Meet Cash Stetson...

Below is the continuation of the scene I previously shared with you. To know Cash Stetson is to hate him. Unfortunately for Lilly, the thin line between love and hate has been blurred a few times. When she comes back home, it's even harder for her to decide if she should continue to harbor ill-will. Read the book when it comes out and you decide whether Cash is a doer of dastardly deeds or if he's a reformed trouble maker looking for a second chance...

Cash Stetson hadn’t changed. Oh, he had, of course. Those shoulders had gotten broader, the muscle in his arms heftier and less sinewy than his pitching days. The clean shaven jaw no longer resembled the goatee and mustache of youth. The ball cap so often settled on that head had been tossed off in deference to distinguished graying hair at the temples- premature, I supposed; caused by anxiety and grievance, I hoped. Did I really just describe Cash Stetson as distinguished? I did, didn’t I. Must be the heat. I’ve got to get that window unit fixed.

I remembered long legs in Wranglers and cowboy boots, and polo shirts bought by a doting mother. He’d worn outrageously expensive cologne that smelled outrageously sexy and never seemed to meld with his ‘good-ole-boy’ image.

Today, however, that same scent emanating from him matched the expensive light-weight gray suit, coordinated black leather shoes and belt, and light blue dress shirt that lit up his lyin’ twinklin’ eyes. Only the open collar that I suspected had been closed and covered by an equally expensive tie at one time today hinted at the recklessness that had once fascinated and intimidated me.

But he was still the same. Those baby blues still smirking but hesitant, wanting to challenge me but afraid of how I would react. Those lips, expressively curving into an insolent grin, the top lip smaller than the bottom- giving his mouth an almost feminine quality that only serve to enhance his overbearing masculinity. He cocked one thick eyebrow, the same color as his thick dark hair that held a hint of auburn, explaining the childhood photos of a grinning, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He cocked the eyebrow and waited, knowing full well that he was being inspected and knowing full well that I damn sure liked what I saw, as it was rare a female in Cash’s vicinity didn’t.

Yep. Still same old Cash, I determined as he licked his lower lip.

I gazed up at all 6’2” of him with a simper and bat of the eyelashes that would have done Nonnie proud, drawling,

“Huh. Well, look what the cat drug in. And just as I thought my day couldn’t get any more unpleasant.” He laughed, showing wicked rows of white teeth. I wished I’d been able to find my straightening iron this morning along with something elegantly expensive instead of one of my sister’s tight sweaters, a denim skirt and a ancient pair of Stuart Weitzman’s I’d found stashed in my childhood closet. Stuart was a classic. I knew though, if I stopped to think, that all the expensive hair products in the world or any army of designer shoes were no armor against Cash. Rationally, I knew this- but emotionally, I yearned for that perfectly sophisticated shade of Laura Mercier lipstick hidden in an unpacked bag instead of Tally’s Dr. Pepper Chapstick. I would never understand her penchant for cheap cosmetics.

That evil grin flashed again as he surveyed my curls and casual outfit.

“Didn’t take you long to return to your roots, did it sugar? I guess we all come home to roost sooner or later. I always did enjoy those curls…,” he drawled as he lazily sauntered over. I flushed and flashed a haughty look, embarrassed by the change in temperature my body produced whenever he invaded any space I was in. I needed a glass of iced tea. Even after seven years he still…

But he didn't. I was no longer that twenty-one year old nervous wreck lacking in self-confidence inspired by his so-called sexual prowess and womanizing reputation.No sir, I was a twenty-eight year old female with a strong sense of self, hours of therapy, a law degree, a host of morons I’d dated to forget him and a new knowledge of why our relationship hadn’t worked. He couldn’t resist me and he couldn’t handle it. End of story. I was his weakness and had prepared myself for this moment when I could use it to my advantage. So as he stood there in the doorway in the sunset light (isn’t that an old country song – I can’t remember if she left him or took him back.). Anyway, as he stood there attempting to convince himself he had the upper hand, I triumphed with a silent chuckle, thrusting my chest forward and cocking a hip in typical gunslinger’s fashion- adjusted into a challenge inspired by Tally in her modeling days.

“Darlin, you’d better state the intent of your visit, ‘cause my time’s probably more expensive than you can afford,” I bluffed. I knew full well that he was wealthier than I at the moment thanks to Mama’s chatter about how he’d finally ‘made something of himself’.

Nostrils on his sharp, prominent nose flared as he took in my face, and my challenge. ‘Darlin’,’ between us was not an endearment and he knew it. He walked over to the bookcase filled with law books and picked up a framed photo of me and Tally at a baseball game down in Texas- his first genuine smile since he’d come into my office.

“She’s a mess, huh?” he asked. It was the one thing we’d always been able to agree on. I smiled too.

“Yep, and if we ever forgot, she’d be sure to tell us. But that’s not why you’re here- to talk about Tally,” I stated, not a question.

“No,” he turned, piercing me with those vividly cool, true-blue eyes that could easily melt you like a Popsicle at an August county fair. He took a deep breath, set his jaw and said to me words I’d never heard and never thought I’d hear from those lips.

“I need your help.”