Page 30 of Cassie
Show me
Cassie
The next time she woke it felt more in line with her normal routine. Heart jackhammering in her chest, she knifed upright and swung her legs to dangle off the edge of the bed. She sat there for a moment, elbows to knees as she pushed her hair back from her face, nightmare-triggered sweat chilling on her skin. Eyes to the floor, her gaze traced the tangle of clothing lying there, and she blinked in surprise.What?
There were a pair of boots on her floor, one upright, a sock draped over an edge, and one on its side, the companion sock nowhere in sight. A man’s boots.
Hoss. She recalled everything, memories washing over her in a rush. Her eyes sank closed as her chest hitched.I told him…everything.
Boots meant one of two things. Either she had freaked out so badly he had run from the house barefoot, uncaring of the gravel paths, or he was still here, in her house. Last night had been so confusing. First had been riding behind Hoss for the first time, something she’d enjoyed more than expected. The positioning on the seat a necessary intimacy, she’d taken advantage of, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Then dinner with his friends, and she’d only realized after the fact how much care had been put into the plans. Hoss had worked hard to create a safe space for her, and Cassie couldn’t remember the last time someone had done such a sweet thing.
They’d been back home when Hoss had held out his arms and she’d stepped into them. Just moved to him, into his arms as if she belonged there always. She’d felt so secure, even telling herself it was an unspoken promise when they tightened around her.
That promise had been immediately tested last night when she had not one but two freak-outs on the man.Then I had to go and tell him the entire sordid story. Cassie blinked fast, driving tears from her eyes.Promise tested and broken, just like me. Her eyes rolled almost of their own volition, then closed, holding back the sight of yet another failure.Poor little Cassie, did the bad men hurt you?She shook her head, ruthlessly shoving down the pain of Hoss leaving.Suck it up, buttercup. Shit happens.
Going to sleep next to him was nice. She snorted a laugh, because his absence proved it’d been a mistake. And the safety she’d felt in his arms would never again be experienced.Time to pick another door. She listened intently to the quiet permeating the house, then snorted again.Definitely a runner. With a sigh, she eyed the abandoned boots.A barefoot runner. Fingers folding into her palms, she fisted her hands, straining until the muscles in her arms shook.I’ll mail his property back to him. Then she straightened and with eyes still closed, began her morning ritual. As always, as ever—alone.
“Be a fucking lion,” she whispered. “Become the person you want to see in the mirror.” Rocking her head back and forth, she stretched her neck, settling back into place before saying, “Color outside the lines.” Tipping her head back, she told the ceiling, “Take back your power. They get nothing.”
Opening her eyes, she glanced towards the sign over the door, but her gaze stuttered and locked at the sight of the man standing in the doorway. With one shoulder propped against the frame, he was watching her, the line of his mouth stern and tight, lips pale where they pressed together.Hoss. Wearing only his jeans, he straightened and began to pad towards her. Her belly quivered and Cassie flicked her gaze up at the sign over the door and finished the ritual by reading the words aloud, her voice scarcely a whisper, “Actually, I just woke up one day and decided I didn’t want to feel like that anymore, or ever again. So I changed. Just like that.”
He stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Slowly he reached out, his leisurely movements giving her every chance to avoid the touch if she wanted. She stayed in place waiting until his palm settled against her cheek and then she leaned into him, the heat and touch, all his wealth of caring transformed into a physical expression of support. At her subtle surrender, his mouth curved, finally, and he bent to brush his lips over hers.
“Mornin’, darlin’.” His drawl was more pronounced this early, and she felt her lips tip into a small smile.
***
“Tell me again what process you go through to determine the supporting pieces you use to accent the main art?” Hoss’ demanding voice came from behind her where he sat on the couch.
Feet planted, she twisted in place to look at him, knowing she was scowling and not giving a damn how it looked on her face. “I don’t know. Didn’t I already tell you that? I don’t know, I just do. I look at the painting or drawing and I just do.”
“So, what do you think this one needs?”
“I don’t know. I can’t focus because someone is talking.”
“So you need quiet to do this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve nevernothad quiet in my house, so I don’t know.”
“You’re sayin’ you want me to shut up?”
“No, I’m not saying that. You’re saying that. I’m just not disagreeing.”
His laughter startled Cassie and she turned away, not wanting to see it since she knew how memories could become twisted. She wanted to experience it, like she had when he called her name last night and she’d felt it, so she closed her eyes now, soaking in the emotion flooding through the room. Happy. Relaxed.Strong. Opening her eyes, she looked at the painting of his dead wife and smiled, filled with a sudden knowing.
She turned and walked fast, moving through the house to her photo albums. Picking up the top one, she flipped through until she found what she wanted. Carrying the image in one hand, she went to a nearby bookshelf and thumbed the spines on the bottom shelf until she found a specific art book. A return to the photo albums had her placing one on top of the book, then Cassie grabbed her tablet on her way past the dining room table. When she got back to the living room, Hoss stood, but immediately moved further away, giving her space.
On her knees, she flipped through the album, fingertips pausing over first one picture then another, discarding them mentally as she continued to move through the pages.There. She pulled one picture from the album, and then two pages later, another. She almost closed it, but then quickly flipped towards the back, removing a final snapshot from the album.
Artbook next, she performed the same actions, flipping and hovering, then moving on. Finally, she found what fit, what worked, and she carefully ripped one picture out of the book. Then another.
Tablet in hand, she settled back onto her heels, glancing up at the painting from that supplicant’s position as she looked at images on the screen. Two hours later, she had placed half a dozen orders for various items, as well as prints of the things she had found in the book, and frames for her family photos.
Ass on the floor, she leaned against the couch and stared at the painting. Her eyes traced the profile of the woman Hoss had loved and lost, a strong measure of his love shining through this picture, and as with all of them, the emotion brought to life so bright it was blinding. She knew the story, had read a hundred accounts of how she died, the tragedy of her short life, and the gift she had given him. Faith. Their daughter.
“Show me,” he whispered, and without looking up at him, she turned the tablet over. The software was active and showed the painting and arrangement she intended to use with the other things she bought. “Beautiful.” His voice so soft and loving, she expected him to be looking up at the painting, at his wife, but when she turned to face him…he was looking at her. “My gorgeous gal.”
