Raising the Stakes

“Cut what out? You cannot possibly meet this guy looking like a cross between Mary Poppins and Velvet Brown.”

“That’s exactly the point. I’m not meeting… Who?”

“Mary Poppins. The nanny with necklines up to her chin and sleeves to her wrists.”

“I know who Mary Poppins is. Who’s Velvet Brown?”

Cassie blew a strand of dark hair off her forehead. “Jeez, it’s sweltering in here. Turn the AC up, will you?”

“It’s up as high as it goes.”

“Yeah, well, you need to buy a new unit.”

“My landlady needs to buy a new unit, not me. And you didn’t answer my question. Who’s Velvet Brown?”

“National Velvet,” Cassie said briskly, tugging her hands free.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you watch old movies?”

“No. And will you please stop dragging stuff from my closet? I told you, I’m not—”

“National Velvet. Elizabeth Taylor. Do you know who she is? A gorgeous actress. She was maybe sixteen then, with this big, wonderful horse…”

Dawn sank down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m lost,” she said, “totally lost.”

“I told you, it’s a movie. Makes me weepy whenever I see it, Velvet and her horse…”

“What does an old movie and a horse have to do with me?”

“Everything. You have stuff you wear to work—and then there’s crud like this.” Cassie stepped from the closet, nose wrinkled, a pair of well-used boots dangling from her fingers. “You mucking out stables in your spare time, or what?”

“Or what,” Dawn said, trying to sound casual. She rode with Tommy almost every Sunday. She’d never been on a horse until she’d sent him to the ranch and she still didn’t ride very well, but her son loved horses—and what was a woman with a son to protect doing, violating her own rules? No men. No dates. No desire for either. That was the comfortable pattern she’d followed for four long years. “Cass.” She took a deep breath. “Listen to me. I am not going to meet that man.”

“Yes, you are, and in less than an hour, so help me decide what you should wear.”

“I’m not. I don’t want to meet him for drinks and dinner. Drinks, for God’s sake.” Dawn groaned and fell backward across the bed, her arms stretched out in supplication. “I don’t drink drinks! And if I did, I wouldn’t drink them with him. What got into me? Why’d I ever agree to this?”

“You agreed because you’re a living, breathing woman and he’s the most gorgeous thing in Vegas.”

“I thought you said Keir was the most gorgeous thing in Vegas.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did. Why don’t you ask him for a date?”

“Who? Keir?” Cassie went back into the closet. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. You’ve asked men out before.”

“Keir isn’t `men,’ he’s—he’s Keir. He’s an O’Connell. And we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about… Aha!”

“Aha, what?”

“Aha, you’ve been holding out. You do, too, have real clothes. Female clothes.” Cassie emerged from the closet and smiled triumphantly. “White jeans. Black silk T-shirt. Catch.”

The jeans and shirt sailed into Dawn’s lap. She’d bought the outfit for a Rocking Horse Ranch Parents and Kids dinner. The first time around, she’d bought a dress. A Mary Poppins dress, she thought wryly.