Page 49 of Dust Storm

We split, Nate heading inside and me jumping back in the truck. When I put my number in Cassandra’s phone, I called myself so I’d have hers. I fired off a text.

Christian

Heading back your way. Where are you at?

Cass

I decided that “Daddy Griffith” makes me think of your father, so I changed your contact to “Cowboy Daddy.” I’m at the nail salon getting some work done while this lovely lady makes my feet look less ogre-like. Be done in half an hour.

Christian

You seem like you’re in a better mood.

Cass

A proper latte, retail therapy, and a mani-pedi will do that.

Christian

See you soon, Princess.

Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled up to the nail salon. Instead of waiting it out in the truck, I moseyed inside and spotted her sitting tall in a throne.

While the nail artist finished her pedicure, I squared up with the receptionist.

“What’s the damage, Margo?” Cassandra asked, appearing next to me at the front desk when she was done.

Margo, who was apparently Cassandra’s new best friend, beamed. “Not a dime, honey. Mr. Griffith took care of it. Tip and all.”

Her eyebrows lifted as she whipped around. “You did what?”

I didn’t want to talk about it, so I reached for her shopping bags instead. “Let me carry those.”

“I can—” she paused and huffed. “You’re going to make a scene if I carry my bags and open the door, aren’t you?”

I smirked. “Yes, ma’am.” Looking over her head, I nodded toward the salon. “Have a good day, folks.”

“You paid for me?” Cassandra asked abruptly when we hit the sidewalk.

I unlocked the truck and put her shopping bags in the back before opening her door. “Yeah.”

She paused in front of me instead of climbing in. “Why?” It wasn’t curiosity. It was blatant mistrust.

“Because I thought it’d make you happy,” I said simply. “You’ve had a time of it out here, and if I can do something easy like that to make it better, I will.”

Then, just because I knewhewouldn’t give her a fucking compliment without it being backhanded as hell, I said, “Your nails look real pretty.”

Blush painted her cheeks as she climbed into the truck and picked up the box that was waiting for her in the seat.

“What’s this?” she asked as I slid behind the wheel.

“Boots.”

She lifted an eyebrow as she shimmed open the box. “You wear a women’s size seven?”

I chuckled. “They’re for you.”

“Why?”

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