Читать книгу The Cowboy's Bride - Carolyne Aarsen - Страница 11

Joe fidgeted on the upholstered chair and glanced around the bank. Light poured in from an arched skylight, and plants filled corners in an attempt to create an open feeling. He still felt claustrophobic.

The logo on the circular reception desk directly in front of him was a strong reminder of letters and bank statements that his father ignored and that Joe, as a struggling high school student, had tried to figure out. He remembered all too well the clutch of panic when he saw the negative balance on the bank statement, the overdraft charges.

But he had escaped that. He had left the ranch, had worked every waking minute, had scrimped and saved and established his reputation as a horse trainer. After all those years he was finally ready.

A couple of weeks ago he had applied for a loan, and on his way back from Calgary this afternoon, Dale had raised Joe on his mobile phone. Could he come in as soon as possible? Dale was sketchy on the details, but Joe was pretty sure it had to do with his loan.

Joe leaned his elbows on the knees of his faded denim jeans and ran a hand over his chin. He wished he had had time for a shave and a change of clothes.

Not that he needed to make an impression on Dale, he thought ruefully. Dale had seen him looking worse, but he did want to project a professional image.

He tapped the toes of his boots restlessly against the ceramic tiles of the waiting area, stifling his impatience at the wait. Roy, his boss, wanted him in the city in two hours. He hadn’t seen his horses for a couple of days. He was itching to start Talia, his most expensive horse by far. His stake horse. The beginning of an illustrious line, he thought with a wry smile at his dreams.

“Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?” Sharla, the receptionist, asked, smiling at him from behind the desk. “It’s really no trouble, Joe.”

“No. Thanks.” He glanced impatiently at his watch. If Dale didn’t come in the next few minutes, he would have to get the information over the phone.

He got up and began walking around, trying to stifle his nervousness. His future hung in the balance, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he was frightened. Please, Lord, let them approve the loan, he prayed as he paced.

“Mr. Brewer?”

Joe turned at the sound of the quiet female voice, then tried to keep his mouth from falling open. In front of him stood the vision he had seen in church on Sunday, the woman with the angelic face.

“Expensive” was the first word that came to mind as Joe looked her over. Hair, makeup, clothes all had that smooth, clean look. She exuded an elegance that made him feel suddenly gauche and awkward.

“I’m Rebecca Stevenson. Dale is on the phone right now and will join us shortly. I’m going to be sitting in on the interview.” She stayed where she was, holding a file folder in front of her, while Joe pulled himself together, suddenly very conscious of his faded denim jacket with the frayed edges and the stain on the knee of his blue jeans.

“Sure,” he said, forcing a smile, trying to absorb the information.

“We’ll be in here,” she said, indicating an empty meeting room with a wave of a well-manicured hand. She turned and walked slowly across the reception area, a hitch to her walk, as if she had hurt her leg.

Joe hurried to open the door to the meeting room, but Miss Stevenson already had her hand on the door-knob. She pulled away at his touch and took a quick step backward. Only she didn’t quite make it. For some reason, she lost her balance, one arm flailing, the other still holding the manila folder.

Joe instinctively caught her around the waist, his other hand catching hers. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.

Joe obeyed then stood back as she ran a hand over her hair and smoothed down her blazer, then steadied herself, her lips pressed tightly together.

They stood in front of the door for an awkward moment. Then Joe took another chance and reached past her to open it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. She walked past him, her movements slow, her limp more obvious.

Joe held onto the door a moment, puzzled at her reaction, then followed her into the room.

Miss Stevenson lowered herself into a chair on one side of a long table across from him. She brushed a hand over her hair, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, avoiding his gaze.

Joe felt like a heel. “I’m sorry about that,” he said quickly, sensing this wasn’t the most auspicious introduction. He shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. To cover up, he flashed her a grin. “I thought you were going to fall.”

Her hand paused in midair, and her fingers curled against her palm. “I wouldn’t have,” she answered, her voice chilly.

“Sorry.” Joe carefully pulled a chair away from the table. He had obviously stepped over some unknown line. Just needs room, he thought. Some of the more skittish colts he worked with were like that. Didn’t like being rushed.

Miss Stevenson gave her head a shake, as if to rearrange her hair, folded her hands on the table in front of her and gave Joe a polite but cool smile. “You can sit down, Mr. Brewer. Dale will be here shortly.”

Joe nodded absently. He wondered why she had to be here. Maybe Miss Stevenson would be helping him on the finer details of the loan.

The door opened, and Dale stepped into the room, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that. Just had to clear up a few things over the phone.” He shook Joe’s hand, then sat down. “Glad you could come in on such short notice. I take it you and Miss Stevenson have already met?” Dale looked at Joe, then at Miss Stevenson, his gaze lingering on her.

“Yes, we have,” Joe said wryly, noticing the way Dale couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Rebecca Stevenson. Not that he blamed the guy. Joe had had the same problem in church on Sunday. But if she was out of his orbit then, her first impression of him put her in another galaxy by now.

“Okay.” Dale dragged his gaze away from Rebecca and pulled his chair close to the table. He smoothed his tie as he laid a file folder on the table.

“I hope you don’t mind if Miss Stevenson sits in on this meeting?” Another coy glance at Rebecca.

“She’s going to be taking over a few files for me, and I thought this would dovetail nicely into your other plans.”

Joe shrugged, feeling like a spectator. A quick glance at Rebecca’s face revealed the same composure she had shown in church, the same expression on her face. A real professional, thought Joe, looking at Dale. She didn’t seem to mind, or if she did, she didn’t show it. “Fine by me,” Joe said.

“We’re also waiting for your brother, Lane. He was supposed to be here, as well.”

Joe wondered what Lane had to do with his loan. But Dale was busy, paging through some papers, and didn’t see his questioning glance. Joe didn’t want to ask Miss Rebecca Stevenson.

Dale found the paper he seemed to be looking for and pulled it out. He smoothed it on the table and looked up, his expression suddenly serious. “What has happened here is that we were unable to secure financing for your newest venture, at least not in the amount you requested. A couple of factors have come into play. One is the lack of collateral and a dearth of up-front money. Secondly, we don’t have enough of a history of that type of business. It’s a risky one, from what we can see…”

Dale went on, and Joe felt a clutch of panic gripping his midsection. “Unable to secure financing,” were the only words that registered in his numb brain. He forced himself to stay in his chair, forced himself to keep the casual smile curving his lips, forced himself to keep listening as his entire world slowly drifted away from him.

Why, Lord? The words fairly shouted through his mind. Why this? Why now? It was the only thing I ever really wanted. For a frightening moment he saw himself at age sixty, slowly getting out of a truck, his stomach protruding over his belt, his back sore from sitting for hours behind the wheel, eating in some dingy truck stop café far from home. He closed his eyes as if to dispel the image and stifled a beat of anger that Dale had chosen to do this in front of a virtual stranger, and an absolutely gorgeous one, at that. It was humiliating. But Dale was still talking. Joe pulled his mind to what Dale was saying.

“But all of that is moot, considering that you and Lane have made other plans.”

Joe’s head snapped up at the mention of his brother’s name. “Other plans?” he asked, wondering what Dale was talking about. This was the second time he had made puzzling references to Lane.

“Yes.” Dale held Joe’s baffled gaze, frowning.

Someone knocked discreetly on the door, and Dale, glancing at his watch, got up. “That must be your brother now,” he said with a smile. He opened the door, and Lane walked in.

Joe’s eyes narrowed as Lane took a seat, ignoring his brother.

“So now that we’re here together, we can discuss your other plans, Joe.” Dale folded his hands on the file, his cheerful smile encompassing both Joe and Lane. “I’m glad you decided to go this route instead, Joe. I don’t need to tell you that your brother’s ranch has been floundering for awhile, and you offering to take over his loan would work out better for all of us in the long run.” Dale’s words finally registered, and Joe looked at him, forcing to keep his roiling emotions out of his voice.

“What did you say?”

“I’m talking about your offer to take over your brother’s ranch.” Dale frowned.

“What offer?” Joe leaned forward as if to catch what Dale was saying. He didn’t understand.

“I thought Lane talked to you about the trouble he was having with his place. I was under the understanding that you offered to take over the ranch, given the fact that you have a share in the place.” Dale raised his eyebrows in a question toward Lane, who shrugged.

“Since when did this come out?” Joe asked, his frustration with his brother reaching critical mass. What could he say without calling his brother a liar in front of witnesses, without making himself look like a fool in front of the calm and collected Miss Stevenson? What had Lane told them to save his own skin?

“Lane approached us yesterday, which, incidentally, was when I got final confirmation on the status of your loan application. He said you were willing to take over the loans.”

“Lane was delusional,” Joe said flatly, glaring at his brother, who continued to stare straight ahead. “I read the letter you sent him and I saw the financial statement. You can forget it.”

Dale looked surprised. “What did you say?”

“If what you said was that you want me to saddle myself with Lane’s debt, then what I said was forget it.” Joe held Dale’s puzzled gaze, ignoring Miss Stevenson and Lane, who was almost squirming in the seat beside him.

“I don’t understand,” Dale said, turning to Lane. “I understood that you and Joe had spoken. That he had offered to buy out the ranch.”

“When I talked to you the other day, I told you I couldn’t pay you the money I owe you, Joe.” Lane still avoided Joe’s eyes. “You said you needed a place to work with your horses. I thought you meant that you were willing to take it over.”

Joe shook his head, trying to recall what he had said that day, wondering how Lane had fabricated this out of the conversation. Trust Lane to put him in this position, he thought angrily. Joe didn’t know what Lane hoped to gain from this, except his freedom at Joe’s expense.

Dale leaned forward as if sensing that Joe was weakening. “You won’t be taking on all of the debt. The bank is willing to renegotiate the terms.”

“Maybe you can explain to me how you won’t give me money to start up my own arena yet you’d be willing to help me take over a debt that would be almost twice the size.” Joe pressed his lips together in an effort to stem the tide of angry words inside him. He took a deep breath and covered up by flashing Dale a cocky smile.

“It wouldn’t be twice the size, Mr. Brewer.” The vision across the table from him made herself known. Her voice was well modulated and quiet, a counterpoint to the anger that Joe held in check.

“Miss Stevenson is right,” Dale interjected with a secretive smile at Rebecca. He looked at Joe. “We would be willing to renegotiate the indebtedness.”

Joe glanced at Rebecca Stevenson’s beautiful perfection and Dale’s impeccable suit, both a stark comparison to his faded jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. Suddenly he felt as if he was in junior high school. The ill-dressed, awkward boy being treated with a certain condescending disdain by the rich kids who never had to wonder if their only good pair of blue jeans would hold up, who always had transportation and never had to suffer the ignominy of hitchhiking.

“My name is Joe.” It was all he could say. He tilted his head and winked at her. He knew this was not how you treated a banker, but being impudent kept him from being angry. “When you call me Mr. Brewer I feel like my dad.”

“I’m sorry. Joe.” She refolded her hands, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been looking over both your file and your brother’s, and I think what Dale is suggesting is not out of the realm of possibility. It would work well for both the bank and yourself. Lane has told us that from a legal standpoint you are entitled to a portion of the ranch. If we foreclose, then try and sell, your portion would be considerably reduced. Therefore, because of your entitlement, your indebtedness would not be as great as your brother’s.”

Joe looked at her stupidly, then, realizing what she was saying, shook his head. “Sounds like a pretty good deal for the bank. They would end up with the dumb Brewer, the one who pays back his loans, and he would end up working himself to the bone for you guys.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. To have his loan turned down after all his hopes and dreams was almost a mortal blow, and he was having a hard time being reasonable about it.

“You misunderstand me.” She looked at him again, her voice controlled, her blue eyes holding the same expression as when they first sat down. “What the bank hopes to do,” she explained, “is save themselves the trouble of acquiring real property and then having to dispose of it. There are too many costs associated with that—”

“And it’s lousy PR.” Joe bristled at her tone, still holding her gaze. He tilted another grin at her, but she wasn’t bowled over by his charm.

“There’s that, as well,” she continued, finally looking away, “but the reality is that the bank is unable to finance a risky venture such as your training facility. The risk to the bank would have been reduced were your brother in a position to satisfy the terms of your father’s will. However, we are more than willing to establish a line of credit for you to purchase an established business. You have experience with the operation, and you have some ready cash.”

“It always puzzles me that a person needs money in order to borrow money,” Joe said, unable to keep the curt note out of his voice.

Rebecca paused. “The nature of the beast, I guess,” she replied quietly.

Joe felt churlish. He had snapped and acted like a teenager, but Miss Stevenson had never changed her calm, professional tone.

Of course it wasn’t her life that had suddenly been rearranged. It wasn’t her dreams that had suddenly died.

Joe had spent half his life watching his father pay off endless interest on overdue accounts and struggle with snowballing loan payments.

And now this cool, contained woman was suggesting he put himself in debt for the rest of his working life on a place he had already slaved on as a youth without payment. It puzzled him how someone with such a serene face could be such a prophet of gloom.

“It sounds like a good deal for you, Joe.” Lane finally spoke, then glanced sidelong at Joe. Joe stared back, fighting the urge to throttle his brother.

“Stay out of it, Lane,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

“The amount isn’t what you think it is, Joe.” Dale broke into the conversation and leaned forward to catch Joe’s eye. “We are more than willing to negotiate a buyout that would be mutually beneficial to both parties.”

Joe held Dale’s earnest gaze, wondering why people like him and Miss Stevenson couldn’t use ordinary language. “In other words you’ll cut me a deal.”

Dale shrugged and sat back. “Yes. I guess that’s how you could put it.”

Dale pulled out another piece of paper and pushed it toward Joe. “Have a look at those figures, and we can sit down and figure out how to make this work the best for the both of us.”

Joe nodded and gave the paper a cursory glance. Right now what he wanted more than anything else was to get out of here, away from the eyes of impersonal people, away from his brother, who had put him in this position to start with. He folded the paper and slipped it in the pocket of his jean jacket. “I’ll look it over at home and get back to you. I should get going.” He got up and tugged on his jean jacket. “I appreciate your advice.”

Across the table, Rebecca Stevenson slowly rose from her chair, her expression cool. The only indication she gave that she was puzzled was a faint crease between her arched eyebrows. “It was your brother’s suggestion that we were operating under. I’m sorry if we put you in an awkward position. Given that, however, I would just like to reiterate what Mr. Aiken has said. I think this might prove to be a good investment of both your time and money and would be, as I said before, mutually beneficial.”

He quirked his mouth in what he hoped was a polite smile. Banker’s words. Official and unemotional. “I’m sure it would,” he replied, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

He reached across the table to shake her hand. “Thanks again, Miss Stevenson.”

She hesitated, then caught his hand, her clasp surprisingly strong. “I hope I can be of help to you another time, Mr. Brewer.”

Not if I can help it, he thought. “Who knows?” he replied vaguely. He turned to his old classmate, forcing himself to remember that Dale had never been deliberately cruel. “Dale. Take care.” Dale shook his hand, as well. Joe nodded at his brother, unable to articulate his feelings.

Then he turned, opened the door and escaped.