taken great pains with her hair and makeup. Such perfection was not normal routine for her. In her own territory she wore baggy shorts or slacks and long T-shirts, secured her dark blond hair back from her face with a rubber band, and rarely bothered with lipstick, let alone all of those other creams and colors with which she had enhanced the contours of her face today.
But...she wasn’t in her own territory. She was in Montana—where she’d grown up—and attempting to settle a simple contract that her father had made with Gard’s father years ago. Thus far, although her attorney and Gard’s attorney had been communicating on the matter, nothing had been resolved. Impatient with Gard’s procrastination, Cass had finally instigated this meeting, insisting that it be held in a public place. She didn’t want Gard in her father’s home while she was staying there, and she certainly was not going to step foot in the Sterling residence.
Drawing a deep breath, Cass opened the door of her car and got out. Walking to the building, she presented an impressive picture of a confident, well-dressed, attractive woman with something important on her mind.
Cass’s mind was full, all right, and unquestionably her thoughts were indeed important. But the past was a weighty burden, and deep inside of her was a fervent hope, a prayer, that she could handle this meeting with aplomb and even a little loftiness. After all, she was definitely not the smart-mouthed teenager that Gard Sterling had to remember from fourteen years ago, nor was she the easy mark she had become in his arms one long-ago night. Hopefully he had attained enough maturity and discretion not to mention that embarrassing chapter of their lives.
At present, Cass enjoyed a modicum of fame in the art world. Her paintings were not only beginning to sell well, but their prices were rising at a satisfying rate. Her own home was a cliff house on Oregon’s rugged coast, but that could change, depending on certain factors. Her father’s death three months ago had been unexpected and tragic, but making matters worse was discovering that she couldn’t sell the real property she had inherited—the Whitfield Land and Cattle Company—without Gardiner Sterling’s permission.
On closer examination, permission wasn’t the best word for Cassandra’s dilemma. It wasn’t Sterling’s permission she needed, it was his decision on whether he wished to exercise the buy/sell option cited in that old contract.
Though Cass was proud of her hard-earned success, it wasn’t on today’s agenda for discussion. Gard probably knew nothing about her work, and she couldn’t think of any reason why she would fill him in on it. For one thing, he certainly didn’t need to hear that the sale of the ranch was crucial to her career plans, which had greatly expanded only recently. The renowned art shop and gallery in San Francisco through which she sold her paintings was owned by an older woman, Francis Deering, and for reasons of her own, Francis had put out an offer to sell fifty percent of the Deering Gallery. The opportunity had come up quite suddenly, shortly after the death of Cass’s father. Since Cass had no intention of ever living in Montana again, it made perfect sense to her to sell the ranch and buy into the gallery. The problem was that there were other people also interested in that fifty percent, and Francis had said she would like Cass as a partner, but business was business and she preferred completing the transaction as soon as possible.
So did Cass, particularly since she understood that Francis was not going to wait indefinitely. That was why she had given up on the attorneys’ slowpoke methods and arranged this meeting with Gard, even though she would rather walk on hot coals than see him.
She entered the Plantation and spoke to the hostess. “I have a meeting with Gardiner Sterling. Has he arrived?”
The woman smiled pleasantly. “Yes. He’s waiting in the Peachtree Room. Follow me, please.”
Cass’s heart suddenly went wild. No matter how many sensible vows and promises with which she had saturated her system, coming face-to-face with Gard was going to be daunting. He was her most painful memory, the one that would sometimes sneak up on her during a restless night to singe her senses with humiliation and anger.
Her chin lifted defiantly. Today she would not be embarrassed and certainly anger was out of the question. The hostess opened a door. “Here you are, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Cass stepped into the room to see a tall, lanky man in jeans, boots, a white shirt and a tan vest getting to his feet.
Gard was instantly confused. This exceptionally beautiful woman was Cassandra? The Sterling-Whitfield relationship had always been rather strange. Gard’s father, Loyal, and Cassandra’s father, Ridge, had been the best of friends, but their families had never meshed. Looking back, Gard could easily recall hunting trips, poker games, and numerous other activities with which Loyal and Ridge had occupied themselves. No one had ever thought it odd that their wives and offspring hadn’t become friends, he realized now. They had all recognized each other, of course, and talked on occasion, but there had never been any real closeness between any of them, except for Loyal and Ridge.
But, to be perfectly honest, Gard would not have recognized Cassandra Whitfield if their paths had crossed accidentally. His memories of her were as vague as last night’s dreams, and speaking of dreams, he felt as though one had just walked into his life.
“Hello,” he said with a warm, welcoming smile.
“Hello.” Cass’s voice was as cool as iced lemonade. She glanced around the room. It was obviously one of the Plantation’s banquet rooms, but only one table and two chairs were set up. There was a pot of coffee, containers of cream and sugar, a pitcher of ice water, two cups, two glasses, two spoons and two napkins on the table.
Gard gestured at the arrangement. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Yes, thank you.” Her mind worked behind a smooth, silky expression. He looks the same. How dare he look the same after fourteen years? Still outrageously handsome, with thick, black hair and those piercing blue eyes.
Gard watched her gracefully cross to the table and chairs, and he sat down when she did. He wasn’t sure he liked her hairdo, which was a twisted coil around her head, every strand tightly in place. Her dress, though, was great, a simply styled, off-white garment that looked very expensive to his eyes. So did her matching pumps and purse. She had dressed up for this meeting, and maybe he should have figured on a little more formality than jeans.
But, what the hell? He was a boots-and-jeans man, which Cassandra Whitfield had to know if she remembered him at all.
“How are you?” he asked politely. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, a long time,” Cass agreed, also politely.
“I’m sorry about Ridge. Like my own father, Ridge died much too young.”
“Yes, he did.”
Gard frowned. She was so distant, as though they were meeting for the first time ever. A strange, elusive sense of something missing from his memory suddenly struck him. It had to do with her, with Cassandra. But that name. Had she gone by “Cassandra” in the old days? Somehow that name didn’t fit in with any of his memories.
“Coffee?” he asked. “Or water?”
“No, thank you.” Cass placed her purse on a corner of the table. The word rebel had invaded her brain and wouldn’t go away. Rebel Sterling. That was what people used to call him, and with good reason. In her mind’s eye were visions of Gard pushing his huge, black-and-chrome Harley-Davidson motorcycle to its limits, riding that machine as though he were an extension of it, hair flying, engine roaring, darting in and out of traffic on the highway, or cutting through someone’s field at sixty miles an hour. And he drank. Everyone had known he drank. He’d been picked up by the law several times for drinking and driving, and somehow—probably because of his daddy’s money and influence—he’d always gotten out of his scrapes. He’d been spoiled rotten by Loyal and doted on by his mother, until her death when Gard was fifteen. Fourteen years ago, when Cass left the valley, Gard had done whatever he pleased, and Cassandra felt he probably still believed the world had been created solely for his enjoyment.
Uneasy over the intense scrutiny she was receiving from across the table, Cass cleared her throat. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I would appreciate getting right to that contract.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Gard replied, sounding agreeable. “But there’s something about you...” He paused. “I can’t quite put a finger on it. Did people call you Cassandra before you left the valley?”
“It’s my name. Why wouldn’t they?” But her cheeks got warm. People hadn’t called her Cassandra, but no way was she going to remind this man of her old nickname.
But a peculiar thought was taking shape in the back of her mind: Gard didn’t really remember her. Oh, he remembered the name Cassandra Whitfield, all right, and he certainly knew who she was. But he did not remember her! Which meant that he also didn’t remember that night at the sand dunes.
Something deflated within Cassandra, her pride, perhaps. Certainly her femaleness felt the blow. The possibility of him having completely forgotten the most startling event of her own life hadn’t occurred to her.
Her own memory insulted her further, the days and weeks immediately following that night. He hadn’t called or contacted her in any way, and she had wept buckets of guilt and remorse and resentment.
Her face became a little harder. “Let’s get down to business, Gard. You’ve had three months to think about that buy/sell option, and I need an answer. Let me lay my cards on the table. I intend to sell the Whitfield ranch, and it’s immaterial to me who buys it. If you want it, it’s yours. But you have to make up your mind. I can’t put the property on the open market until you sign away your rights to that option.”
With his eyes narrowed on her, Gard leaned back in his chair. “Why are you in such a hurry to sell? Doesn’t your home mean anything to you?”
“My home is in Oregon,” Cass said coolly. “I would like to get back to it, and your vacillation—to put it bluntly—is preventing me from doing so. If you say no to the option, then I can put Dad’s property in the hands of a reliable real estate agent and stop worrying about it. That’s all I want from you, a yes or a no, and I really don’t care which it is.”
“Have you read the contract?” Gard asked.
“Of course I’ve read it. It surprised me, I don’t mind admitting. Did you know about it before Dad died?”
“I’ve known about it since my dad died,” Gard said. “You know, that contract consigns you the same legal rights it does me.”
Cass smirked slightly. “But I can give you an unequivocal no right now. I wouldn’t buy your place under any circumstances.” She leaned forward. “Why can’t you do the same for me? Either you want the Whitfield ranch or you don’t. Where is the problem in that decision?”
He was studying her, thinking hard. Both the Sterlings and the Whitfields had been well-off in his youth, and he would bet anything that Ridge Whitfield’s estate—which Cassandra had inherited—was financially secure. The Sterlings hadn’t fared quite so well. Actually, the Sterlings had done extremely well until Loyal died. That was ten years ago, about four or five years after Cassandra left the valley. Like her, Gard had inherited everything, the ranch, the equipment, the stock and the bank accounts.
But Gard wasn’t a carbon copy of Loyal Sterling, and he’d been right in his prime, twenty-five years old and full of vinegar. He had grieved for his father for a while, but life had been so damned exciting that his period of mourning hadn’t lasted for long. He went a little crazy spending money, chasing women, buying cars and motorcycles, drinking and carousing and having a hell of a good time.
Then, one day after four years of neglecting the ranch, he happened to be walking around outside, just wandering aimlessly and realizing that he didn’t want to go drinking that night. He didn’t want to drop in at any of his old hangouts, nor go after the prettiest gal in town, nor ride his newest Harley-Davidson motorcycle or drive one of his cars hell-bent for leather.
His eyes had narrowed on the weeds that had sprung up around trees and fence posts. The paint was cracked and peeling on every building. His father had never left any chore undone during his lifetime, and that day the place suddenly looked shabby and run-down. Two of Gard’s hired men were leaning against the shady side of the barn, smoking, laughing and doing nothing but killing time.
Gard had stood there for the longest time, thinking of how far down he’d sunk for the sake of a good time. For one thing, he had no idea how much cash remained in his bank accounts, or even if there was any.
He’d broken out in a cold sweat, turned, walked back to the house and went in. It, too, showed the years of neglect. He was paying a woman to come out from town about once a month to clean the place, but Gard couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her. The kitchen sink, counter and table overflowed with dirty dishes. There were mountains of dirty clothes in the laundry room. The living room was littered with everything from clothing to old newspapers to empty beer bottles to foul-smelling ashtrays.
Some inner fear, brand-new and startling, drove him into the den and to the ranch’s checkbooks. The small balances were staggering: he was damned near broke!
That was the turning point in Gard’s life. From that moment on, he hadn’t touched a drop of liquor, he’d sold every vehicle except one pickup truck he had to have for transportation, and he’d told his two hired men that they would work with him and work hard or they could pick up their checks.
He’d made headway. The Sterling ranch was again successful and earning an annual profit. Regardless, he didn’t have the extra cash—a very large sum—that it would take to exercise the option in that old contract.
But he would bite off his tongue before laying that complex explanation on Cassandra Whitfield. Besides, it was none of her business, even though it was the reason why he hadn’t immediately given her an answer on that option. The thing was, Loyal Sterling and Ridge Whitfield had had a dream of a united valley. To assure that only Sterlings or Whitfields would ever own any portion of it, they had devised that contract, which said, simply, that if either a Sterling or a Whitfield needed to sell out for any reason, the other party had first right of refusal.
That was what he and Cassandra were stuck with today, their fathers’ hopes for the continuity of the valley they had loved so much. Obviously it hadn’t occurred to either man that their children wouldn’t welcome the same arrangement. Gard had every intention of living out his life on the Sterling land, but he had all but destroyed his chances of buying out Cassandra. She, on the other hand, probably had more money than she could spend in three lifetimes but had no interest in either the Whitfield land or Montana.
For some reason, Gard couldn’t tell her that he just didn’t have the financial means to buy her out. Thus, his answer to her question—Where is the problem in that decision?—was an almost belligerent, “The contract recites a ‘reasonable length of time’ for either of us to make that decision, which is the only reference to time in the entire document. As I see it, the only problem we have is with your impatience.”
“You’ve had a reasonable length of time,” Cassandra said sharply. Then, wincing at the tone of her voice, she added in a calmer vein, “Three months seems very reasonable to me.”
“What’s reasonable to you isn’t necessarily reasonable to me,” Gard retorted.
“Just what do you consider reasonable?” Cassandra leaned forward again. “How much more time do you need? I want this thing settled. I want to get on with my life, which doesn’t involve twiddling my thumbs in Montana. I have work to do in Oregon.” And, hopefully, in California.
“Oh? What do you do?” Gard was fascinated by the play of light in her green eyes. Along with that observation, Gard was becoming aware that Cassandra was trying desperately to keep a lid on her emotions. She was being polite when she would probably rather scream at him to get off his duff and do something about that option.
Mentally he snapped his fingers. That was it! She was a different person today than when he’d last seen her. Not that he could pinpoint that exact occasion, but the perfectly groomed woman across the table was not the girl in his memory, fuzzy as it was. That girl had been...
He smiled suddenly. “Now I remember what everyone called you when we were kids. It was Sassy. Sassy Cassie Whitfield.” Cassandra’s face turned three shades of red. “Hey, does that embarrass you? Hell, Sassy, you can’t change who you were as a kid.”
She was close to exploding, despite her determination to remain calm and collected. “I would think you would be the last person to be drumming up old nicknames, Rebel Sterling!”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “My God, I’d almost forgotten that, too. Well, you might find this hard to believe, Sassy, but Rebel Sterling is just another member of the establishment today.”
“You don’t look it,” she snapped, and realized that it felt good to finally release her stringent hold on her emotions.
He grinned, lazily. “I’ll take that as a compliment, honey. You know, every once in a while the old juices start flowing and try awfully hard to tempt me into doing something wild and crazy. But I’m a changed man, Cassandra. When that happens, I pour myself a glass of ice tea, sit on the back porch and watch the sunset.”
That was too much for Cass to swallow. “Oh, give me a break,” she drawled scathingly. “The day you drink ice tea instead of hard liquor and watch a sunset instead of the nearest woman in a tight skirt is the day I’ll believe in leprechauns.”
Gard put on a hurt face. “Sassy, Sassy, you must only remember the bad in me, and that kind of pains me. Weren’t you and I friends?”
“No,” she said flatly. “You and I were never friends. Look, Gard, I didn’t come here to discuss your character or mine. I’ll ask again. How much more time do you intend taking to make your decision on that option?”
Gard’s thoughts would have surprised Cassandra. He wanted to honor the contract between his father and hers, if there was any way at all to do it. Strangers moving into the valley and living on the Whitfield place, doing God knew what with it, wasn’t a pleasant prospect. Besides, there was something else going on in the back of his mind. The longer he delayed that decision, the longer Cassandra would be a neighbor. He wanted to see more of her, get to know her. She was the prettiest, most interesting woman he’d met in ages, and it intrigued him that they’d grown up within miles of each other, and here they were, together again after fourteen years. Besides, he wanted to remember that elusive memory that somehow seemed important, and if she scurried back to Oregon, it might forever elude him.
Deliberately portraying a man with a vexing problem, he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I really can’t give you a time limit, Cassandra. There are circumstances—a little too personal to explain—and there’s my own place to consider. A merger of that size can’t be decided overnight.”
“Overnight! You’ve had three months!” Cassandra simply couldn’t sit still any longer, and she got up to pace the room. “Give me some idea...anything. How about another week?”
Solemnly Gard shook his head. “Not nearly enough time.”
“Then two weeks...a month. Dammit, you can’t leave me hanging like this!” How would she explain this to Francis? God knew she would have to try.
“Leaving you hanging is not my intention, but I can’t make this decision without further studying the consequences.”
Cassandra turned to face him. “That’s what you’ve been doing for three months, studying the consequences?” She sounded blatantly skeptical. “I honestly thought a face-to-face discussion would resolve the problem. Believe me, I never would have suggested this meeting otherwise.”
Gard got to his feet. “At the risk of upsetting you more than you already are, I’d like to say something. You, Sassy Whitfield, are one very beautiful lady. What I’d really like to know is why I didn’t notice that before you left the valley.”
The strength drained out of Cassandra. The wretch really had no memory of that night. For fourteen years she had lived with periodic bouts of despising him, even while knowing that deep down she had never despised him. That had been the problem. She had suffered such an all-consuming crush on bad-boy Rebel Sterling that a mere glimpse of him had made her weak in the knees. After that night at the sand dunes, she had realized that her mind had been even weaker than her knees.
And he didn’t even remember it.
Maybe she did despise him. Certainly, looking at that cocky grin on his face at this moment, despising him was as natural as breathing.
Walking over to the table, she picked up her purse. “Your opinion of my looks is completely immaterial. All I want from you is a decision on that option.” Despite her determination to remain composed, her voice rose. “I don’t know what game it is you’re playing, but you won’t convince me that you’re not up to something.”
“Tell you what,” Gard said matter-of-factly. “Give me a few days and then let’s get together again. How about on Friday? I could come to your place, or you could come to mine. Meeting here is kind of silly, don’t you think?”
“A few days?” Would he really have an answer in a few days? Cass didn’t want to be gullible about this, but she wanted this ridiculous situation over and done with. At least she wanted the freedom to call Francis and say, “The legal problems are over. I can put the ranch on the market and I’m sure it will sell quickly.”
And now that she’d actually seen Gard, and survived, it really didn’t matter where they met. “All right, fine. You may come to my place on Friday afternoon.” Besides, it probably wouldn’t hurt her case for him to get a good look at the Whitfield property. Lord only knew the last time he’d been there, and it was beautiful, in wonderful condition. Cass had kept the same employees who had worked for her father, and everything was in perfect order.
Gard smiled and nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Cass acknowledged the agreement with a slight nod of her own, then turned to walk to the door.
But then she made the mistake of stopping for one last look at Gard Sterling. The light flowing through the large windows behind him shadowed his features, but his height, his build and his long legs were all too visible. A choking sensation rose in her throat. Until this moment she’d been rather proud of her performance during their meeting, but now it was all she could do to restrain fourteen years of anger and resentment from spewing out of her mouth.
“See you on Friday,” she mumbled, and all but ran from the room.
Surprised by her hasty exit, Gard almost laughed. But then the impulse died a sudden death and he frowned instead. There was more behind Cassandra’s frosty attitude than that contract, probably something to do with the past. Gard groaned right out loud. What had he done to Cass Whitfield that he couldn’t remember but she, apparently, had never forgotten? His youthful “good times” had caused him problems several times in the past few years, and he had a hunch the worst was yet to come.
He thought about that for a minute, then started for the door himself. Regardless of the past and its mysteries, he still wanted to know Cass better.
And surely he could make amends. Whatever he’d done couldn’t be that bad.

Two
Cass awoke in a sweat, noticing on the digital clock next to her bed that it was 1:35 a.m. Whatever had awakened her eluded her, but now her eyes were wide open and didn’t seem inclined to close again. Sighing, she got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of cocoa. Using a mix, she was soon seated at the table with her drink.
When Gard came to mind, she quickly put the blame for her interrupted sleep on him and the fact that she had agreed to meet with him on Friday. Then, to her intense annoyance, between her irritation and resentment was a memory: that infamous night at the dunes.
Groaning aloud, Cass put her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid as to actually have made love with Rebel Sterling? She’d been young and naive, yes, but had she also been dim-witted? She had been at the dunes that night, sitting in the moonlight and thinking, just thinking. Then he’d come along on his motorcycle, and she had been so thrilled by the coincidence that she had started thinking fate had intervened on her behalf.
Dropping her hands, Cass picked up her cup with a cynical expression. If fate really had intervened that night, it had been a damned cruel trick, one she hadn’t deserved.
Finishing off her cocoa, Cass rinsed out the cup, slipped it into the dishwasher and returned to her bedroom. Maybe she could sleep now, maybe not. But she was not going to spend the remainder of the night trying to second-guess fate. She had already played that futile game too many times.
It irritated Cass that she was just as nervous about seeing Gard on Friday as she’d been prior to their first meeting. Again she went through her mental list of dos and don’ts. At the Plantation she had come closer to saying what was on her mind—what had been on her mind for fourteen years—than she liked. Fortunately only a small amount of her ire had escaped, and she felt pretty certain that Gard had thought it was all because of his indecision about the contract.
There was irony in the situation. Without that old contract there was practically no chance at all that she and Gard would ever have seen each other again. It had probably never occurred to either his father or hers when they put that contract together that they had necessitated some sort of future relationship between their offspring. Without that accursed document, she would have put the Whitfield Land and Cattle Company in the hands of a real estate agent after her father’s funeral and gone home to Oregon. The place would sell, she was certain, and for her purposes, the sooner the better.
But she was virtually stuck here until Gard made up his mind, which raised her hackles every time she thought about it. She wasn’t in the best of moods when he arrived on Friday afternoon, but she managed a cool smile as she let him in.
“We’ll sit in the living room,” she told him, leading the way.
“The place looks good, Cassandra,” he said as they sat down, he on the sofa, Cass in a nearby chair. His gaze went around the room, taking in the impressive, white rock fireplace and splendid furnishings. “Great house.”
His gaze stopped on her. The “place” wasn’t the only thing looking good; Cassandra’s hair was down today, curled and swept back from the left side of her face by an amber comb. Her slacks and silk shirt were the same becoming shade of teal. She didn’t look “sassy” today, she looked controlled and dignified and...remote. Gard wondered what had happened to the young girl who’d had a bright, witty retort for every occasion. He’d been remembering little things, events, moments of conversation, where Sassy Whitfield had indeed lived up to her nickname.
Of course, in those days he was usually half-sloshed, and even those facts he did remember had blurred edges.
“Would you like something to drink?” Cass asked with a hint of snideness. Naturally he would choose a cocktail of some sort.
“Wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee,” Gard replied smoothly, realizing that she’d expected a completely different answer. A chuckle remained inward and silent, but he truly enjoyed the startled expression on her face.
“Coffee? I’ll get it.” Cass rose and left the room. Gard got up and walked around, pausing to admire knickknacks on tables and a glass case containing a collection of porcelain figurines. Then the painting over the fireplace caught his eye, and he moved closer to inspect it. It took a moment to grasp its subject, and even then he wasn’t sure if his interpretation was correct. It appeared to be a garden. The colors were wispy and dreamlike, and the foliage and flowers—if that’s what they were—were oddly depicted and even distorted. Nowhere could he pick out a rose, for example, or a carnation, and yet he had the impression of a dozen varieties of flowers. He was no connoisseur of oil paintings, of any kind of art, for that matter, and yet he felt this was a good piece of work.
Then he spotted the initials in the lower right corner of the painting—CW—and comprehension dawned. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mumbled under his breath.
Cass returned with a tray. Gard turned. “Are you this CW?”
“It’s one of mine, yes.” Calmly Cass poured coffee into two cups. She had no desire or intention to discuss her work with Gard Sterling. “Please...sit down and have your coffee.”
“Thanks.” Gard sat and accepted the cup of coffee, but he was still thinking about that painting. “Is that what you do in Oregon, or is oil painting just a hobby?”
Cass heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Gard, I don’t want to talk about me. I really don’t want to talk about you, either, except for one point. Have you come to a decision on that option?”
His eyes narrowed on her over his cup. “You don’t like me, do you? Why not, Cassandra? What did I do to make you dislike me? I know something happened, but I can’t remember it for the life of me. I’ve tried since the other day at the Plantation, but I can’t come up with anything. You obviously remember what it was, so why don’t you fill me in on it?”
The thought of sitting here and calmly narrating that night at the sand dunes nearly undid Cass. Her hand was suddenly shaking, and to avoid spilling coffee all over her own lap, she placed her cup on the table to the right of her chair.
“It seems to me that you are looking for ways to avoid discussing that option,” she said accusingly. “I am not going to talk about old times with you, Gard, neither the good nor the bad. Just give me a straight answer. Have you made that decision?”
The small crack in her rigid self-control made him wonder if he couldn’t widen it. “Then it wasn’t all bad? With you and me, there were also some good times?”
Cass’s anger erupted. She jumped to her feet. “You may as well leave. It’s perfectly obvious that you’re no closer to a decision on that option than you were at our first meeting.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “I won’t be played with, Gardiner. I think you’ve had more than enough time to ‘study the consequences,’ and just maybe a judge will agree with me.”
Gard finished drinking the coffee in his cup, slowly enough that Cass wanted to screech at him, then stood up and brought the empty cup to the same table on which Cass had placed hers. “Seems to me that you’re getting pretty riled up over nothing,” he said with annoying calmness. “As for playing with you, Sassy Whitfield, a legal battle isn’t my idea of fun.”
He was standing right in front of her, and she vowed not to back away no matter what he did. This was her house, and this whole mess was his fault. “A legal battle is what you’re going to get, if you don’t make that decision,” she said, putting it forcefully.
“Know what I think, Sassy, honey? I think you’re mad at me for something that has nothing to do with that contract.”
“That’s absurd! I told you I want to clean things up here so I can return to my own home.”
“Then you’re not mad at me for some old sin I can’t even remember?”
Cass’s lips thinned. “I don’t doubt your memory lapse. No one could remember as many sins as you’ve racked up. The list is probably still growing.”
Gard grinned. “Today I am a solid citizen, Miss Whitfield. Which brings up an interesting question. How come you’re still a Miss?”
“You nervy...” She stopped short of an insulting name. “My personal life is none of your business! I’d like you to leave. Don’t underestimate me, Sterling. I haven’t forgotten how to handle a shotgun.”
Gard laughed. “Now you’re going to shoot me? Damn, I really must have done something terrible to make you think of murder. Did I kiss you?” His eyes crinkled teasingly. “Or maybe you wanted me to kiss you and I didn’t? Was that it?”
That was all Cass could take. Her anger exploded. “You conceited, amoral egomaniac! Get the hell out of my house! Any future communication about that contract will be between our lawyers. I will not tolerate any more of—”
The rest of her words were trapped in her throat. Gard had grabbed her and kissed her so fast, she hadn’t seen it coming. His arms held her in place, and his mouth moved on hers with complete and utter possession. Her fury was so intense, it nearly burst through her skin, but there wasn’t any way to break away. She tried all the tricks, the wriggling, the stamping on his toes, the growled, unintelligible invectives. If her hands were free, she would yank out every hair on his head. But her hands weren’t free; they were trapped at her sides by the strength of his brawny arms.
And then it began happening, a deeply rooted inner response to his heat and power. To him, to Gard Sterling, the last man in the world she wanted to feel anything for.
Gard finally broke the kiss and lifted his head. His eyes contained a slightly puzzled cast. “Kissing you feels kind of familiar. Should it?”
“You’re disgusting!” Internally Cass was a mass of quivering ambiguities. How dare he kiss her? But worse than his crime was her own; although she had shown nothing of what she’d felt during that kiss, she had liked it way too much.
The word disgusting hit Gard hard. He dropped his arms and took a backward step. “Guess I’d better apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”
Cass was trembling. “You haven’t changed an iota. You still do whatever comes to your mind and to hell with the consequences. Most people have grown up by the time they reach your age. Apparently you haven’t.”
Gard was feeling a little silly. He hadn’t grabbed a woman and forced a kiss on her since...since... Hell, had he ever forced a kiss on a woman?
Still, however foolish he felt, wasn’t Cassandra overreacting? She was genuinely furious, making truly cutting remarks, casting aspersions not only on his behavior in the past but on the kind of man he was today.
His voice became noticeably cooler. “I have grown up, lady, but I’m beginning to wonder about you. You’re just waiting to pounce on whatever I say or do, and—”
Cass broke in. “I suppose kissing a woman without any warning is adult conduct? And don’t waste your time wondering about me, not in any context. You and I wouldn’t be having these abominable meetings if it weren’t for that despicable contract, and I have to question where your father’s and mine’s good sense was when they devised such a...a ludicrous agreement.”
“It was a damned good agreement in their time,” Gard growled. “And it’s still good. Let me ask you this. Why do you feel like you have to hang around until I make a decision? Go on back to Oregon, if that’s what you’re so anxious to do. You’ve got capable employees. Let them take care of the place. They probably know a hell of a lot more about it than you do, anyway.”
Cass’s lip curled. “I neither want nor need advice from you about how I should handle my life, Gard Sterling. I’m staying right here until you do something about that option, and if you don’t shake your fanny and get it done in the very near future, I’m going to start legal proceedings to force a decision out of you.”
Smugly, Gard folded his arms. “Why don’t you do that? You’ll discover one thing about me, Sassy Whitfield. I don’t take kindly to threats, and I guarantee that if you bring this to the courts, I’ll have my lawyers drag it out so long, you and I will both be too old to care who owns the land in this valley by the time it’s settled.”
Cass’s anger was shrinking, becoming less general and thus better defined. As infuriating as it was, Gard was not going to be bullied into a quick decision, nor was the threat of a lawsuit going to speed him up. She had vowed to remain cool and collected during this meeting, and instead had behaved like a shrew.
But why had he kissed her? And why had she liked it, when she was so opposed to everything Gard Sterling and every other freewheeling, skirt-chaser represented? That’s what he’d been fourteen years ago, and he’d proved this afternoon that he was exactly the same, no matter how vociferously he claimed to be a respectable citizen these days.
The result of this second dismal meeting was that she had still gained no ground on that option. Maybe the only positive thing that had come out of it was the knowledge that he was going to take his own sweet time and she could like it or lump it. It was a frustrating moment, because she could almost see her chance to buy into the Deering Gallery flying out the window.
Still, she would do no more shouting or accusing. Gard Sterling always had been as obstinate as they came, and she would bet anything that the harder she pushed, the more stubborn he would become.
“Well,” she said calmly, seating herself with an air of regained self-possession that surprised Gard. “It appears that we’ve reached an impasse,” she said. “How do you propose we deal with that?” She sent him an innocent-eyed glance, and the essence of her expression struck Gard about four inches below his belt buckle. As insulting as Cassandra “Sassy” Whitfield could be, she was as sexy as any woman he’d ever met. A thought wormed its way into his mind and dug in hard and deep, as though entrenching itself permanently. I want her. Dammit, I want her!
Clearing his suddenly clogged throat, Gard approached the sofa and gingerly sat down. There was an ache in his groin that he knew wouldn’t be appeased today, though he vowed to cure that affliction in the very near future. In the meantime, he had to make friends with Cassandra...somehow.
“I’m not sure our situation should be labeled an impasse,” he said cautiously. “But, of course, we do have to find a way around it. As I said the other day, Cassandra, I need a little more time to study the sensibility and financial implications of buying you out.” He’d said no such thing—he’d talked about studying the consequences—but Cass merely nodded her acknowledgment. “Obviously,” Gard continued, “time is more important to you than it is to me. I don’t have anywhere to go and you do. There’s one thing I need to do before reaching a conclusion, and that’s to take an in-depth look at the Whitfield ranch.”
You snake! “Are you saying you’re no longer familiar with this ranch?” Cassandra asked.
“That’s it, exactly. I used to drop in and talk to Ridge once in a while, but I never got beyond the buildings.”
“So what you’d like to do is check the land?” You big phony. Whitfield land is no different than Sterling land, and you know it as well as you know your own name! He was stalling for God knew what reason, but what choice did she have but to play along? If she could get an answer out of him in a week or so, she would do almost anything.
“Do you have any objections to showing me around?” Gard asked casually.
Cass made a small throat-clearing sound. He didn’t need her “showing him around,” the rat. He could get in his pickup or on a horse and see everything there was to see without her company. So...what was in the back of his devious mind? Another kiss? More than kisses?
She would never get over him not remembering that night at the sand dunes, and if he had any foolish ideas about luring her into bed, he was in for a rude awakening. How could she have liked that rough, overbearing kiss he’d given her a few minutes ago? Had she momentarily lost her senses?
Well, it was the last kiss between them, make no mistake, she vowed.
“When would you like to begin your inspection?” she asked in a smooth-as-honey voice.
Gard blinked. “Um...the sooner the better, I suppose. Are you free tomorrow?”
“Free as the breeze. Tomorrow, then? What time?”
“Might as well get an early start. Seven?”
“Make it eight.”
“Fine.” It was obviously time he left, though he would have thoroughly enjoyed spending the rest of the day sitting on Cassandra’s sofa and looking at her in that pretty teal outfit. He got to his feet. “Let’s do it on horseback.”
“Do it?” Cass’s face turned crimson. He hadn’t meant do it, for pity’s sake, he’d meant inspect the ranch!
Gard wanted to laugh so badly, his insides cramped and hurt. He’d “do it” on horseback, or any other place she could name, if “doing it” was what she wanted. It was an exciting goal to contemplate.
“Unless you don’t ride anymore,” he said with a completely straight face.
Was that another innuendo? Cass had to clamp her teeth together to stop herself from shrieking a vile name at him. But then a better idea came to mind and she smiled with all of the femaleness she could muster. “I...ride a lot,” she said in a deliberately husky voice. “I love...riding.”
Gard nearly choked. “Good...that’s good. Uh, I’ll ride over on my horse in the morning.”
“And I’ll have mine saddled and ready to go.” Cass stood up. “I’ll show you out.”
They walked to the front door, which Cass opened. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome.” Gard walked out and heard the door close behind him. Dazed, he made his way to his pickup, got in and then sat there. What a woman! One minute she acted as though she’d like to sock him and the next as though she’d like to... Dare he think ride him?
His teeth were gritted together as he drove away. She was still sassy, still unpredictable, and, Lord, was she exciting!
He could hardly wait for tomorrow morning.
* * *
Cass spent the evening on the telephone, talking first to her lawyer at his home in Billings, then to Francis in California. The two conversations were startlingly similar.
“Sterling’s stalling and I don’t know why. Now he wants to inspect the ranch, which is utterly ridiculous,” Cass said.
“Maybe he doesn’t have the money to buy you out and can’t or won’t admit it.”
“That’s not it,” Cass denied. “The Sterlings were always very well-off. No, it’s something else.” With Francis, she went a little further. “He’s an arrogant pain in the neck, Francis, playing some kind of silly game with me.”
“Have you told him why you want to sell so badly?” Francis asked in her naturally gravelly voice.
“I doubt very much if it would change anything.” Cass hadn’t shared with Francis her surprise at the modest amount of cash in her father’s estate. Selling the ranch was really her only means of buying into the gallery, as Francis had made one thing very clear: she would not sell that fifty percent for anything but cash. “You’d have to know Gardiner Sterling as I do to know what I mean,” Cass added. “He’s completely self-centered, and my having an urgent need to sell wouldn’t impress him in the least.”
“Please keep me informed, Cass. I don’t want to put additional pressure on you, considering what you’ve been through, losing your father and all, but...well, I think you understand my point of view.”
“I do, Francis, and I appreciate your patience, believe me. Maybe—I’m hoping, at least—to know more by the end of the week. I’ll call.”
* * *
In bed later, Cass tried again to figure out Gard’s dawdling with that option. It was such a simple decision, either he wanted the Whitfield ranch or he didn’t.
Her thoughts crept elsewhere. Could his procrastination possibly have something to do with her? Maybe he did remember that night at the dunes and what came after, and maybe he didn’t know how to apologize. After all, hadn’t he kissed her without the slightest provocation?
Cass’s heart beat faster. What if that was it? What if Gard remembered that incredible, starry night, and hoped to bring them to that same point again? Men were sometimes so peculiar and closemouthed about emotions and feelings. After all, it wasn’t impossible that he wanted to keep her in Montana, was it? Maybe deliberately delaying a decision on that option was his method of doing it.
A sigh lifted Cass’s chest. There were too many holes in that theory to put much stock in it. First of all, wasn’t she forgetting how wild and reckless Rebel Sterling had been fourteen years ago? And that he’d arrived at the dunes half-drunk and with a six-pack of beer to finish the job? It had probably been just another night to him, and why should it stand out from so many others? He didn’t remember it at all, and she may as well stop thinking like a schoolgirl.
Cass’s own memory of that night was suddenly so acute she couldn’t lie still. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed. With her arms curled around herself she paced the dark bedroom. Why did it still hurt after so long? she asked herself. She’d had men friends since, and yet that episode with Gard was the most unforgettable experience of her life.
It was also the most regrettable, she reminded herself. She had behaved badly that night, drinking beer with him, giggling over silly remarks, just so thrilled to be with him that she forgot every standard she ordinarily lived by.
But she had paid for it in the following weeks, paid for it every time she caught sight of him, every time he barely acknowledged that he even knew her with a nod or a casual hello. At the time it hadn’t occurred to her that he simply didn’t remember what had happened at the dunes, and she had interpreted every snub and slight in the most painful way possible. She still hadn’t considered a memory lapse until seeing Gard again, and now, instead of feeling miserable about it, she should be grateful he didn’t remember.
Cass returned to her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She was grateful, she told herself with teeth-gritting determination. Probably the worst thing that could happen in her present circumstances was for Gard to suddenly develop total recall.
Sighing heavily, she turned over and closed her eyes.
* * *
Riding beside Gard was discomfiting for Cass. She hadn’t lied to him about loving to ride horses, and she had done quite a bit of riding during the last month. But riding alone and riding with Gard Sterling for a companion were two very different activities.
Still, she was trying with every cell in her body and brain to appear composed and nonplussed. The day was bright and sunny, with very little breeze. Starting out that morning, Cass had asked Gard what he wanted to see first. He had named the springs and creeks, which would have made very good sense if he’d been a stranger and unfamiliar with the valley’s water sources.
Nevertheless, they rode to each of the ranch’s three springs, where Gard dismounted, walked around and checked every little thing, such as the drainage runoff, the depth and temperature of the water, and the foliage around it. He was putting on some kind of show, Cass felt, irritated by his ridiculous attentiveness to details that were perfectly obvious to anyone with a lick of ranching sense.
They then followed each of the two creeks from one end of Whitfield land to the other. Anytime they came close to the cattle, Gard gave the animals a long look and, periodically, he dismounted to inspect the grass, actually breaking off handfuls and in several instances, tasting it.
Around noon Cass mentioned the sandwiches she had made that morning, having known instinctively that Gard was going to keep her out on the range past lunchtime. Which, of course, was merely another irritating aspect of the game he was playing and she was putting up with to get this ludicrous charade over and done with.
“You packed a lunch?” Gard looked pleased.
“Nothing fancy. Just some sandwiches.” They were wrapped in aluminum foil and residing in her saddlebag, and by now they were probably overheated and soggy. Still, she was hungry and even a soggy sandwich would taste good.
Gard pointed ahead to a copse of trees and brush. “Let’s get out of the sun to eat.”
“Fine.” Actually, getting out of the saddle was reaching the necessary stage for Cass. Four hours of riding was a mite more than she was used to, and she was feeling the long ride in her thighs and back.
They reached the trees and got down. Cass wanted to moan with relief, but managed to stifle the impulse. Gard, she noted, didn’t seem to be the least bit tired.
She opened her saddlebag and removed the sandwiches, placing them on a grassy spot along with her canteen of water.
Gard sat down with his back against a tree near the wrapped sandwiches. He smiled at her and she did her best to smile back.
“It isn’t much, but dig in,” she told him, lowering herself to the grass.
They each took a sandwich and began eating. Gard removed his hat and laid it on the grass next to him. “Nice out here. Thanks for thinking of bringing along lunch.”
“Such as it is, but you’re welcome.” Cass swallowed a bite. “Have you seen enough to make that decision?”
“Well...I’ve been thinking of that high ridge at the western perimeter of your land, Cassandra. You must remember the spot. Anyway, we had an extremely heavy runoff this spring—about twenty feet of snow in the mountains last winter—and I’ve been wondering how it affected that ridge. It was always a natural boundary between Whitfield land and forest service property, as I recall.”
Cass stared at him. “Even if the ridge was entirely wiped out, what possible difference could it make to your decision?”
“We could be talking about some major environmental damage, Cassandra.”
She spoke sarcastically. “I’m sure Dad would have told me if melting snow had washed away a ridge of land that was at least forty feet higher than the valley floor, Gard.”
Gard shoved the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth. “Did you and your dad talk very often?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. Look—”
“Didn’t it bother him that you preferred Oregon over Montana?”
“Of course it didn’t bother him. Why should it? Listen—”
“Tell me about your home. Do you live near the coast?”
Internally Cass was seething. He kept interrupting her, deliberately avoiding conversation about that option.
“I live on the coast. My house is on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Gard—”
“That sounds terrific. Bet you have a great view.”
Her patience came to an abrupt end. “You are without a doubt the most irritating person I have ever known.” Scrambling to her feet, she bent over to pick up the foil wrappers from the sandwiches. “You’ve ridden me around in circles all morning, and now you want to ride for another two hours to see a ridge that couldn’t possibly be washed away from spring runoff, no matter how much damned snow piled up in the mountains during the winter.”
“Now you’re mad.” Gard spoke in a hurt, disbelieving voice, as though she were the most unfair woman on the face of the earth. Or in Montana, at least.
Cass faced him, all but breathing fire. “If I were a man, I’d punch you right in the nose!” Then she whirled to go to her horse and get away from this infuriating person. She was all through being nice to him, option or no option.
Gard, still sitting, caught her by the ankles. Down she came, landing mostly on top of him. “You...” The names she shrieked at him were very unladylike and quite descriptive. “Let me go, you snake in the grass, you weasel, you...” Again the unladylike names rolled out of her mouth.
Neatly and with a minimum of exertion, Gard rolled them over so that he was on top. “You sure do have a mouth on you, Sassy Whitfield. I think it’s time someone taught you better manners.”
“And you think you’re the man to do it?” Cass let out a screech so loud and piercing, Gard thought it probably echoed throughout the entire valley. But she didn’t only screech, she started fighting to get away.
And the wrestling match began.

Three
Cass squirmed and pushed and shoved. “You cretin!” She was wiry and quick, but so was Gard, and his strength was so superior he soon had her hands locked above her head while the weight of his body held her down.
What really infuriated her was that he thought rolling around on the ground like this was funny. Throughout their tussle she’d heard the low, sexy chuckle deep in his throat, and when she was finally unable to move anything but her toes, he grinned at her.
“You savage,” she said, venting her wrath through clenched teeth. “Force is probably the only way you can get a woman on her back.” He laughed as though she had said something hysterically funny. “Egotistical jerk.” Cassandra turned her eyes to avoid his. No one she’d ever known had eyes as blue as Gard’s. Right now they were brimming with amusement and she didn’t want to see it.
He dipped his head slightly, bringing their faces closer. “There are three things I’d like to do to you, Sassy Whitfield,” he whispered. “Want to know what they are?”
“I most certainly do not!”
“Make that four, and I don’t believe you don’t want to know. In fact, I think you’re dying to know, so I’m going to be kind and tell you. First, I’d like to turn you over my knee and paddle your sweet little behind. I think you’ve had it all your way for so long, you don’t know how to deal with a man who doesn’t jump at your command.”
Cass’s gaze jerked around. “Of all the... Just try it, and I’ll scratch the eyes right out of your arrogant head!”
Gard laughed softly. “Second, I’d like to kiss you until you’re limp all over and begging for more.”
“Hell will freeze over before I ever beg you for anything,” she sputtered.
“Third, once you’re begging and whimpering, I’d like to make love to you. The right kind of love, Sassy, sensual and slow.”
She had no cutting retort for that one. Being held down like this was humiliating, and so were his crude fantasies.
“The fourth thing I want from you is friendship,” Gard said quietly.
“Yeah, right,” she drawled, disdain all over her face. “Why did I ever think you and I could conduct business like two normal people? You’re not the least bit normal.”
“Oh, I’m pretty normal, honey. Can’t you tell?”
What she could tell was that he was enormously aroused and not a bit averse to letting her know. It was a frustrating moment for Cass. Lying beneath him, feeling every contour of his body pressing into hers, her own hormones were beginning to misbehave.
“If friendship is what you want between us, you’re going at it in a mighty strange way,” she said sharply, denying the throbbing that had started at intimate points of her body. “Tripping me was abominable. So is holding me down this way. Don’t you have any scruples at all?”
“Since paddling your behind would probably cause a ruckus we might never get over, how about going with the second item on my list and kissing each other senseless?”
She turned her gaze to give him a murderous look. He was having entirely too much fun at her expense. “You’re already minus the sense God gave that tree over there. Let go of my hands!”
“So you can scratch out my eyes? That’s what you said, honey, that you’d scratch the eyes right out of my arrogant head.”
“This conversation is over. Let me up!”
“Not until you kiss me.”
Cass gulped. The silky tone in his teasing voice was much too reminiscent of that night at the dunes. “You don’t have the morals of an alley cat. I see it all now. This is the only reason you put on that big act of needing to inspect Whitfield land before making that decision, you...you...”
“Don’t start with the name-calling again, Sassy, or I swear I’ll hold you here for the rest of the day.”
“You always were a damned bully,” she said, fuming.
“I was never a bully and you know it. I did a lot of things I wish I hadn’t, but bullying people wasn’t one of them. If anything, I was too easygoing. I picked the wrong friends, or they picked me. Anyway, there was always someone around wanting to party, and I fully admit to acting like a jackass in my younger days.”
“You’re still acting like a jackass. Gard, this has gone far enough. Let me up!”
“After you kiss me.”
“I am not going to kiss you!”
“Then how about just lying still and letting me kiss you?”
“Could I stop you?” she said angrily. Could she stop him from doing anything he wanted? Her face flamed at the thought. He wouldn’t dare do more than kiss her, would he?
Gard brought his head down until his lips were almost touching hers. “You won’t let yourself like me, and I want to know why.”
“What you’re doing right now is reason enough, don’t you think?”
“I’m talking about before today. The afternoon you walked into that room at the Plantation, you were all bristled up like a little porcupine.”
“That’s a lie.” She could feel his breath on her mouth and smell his after-shave, and worse, much worse, she was unable to ignore the blatant evidence of his manhood pressing into her abdomen. She wanted to stay angry, to remain furious and spiteful, but a languor was spreading throughout her body.
His gaze flicked over her face, feature by feature. His hold on her relaxed. She could easily elude him now if she wanted to. “You are a seriously beautiful woman, Cassandra Whitfield.” Elation darted through him; she hadn’t moved an inch. He placed his mouth tenderly on hers, and at just about the same moment, he wedged his legs in between hers and adjusted his position so that his arousal was firmly resting against her most private and sensitive spot.
Cass’s brain seemed to divide, one portion suddenly aching with passion and the other trying desperately to cling to common sense. It would be so easy to get carried away, to just let go and kiss him back. He had succeeded in making her want him, in stirring up all of the eroticism she possessed, and the commonsense portion of herself was losing ground. His lips felt delectably sensual on hers, warm and tender, demanding and giving, all at the same time. Instead of feeling the substantial weight of his body, she felt its remarkable composition, his chest, his thighs, and most disturbing of all, his sex subtly moving against hers.
She was getting sweaty and weak, and her mouth had become yielding and soft under his, molding at his direction, opening for his tongue.
“Sassy,” he whispered huskily.
Oh, God, she thought. She couldn’t let this happen again, not when their first time had meant so little to him he had no memory of it. Her wounds from that episode had gone so deep she still felt them. Rebel Sterling wasn’t the man for her to be fooling around with, however persuasive were his kisses and hard body.
With her hands freed, she laid them on either side of his head and pushed. Their mouths separated, and he looked at her with surprise in his eyes. Cass could almost see the protests lining up in his head, so she spoke first, hoarsely but fiercely. “Are you planning to take advantage of me again?”
Gard froze, his expression, his hands, his body, every inch of him. “What did you say?”
Already she wished she hadn’t said it. It wasn’t the truth, not the whole truth, and she could see what her accusation had done to him.
But neither could she take back the question. “I think you heard me.”
“All right, I heard you, but why did you say something like that?” His voice was controlled only through intense effort. He’d taken advantage of her? When? Where? As the questions mounted in his mind, he could feel all traces of desire deserting his system.
But then a horrifying thought struck him: was it true? Was that why Cassandra had been so distant and unfriendly? Was that the event nagging at his flawed memory? Had he forced her into something sexual?
Abruptly he rolled away from her, ending up on his back, his face tense, his eyes shadowed with confusion. Cass sat up slowly, almost afraid to look at him. She never should have said such a thing. He hadn’t taken advantage of her; he’d just made giving in to his charm seem natural and sensible, and while it had felt perfectly natural at the time, it certainly hadn’t been sensible.
She sent him a quick, uneasy glance, wondering how to undo the damage she had just inflicted without getting into a detailed discussion of that night and its painful aftermath. There were some things she would never be able to tell him, such as the nights of crying herself to sleep because she’d seen him at some point of that day and he hadn’t noticed her. Certainly he had never called or come to the house to see her. It was as though that night at the dunes had happened only in her own mind, and she’d been so hurt by his avoidance that nothing else in life held any meaning.
That was when she had made the decision to leave Montana. Her parents agreed on the further education she’d chosen, a small, well-respected art school in San Francisco, and she had packed and left, praying that time and distance would allow her to forget Gard Sterling.
She pushed herself to her feet and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “I’m sorry I said that.”
Gard sat up. Something hurt in his stomach. Not a pain, exactly, more like a tearing, ripping sensation. He spoke raggedly. “Is it true?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Nervous and trying not to show it, Cass started for her horse.
Gard jumped to his feet and rushed after her. He grabbed her by the arm, and not gently, either. “Is it true?”
She tried to wrench her arm free. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
Gard’s eyes were blazing. “That’s just too damned bad! You’re not leaving until you explain yourself. What you said is either a stupefying, deplorable fact or the most despicable lie I’ve ever heard. Now, which is it?”
Her own anger was rising. “What’s wrong with your own memory? Don’t you remember what you did years ago? How you behaved? Was the world really your oyster, or did you merely think it was? You were drunk or well on your way most of the time, and why anyone—including your father—put up with your selfishness escapes me completely.”
“List every fault I ever had if it makes you feel superior, Cassandra, but don’t try to evade the subject you introduced. Did I force you into something?” He winced at the question. Never in his wildest dreams could he have put himself in that scenario. Yes, there’d been many women, but what he remembered of them was willingness, eagerness, cooperation, participation.
Cass’s face was flushed. “I’ve said all I’m going to say about it, so you may as well stop throwing your weight around. Just what makes you think you can manhandle me the way you’ve done today? You’re still doing it!”
What he was doing was maintaining a tight grasp on her arm, though not with anything sexual in mind. She had struck a blow he wouldn’t easily forget, and he had to know if there was any truth to it. His teeth clenched. “Give me a straight answer, damn you. Did I ever force you to have sex with me?”
She looked away from the turmoil in his eyes. “There are different kinds of force,” she said stiffly.
Gard took her chin with his free hand and turned her head to face him. “So, we did have sex? When did it happen? Where? And what kind of force did I allegedly use to seduce you? Did I hold you down and rip off your clothes?”
Her lips pursed. “Not exactly.” She had never wanted to have this conversation. Why in God’s name hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut?
“But I did get you out of your clothes. Where were we when this supposedly took place?”
If she didn’t get away from him, he was going to pull every tiny detail out of her about that night. She gathered what strength she could and looked him right in the eyes. “I’m telling you to let go of my arm this instant. This conversation is over, and you can stew about it for the rest of your life for all I care.”
His eyes had grown hard. “Do you care about that option?”
Her eyes hardened, also. “Are you going to try and blackmail me into talking about the past? Forget that idea, Gard. Frankly, after today I don’t give a damn if you ever make that decision.”
“I’ll stop you from selling.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You never were a decent person, and you’ll probably still be a coldhearted, selfish S.O.B. on the day you die. Now, let me go!” This time when Cass pulled against his hand, he loosened his hold on her arm and let her move away. “Thank you,” she said sarcastically.
His expression grim, Gard stood there and watched her walk to her horse. She mounted. He yelled as she rode away. “Have a good day, Cassandra. You sure as hell made mine!”
Internally Cass winced, though she kept going. How could those words have come out of her mouth? She had never used the word force in any description of that night at the dunes. Had it been lurking in the far recesses of her mind all this time?
She bit her lip, frowning at the ground ahead of her. Remembering Gard’s words—that it was either a stupefying, deplorable fact or the most despicable lie—caused remorse to burn like acid in her stomach. If she had wanted to finally talk to Gard about that night, why had she chosen to blurt out a ghastly accusation instead of merely...
Merely what? Hadn’t his faulty memory been gnawing at her? How dare he make love to a woman and then simply put it out of his mind, as though it had been of no more import than...than crossing a street? Why should she be feeling guilty and as though she had committed some unpardonable sin?
Tears were suddenly blurring Cass’s vision. She should have known that Gard would not only prove uncooperative regarding the contract, but that he would do something else to make her miserable. She should have left the matter in the hands of their lawyers, as she had initially intended.
Well, that was the way it would be from now on. There was not going to be any more personal contact between her and Gard Sterling, not if she had to desert the ranch and Montana to accomplish it.
* * *
Gard stared after Cassandra through narrowed, disturbed eyes as she and her horse got smaller in the distance. He had never been so shaken before in his life. How many times would some idiotic thing he’d done years ago suddenly flash into his mind and bring him to his knees with regret?
But nothing from his wild and hedonistic youth had hit him the way Cassandra’s allegation had. Was there any truth to it? She had backed down slightly, but even though he couldn’t remember the event, he suspected—very strongly—that they had made love, or rather, had sex—under some circumstance.
How old had she been when she left the valley? Gard had to think hard to come up with an approximate age. Seventeen or eighteen...somewhere along there. Damn! He slammed his fist into his other palm. A kid, and he’d made love to her and couldn’t even remember doing it.
But she remembered. Remembered so well that she could barely speak civilly to him.
Slowly Gard walked to where he’d tied his horse. The feelings he’d developed rose up to mock him. Certainly Cassandra had become interesting to him at their first meeting. He’d seen and appreciated her pretty face and remarkable figure. More, he’d felt that intangible chemistry that made one woman stand out from others.
Now there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of anything important occurring between them. He’d behaved like an adolescent, assuming that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Kissing her...pressuring her...talking like a fool about paddling her behind and making love...thinking that her protests were merely coyness and flirting.
His ego had been badly damaged today. Cassandra was no slouch in the hit-’em-where-it-hurts department, and he resented her cruel method of letting him know where they stood with each other. She could have used a little tact, couldn’t she?
But then, he hadn’t been exactly tactful, either. Meeting Cassandra at the Plantation that day had been like meeting her for the first time ever. The girl he remembered—vaguely, to be sure—had barely been recognizable in the stylish, sophisticated woman who had walked into that banquet room. He’d started off on the wrong foot with Cassandra simply because he hadn’t had a clue about her true state of mind.
Tight-lipped and tense, Gard mounted his horse and began the ride home. To his own home. What did he do now? he thought dismally. They still had the contract to deal with, even though Cassandra had plainly and angrily stated that she didn’t give a damn if he ever made a decision on that option.
Would she cool down and talk to him again? When should he try to find out? This evening? He could call and apologize, even though he couldn’t remember what he’d be apologizing for. Maybe he should apologize for that, as well. Cassandra, I’m sorry I can’t remember making love to you.
Gard winced. An apology of that sort was apt to earn him a behind full of buckshot, should he ever get near enough for her to haul out that shotgun she’d mentioned.
Admit it, Sterling. You’ve made one hell of a mess of things, and this is one time that an apology might do more harm than good.
But how did a man untangle this kind of chaotic muddle? Leaving the situation as it was now was unthinkable. Something had to be done. Cassandra thought the absolute worst of him, and that knowledge hurt like the very devil. He didn’t want her thinking he was the same careless, pleasure-seeking, self-indulgent swinger he’d been fourteen years ago. The signs of his present calm and temperate life-style were completely evident, which she would have seen right away if she hadn’t been so biased by the past.
On the other hand, he himself had negated those signs by behaving like a wet-behind-the-ears, horny kid. That was the crux of this thing, Gard thought uneasily. Neither of them were kids anymore, and for some god-awful reason their meeting had set off a sort of regression that had Cassandra despising him for something he obviously should have remembered, and him, in his ignorance, getting all silly and excited over a pretty face.
Gard got home without reaching a solution. One thing was for certain: the sparks between himself and Cassandra were real. The yielding softness of her lips wasn’t only in his imagination. For a few seconds there on the ground, she had kissed him back. The pliancy of her body under his had felt too good to have been anything else. However determined she was to hate him—and he did believe that was the case—she was affected by him physically, just as she affected him.
Grim-lipped, Gard unsaddled his horse and tended the animal. Maybe, he thought, this thing with Cassandra was a matter of which of them had the most determination. In any case, it wasn’t over. He still wanted a full explanation of what he’d supposedly done to get her clothes off, and yes, it would be mighty interesting to hear what she

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