Jackie Merritt - Rebel Love

www.millsandboon.co.uk

One

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Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Epilogue

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.