2 

Sorry we were late, Cass, but Market Street was a zoo.” Allison McClare plopped on the lavender canopied bed in the spacious guestroom where Cassie would stay for the summer, obviously unconcerned about wrinkling her full-length chiffon dress. She lay on her side, elbow cocked and head in her hands. “It was awful—a horse and buggy reared when a Benz truck tried to outrun a cable car. Hadley braked so hard, I almost ended up in his lap in the front seat of the Packard.” Her lips took a twist. “Which wouldn’t have been the first time since the poor dear is near deaf and can barely hear shouts or horns, not to mention he forgot his glasses—again.”

Cassie grinned. “How is sweet Hadley? Rosie still picking on him?”

Her cousin chuckled. “Of course, although not as much as she picks on Uncle Logan, for pity’s sake.” She shook her head. “Goodness, maybe it’s just men Rosie can’t abide because she sure rides Uncle Logan without mercy. But dear Hadley?” There was a smile in her tone, laced with affection. “The sweet man’s only sin, apparently, was being Uncle Logan’s butler growing up, yet he takes Rosie in stride, as usual. I feel so sorry for him because Mother had to rig this thunderous gong in the kitchen when the doorbell rings, which annoys Rosie to no end.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, Hadley’s vision isn’t much better, so Mother sent him to the optician to get glasses as thick as soda pop bottles.” She giggled. “Makes his eyes look three times their size and rather like the sweetest owl. Of course, he misplaces them a lot, which drives Rosie absolutely crazy when they work in the kitchen. But he’s such a dear, nobody minds if he can’t see or hear or runs late.” She paused, grating her lip with an impish smile. “But then . . . it rather sounds like this is one time ‘late’ may have been a good thing . . .”

An armful of dresses in hand, Cassie slid her cousin a wry look on her way to the wardrobe, lips swerving off-center. “Absolutely. A potent reminder of just why I left Texas.”

“Mmm . . . just how potent are we talking?” Mischief tipped the edges of Alli’s rose-colored lips while green eyes twinkled, the exact color of her delicate jade earrings, another gift from Nana. Soft strays of ebony curls from her upswept Gibson Girl hairstyle framed her face, a perfect complement to cream-colored skin. A summer breeze fluttered both her curls and her sheer, ruffled sleeves while sunlight blazed through French doors overlooking a garden where pink rosebushes wreathed an Aphrodite fountain.

Hefting the clothes with a grunt, Cassie hung them in the wardrobe with a roll of her eyes, determined that Alli understood loud and clear men were not on her list of sights to see. Especially pretty men. “Too potent for his own good, and ours, I can tell you that. A pretty-boy yahoo with dark, curly hair, chiseled jaw, hypnotic eyes, and more ‘mussels’ than San Francisco Bay.” Cassie shivered. “Sweet Texas tea, it’s enough to drive me into a convent.”

Alli chuckled and rolled over, head on a plush eyelet pillow. “Probably not—I’m pretty sure they don’t allow boots, lassos, or spurs.”

“Or blue jeans and a Stetson,” Cassie said with a scowl. She fingered a coiled rope in the bottom of her suitcase, rubbing the smooth hemp between forefinger and thumb. A smile tugged at the sudden thought of “Pretty Boy” all trussed up like a steer. Closing her eyes, she imagined breathing in the sweet smell of hemp and home, and instantly tranquility flooded. Quirky certainly, and maybe even a little bit odd, but nothing calmed Cassie like the feel of a lasso in her hand. Since her father had taught her to rope a fencepost at the age of four, she’d been a little girl who snuggled with a lariat at night rather than a blanket or bear, preferring tying knots and rope tricks to baby dolls and tea parties. The edge of her mouth crooked. And it had certainly come in handy once or twice with boys who had taunted her as well. Her smile went flat. Too bad Mark had gotten under her skin before she could hog-tie him and send him packing.

Alli jolted up, nose in a scrunch. “Wait—please tell me you did not bring that nasty old rope with you all the way from Texas. For mercy’s sake, Cass, heaven knows where it’s been!”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed as she hugged the lariat to her chest, chin high. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring my Winchester, Allison ‘Priss’ McClare, and this top-grade piece of hemp has been with me since I was a tot, I’ll have you know—in my bed at night and on my hip at the ranch.”

Allison’s smile tipped. “Yes, I know, Annie Oakley—you slept in my bed many a summer, remember? But good gracious, Cass, I’d rather my cousin not smell like a horse.”

Grazing the rope to her cheek, Cassie drew in a deep breath filled with the smell of horse and hay and home. She blinked, desperate to dispel the moisture beneath her lids, but it was no use. The fight leaked from her voice as a tear leaked from her eye, stealing her trademark spunk. “It calms me, Al,” she said quietly, fingering the twine. “Makes me feel safe and in control.”

Sympathy radiated from Alli’s eyes. “Something you didn’t feel with Mark, I guess?”

“No,” she whispered, chest constricting at the memory of Mark asking for his ring back, robbing her of her future as well as her heart.

“Well, you can’t convert,” Alli teased, obviously trying to lighten Cassie’s mood. “No convent would take a nun who smells like a horse and has a lariat on her hip instead of a rosary.”

Cassie’s smile rebounded, as dry as her tone. “Wish I’d had the rope on my hip at the train station, I can tell you that,” she muttered. “Would’ve lassoed Pretty Boy and tied him up nice and neat with a pretty, little bow.” She fumbled with the buttons of her infernal high-necked shirtwaist. “And at least hiding away in a convent is better than being a sitting duck for some fortune-hunting man.” She heaved a weighty sigh before slipping the blouse off and sailing it toward a purple velvet settee. “Or maybe I should say ‘sitting pigeon’ given these ridiculous pigeon blouses we’re forced to wear. I’d like to wring Charles Gibson’s neck for turning us all into air-deprived Gibson Girls.” She huffed. “Along with that pretty-boy polecat at the station. No doubt he’s another louse like Mark Chancellor, and obviously not very bright.”

“You don’t know that,” Alli said with a grin.

“Oh, yes I do.” Cassie issued a grunt. “Expecting me to swoon over a two-timer like him? Humph! Face it, Al—I’ve always been good with numbers, and trust me—I had his the minute he asked me to lunch. Like Daddy says, the boy’s plumb weak north of the ears.” She flopped down on the bed, and before she could rein them in, more tears glossed in her eyes. “Botheration, Al, why do men have to be such rats?”

Alli shifted to face her. “They’re not all rats,” she said softly, giving Cassie’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Blake’s not too bad for a brother, you know, and he’s got a couple of dreamy friends that are really nice. And then there’s Uncle Logan . . .” She paused, a wrinkle wedging her nose. “Although I suppose he’s not the best example since he is still single and a bit of a rogue.” She puffed out a sigh. “But even so, he is pretty wonderful, so not all men are rats like Mark.”

Cassie loosened the buttons of her voile skirt, a wry tilt to her lips. “Maybe not, but a Texas-size rat like Mark has a way of curbing a girl’s interest in any man.”

“Mercy’s sake, I hope not.” Alli sat straight up. “I’ve got an itch for adventure this summer, Cass, and I need you to be focused and engaged.”

Cassie arched a brow.

“Whoops. Sorry,” Alli said, offering a feeble grin. “Poor choice of words.”

A wispy sigh drifted from Cassie’s lips. “Well, I’ll go where you want me to go, Al, but don’t expect me to turn on the Texas charm for any of the Romeos you have in mind.” She shimmied off both her skirt and several layers of petticoats, pitching them on top of the blouse. “The idea of flirting with a man right now is as blasted uncomfortable as these ridiculous female trappings.” She scooted around, her back to Alli. “Here—untie this silly S-curve corset Mother made me wear, will you? Sweet suffering saints, why do women put up with these things?”

Alli’s low chuckle blew warm against Cassie’s neck. “To turn heads, Cass,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “and trust me, with this gorgeous flaxen hair of yours, your dainty figure, and those mesmerizing green eyes, you are going to turn aplenty.” She wrinkled her nose. “That is, if I can manage to hide the boots.”

“Don’t you dare touch my boots!” Stays loosened, Cassie immediately gulped in a deep draw of air before pumping it out again. “Besides, the only male head I want to turn right now is Mark Chancellor’s.” Her smile was devious. “Preferably with a slap of my dainty hand.”

Alli’s laughter filled the spacious bedroom with a musical sound, warming Cassie inside as much as the hazy shafts of sunlight that streamed through the French doors. Her cousin gave her a playful squeeze of her neck. “Well, trust me—we are going to do everything in our power to see you have a wonderful summer and forget all about Mark Chancellor.”

“Who?” Cassie said with a tight hug. “I barely remember the sorry excuse for a man.”

“Good!” Alli bounced up. “Because your total lapse of memory begins at dinner tonight.”

“What?” Cassie jolted up. “Wait—it’s just family tonight, right?”

Alli spun around without answering, hurrying to rifle through her cousin’s dresses until she found one of the fussy evening gowns Cassie’s mama had forced her to pack. “Here we go,” she said with a bright smile, holding up a sea-foam green taffeta Mama swore matched the pale green of her eyes. “Mother thought it might be fun to dress up for your first night, so this is perfect.” She gnawed on her lip. “Of course you’ll have to wear the swan-bill corset . . .”

“Perfect-for-what?” Cassie enunciated carefully, quite certain she didn’t really want to know. “Or maybe I should say for ‘whom,’ because I refuse to truss up like a show horse.”

“Come on, Cass,” Alli said with a pout. “You’re my best friend and I’ve missed you. It’s your first night in San Francisco in forever, and we just want it to be special. Is that a crime?”

Cassie drew in a calming breath and released it in a show of humility. “Okay, okay . . . I’ll wear the stupid dress and straitjacket corset, only please—tell me it’s only family tonight.”

“Absolutely,” Alli said with a flourish, laying the whispery pale-green dress on the bed. She stood up straight with a gleam in her eye, hands clasped behind her back. “After all, Bram is a fourth cousin, and Jamie spends so much time here, he’s practically family anyway.”

The blood leeched from Cassie’s face, no doubt tingeing her skin the same seasick green as the dress. Oh, good—a perfect match. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were a rusty rasp like Daddy’s cowhands the morning after a night in town. “J-Jamie? Bram?”

Alli all but preened, the same mischief in her face as when she used to dare Cassie to join her on forbidden adventures. “Oh, you remember Bram—you met him briefly the summer we went to Europe. He and Jamie are Blake’s best friends. Trust me, you’re going to love them.”

“Trust you?” Cassie croaked, eyes narrowing considerably. “You were the one who saddled me with Theodore Swaller at your eighteenth birthday party, if you recall.”

“Oh, boo, that’s right.” Alli scrunched her nose, then quickly dismissed the incident with a wave of her hand. “Well, don’t worry, Jamie and Bram are both taller than you, neither has lazy eye, and you know,” she said with a finger to her chin, “I don’t think there’s a single pimple between the two.” She squinted in thought. “At least I don’t think so . . .”

Cassie hurled an eyelet pillow at her cousin. “So help me, Allison Erin McClare, if either of these two clowns have any notion of sparking me, I will hold you personally responsible.”

“You have nothing to worry about.” Alli snatched the pillow midair. “Bram’s a sweetheart and a perfect gentleman.” Her smile turned wayward. “And Jamie’s just plain perfect.”

A hoarse groan dragged from Cassie’s lips. “Please tell me he’s not one of those womanizing scoundrels I just escaped in Texas.”

Alli tilted her head. “Well, there is a bit of the rogue in the boy, no question about that, but you have nothing to worry about, I assure you. He and Patricia Hamilton have been very cozy lately, and she’ll be here tonight. I hope you don’t mind, but my best friend Lydia Hamilton is sweet on Blake, so I invited her as well as her sister Patricia.” Her nose bunched. “Not all that crazy about Trish as she tends to monopolize Jamie, but Senator Hamilton has this crazy rule—you invite Liddy, you invite her sister. So you see—you should be able to relax and make new friends without fear of anyone ‘sparking’ you.” Alli bobbled the pillow with a smirk before aiming it back. “That is . . . if you still know how after keeping company with horses and pigs.”

“Leave Mark out of this,” Cassie said with an evil grin. Alli’s pillow pelted the side of her head and she giggled, memories of pillow fights and slumber parties thickening the walls of her throat. Her cousins McClare were the only family she’d ever really known except for Mama and Daddy, and goodness, Alli, Meg, and Maddie were far more like sisters. Ostracized by the snooty Humble elite for her eccentric ways, Cassie had lived for summers in San Francisco or trips to Europe, precious moments with family that always made her feel like she’d come home.

Home. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. The perfect place to heal.

“Wait—are you crying?” All jest faded from Alli’s face as she hurried to where Cassie sat on the bed. Sidling in, she tucked her head to Cassie’s, an arm cradling her back. “Gosh, I’m sorry about Theodore, but I was just jealous ’cause Peter Rutherford liked you better than me.”

Cassie’s smile swerved. “I had sore feet and a sick stomach for days, not to mention a head cold after Norman Godfrey cornered me in the billiard room.”

“Oops. But I apologized, remember?” Alli said with a sincere dip of brows.

“Only after Peter Rutherford invited you to visit his parents’ Napa vineyard.”

“Oh, double boo, that’s right.” She grated her lip, then glanced up with a conciliatory smile. “But actually, Cass, I did you a favor. Peter gave me a personal tour of the wine cellar, and trust me, it left a sour taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the grapes.”

Cassie’s jaw dropped. “You never told me that!”

Alli bumped her shoulder with a sheepish smile. “Couldn’t—I was too embarrassed.”

“Well, serves you right, you little brat.” Cassie pinched her waist. “But so help me, Al, if either of these two clowns corner me in the billiard room tonight, I’ll be showing you ‘sour.’ ”

Allison lunged away, giggles bouncing off the walls as she sashayed to the door. She turned in a dramatic pose, hand on the knob. “Or thank me,” she said with a dance of her brows. “Because trust me—these two make Mark Chancellor look like the rump of your prize filly.”

A deep-down chuckle rolled from Cassie’s lips, the first real laugh she’d had in way too long. Alli winked and closed the door, leaving Cassie with an image of Mark she could live with.

That of a horse’s behind.