Free Silken Threads by Monica Barrie

might be more comfortable,” he’d told her.
    Cassandra had decided to wear the dress she had on, along with the three-inch heels that complemented it so perfectly. Now, beneath her feet was only muddy, rocky earth, treacherous footing for high heels, to say the least.
    Refusing to acknowledge her error and give him a sense of victory, Cassandra smiled, released the hand that was turning her own to a burning cinder, and followed him as best she could.
    Within seconds after leaving the car, Cassandra forgot her difficulty in walking, as the varied smells of the ranch struck her. She smelled a myriad of things—earth, hay—but most pervasive of all was the concentrated scent of horses.
    Unable to stop it, tentacles of fear infiltrating her mind, making her unsteady walk even more unsteady. By sheer dint of her willpower, Cassandra forced herself to stand straight and not allow her shivering to turn into full tremors.
    She concentrated on the man ahead of her, seeing only his broad back. But even the powerful aura of his masculinity offered no relief.
    Halfway to the corral, a gruff voice called out to them. Kirk turned, a smile on his face. “Hello, Hank,” he said as he shook the man’s hand.
    “’lo Kirk, been waiting for you.” As he spoke, he glanced at Cassandra, his face open and questioning.
    “Cassandra Leeds, meet Hank Lomax, owner of the Broken Spur.”
    Cassandra took the large hand he extended to her. “A pleasure, Miss Cassandra,” he said in a heavy western accent. Then he glanced at her feet and saw what she was wearing. “Perhaps you’d like to wait in the house. Wouldn’t want you to twist one of those purty ankles. Besides,” he added with an understanding smile, “you’ll get awfully dirty at the corral.”
    “So I’ve been noticing. But thank you anyway, I’d like to go along.”
    “Sure thing, just watch out for the rocks; they can be tricky.”
    Cassandra nodded, trying to squeeze out a smile she didn’t feel. She started after the men once again, but when they were twenty feet from the corral, Cassandra’s legs refused to move as fear gripped her in its paralyzing vise. She stared at the corral, and at the suddenly gigantic stallion, whose pinkish flaring nostrils and wide dark eyes, riveted her to the spot. When the stallion whinnied loudly, she shivered again. “Kirk,” she called, forcing her voice not to break.
    Kirk turned and saw her standing still. “Need help?” he asked.
    “I ... I think I’ll wait by the car; I really am getting filthy.” The moment the words were out, she saw the disappointment on his face. His eyes, which had been so friendly since their conversation in the plane, went cold.
    “We’ll be done in a little while,” he told her as he turned around and continued on to the corral.
    Cassandra stood there for several seconds before gaining the strength to move and make her way slowly and carefully back to the car.
    “She doesn’t seem to be your type,” Hank commented a moment after they reached the corral. “City girl and all. Sure doesn’t like to get that purty outfit dirty, does she?”
    “How could you tell?” Kirk asked, unable to keep the tightness out of his voice.
    “I got to admit she is a looker though.”
    “And spoiled rotten. No, Hank, you’re right, she’s not my type.”
    “Then who is she?” Hank Lomax asked, eyeing Kirk carefully.
    “The boss’s daughter. I’m baby-sitting,” Kirk stated as he turned to look at the stallion. He realized it was truer than he’d wanted to admit. Gregory Leeds had been honest with him: He was playing nursemaid to Cassandra.
    “That may not be too bad a job.”
    “You want it?” Kirk asked angrily.
    Hank just smiled. “No, thanks. I’m happy doing what I do best,” he said, nodding pointedly at the stallion.
    “Fifteen hands. Not bad,” Kirk said.
    “He’s a handsome one, Kirk.”
    “He is,” Kirk agreed as he began to study the stallion.
    Appaloosas were pure riding