Читать книгу The Rancher's Prospect - Callie Endicott - Страница 13
ОглавлениеA WEEK LATER Tara walked down an aisle at the grocery store, selecting spices. The restaurant food in Schuyler was tasty and certainly “indigenous,” but she was ready to vary things up with her favorite dishes from the countries she’d traveled to. Not that there was a huge selection of exotic ingredients available, but she could make do. Cooking was often a question of style as much as content.
It would also be good to experiment with recipes off the internet. In fact, she was ready to try anything to occupy herself. She was accustomed to working regular hours and maximizing her free time to see everything possible in the places she lived. In Schuyler she didn’t have a job, and her sister had long shifts at the medical clinic. Montana scenery was stunning, but nobody could spend all day, every day, just looking at the beautiful vistas.
Before long she’d realized she would go stark raving crazy without something more to do. Fortunately, that was changing since word had gone around Schuyler about the kind of work she did. More than once she’d heard, “I understand you do bookkeeping and organize stuff.” It was a simplistic description of her professional skills, but that was okay. She needed to occupy some of her time and didn’t mind trimming her fees to fit her new environment.
Today Tara was going to talk with a prospective client out in the country. His lawyer, Vanta Cooper, had contacted her, explaining that ill health had necessitated bringing in outside help. When she’d heard the name, Walt Nelson, she had immediately agreed, remembering him from the hospital.
Rather than use GPS, she studied a local map and memorized the route to the Boxing N. Shortly before two she pulled up next to a small building with a sign that identified it as the office.
“Good to see you again, Tara,” Walt said as he limped forward to meet her. “When you mentioned records management at the hospital, it gave me the idea of having you work in my office here. My lawyer’s office said they’d track you down.”
“I’m glad they did, Mr. Nelson,” she agreed with a smile.
“Call me Walt. You mind if I call you Tara?”
She smiled. “Not in the least.”
“Come see the disaster zone.”
He led the way into the building’s main room and Tara knew what Vanta had meant when she’d said that “paperwork isn’t Walt’s favorite occupation.” The chaos was obviously a long-standing condition. Papers were everywhere, and it was unlikely the ancient desk to the left had ever seen a computer.
But the room was pleasant, with windows that provided gorgeous views of rolling ranch land as well as the gardens around the house. On the right were comfortable chairs, a small sink, refrigerator, stove and coffeemaker. Plainly it was more than an office; it was also a gathering place, though she didn’t know whether it was for employees or friends.
“I don’t suppose what we need done here is like your work in Paris,” Walt continued. “It may seem ridiculous to you.”
“I don’t think anyone’s business is ridiculous,” she told him honestly. “Your needs will be different from the records management systems used by an international corporation, but I wouldn’t expect that on a ranch.”
He peered at her, his faded eyes looking sad. “How did you like working in Paris and all those other places you’ve lived?”
Realizing he wanted more than a pat answer, Tara thought for a moment before responding. “There is nothing quite like living among people who grew up in a different culture. What’s automatic for me may not be for them, and vice versa. It’s an adventure.”
Heaving a sigh, Walt settled into one of the easy chairs. “So you’re a Magellan of the modern age.”
“I don’t have much to keep me anchored in the United States, that’s all.”
“The ranch was my anchor...perhaps my prison, as well.”
The last words were mumbled, and Tara wasn’t sure she’d understood him correctly. She sat quietly while his eyelids drooped; she wasn’t in a hurry and he looked tired. After a few minutes, he shook himself and sat forward.
“My apologies. It’s those blasted pain pills the doctor gave me. But I won’t need them much longer. I’m set on that.” His voice was grimly determined.
While she knew she might be romanticizing the moment, Tara suspected she was seeing the grit made legendary in movie Westerns, except this wasn’t two stylized hours on celluloid. It was the real thing.
“I’ve got to check on a new foal,” Walt said, lurching to his feet. “Go ahead and poke around. Vanta explained you work as a contractor, setting your own hours and such, which is fine with me. If you don’t want to tackle such a mess, there won’t be any hard feelings.”
“Don’t worry, Walt. I think it’s going to work out fine. Just so you know, some of the time I’ll work only mornings or afternoons, depending on my other commitments and whether my sister has the time off.”
He nodded. “That’s fine. Shake on it?”
Tara took his hand and was surprised by the firmness of his grip. She also realized that the odd sense of connection she’d experienced was even stronger than when she had met him at the hospital. He was different from the suave, cosmopolitan executives she normally worked with; there was something rough and genuine about Walt Nelson.
“By the way,” he added, “just to be clear, I’m the one hiring you, not the Boxing N.”
Not sure what the difference meant, she nodded. There could be a trust involved or something that made it important to clarify. She’d probably learn the reasons as she went along.
Once Tara was alone in the office, she began looking through various stacks and drawers, cubbyholes and shelves. There were at least fifty years of ranch records, many of them mixed up with current paperwork.
Twenty minutes later she ran across a yellowed handwritten invoice dated 1872, wherein a Zebedee Nelson recorded the sale of fifty head of cattle. The expense of the cattle drive bringing them to market was annotated on the bottom. It was a whole lot more interesting than most corporate historical records she’d seen, and as she sat studying the paper, a soft breeze came through an open window.
In Paris she’d worked in a modern high-rise, surrounded by desks, bright uniform lights and the hum of hundreds of people going about their business. This would be a nice break, at least for the time being. She had a feeling Lauren hoped she would consider staying in Schuyler, but Tara had always felt the need to be constantly moving forward. She couldn’t picture giving up her career and staying in one place.
* * *
JOSH TURNED OFF his satellite phone as he rode toward the Boxing N ranch center. He was discouraged. After two days of having a help wanted ad in the local newspaper, his only calls had been from a high school senior looking for an after-school job and a retired pharmacist who’d moved to Schuyler the previous autumn and had “always wanted to be a cowboy.”
Surely it would get better. And after he got more help on the ranch, there’d be time for some of the other things that had to be done.
A silver Toyota was parked by the ranch office, and Josh frowned. In the past, his grandfather had met his cronies there because they could smoke their cigars without bothering his wife. But Walt had given up smoking years ago, and since Evelyn was gone, he no longer needed the office as a separate gathering spot. Still, old habits died hard.
After grooming Lightfoot, Josh tiredly made his way to the foreman’s house and slumped into an Adirondack chair on the porch. But as two figures came out of the ranch office and stood together beside the car, Josh leaned forward. One of them was his grandfather; Walt’s labored pace was impossible to mistake. But the other was a woman, and even from this distance, Josh could see she possessed very attractive curves.
Curiosity drove him to his feet, and he strode toward the office. But as he got closer, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Tara Livingston. What the devil was she doing here?
“Hey, Grandpa,” he said as he came close. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” Walt said. He appeared thoroughly self-satisfied, which was instantly worrisome. “As I recall, you’ve already met Miss Livingston. I just hired her to get the office in order.”
Josh managed to swallow the “hell, no,” that instantly leaped into his mouth. “Really?” he choked out instead. If it wasn’t one complication, it was another.
“Yep. I’ve been thinking about doing it, and she came along at the right moment.”
Tara’s eyes sparkled, and Josh was sure she’d guessed his reaction.
“I see,” he said. “Perhaps you could have consulted me first.”
“No point,” Walt informed him stiffly. “I told you I’d take care of things. Tara, when will you be starting?”
“Monday.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll see you then.” With that, he limped toward the main house.
Josh watched his grandfather’s retreating figure in disbelief.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Tara, “there’s been a mistake. This is my ranch now, and I’m still evaluating what to do with the office. Your services won’t be needed.”
A smile played on her lips. “It isn’t your decision. Mr. Nelson was very clear that he was hiring me, not the ranch.”
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Josh returned quickly. “Please tell my grandfather that you can’t work for him. Anyway, I understand you’re here on an extended vacation. Why would you want a job?”
She shrugged, and he couldn’t help noticing the way her silk blouse slid over her breasts. Crap. It didn’t make sense—Lauren had never made him react this way.
“It really isn’t a vacation, I’m here to get to know my sister,” she said. “But Lauren has her own job and I’m not used to being idle. So when folks started asking if I was available to work, I thought it was a good way to keep occupied.”
“Why the Boxing N?”
“It’s as good a place as any. I’m taking contracts at more than one location, but I have a feeling this will be my favorite.”
“If you’ve got employment elsewhere, you don’t need to work here.”
Tara’s blue eyes narrowed. “It’s not for you to tell me what to do.”
“That isn’t what I’m doing. I was just pointing out that you don’t seem to need the job here.”
“Are you also the arbiter of what I need?”
“I didn’t say that, either,” Josh insisted.
“Sure you did. What’s your problem, anyhow? I’m only asking because I’ll be working at the Boxing N and your attitude affects me.”
His head was starting to spin. “Then quit.”
She shrugged. “Technically I’m a freelance contractor, but regardless, I have no intention of quitting. And if you think you can fire me, reconsider the thought. Do I need to point out again that Mr. Nelson made it very clear that I’ll be working for him, not the ranch? I’ll be looking out for his interests, not yours.”
Josh counted to ten, then to ten once more. She had him over a barrel. As much as he wanted to lay down the law to his grandfather, he couldn’t disenfranchise the old guy. Besides, if Walt had hired Tara as his personal employee or contractor, nobody else could fire her. Well, since he owned the Boxing N now, he could restrict her access to the ranch, but he could imagine the explosion that would follow.
For a brief second, Josh considered trying to convince Tara to help him get Walt to be more reasonable, but she’d made it clear where her loyalties lay.
“Very well,” Josh said in a stiff, formal tone. “At the very least, I’d appreciate reports about your progress in the office.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Walt for any updates he wants to share.”
She marched to her car and got behind the wheel. Waving as though they’d simply had a cordial chat, she drove down the road toward the main entrance.
Damn, she was aggravating.
His thoughts spinning, Josh returned to his porch, even more discouraged than when he’d gotten off the phone with the retired pharmacist. Without treating Walt with a disrespect he didn’t deserve, Josh couldn’t fire Tara, and he couldn’t direct her work since he wasn’t the one paying her.
A grim humor shook him.
One thing he had to give to his grandfather—he was a wily old coot. Walt had planned ahead, hired Tara and made sure she knew he was the one writing her paychecks. Josh couldn’t help wondering why. There were qualified secretaries and accountants in Schuyler that Walt could have employed. Of course it was doubtful that any of them looked like Tara—so what was the possibility that his grandfather had been bowled over by a young woman’s beauty? Not in an inappropriate way, but the way an old man appreciates the reminders of youth and a young man’s vigor.
Josh didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Of one thing he was sure—Walt was a stiff-necked pain in the ass and couldn’t let go of controlling the ranch, but he was honorable. And on that, Josh trusted they had a small amount of common ground.
* * *
CARL STANFIELD PULLED to a stop at the light and waved at Emmett Foster as he crossed in front of the sheriff’s cruiser. Emmett was around sixty and ornery as sin, but Carl liked him. It was hard not to like most of the people in Schuyler. That wasn’t to say his job was heaven on earth. No job—and no town—was perfect. But on average, it was considerably calmer in Schuyler than in St. Louis, where he’d worked for a good deal of his career.
St. Louis was a great place, but it was still a city. And after being a homicide detective for a decade, few things surprised Carl anymore—he’d pretty much seen the worst.
But in Schuyler he saw a lot of the best. Of course, he also had to deal with the occasional cattle theft. Then there was the time he’d arrested a guy for a DUI because he was drunk while riding a horse. Not that a DUI while riding a horse would hold up in court—officially the charge was drunk and disorderly—but folks in Schuyler loved the story.
After parking at the medical center, Carl went inside.
“Hi, Karen,” he greeted the receptionist. “It isn’t an emergency, but does Lauren have a minute?”
“I’ll check when she’s finished with her patient.”
“Great.”
Unable to relax, Carl stood at the window watching the traffic pass in the street. He’d been in Schuyler for over two years and it was working out well.
Now he wanted to get his personal life on track. When he’d lived in St. Louis, the idea of settling down had held little appeal. The divorce rate among cops was disturbingly high, but things seemed different in Schuyler. A small town sheriff surely had a better shot at a successful marriage than a homicide detective working all hours of the day and night. Besides, the town felt like a good place to settle down and raise a family.
Not that Schuyler didn’t have its pitfalls. The area had quite a history of ranch rivalries and family loyalties, which was why the county supervisors had decided to look for law enforcement from outside the area. For the same reason, Carl had realized it might be best to date women who were relatively new to town...such as Lauren. Well, Lauren was the only one he’d dated, but there was something special about her.
“Carl?” Karen said, breaking into his thoughts.
He swung around. “Yes?”
“Why don’t you wait in Lauren’s office?”
“Sure.”
That was better. He’d rather not talk to Lauren in front of the waiting patients, and particularly not in front of Karen after their recent encounter at Ryan’s Roadhouse. She and her boyfriend had just broken up and she’d had more than her share of booze, though to her credit she’d given her car keys to the bartender the minute she ordered her first Long Island iced tea. Somehow she’d consumed five of them and had still been sitting upright.
Poor kid. She’d cried on his shoulder and asked what was wrong with her...following the question with a passionate kiss. Carl had declined the overture and made sure she got home safely. He doubted she remembered much about the evening and would rather keep it that way.
Karen gestured to the door on her left. “Go ahead. Room ten.”
Carl spotted Lauren at a computer station as he turned the corner. She was entering information, only looking up when a patient approached her with a question. As she talked to the man and his child, her face lit with the smile that had drawn Carl from the first time they’d met.
Smiling himself, he stepped into her office.
He’d liked Lauren from their initial meeting at the Hawkins wedding and had been pleased when she decided to move to Schuyler. As the story went, a few days after the wedding she’d called the clinic to see if a job was available. A month later she was living in Schuyler. It was easy to imagine how delighted the clinic had been to hire a PA who didn’t have to be convinced that moving to a remote town, two hours from a commercial airport, wasn’t a fate worse than death.
Of course, that didn’t mean she hadn’t changed her mind once she’d arrived and faced the prospect of a long Montana winter. Could that be part of the reason she’d started putting him off...uncertainty she wanted to stay, after all?
Carl was annoyed at himself for making excuses for her refusals; he didn’t suffer from a lack of confidence, but Lauren’s absence of enthusiasm had tweaked his ego, especially since his instincts said that she liked him.
Restless, he got to his feet again. The office suited Lauren—well organized with personal touches that made it inviting without being unprofessional. On the bookshelves were a few photos of an older man and woman—presumably her adoptive parents—along with one that appeared to be a selfie of her and Tara Livingston in Paris, the Eiffel Tower behind them.
Just then the door opened behind him, and he turned around. It was Lauren.
“Hi, Carl,” she said as she came into the room. “Karen mentioned you needed to see me. Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. I was driving past and wanted to touch base with you about tomorrow evening. We’ve tried some places here, so how about going to Windy Bluffs for dinner? There’s a steak house, an Italian place, Mexican and Chinese. The Chinese place isn’t as good as it could be, but it’s edible. Does one of them sound okay to you?”
“All of them, I guess.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Uh...usually Chinese,” she told him, looking nervous. “But if it isn’t that good, maybe it would be best to go elsewhere. How about the...um, Mexican restaurant?”
“Fabulous,” he answered, pleased. Deep inside he’d wondered if she would say she didn’t want to go out with him again after all. “Maybe after dinner we could see a movie, or perhaps take a walk along the river.”
“Either would be nice. The trail beside the water is pretty, though I’m uncomfortable going there alone.”
“It isn’t a good idea to go into isolated areas by yourself,” Carl agreed. “Let’s see what appeals once we finish dinner. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“I won’t keep you—I know how busy this place is. How about tomorrow at five?”
“Sure.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Carl walked out, refraining from whistling. She hadn’t canceled and seemed to be okay with his suggestions for the following evening.
Eating in Windy Bluffs had been his top choice, since he preferred going someplace where fewer people knew them. He had yet to eat a meal out in Schuyler without townspeople stopping to chat. As a rule he welcomed it, since law enforcement in a small community was partly about building relationships. But it had made his first dates with Lauren awkward to have so many interruptions.
Carl let loose a whistle as he climbed into his cruiser. Life in Schuyler was good.
* * *
LAUREN’S HAND SHOOK as she picked up the chart for her last patient of the day. When Carl had asked what restaurant she preferred, she’d forced herself to say something definite as a preference. She’d read that men usually wanted women to be clear about their choices.
After dealing with Mrs. Whittier’s “sore” ear—the elderly widow mostly came to the clinic for company—Lauren walked to the Roundup Café to meet Tara for supper.
“Hi,” she greeted her twin. “How was your day?”
Tara smiled, an impish expression on her face. “I had a very interesting afternoon. Walt Nelson hired me to work in his ranch office, and Josh McGregor did his best to end the job before it began.”
“He fired you?” Lauren asked, dismayed. She’d be sick if someone did that to her, but Tara didn’t seem disturbed in the least.
“Nope,” her sister answered cheerfully. “He asked me to quit. I refused and we argued like seven-year-olds grabbing for the same ice cream cone.”
Lauren was amazed her sister could be so nonchalant. She wished she could be equally at ease with confrontation, but she’d learned at a young age how destructive arguments could be. Her adoptive parents had loved her, but they’d also hoped having a second child would heal their marital woes.
She’d been six when they’d taken her in. Her new mother had dressed her in pretty clothing, and her new daddy had proudly introduced her as his daughter. But they hadn’t stopped arguing, and her new family had always appeared to be crumbling. Then when she was in high school, it fell apart completely.
She had responded by avoiding any sort of conflict. Her brother had responded to their parents’ disastrous marriage by becoming a philandering jerk. It was always painful to think about him.
“Do you...er, think Josh is really opposed to you working there?” she asked, trying to push away her memories and the nausea they inspired. Mostly she didn’t like that aspect of the person she’d become, startled by her own shadow and wanting to jump in a rabbit hole whenever someone raised their voice.
“Oh, yes,” Tara said, “he definitely doesn’t want me there.”
“Won’t it be difficult to work for Mr. Nelson if Josh is upset about it?”
“Not for me. I’m going to talk with Walt again to establish guidelines. If he has any concerns, we’ll iron them out then. As for any issues Josh might have, that’s his problem.”
Lauren tried to relax and adopt her sister’s offhand attitude. It hurt to think they could have grown up together, and she had an idea that she might feel stronger if she’d had an ally all those years ago. She’d certainly taken enough psychology classes to see how it could have made a difference.
Silly. That wasn’t the way it had happened, and there wasn’t any point to thinking about the might-have-beens. At least she’d had a family, however troubled, and her parents loved her, regardless of how their marriage had ended. Tara didn’t have anyone and had never had a real home. Maybe that was why she didn’t worry about where she lived and always seemed to be looking at what was over the horizon.
It was odd, the way things had turned out.
* * *
THE NEXT AFTERNOON Lauren’s nerves were tighter than ever. She wanted to ask Tara to come over while she got ready for dinner, except it would have meant revealing her tension over going out with Carl Stanfield.
The phone rang, and she jumped. She grabbed the handset, disgusted with herself for hoping it was Carl, regretfully canceling their evening. “Hello.”
“Hey, Lauren,” Emily said. “What are you wearing for the big date?”
“It isn’t a big date,” Lauren corrected automatically. “We’re just going out to dinner. That is, we’ve already gone out a number of times, so it isn’t something to get carried away about.”
“If you say so. What are you going to wear?”
“I thought my black blouse and the matching wraparound skirt.”
“Not bad. Just accessorize with something that makes a statement.” Emily’s parents were clothing buyers and her sister a supermodel, so she knew what she was talking about.
“I’m not good at making statements.”
The doorbell rang. “Sorry, Em, someone’s here. I’ve gotta go,” Lauren said, disconnecting and running to answer it. She found Emily there, grinning at her, cell phone still to her ear. It almost seemed like old times back in LA, except Emily hadn’t been pregnant then.
Emily came inside and settled on the couch, putting her feet on a stool. “I love being pregnant, but my feet swell. Okay, fashion-show time. Go get dressed.”
Lauren put on the black skirt and blouse she’d bought in Los Angeles while shopping with Emily. Her friend helped her choose a silver scarf to wear at her waist and place a large silver pin on her shoulder.
“You look terrific,” Emily said when she got up to leave.
“I can’t compete with Tara’s elegance,” Lauren answered. In contrast to her twin’s sophistication, she felt as if she was a country bumpkin. Before they’d met, Lauren had figured she and her sister would be alike. After all, they were identical twins and she’d read stories of separated twins discovering amazing similarities and parallels in their lives. So far it hadn’t worked out that way.
“Why would you want to compete with Tara?” Emily countered. “Her clothes work for her, but you have to be yourself, and anyone worth knowing would agree with me.”
Lauren choked out a laugh and said good-night to her friend—at least she was going home to a husband who adored her.
The doorbell rang a short time later. It was Carl, deliciously handsome in a tan sports jacket.
His gaze ran over her in what seemed to be appreciation.
“You look amazing,” he told her.
“I had help. Emily came over.”
He smiled. “I’m flattered. You called in a fashion consultant for our evening together.”
His interpretation was nice and she decided not to explain that her friend’s most important contribution had been to calm her shaky nerves. It couldn’t take much longer before he figured out what she was really like, and a dull melancholy went through her at the thought.
