Rough, Raw, and Ready (Rough Riders #5)(10)

A relative? Chassie patted Brandy’s shoulder in a false show of comfort. “Aw, honey, you oughta wear your glasses all the time so you don’t get so confused.”


Brandy retorted, “You tellin’ me the gorgeous guy you were cozied up to ain’t your kin?”


“Nope.”


“Good Lord.” Brandy’s smooth white hand stopped mid hair fluff. “And Trevor didn’t mind you slow dancin’ so suggestively with another man?”


“Trevor encouraged it actually.”


“Did he encourage that man to kiss you too?”


Damn. Chassie didn’t have near the experience with the female game of cat and mouse as the catty Brandy did. She tried a breezy laugh. “Oh that? It didn’t bother Trevor in the least.”


“How very…interesting.” Brandy leaned into the mirror to check the concealer under her eyes. “So who is this mystery man who’s allowed to kiss you in public?”


“A friend of Trevor’s. They used to be ropin’ partners on the circuit a few years back.”


Done with her hair and face, Brandy spritzed on perfume. “He’s just visiting?”


“For now. But I don’t mind tellin’ you I hope he sticks around. He’s really good with his hands.” When Brandy froze mid-thirty-ninth spritz, Chassie bit her cheek to keep from laughing. She amended, “I mean, he’s a good hand.”


“Oh.” A malicious spark flared in Brandy’s eyes. “I’m not surprised he’s the wayward type. You seem to have a thing for picking up, ah, stray former rodeo cowboys.”


Brandy might as well have sneered washed-up rodeo cowboys. Chassie allowed another smug grin. “Yeah, it’s a terrible chore watchin’ all those big muscles bulging as my strays are workin’ up a sweat. I especially hate the way they strut around in old, tight-fittin’, faded Wranglers as they’re loadin’ haybales or bent over machinery. It does get tiresome, them constantly tryin’ to take care of me.”


“Yes, I can see how the orphaned country girl scenario might be appealing to men like that—for a while. But we both know how easily cowboys get bored and move on.”


Chassie nodded. “That is the sad truth. Which reminds me, didn’t your boyfriend Stevo go back to his pregnant wife?”


“Ex-wife,” she spit. “And for your information, I ended it before he crawled back to that low-class breeder bitch.”


“Good for you. Nice chattin’, Brandy. See ya around.” Chassie made a beeline for the door before things deteriorated.

Chassie didn’t hate many people, but snotty Brandy Martinson topped the list. From the first day they’d wound up in the same first grade class, Brandy had turned her pert, freckled nose up at Chassie. Brandy was a pampered town girl; Chassie a poor rural girl.


Brandy’s natural blonde hair and big blue eyes were the ideal, whereas Chassie’s mixed ethnicity meant looks of pity rather than jealousy. As she matured, Chassie accepted her heritage both as an Indian and a rancher, while Brandy maintained her air of superiority for being born pretty, white, and privileged. Years later Brandy still relished putting Chassie in her place, since she considered Chassie far beneath her social status.

A mental snort sounded in Chassie’s head. As if Wyoming was the pinnacle of high society. As if being a “nail technician specialist” meant something besides Brandy filed fake claws and gossiped all day while drinking Diet Coke.

But she hated Brandy still had the power to make her feel like a dirty little rez reject.

Chassie wasn’t paying attention as she shuffled down the darkened hallway. She glanced up from her seen-better-days turquoise ropers into her husband’s smiling face.

“You all right, darlin’? You been gone a long time. I was gettin’ worried.”


She wrapped her arms around Trevor’s waist, melting into him. “I’m better now that you’re here. God, Trevor, I love you. Thank you for marrying me.”


Trevor tipped her head back so he could look in her eyes. “Baby? What’s really goin’ on?”


Crisis of faith. Sometimes when faced with the type of woman Trevor used to date and could’ve married, she wondered why he’d chosen her. “Nothin’ that dancin’ with you won’t cure.”


“Be a pleasure to put a smile back on this pretty face I love so much.” He guided her to the dance floor and held her closely through four songs. After the last note of the steel slide twanged, she stepped back. “Thanks, handsome.”


He kissed her square on the mouth. “You’re welcome. But you’re gonna hafta block my lower half until we get to the table, ’cause dirty dancin’ with you like that always gives me a hard-on.”


“I noticed. That’s sweet, Trev.”


“Sweet?” he growled. “I ain’t feelin’ sweet. Not. At. All.”


“You can show me your not-so-sweet side when we get home. But I am feelin’ guilty for abandoning Edgard.”


“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”


Once the crowd parted, she caught a glimpse of Edgard. He wasn’t alone, but he didn’t appear too pleased about his visitor.