Free Shane (Remington Ranch Book 2) by SJ McCoy Page A

packaged in small and sweet. It doesn’t get any sexier than that.”
    “I know, Shane. I’ve heard it all before. It’s a very appealing proposition for a guy. But the reality turns out to be tougher than you expect. Then your ego suffers, then I get painted as the wicked bitch of the west. That’s what guys do. When you realize I’m too strong, you can’t admit that it’s because you’re too weak. So you demonize me in order to feel better about yourself.  I’m not up for that. I’d rather keep our banter going, have a laugh, be a friend even, but I don’t want to go down the same old road again. It sucks.”
    Wow! She was laying it all out for him.
    “So now you know. If all you’re after is a quick roll in the hay, you’re not going to get it, and if you’re after something more than that, you’re not going to get that either.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
    Shane held her gaze for a long moment, trying to choose the right words.
    She pointed to the door. “If you don’t mind? I’ve got work to do. Good night.”
    He nodded and grabbed his jacket. “Good night Cassidy.” He was surprised by the force with which the door slammed behind him. He grinned and made his way back to his truck.
    ~ ~ ~
    Cassidy slammed the door and then folded her arms across her chest. “Asshole!” she stalked over to the cupboard and pulled out a fresh canvas. She needed to paint when she was this angry—oils! No wishy-washy watercolor tonight. Her hand flew across the canvas with bold, bright strokes. Soon she was lost. Forty minutes later she sat back. Why had she been so angry anyway? Shane had only done exactly as she’d asked him to. She’d told him there was no hope and asked him to leave. Why should she be mad that he’d gone? She stared at her work. He was beautiful. Why the hell had she painted him? She’d captured his cocky-ass smile perfectly. She shook her head. She’d captured him perfectly—at least in oils—at least in outline. So maybe he’d gotten to her a little more than she cared to admit. She never painted anything she wasn’t passionate about. Hate was a passion, too, though, right? No. She wasn’t going to try to lie to herself. She liked the guy. Liked him far too much. She was angry that he’d left, because somewhere down deep inside, she’d hoped he’d fight for a chance. She’d hoped he’d try to convince her that he wasn’t like other guys—that he was strong enough to deal with her. She shrugged. He hadn’t even bothered. He’d just gone as soon as she’d asked. It wasn’t fair of her to be angry with him for respecting her wishes. He had plenty of options, he was probably pursuing one of them right now.
    She packed up her things and locked up the gallery. It was time to head home. She felt oddly deflated. Her prank on Shane hadn’t been the fun she’d thought it would be, and his ready acceptance of her rejection had left her feeling flat. She’d done herself out of the one male interest she’d had in a long time. She’d been dumb to lay it out so clearly for him. Now their sparring days would be over, and he wouldn’t flirt with her anymore. She should be glad; instead, she had a ball of disappointment lodged in her stomach. When she reached her Beetle she saw a note tucked under the wiper. She pulled it out, a smile spreading across her face as she read it.
    I don’t give up that easy Princess. You’re having dinner with me tomorrow—even if it’s only for banter and friendship. You can’t let another woman near me, so you have to take care of me remember?:0) Oh, and go back for the roses. They’ll need water!
    She laughed. How did he know she’d forget the roses? She hurried back to the gallery and picked them up, telling herself it was only because she didn’t want Gina to see them in the morning. As she locked the door a second time, a big hand came down on her shoulder. She turned around with a smile.
    “What are you still doing