Page 4 of Cassie
Cassie’s walls
Hoss
Flighty as a hummingbird, he thought, catching her shift in expression from the corner of his eye.But, Jesus, she’s flat-out gorgeous when she smiles. He’d come along with the crew today after Tamera had dropped a mention about the buyer and he’d put two and two together to come up with his elusive art lover from the show.
Looking around at her collection, he thought it was gorgeous, too. His pieces on her walls looked right somehow, more at home than he could have ever dreamed or hoped for even if the arrangements were eclectic and interesting. Perfect, and thought-provoking. They appeared randomly arranged at first, spaced unevenly on the wall. Some frames were crowded around with a mix of pop culture pieces and what looked like photographs of her family. After moments spent studying each placement, he began to understand the method behind the puzzles. She had somehow matched the emotions of his paintings to the pieces that supported them, building on living sentiment and passion to create an arrangement that made his paintings…more.
Looking at them, he found his breath coming faster, heart pounding in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Ideas crowded his brain, the collaborative aspect feeding off the work giving rise to a thousand inspirations. Each frame held his art—those were his brushstrokes on canvas, but she’d morphed them into something so intensely personal it was as if she’d absorbed the passion imbued in each piece and returned it ten-fold.
“God, I love it. Every one of ’em.” He let his gaze sweep around the room again before landing back on the light-haired woman. Hoss didn’t like to see how her gaze flinched from him, but what she’d done had woken such excitement inside him he pushed through because he wanted—no,neededher to know he understood. “I get it. I totally get it, and what you’ve done with each display is amazing.”
Eyes wide, her gaze flicked past him to where the crew was working on hanging her latest acquisition. She didn’t say anything in response, just nodded slowly while staring at the men.Huh.
Disappointed at her lack of reply, he turned in a circle and noted an oddity on the short wall over the arch leading from this room out into her house. He recognized the saying, but it was out of place in this tiny home gallery. Not art, the Hunter S. Thompson quote was a cheesy, cheap font treatment mass produced and available at any number of low-cost outlets. Reading it, he wondered if it could possibly mean the same thing to her that it did him.Why the fuck should it matter to me?Hoss lost a brief battle against not caring and decided he absolutelyneededto know. “Hmmm. I like Thompson, too. Even so many years later, his words are relevant, yeah? This one especially, I always thought it was a mandate to live intentionally.”
“Yes.” Her voice was melodic, a sweetness that pulled him in like gravity. He turned to look at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, the darker hazel fading to a golden ring around her midnight pupils.God, beautiful. Hoss watched, mesmerized, as they dilated slightly, a thrill of discovery coiling down his spine that she also recognized the uniqueness of whatever this was between them.
Hoss’ mood changed a moment later and his stomach fell when he realized the look was fear, and not arousal as he first thought. She didn’t seem able to look away from the stare and the longer their gazes remained locked, the more her breathing sped up, grew ragged and out of control, her lips parting slightly as she panted for air.Jesus, I’m scaring the fuck out of her. He dipped his head, breaking the connection, giving her back her space.
“Always liked Thompson.” Hoss spoke softly, evenly, keeping his eyes fixed to the side. Using his peripheral vision, he registered she had flushed red again, probably embarrassed at the near panic she had been in when looking at him. “I do like how you’ve got my pieces displayed, Miss Williamson. Done ’em justice. They look very much at home on your walls.”
“Cassie,” she corrected him on a near whisper and he nodded, softly repeating her name back to her before offering her his true name.
“My friends call me Hoss.” He grinned, letting his gaze skip across her blazing face as he looked over to where the men were cleaning up the crate pieces they had disassembled to remove the framed painting.Shit, have we been here that long already?“I’d like it if you called me that, too.” With regret, he saw they were ready to go and squared his shoulders towards the wall, looking at the painting of Hope on this stranger’s wall.Not a stranger.Contentment settled inside him in that certain knowledge.She’s on Cassie’s wall. “What will you surround my golden girl with?”
“I met your kids once,” she blurted, “at a show.” When he turned, he saw her fingers twisting into the fabric of her shirt, stretching and folding the hem. She looked terrified at having spoken, mouth now clamped tight.
He knew the smile he wore was proud and caring, because those were the strongest emotions he had inside him these days. “Love my kiddos,” he told her with a nod, and then asked, “were they behaving that night?”
“Oh, yes,” she said softly, and he studied her, capturing a mental snapshot of her face. Her expression was a dichotomy of emotion, shame and joy mixed together. She was staring at a painting of Sam and Faith, his son and daughter. Done a decade ago, when Faith was barely five, Hoss had enjoyed putting this vignette of protective devotion to canvas. Faith was shown balancing on the blades of tiny skates while Sammy bent over her from behind, holding his hands out to steady her. Framed in his arms, he was helping her glide across the expanse of open ice in front of them both, freeing and shielding her all at the same time. The look on his boy’s face was intent, Sammy’s focus firmly and totally fixed on his little sister, determined to keep her safe.
“Good.” He stepped towards Cassie, gratified when this time she stood her ground, not retreating before him. Holding out a hand, he waited, remembering only belatedly that Tamera had said the woman had some quirks about being touched.Shame she hadn’t mentioned the overwhelming fear, too, he thought with a frown. He hated he had caused this pretty woman any distress at all, found it insufferable that she looked more fragile now than when she first opened the door. Hated the memory of watching the eagerness bleed from her face when she’d found him standing on her front porch.
Tentatively Cassie reached out, slipping her hand palm-first into his and he folded his fingers around, holding the heat and unexpected strength found in her grip tightly for a moment, watching as her lips parted on an indrawn breath. Reluctantly, he released her hand and saw her lips move slightly, the bottom one bowing up sweetly before she rolled them into a flat line, biting down. He frowned. Again, he was causing her distress he didn’t understand but did not like one bit. “Cassie, it has surely been my pleasure to meet ya. Thank you for giving me a chance to see things from your perspective.” With intentional emphasis, he told her, “I’ve enjoyedeverythingI’ve seen today immensely.”Everything, including you.
With a brief shake of his head, he rejected the thought and heard the screen door close behind the movers. “I hope you have a really good day.” That was heartfelt, and he saw her lips quirk. Then, knowing what Tamara expected from him, Hoss followed with a less sincere, “Thank you for your support,” seeing that almost-smile fall from her lips faster than it had appeared, wiped away by his impersonal words.
He walked towards the door and turned, surprised to find her right behind him. Looking down at her, he stopped for a minute, seeing the question in her eyes at his abrupt change of direction. “If you are ever interested in seeing my studio, to see the pieces I don’t display for shows, I’d be pleased to give you a tour.”What the hell?Did you just invite this stranger into your house?With an inward snort, he realized that at least he was inviting her, she wouldn’t just be showing up on the doorstep like he had today, demanding a welcome no matter the unexpected nature of the visit.
Pain flowed across her features, and the muscles in her arms and neck tightened, turning any softness into hard, corded tension until she was fairly quivering as she stood there. “Mr. Rogers.” He frowned, not liking the retreat to impersonal words any more than she had. With apparent effort, she corrected herself. “Hoss.” Her gaze lifted to his face, and he nodded encouragement. “Hoss, I’m sorry. I doubt I could make that work.” At his repeated name from her mouth, he smiled, then frowned at the rest of her response. A heavy disappointment he hadn’t expected wedged tightly in his chest.
Digging his wallet out of his back pocket, he twisted the chain out of the way and retrieved one of his personal business cards. Holding it out, he waited for her to take it, which she did, her fingertips now carefully avoiding his, and he was surprised at the sense of loss that gave him. As if he’d instinctively wanted one final reminder of the connection he’d so briefly felt. “My cell number is on there. Text me, or call me, we’ll set up something that will work, Cassie. I’llmakeit work. I promise.”
***
Cassie
She watched him stalk down the front steps and over to where a monster of a motorcycle was parked at the curb behind the truck. Standing beside it, he shook the hands of the deliverymen and then reached out, doing something along the handlebars of the bike. She jolted when the machine started, the low, deep rumble rubbing up against something deep inside her, and she liked the sense of thrill it gave her. Coiled power, sitting hobbled, just waiting for someone to take control and direct it.Maybe that’s something I can do. It would be solitary, but in the world.
Filing that thought away, she moved to close the door, halting in place when he turned to look back at her house. She raised one hand in farewell, and he raised his chin with a jerk and a smile. His hands were busily working to roll and fold his sleeves up, then he lifted one hand and unbuttoned his shirt midway down his chest. As she watched, mesmerized by the smoothness of his movements, he tugged black gloves onto his hands, and then slipped his arms into a jacket, rolling his shoulders to settle it into place. He swung a leg across the motorcycle and lifted it upright, holding the bike in place with strong, thick thighs as he raised the kickstand, all the while that rumble rubbed up against her again and again. She shivered as she watched him pull smoothly into the street and envied the wide grin on his face as he rode away.Maybe so.
