The Calamity Janes: Cassie & Karen: Do You Take This Rebel?

“I don’t want to get into it now.”

“I do.”

“Then this will be just one more instance in life when you don’t get what you want. Get used to it,” she said.

The woman had developed a lot of spunk over the years; he had to give her that. Back when they’d been dating, she had been all brash bravado. Few people had ever seen past it to the vulnerable girl inside. Cole had. Now, though, her feistiness ran deeper, carried more conviction and self-confidence.

Still, he couldn’t seem to shake the memory of that tiny, fleeting glimpse of fear he’d caught earlier.

“I’m sorry if my father said something to upset you,” he offered, treading carefully, still hoping to get an honest explanation.

“He didn’t,” she insisted. “Your father doesn’t scare me. He never has.”

“But he tried to,” Cole guessed. What he couldn’t understand was why his father would do such a thing. For days now he’d been doing everything in his power to bring the two of them together. Was he just trying a different tactic with Cassie? Maybe a little reverse psychology, since his blatant scheming obviously hadn’t worked on Cole?

“I have to go,” Cassie said, ignoring his question. “I need to get out there to Jake before he gets it into his head to hitchhike back home.”

“I imagine my father’s keeping him company.”

The color drained out of her face at that. “All the more reason for me to go. I don’t want him influencing Jake in any way.”

“Are you suggesting he did a lousy job with me?” Cole said.

She shrugged. “If the shoe fits...” Her expression turned intense. “I meant what I said earlier, Cole, I don’t want Jake out here. And I don’t want you encouraging him to come. Are we clear about that?”

Her implication—that he and his father were somehow lousy role models for her son—grated. Added to the heat and tension that swirled in the air every time he and Cassie got together, it was more than Cole could take. He was overcome by a need to do something about it, to rattle her so badly she would lose that distant, disdainful expression.

Before he could consider the ramifications, he reached out and hauled her into his lap and settled his mouth over hers, muffling her gasp of protest.

She tasted of cinnamon and maybe a lingering hint of mint. Her lips were as soft as he’d remembered, if not nearly as willing as they had been even the other day at the picnic. She struggled in his arms, bit down on his lower lip. He winced at the taste of blood, became more determined than ever to tame her, to remind her of the way she had once melted in his arms.

He framed her face with his hands, looked long and deep into her flashing eyes, waited for the anger to die, then slanted his mouth over hers once more.