Читать книгу Own the Night - Debbi Rawlins - Страница 8

ALANA RICHARDSON HAD PRECISELY one hour to vacate her office. She kicked off her new Christian Louboutins, swung her stockinged feet onto her desk and stared out the large glass windows at her perfect view of Madison Avenue and Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. The autumn sky was more gray than blue, but the trees compensated for the drabness with their orange and yellow brilliance. Normally October was her favorite month. But not this year, not with the move from Midtown to Tribeca, with which she was in total disagreement.

She was the newly appointed vice president of marketing for an ad agency that had laughed in the face of recession. Partly thanks to her, they’d increased their net worth by fifty percent and had outgrown the twenty-first-floor office that was more home to Alana than her Upper West Side apartment. Though sentiment had nothing to do with her attitude toward the move. What she objected to was being sidelined for an entire week. The whole transfer of files and furniture and computers could’ve happened in two days if her boss had been more reasonable.

She flexed her toes. Damn, her feet hurt. The four-inch heels weren’t the problem; for her those were standard. They put her at six feet and brought her eye-to-eye with, and sometimes taller than, most of her male coworkers. She liked the psychological advantage. For some of her peers it didn’t seem to matter that she was at the top of her game, or that she worked harder than anyone else. They thought she was too young, too green to have moved up the ladder so quickly.

At least no one assumed she’d slept her way into her position. She wasn’t unattractive, but she was no great beauty, either. She simply didn’t have the kind of face and body that made men stupid enough to pass out unearned promotions.

Her office door opened, no knock first, which meant it was her assistant, Pam. Alana turned from the window and eyed the blonde’s jeans. She hadn’t wasted any time in shifting out of work mode. “I thought you were coming to tell me you were staying in the city with me.”

Pam tilted her head to the side. “Let’s see … skiing in the Alps with Rudy or working fourteen-hour days with you. I’ll have to think about that for a second.” With her usual deadpan expression, she checked her watch. “You can still come with us. Our flight doesn’t leave for another four hours.”

“Pass.”

“So you’re going to stay cooped up in your apartment and work.”

“I’ve been meaning to see Wicked, and that other one….” Alana waved her hand. “That musical with what’s his name.”

Pam shook her head in resigned dismay. Young, only twenty-five, she’d been three years behind Alana at Yale. But she was sharp, ambitious and didn’t miss a trick. That’s why she’d been hired twenty minutes into her interview. She reminded Alana of herself. With the exception that Pam had the good sense to spend a week in the Alps and regenerate, while Alana planned on burying herself in ad copy.

“I want to show you something, and I need you to promise to keep an open mind.” Pam moved around the desk, shoving Alana’s feet off and taking over her keyboard.

“I’m not promising anything.” Alana rolled her chair back to give her assistant room. Though Pam seemed distracted by something under the desk.

She dragged out Alana’s wastebasket and sighed at the remains of the desktop Zen garden Pam had given her as a stress reliever. The sand had fallen to the bottom of the basket and the miniature wooden rake had snapped in two. “I see this worked well.”

“Actually, it did.” Alana smiled. “Trashing the whole thing felt remarkably soothing.”

With an eye roll, Pam went to work, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She brought up a website and stood back. “Check this out.”

Alana scooted closer, squinting at the startling expanse of blue sky above a huge log-cabin-style house. In the lower corner of the screen were three cowboys, but it was one of their horses that caught her attention. With that lean, powerful body and a shimmering gray mane, he looked like an Arabian, but she couldn’t be sure from the picture. What was this, anyway? Her gaze went to the top of the screen. The Sundance Dude Ranch.

It took a second for the words to register. She narrowed her gaze on her assistant. “A dude ranch. Me. You’re kidding.”

“Why not? You like to ride. Do it where the air is clean and men are men.”

Alana laughed. “I haven’t been riding in years.” She slid another look at the three cowboys. Not bad, if a woman liked the rugged outdoor sort….

“All the more reason to get your overworked type A ass out of the city and do something fun for a change.”

Groaning, Alana swiveled to find her shoes. “Remind me why I keep you around.”

“Because I don’t take your crap, I’m very good at what I do, and I know how to fix your computer,” she said, then pointedly added, “without erasing the entire hard drive.”

“God, I’m going to hear about that for the rest of my life.”

“Take a damn vacation, Richardson. You need it.”

“A dude ranch. Sure thing.” She winced, trying to stuff her foot back into the narrow shoe. It had to be the correct size. Her personal shopper had chosen them, but they were new. Alana had figured half a day’s wear would be enough to break them in.

“Look, I probably wouldn’t have thought of it on my own, but I have friends who went last month, and they came back raving about the place. Plus they said the guys were totally hot.”

“You have time for friends? Obviously I don’t work you hard enough.”

“Just read some of the reviews.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Pam exhaled in that long-suffering way she had perfected. “You are so myopic.”

Alana quit trying to put on the shoe and brought it up for closer inspection. Her eyes were tired from another late night reviewing ads, and the print was too blurry. “This is an eight, right?” She showed the toeless black pump to Pam.

“That’s not what I meant.” Clearly annoyed, her assistant ducked her head to glance at the size. “Yes,” she said, her expression changing to one of banked amusement. “By the way, your mother called while you were meeting with Mr. Giles.”

That was odd. Eleanor rarely called the office. Alana opened the desk drawer where she kept her cell and saw that she had several messages waiting. “And?”

“She’s lecturing at a conference in Boston this weekend. After that she’s going to the Cape for a few days. She wanted to let you know she’d be away.”

A sick feeling churned in Alana’s stomach. “You didn’t tell her about the move,” she said, not liking the knowing gleam in her assistant’s eye. “Or that the office would be closed.”

“I’m not sure.” Pam frowned, but couldn’t quite keep a straight face. “I might have mentioned it. Was that wrong?”

“I’m not afraid of her.” Not a total lie. Terrified was a better description. The woman wasn’t a monster, nothing like that. But if Alana thought she was good at manipulating people, Dr. Eleanor Richardson was the damn master. Nine out of ten times she could get her only daughter to crumble like a stale brownie. And if her mother knew she was free, she’d insist Alana accompany her to the Cape. “I can say no to Eleanor.”

“Of course you can.” Pam grinned as she moved around the desk toward the door. “But you know, with all the fall foliage, Cape Cod is gorgeous this time of year….”

Sighing, Alana dug out her phone. All three messages were from Eleanor. Oh, crap.

“Have fun with Mom,” Pam said on her way out with a wave over her shoulder.

“That was so beneath you,” Alana muttered, loudly enough for Pam to hear, then drummed her short, pale, manicured nails on her desk while staring at the phone as if it were the enemy.

She had to call her mother back. If she didn’t, Eleanor would inevitably show up at Alana’s apartment. The doormen all knew her. They’d probably lay out the damn red carpet without even giving Alana a heads-up that her mother was in the building.

And why not? Eleanor Richardson was beautiful and charming, a world-renowned psychiatrist who knew exactly how to get what she wanted. With her expertise perpetually in demand, she was wined and dined, courted by some of the most prestigious institutions in the world. The woman knew no humility, though Alana marveled at how well her mother hid her arrogance and sense of entitlement. Her ability was truly something. Almost enviable.

The thought made Alana shudder. She loved her mother and respected her because she really was brilliant and worked hard—her discipline was an amazing thing. But Alana didn’t want to be like her. Eleanor had no friends. Never in a hundred years could Alana imagine her having a conversation like the one she herself had just had with Pam. It was a small thing, perhaps, and there were many qualities passed on to her from her mother for which Alana was grateful.

She also appreciated the top-notch education she’d been provided, the fabulous trips abroad, the trust fund that guaranteed she’d never have to worry about her future. But the perks had come at a price. A normal childhood had been the trade-off. No sleepovers or going off to summer camp or attending Friday-night school football games like her classmates. No father to read her stories or tuck her in at night.

When she was younger, Alana had thought often about how her life might’ve been different if she’d had a more traditional upbringing. She’d even considered inquiring about the man who’d fathered her. One particular time she’d been so furious with Eleanor for planning a Caribbean trip for them the weekend of the junior prom that she’d nearly asked her mother why she’d bothered having a child.

But Alana hadn’t asked. Instead, she’d sneaked out of her room late that night. She’d made it only five blocks in their posh neighborhood when the police picked her up, assuming she was whacked out on drugs, given the way she was furiously muttering to herself. When they’d returned her home, Eleanor hadn’t raised her voice, not even an eyebrow. She’d merely opened the door, thanked the police in that cool, elegant voice of hers, while Alana raced up the stairs to her room.

Until dawn she’d waited in agony for her bedroom door to open, for Eleanor to lash out at her. The lecture never came. She hadn’t been grounded, no privileges were taken away, and later, when they’d sat across the table from each other while the housekeeper served them breakfast, Eleanor had smiled that charming smile she’d perfected, and reviewed the itinerary of their Caribbean trip as if nothing had happened.

It was then that Alana recognized the truth of their relationship. She’d finally understood her role. Eleanor hadn’t necessarily wanted a child; she’d needed a companion. Marriage had never even been considered. After all, what man could meet her expectations?

But a child? Perfect, really, because it gave Eleanor the opportunity to mold Alana into someone who suited her mother’s preferences. Infuriatingly, the plan had worked far too well. For all Alana’s good intentions, she ended up bending to Eleanor’s will far too often.

Alana blinked at the monitor when the unimaginative galaxy screen saver obliterated the picture of the Sundance Dude Ranch that had been there a second ago. She touched the mouse and recalled the website, her gaze sweeping from the beautiful Arabian to the cowboy straddling the animal. Hot guys. Right. What was Pam thinking? She knew Alana’s taste was more sophisticated than that, in clothes, in men….

Although she had to admit these were some pretty nice specimens. She moved in for a closer look at their faces, but two of the cowboys had their hats pulled low. The third one had his brim tipped back and was very good-looking, but on the young side. They were the McAllister brothers, owners and operators along with their sister and mother, according to the blurb. The ranch had been in the family for several generations, but only recently had they opened their doors to paying guests.

Alana had to smile. Yeah, she’d just bet the place was popular, especially with women looking for a vacation fling. Out of curiosity, she clicked on the descriptions of the activities offered and, impressed, started skimming the reviews.

Just as she figured, the ranch was solidly endorsed, and so were the men. Some of the guests had included photos of their vacation, and Montana was undeniably beautiful country, with breathtaking views of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains, open meadows and storybook streams. Though the highlight for most of the reviewers had been—big surprise—the men who worked the ranch. A whole slew of photographs were dedicated to the brothers, the hired hands, the town’s sheriff….

She peered closer. Yes, she could understand why some women might find Sheriff Calder appealing. Alana wasn’t one for a man in uniform, certainly not half a uniform. Along with his official tan shirt, he wore scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans—wore them quite well, in fact. But it was his strong, chiseled jaw that caught her fancy, even if his sun-streaked brown hair was a bit too long.

Her phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text.

She pulled open her drawer to check the display, though she knew who it was, and that she wasn’t about to answer.

Eleanor’s message was brief. She’d be in a meeting for an hour, but needed to talk to her immediately after.

Alana’s gaze moved back to her computer screen and the blue Montana sky. Outside her door she heard laughter. The mailroom staff had been assigned packing duty, and it sounded as if her office might be next on their list.

Montana, huh? God, was she seriously considering this? Was the idea too crazy? She pushed her fingers through her hair, trying to recall when, exactly, she’d last been horseback riding. But a dude ranch?

Hell, why not? She wasn’t allergic to fresh air. And she was getting tired of sailing in the Caribbean and visiting the Hamptons. Not that she ever had much leisure time.

Who was she kidding? She felt like a teenager again, trying to ditch her mother. The thing was, she hadn’t really lied to Pam. Technically, Alana could say no to Eleanor, except the woman had a way of digging in her claws and making Alana feel guilty as hell. Sometimes it was just a look, a single word, a lift of a brow, and Alana was toast. She’d try not to give in. She’d call herself every kind of fool, because in all other aspects of her life she had a spine of steel.

But when it came to her mom, the end result rarely varied. She’d beat herself up for being weak, throw in the reminder that Eleanor was a psychiatrist, for God’s sake, even without the power accorded all mothers to elevate or scar their children well into adulthood, if not for life. Alana would feel better for a few minutes, but then eventually give in and do what Eleanor wanted.

Might as well wager on a dude ranch halfway across the country, on the off chance she’d actually have fun. Except no one could know, absolutely no one. Image was everything in Alana’s business. Hell, her client base consisted primarily of sophisticated trendsetters and Fortune 500 companies. No, she thought as she clicked on Reservations, not a single person could know. She wouldn’t even tell Pam.

NOAH CALDER STEPPED OUT OF HIS office and peered down Main Street. The Lemon sisters had finished decorating the Gazette’s window for Halloween, and moved on to hanging paper ghosts from the elm tree in the stamp-size park in the center of town.

Normally, he would have gone home by now and left the evening shift to Roy. But it was Friday and the boys from the Circle K and the Double R had been paid earlier. Half of them would end up at the Watering Hole to shoot pool, get drunk, and mostly hang around hoping to get lucky with one of the women staying at the Sundance, who often ducked into the bar.

In general the men behaved themselves, but Noah had promised Rachel McAllister that he’d keep an eye on her guests. Though to his way of thinking, it was the men who needed looking after. Most of the gals who’d been coming to town since the dude ranch opened weren’t the shy type. They knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it.

A couple of them had scared the hell out of him. Offering to buy him drinks, asking to take him to dinner or to go on moonlit rides … One bold young lady had asked if he’d take her somewhere to go skinny-dipping. And now even his deputies were giving him grief over it.

He turned to look the other way and muttered an oath when he saw Avery Phelps bearing down on him.

“You listen to me, Sheriff, and you listen good.” Flushed from spending too much time sidled up to Sadie’s bar, Avery shuffled down, shaking a scrawny fist in the air. “All this thievery business is on account of those McAllisters. And I ain’t the only one who wants to know what you’re gonna do about it.”

Sighing, Noah shoved Avery’s fist out of his face. He was in no way threatening. In his prime, Avery might have topped off at five-seven, but age had him bent and bow-legged and a foot shorter than Noah. Even so, he knew the old man was harmless. Annoying as hell, generally belligerent, and probably lonely since his wife of fifty years had passed on three winters ago, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Noah met the old-timer’s bloodshot, beady eyes. “I suggest you think about how you’re phrasing that accusation, Avery.”

His brown weathered face creased in confusion and he swayed to the left. With a light touch to his shoulder, Noah brought him back to center. The guy was still active, but damn, he felt frail.

Hell, Noah didn’t need something else to worry about. Since he’d moved back to Blackfoot Falls, his plate was full enough with his aging parents. They were the main reason he’d returned—that and he didn’t care for city living. “Why don’t I drive you home?”

“I got my own truck. How else you think I got here, boy?” Still frowning, Avery rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Don’t go mixing up my words, either. I ain’t accusing the McAllisters of thieving, but it is their fault things have gone missing, what with them inviting all them strangers to town.”

For three months Avery and his cronies had been ranting about the influx of tourists, and Noah was getting damn tired of it. Although part of his irritation had to do with the fact that he hadn’t made any headway in solving a rash of thefts that had plagued the county since the McAllisters had opened their doors to guests.

Sure, the economy was bad and a lot of folks were out of work, but he knew most everyone for miles, and they were good, honest, God-fearing people. Transients had come through looking for work over the summer, but the timing was off. They’d all been long gone before the first theft occurred, so he knew they weren’t responsible.

Some of the stolen property had been recovered, but no thanks to him or his deputies. Harlan Roker’s trailer had been abandoned in a field ten miles south of his ranch. The Silvas’ water truck had gone missing for two days, then turned up in back of Abe’s Variety Store.

It almost seemed as if someone was toying with Noah, showing him they could do whatever they wanted and he couldn’t stop them. But he’d been sheriff of Salina County for three years, and to his knowledge he hadn’t made any enemies. Yeah, he’d broken up the occasional bar fight or been called to settle a squabble between neighbors, but nothing serious. He’d worked as a Chicago cop after the army and college, before returning to Blackfoot Falls. Normally he could handle the job here with his eyes closed.

“Look at ‘em.” Avery pointed a gnarled finger at a green rental car that pulled up in front of the Salina Gazette’s office next to the Watering Hole. Three young blondes dressed to kill climbed out.

“Quit pointing.”

Avery ignored him. “That’s when the trouble all started. When that dude ranch opened. Those damn McAllister kids … their poor father is turning over in his grave.”

Noah forced the man’s arm down. “Shut up, Avery, or I swear to God I’ll lock you up on a drunk and disorderly charge.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, boy—”

Noah saw that one of the women had noticed them. Afraid she would head his way, he grabbed hold of Avery’s arm, while reaching behind and opening the door. “Get in my office.”

The old man’s eyes bulged. “You locking me up?”

“Not if you come quietly.” Noah spotted Roy’s truck pulling to the curb, and he motioned for his deputy to meet him inside.

Avery started yapping before the door was closed. Noah tuned him out, glanced through the open blinds to see Roy approaching, and then turned his attention to the whirring groan of an incoming fax.

The machine was ancient, but they didn’t use it much since they’d gotten the new computer, and Noah couldn’t justify the expense of replacing it.

“What’s up, boss?” Roy looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed with his spiky hair and wrinkled uniform shirt.

“Tuck it in,” Noah said, snorting when Roy tried to suck in his sizable gut. “The shirt.” Noah shifted a mislaid stack of papers from the corner of his desk to the top of the gunmetal-gray file cabinet. “Then take Avery home.” He cut off the old man’s protest with a stern glare before picking up the fax.

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the arguing faded as the pair left the office, leaving Noah to concentrate on the fax sent from the Potter County Sheriff’s Department. He knew Roland Moran, though not well, because Potter County was located south, clear down near the Idaho border. Sheriff Moran was old-school and had personally sent the fax.

Noah studied the piece of paper, seeing that he was one of four sheriffs who’d been notified that a pair of con artists might be headed north toward the Canadian border. Huh, grifters … that was something you didn’t see every day. The man had a medium build, was in his mid-thirties with dark hair; the woman in her late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, tall, attractive, the brains. Moran believed they were married but might be traveling separately.

Noah rubbed the tense spot in his right shoulder. Great, just what he needed. More trouble.