Chapter 9: Oops!

For several days after their coffee date Cathy had been on cloud nine, but as time ticked past and Scott didn't seek her out at the barn or call her, she began to wonder if she'd imagined the chemistry between them. But when she'd close her eyes and relive the moment, she was convinced it had been real.

They'd had a wonderful time in the cozy cafe as the tempest had raged outside, and the drive through the storm to her parent's home on the knoll overlooking the lake had been thrilling more than scary. At least twice she'd grabbed his arm when a flash of lightening had blazed frighteningly close. When he'd rolled to a stop under the portico at the front door, he'd been staring at her intently, and she'd thought he was going to lean over and kiss her. But he'd abruptly looked away and cricked his neck.

The sparkling moment had passed.

Now he seemed to be ignoring her, and she couldn't understand why. The few times she'd seen him at the barn and she'd tried to talk to him, he was running off somewhere, or driving away.

She'd had enough.

"If you don't want to see me, fine," she muttered, sitting on the tack trunk outside her stall, "but you should at least have the courtesy to tell me. Typical man. Fuck this shit."

Rarely did Cathy swear, but her fury was building to a boiling point, and staring down at the dirt floor, she could feel her rage ready to explode.

"Dammit," she growled, "you promised me a drink. What the hell?"

"Hey, what's up with you? Why do you look so depressed?"

Recognizing Robyn's voice, Cathy inwardly groaned, then looked up as the girl stopped in front of her.

"None of your business," she said brusquely. "Don't you have some tack to clean or floors to sweep?"

"I'm not working right now. Scott said I could exercise Dusty for him. He's been so busy he hasn't been able to ride. I'm so excited. I love Dusty."

"Busy with what?" Cathy asked, softening her voice and hoping for some news.

"I guess he found that trainer he wanted. I've been helping him clean out a whole bunch of stuff."

"From where?"

"His office, the storeroom, the storage shed, places like that. We took a few saddles to the consignment shop this morning. Anyway, I'm off to get Dusty. I hope you feel better."

As the bubbly girl walked away, Cathy gnashed her teeth. If Scott would soon be free of the barn, he couldn't say he'd changed his mind about seeing her because of the stupid rule he had about socializing with a boarder.

"That's it," she grumbled. "If I can't track him down, I'll make him come to me!"

Opening her tack trunk, she pulled out a couple of saddle pads that needed washing, several brushes, a couple of curry combs and small towels, and scattered them around the barn aisle. Having another inspired thought, she grabbed two of her pink buckets and marched off to the wash rack. Filling them with water, she left one in the middle of the wash rack floor, and hauled the second away, leaving it in front of Pepper's stall.

"I hope that really pisses you off, Scott Sampson," she muttered, standing back and staring at the bucket blocking his horse's door.

Cursing him under her breath as she returned to her tack trunk, she began rummaging through it again to see if there was anything else she could add to the mess. But she became so caught up in her angry search she didn't hear him walking towards her. Nor did she did sense him behind her.

As his hard hand swatted her butt with a stinging smack, she literally jumped, then spun around and grabbed her seat.

"What the hell?" she demanded, glaring at him.

"I think I should be askin' you that question," he exclaimed, glowering down at her. "What's all this mess, and why is your bucket in the middle of the wash rack? What're you playin' at?"

"Buckets with an s," she spat. "You missed one!"

"Excuse me?"

"You'll find out, and now I'm leaving."

"The hell you are," he growled, looking around to make sure no-one was in earshot. "Tell me exactly what's goin' on here, then clean up your mess."

"What's going on here? You seriously have to ask me that? If you'd changed your mind about that drink, fine, okay, I'm a big girl, I can handle it, but to outright ignore me, that's just rude and it pisses me off. I misjudged you, Scott Sampson. You're nothing but a liar and a coward."

Her voice had risen in pitch and volume as she'd railed at him, and a painful heat filled the back of her throat.

"Whoa, hold on there," he said with a confused frown, holding up his hands. "Whatta you mean, ignore you? I sent you a card."

"You...you...did what?" she stammered, feeling as if someone had just punched her in the gut. "I didn't get any card. Where did you send it?"

"To your parents house. It's the only address I have. You see them all the time, don't you?"

"I do, in fact I've been there several times since the storm," she mumbled with a puzzled frown. "I picked up my mail, but there was nothing from you. When did you send it?"

"About a week ago, last Friday to be exact."

"But it's Thursday. It doesn't take six days for mail to arrive," she said with a heavy breath, dropping down on her trunk. "Scott, I'm really sorry."

"Hey, if you didn't get my card I can't blame you for bein' upset and confused, but all this," he remarked, waving his hand at her belongings scattered across the aisle. "Don't you think it's a bit much?"

"I thought you were purposely ignoring me."

"Leaving your crap everywhere is nothin' but a childish tantrum. You should've called me, or waved me down, or stopped by the office."

"I did try to wave you down, and you just waved back and kept going."

"Cathy," he said, crossing his arms and staring down at her, "there are a hundred other things you could have done to get my attention."

"Probably, but I was angry and, uh, hurt."

"Hey, when you didn't say anything about the card, I was ticked off too, but I didn't come over here and leave my crap all over your trunk."

"You're right, I'm sorry. I've been so frustrated, and I couldn't understand what was going on. I wonder why I didn't get it? What did it say?"

"It said," he replied, lowering his voice and sitting next to her, "that I'd found a trainer, and I'd be busy for a while, but I was lookin' forward to havin' that drink to celebrate, and gettin' to know you outside of this place."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"I don't know what to say," she murmured, feeling the threat of tears.

"Next time you think I've let you down, give me a chance to explain before you start throwin' a hissy fit."

"I will. I promise," she said, letting out a heavy sigh. "Now I feel bad."

"I've got a real easy cure for a guilty conscience," he whispered, moving his lips against her ear.

An instant burst of butterflies fluttered around her stomach, and swallowing hard, she leaned against his shoulder.

"I have to repeat myself," she said softly. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, sugar. How about we meet up for that drink tonight? I have a lot to tell you."