Silver James - Cowgirls Don't Cry

Cass pressed her lips together and lost the battle with her tears. They streaked her cheeks even as Boots pulled a faded red bandanna from his pocket and offered it to her. She took it and dabbed at her runny nose, but the tears continued. She leaned her head against the window.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, Cassie? I asked you to come home lots of times.”

“You could have told me he was dying.”

“I told you he was sick.”

Her temper flared. “There’s a big damn difference between sick and dying, Boots!” Her tears stopped as her anger surged.

“And there’s a big damn difference between being too stubborn to come home and make amends and being too busy to worry about your daddy.”

“He started it.” She winced. That sounded so petulant. But it was true. Her dad had fought her plans the whole way. If she had to go to college, why wasn’t one of the local universities good enough? Why did she have to go traipsing off where he’d never get to see her? She’d saved her barrel-racing money and made straight As to get an academic scholarship. Even so, she’d had to wait tables to make ends meet while in college. Then she got a job with the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Granted, she was far from rich, but she didn’t have to haul her butt out of bed at the crack of dawn to do barn chores. She didn’t have to muck the manure out of stalls or round up cattle too stupid to seek shelter in a storm.

Boots made a choking noise so she glanced over at him. His face shone with tears and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel indicated how upset he was. She leaned over the dog and placed her hand on his.

“You’re right, Uncle Boots.”

“Aw, honey. The two of you are so dang much alike. Stubborn to the core. But he loved you. And he was proud of you.”

“No.” She shook her head, unable to believe that. “No, he wasn’t. I disappointed him. I didn’t stay here to help with the ranch. I didn’t get married and give him grandbabies. I didn’t do anything with my life that he wanted me to do.”

“All he ever wanted was for you to be happy, baby girl.”

Cass didn’t know what to say. She knew in her heart Boots was wrong. She’d disappointed her dad from the day she’d turned eighteen, lost her virginity in the back of a pickup at the National Western Stock Show and Rodeo in Denver and decided she’d never get on a horse again.

The old truck rattled across a speed bump as Boots turned it into the parking lot at the funeral home. He pulled into a parking space and shoved the transmission into Park. Neither of them moved. She did not want to get out and walk inside that building. With its white-washed stucco and blue shutters topped by a red-tiled roof, the place looked more like a Mexican restaurant than a funeral home. Part of her wanted to ask Boots to just drive away. The other part knew that if she turned tail and ran she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

Cass sucked in a deep breath and held it. Letting the air hiss out slowly, she wiped her face and nose with the bandanna then stuck it in her pocket, just in case. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

The doors on the old truck creaked as they opened. Buddy jumped out after Boots, and he scolded the dog.

“Leave him be, Uncle Boots. He has as much right to say goodbye to Daddy as anyone.” She met him on the sidewalk and slipped her arm through his. “We can do this. Right?”

Boots patted her hand where it rested on his forearm. “You know what your daddy always said, sugar.”

“Yeah. Often and loudly.” She inhaled deeply again. “Cowgirls don’t cry, they just get back on and ride. I really hate that phrase, you know.”

He chuckled and gave her hand another pat.

Boots distracted the officious man who met them at the door while Cassie snuck past, Buddy at her heels. They were probably breaking some law but she didn’t care. Buddy needed this goodbye as much as she did.

Alone in a private viewing room a few minutes later, Cass stared at what used to be her father. A sheet covered his body from shoulders to toes. There’d be no burying clothes or makeup on his face since he’d be cremated once she left. The funeral home had kept the body solely for her chance to say goodbye.

His face had thinned with the years, as had his hair. And the crinkles around his eyes looked like they’d been etched in wax. This...thing wasn’t her father. He’d been full of life. Of laughter. And a few choice cuss words. She reached out as if to touch his hand but couldn’t follow through. The cancer had stolen his vitality. The thought of her skin touching that cold facsimile of her dad made her stomach roil.

“Oh, Daddy.” The words clogged up her throat as sorrow surged. “God, I miss you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. Please forgive me?” She closed her eyes against the salty sting, and her throat ached from swallowing her sobs. With her arms pressed across her stomach, she swayed with the rhythm of her grief. Something warm leaned against her leg, and Buddy’s whine joined her choking sobs. She dropped one hand to rest on the dog’s head, her fingers burrowing into the soft fur. “You miss him, too, Buddy. I know. What the hell are we going to do now?”

* * *

Chance sat in the bank’s parking lot making notes as he talked to Cash on the phone. “So Ben Morgan has a daughter.” An heir complicated matters, but he could file enough paperwork to keep the estate tied up until he could get the loan called. Morgan had been desperate so there was a balloon payment—due and owing on a date certain. “Do you have a name?”

“Cassidy. I’ve put a tracer on her. Oh, and speaking of, I have the information you wanted on that tag. Truck belongs to a guy named Baxter Thomas.”

A memory nudged him again. “Where do I know that name from?”

“Ya got me, Chance. Want me to run his financials?”

“No. Just do a quick Google search. See what comes up.” He drummed his fingers on the leather-clad steering wheel as he listened to clicking keys through the cell phone.

His brother’s low whistle caught his attention. “Now that’s interesting. Baxter Thomas is also Boots Thomas.”

“The rodeo clown?” They weren’t called that anymore—now they were called bullfighters, which was more appropriate to what they did inside the arena. Boots Thomas was a legend and anyone who’d ever traveled the rodeo circuit knew his name.

“That’s the one. And according to this article, he and Ben Morgan were partners in a rodeo stock company.” Cash whistled again. “And the plot thickens. Cassidy Morgan was a champion cowgirl back in the day, but she quit after winning the Denver Stock Show ten years ago. That’s the year you and Cord won the team roping up there.”

“Well, damn.” Had he met her on the rodeo circuit? He couldn’t put a face with the name so probably not. His rodeo career pretty much ended after that night. He graduated from college that spring and started law school soon after. He didn’t have time to chase steers or cowgirls.

“Chance? Are you listening?”

He wasn’t. “What?”

“There’s a memorial service for Morgan day after tomorrow at the Pleasant Hills Funeral Home. As near as I can figure, it’s a cremation. I suppose it’d be really uncool to serve her with the papers at the service.”

“Ya think? Jeez, Cash, you’ve been hanging around the old man too long. What time is the memorial?”

“Ten in the morning. Why? You aren’t thinking about actually showing up, are you?”

He didn’t examine his motives very closely as he answered. “It might be a good idea to go. Just to get a feel for things.” Business. This was just business. But he could do business without being a jerk—even if his father wanted to steal a ranch out from under his enemy’s grieving daughter. He didn’t believe in coincidences, but the odds of his mystery girl being Cassidy Morgan just kept getting better.