Free Silken Threads by Monica Barrie Page A

horses—bred specifically for ridding, and Kirk saw the powerful stallion was no exception. Its conformation was perfect, its color exactly what the books said. Dark grayish-black spots proliferated along a silky white body. It was easy to see the horse had the prerequisite amount of Arabian bloodlines.
    “He’s a beauty,” Kirk commented.
    “And he’ll sire a hell of a good line of riding horses,” Hank added.
    “Why don’t we sign those papers so I can give you your check?”
    “Fine. Your men called ’bout an hour ago. Said some roadwork held them up. Won’t be here till dark.”
    “No problem, Hank. Just tell them to load up and give me a call before they take off. We’ll be at the Best Western.”
    “One room or two?” Hank asked with another smile.
    “I wish it were two motels.”
    “Look, son,” Hank said, his face serious, “I’ve known you for a few years, and I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like that. Why are you so down on her?”
    “Ready to sign those papers?” he asked, disregarding the pointed question the man who had hired him nine years ago, when he’d finished college, had asked so perceptively.
    Twenty minutes later Kirk returned to the car.
    “Finished?” Cassandra asked.
    “Uh-huh,” Kirk replied.
    “Now where?” she asked, hating the way Kirk was staring straight ahead. Once again, tension filled the air. Cassandra hated that, too.
    “Don’t worry, you won’t get dirty. We’re going to the motel.”
    “Kirk,” Cassandra began, wanting to apologize for what had happened yet refusing to explain her actions to him. “You could have told me why you suggested I change.”
    “Am I going to have to spend the next year explaining everything that happens? Why not try to use the brain you were born with? You’re not in New York anymore!” he snapped, starting the car as he uttered the last word.
    They made the drive back to Sheridan in total silence, and when Kirk registered at the motel, he did it quickly and efficiently. They had rooms side by side on the second floor, and Kirk handed her the key and started off.
    “At least have the courtesy to wait for me,” Cassandra whispered angrily. “This suitcase is heavy.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Kirk replied sarcastically. Reaching the elevator, he leaned against the wall and waited for her to follow with the large suitcase.
    He let her struggle with it, knowing if he went to help her, he would be giving in. When she reached him, he pressed for the elevator. A moment later the door hissed open, and he stepped inside, again waiting for her to hoist the suitcase and follow him.
    They both looked straight ahead at the silver door until the elevator doors opened on their floor. Kirk again took the lead and walked halfway down the hall to their rooms. As he put his key into the lock, he heard Cassandra do the same.
    Before he could open the door, Cassandra spoke. Her tone was light, her voice sweet. “Kirk?”
    Kirk turned, his face set in a scowl, his eyebrows raised, waiting.
    “You’re a prick, but you’re not going to scare me off,” she said in a flat, low voice.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. Then he went into his room and closed the door.
    ~~~~
    Cassandra turned off the water and stepped from the shower stall into the steam-filled bathroom. Her nerves were still tight, and her mind was as unsettled as ever. Her rage was seething and strong, and she dried herself so roughly that her skin turned an angry shade of crimson.
    “How dare he!” she yelled to the moisture-filmed mirror. “He has no right to treat me like this!”
    Her breasts rose and fell forcefully under the power of her emotions. “He doesn’t know me! But he will!” she promised.
    She left the bathroom, but stopped when she saw her shoes lying on the floor near the bed. The mud had ruined the expensive heels, and Cassandra knew they would never be fit to wear again.
    “Damn him!” she yelled to the shoes. As it had happened on the plane,