Читать книгу The Swinging R Ranch - Debbi Rawlins - Страница 12

IT HAD ONLY BEEN AN HOUR since Max stepped off the Bennett family’s private plane and onto Nevada soil and already he hated Bingo and everything associated with it. The desert was not his idea of a good time. It was hot, dusty and he didn’t give a damn what the pilot said, Max knew he saw a friggin’ scorpion. So what that they’d still been forty feet from the ground. A scorpion was pretty damn hard to miss.

From the back seat of the hired car, Max eyed the passing landscape with disdain and suspicion. Scorpion or not, he had no use for anything smaller than a kitten that had four or more legs. He shook his head. How could Aunt Lily have left Boston for this place?

Of course Boston didn’t have legal brothels.

He smiled, thinking of the events of the past twenty-four hours. The Bennetts had gone bonkers over Aunt Lily’s bequest. Normally when he asked for use of the family plane, he’d get a lecture. Not this time. His parents had coughed it up so fast it was a joke. They wanted him to hurry and wash his hands of the place. He’d really have hated telling them that he was thinking about keeping it to supplement his trust fund. So he hadn’t.

“How much longer before we get there?” Max asked the driver, and like the two other times he’d asked, the man sighed.

“About fifteen minutes.” The man muttered something under his breath, then added, “Don’t they teach you boys how to tell time back east?”

At the man’s insolence, Max gave a startled laugh. “Yeah. They even teach us manners. What’s your name?”

“Herbert Hanson.” The man shook his head and from under the battered tan cowboy hat he wore, his black eyes met Max’s in the rearview mirror. “You must be one hardheaded son-of-a-gun.”

Max snorted. “I’d ask how you arrived at that conclusion except I have a feeling that’s unnecessary.”

“If they taught you manners, you weren’t listening too good. I introduced myself to you when I picked you up, son. But you were too busy shooting your mouth off about how you’d ordered a Lincoln Town Car.”

Very few people could render Max speechless. Herbert Hanson’s brassy dressing-down had him dumbstruck.

“I’m sure you’re used to getting what you want,” Hanson continued, “but out here in Bingo, folks are plumb grateful to get what they need. This old Caddy will get you there safe and sound,” he winked into the rearview mirror, taking some of the sting out of his words, “in the next thirteen minutes. You can count on that.”

A dozen sarcastic remarks flew through Max’s head, including one that would make old Herbert think twice about getting a tip. But the man had hit a nerve and Max decided to leave it alone.

He stared out the window in silence, wondering how long it would take to get his business wrapped up and get the hell out of Dodge. There was only one motel in town and he certainly wasn’t expecting much there. He’d had a difficult enough time getting picked up. There was no limo service in Bingo. Herbert was the motel manager’s uncle and he’d agreed to run Max around to supplement his retirement income.

A good reason not to tick off the old guy, or Max could end up without wheels. And scorpion territory was not the place to be hotfooting it around.

Of course he could always stay at the Swinging R Ranch. After all, he owned the place. The thought made him cringe, and he had to remind himself that brothels were legal here in certain parts of Nevada. Hell, it probably boosted the local economy, supplied jobs, kept women off welfare, provided college tuition.

He shoved a hand through his hair. None of this reasoning made him feel better. He’d never been forced to evaluate his position on prostitution, legal or not, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do it now. Not when he was almost broke. Still, the idea that a woman ever had to make a living on her back made him squirm. Great time for him to develop a conscience.

On the near horizon, the flat dusty terrain gave way to a handful of buildings. He glanced at his watch. That had to be Bingo. Taylor had warned him the town was small, but he’d figured a population of nine-hundred-and-two required more than a ghost town.

From behind his dark glasses, he squinted at the sign coming up on the right. It said, Welcome To Bingo, and below it, Population nine-hundred-and-two. Except the two was crossed out and five was etched in.

“What do you people do? Count cows and horses?” Max asked.

Herbert glanced at the sign just as they drove past it. “Nope. The Hoover boys left for college this fall and we don’t expect they’ll be back. But Alma Hopkins just had triplets. Six months ago Louise Jenks had only one, but we suspect there’s another bun in her oven.”

Max stared at the back of the man’s head. He could see enough of his somber profile to see that the guy was serious. Max slumped back in his seat. This was definitely not his scene. The sooner he figured out how much money the Swinging R could make him and got out of here, the better.

“I changed my mind about going straight to the motel. Let’s swing by Chester Southby’s office instead.”

“We can do that,” Herbert said in that annoyingly lazy drawl of his. “But that ol’ boy is going to be fishing on a nice day like this, not sitting cooped up in his office.”

“It’s Friday afternoon. Somebody has to be there.”

“Why?”

Max frowned. Valid question, he supposed. He himself never kept normal hours. He sighed. “Just drive.”

“Happy to oblige, son. I get paid by the mile and I could sure use the money. I got me a big purchase in mind.”

Herbert couldn’t be a day under sixty-five, probably closer to seventy, and Max had to admit he was curious about what the man was so hot to get his hands on. Probably a new car. In fact, eyeing the worn vinyl upholstery, Max hoped that was it. But he wasn’t about to ask. So far the old guy hadn’t pried into Max’s business here in Bingo and he wanted to keep it that way.

That he was the new owner of a bordello had nothing to do with his desire for anonymity, he told himself. It wasn’t as though he was ashamed. He just liked his privacy, that’s all.

“Yup, just what I thought.” Herbert slowed down and pointed to an ancient building that leaned slightly to the left. “See that sign on the door? It means he won’t be back for another couple of days.”

Max squinted at the sheet of white paper tacked to the red door. “It looks like a giant smiley face.”

“That’s right. Getting away from his wife for two days makes Chester real happy. You want we should head back for the motel?”

Max let out an exasperated sigh. The last thing he needed was to have to hang around for an extra day. He frowned suddenly. “Wait a minute. You said head back to the motel? We already passed it?”

“Yup. Four blocks behind you on the right.”

Max slowly turned around. Was he kidding? The entire town was only three blocks long. At least by normal city standards. Four only if you counted the five-car parking lot adjoining Edna’s Edibles.

“It’s got that dang purple roof. You can’t miss it.”

Not even with his eyes closed. Max shook his head at the ill-shaped monstrosity that hovered near the other side of town. Several add-ons in varying shades and types of wood sent the building sprawling into the desert. It wasn’t very big. Just weird. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me to the Swinging R Ranch.”

Herbert slammed on the brakes. Good thing they’d been crawling. Twisted in his seat as he was, Max’s seat belt could have done some serious damage otherwise.

“You wanna go where?” Herbert turned around to give Max a steely-eyed glare. The old man had done a lousy job of shaving and sunlight glinted off missed spots of gray beard. One side of his mouth drooped, probably from too many years of pipe-smoking. “What in the hell for?”

“What do you think?”

“It better not be for what I’m thinking.”

Max held onto his temper. No way was he going to get in a scuffle with this crazy old coot. Then he stopped, frowned. “Wait a minute. What are you thinking?”

Herbert eyed him for a long uncomfortable minute. “There ain’t too many reasons why a fella goes to the Swinging R.”

Max took a deep breath. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Actually, I have other business there.”

“I’m listening.”

This got tricky. Max hadn’t decided yet if he wanted anyone to know who he was. But the look of murderous intent in Herbert Hanson’s eyes pretty much decided things. Of course if the guy had a daughter who worked there Max might be in even deeper trouble.

Damn, he wished Taylor were here. “I’m Lily McIntyre’s nephew.”

Herbert’s bushy salt-and-pepper brows shot up. “No kidding. You the new owner, huh?”

“So it seems.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Herbert grinned and whipped the car around in the direction from which they’d come. “We’ll be there in ten minutes, tops.”

Herbert was apparently anxious to visit the Ranch. Seven minutes and two ignored stop signs later, they pulled up in front of a sign that announced the Swinging R Ranch.

Max’s heart sank at the sight of the old rambling blue house. The wraparound porch had probably been attractive once, but right now the outside railing had more slats missing than were in place. The surrounding white picket fence was half down and large scabs of peeling paint hung loosely from the portion still standing.

“Well, aren’t you going to get out?”

Max snapped out of his trance and realized Herbert had actually gotten out and come around to open his door. “What happened to this place?”

Herbert frowned at the house, studying it for a moment, then shrugged. “Poor old Lily. She done the best she could but she was getting on in years and sorta just let the place go.”

“Didn’t she have any help?”

“Oh, yeah, but she was headstrong. Tried to run everything herself anyway. Let me help you with that bag, son.”

A ray of hope filtered through Max’s gloom. Maybe the disrepair was a result of Lily’s eccentricity and not a failing business. “No, thanks. I can—”

“Herbie! You old scoundrel.” A booming feminine voice coming from the side of the house cut Max off. “You didn’t tell me you were coming today.”

Max turned around to see who had lit Herbert’s face up like a Vegas neon sign. But it was hard to get a good look when she ran past him and flung herself at the older man. To his credit, Herbert caught her and spun her around a couple of times before putting her back on the ground.

She was slim, petite even, with a head full of flaming red hair. When she aimed her charcoal-lined blue eyes at Max he was surprised to find that she was near Herbert’s age.

The housekeeper probably, judging by her age and the full white apron she wore. Flour smudged her left cheek. Or maybe she was the cook. Max smiled. Things were looking up if the place could still afford help.

“Well, hello, Sugar,” she said, running a lazy gaze over him. “Who might you be?”

“Come on, Mona.” Herbert drew her attention. “Don’t I get more than a hug?”

She slapped his arm, but her lips curved. “You old rascal. I’ve a good mind to leave you standing out here in the hot sun for not warning me you were coming.” She patted her hair. “I must look a mess.”

“Hell, no, Mona. You always look good to me.” Herbert picked her up off the ground again. Laughing, she gave him another smack on the arm and he put her down.

Max eyed the other man with new interest. Maybe the guy wasn’t as old as he thought.

“Come on in, and bring your friend. Rosie just made some fresh lemonade.” Mona led them up the path toward the front door, Herbert panting behind her like a lovesick puppy.

Max didn’t like the looks of the porch stairs but the other two didn’t seem worried so he followed them into the house.

It looked fairly normal. From the foyer, he could see part of the living room. Tan carpeting, an overstuffed blue plaid sofa and two recliners. No red velvet or black lace easily visible. Maybe they saved those sorts of things for the bedrooms.

That he was in a real-life brothel struck him suddenly and he had the most unnatural urge to shiver. This was all legal, he reminded himself, but it didn’t help.

“Hey, Mona, have we got company?” a voice asked from the kitchen.

“Herbie and a young man,” Mona called back. “Are you decent? We’re coming in for lemonade.”

Max laughed. They both gave him odd looks. He’d assumed Rosie was the cook, or some other help. Maybe she was one of the…

He cleared his throat. Taylor was his attorney, dammit. He should have insisted she come and handle this. “Is there a place I can wash up?”

“Sure, the kitchen sink.” Mona reached behind to untie her apron as she led them through the dining room.

So much for trying to stall. Following beside Herbert, Max couldn’t help but notice the rhythmic sway of Mona’s hips but he straightened in disgust when he realized he was admiring a woman old enough to be his grandmother.

“Either of you boys want some rum to go with that lemonade?” Mona asked over her shoulder.

“None for me,” Herbert said. “I’m working.”

“Working?” Mona laughed. “Standing here jawing with us?”

“Nope. Driving this young fella around.”

They reached the kitchen, and with open curiosity, Mona turned to give Max the once-over. “You still haven’t told me your name, Sugar.”

“Max Bennett.” He offered his hand.

She frowned. “Now, why does that name sound familiar?”

“Maxwell Bennett?” A surprised high-pitched voice came from somewhere in the corner.

He looked past Mona and Herbert to find a well-rounded, platinum-blond woman balancing on a step stool in the walk-in pantry.

Mona looked from Max to the other woman. “Rosie, you know this young man?”

“For goodness sakes, Mona, this is Lily’s nephew.” She came out of the pantry, dusting her hands, and sending up a mist of flour. “He’s taking over the Ranch. Aren’t you, Mr. Bennett?”

Max blinked. When the air cleared, he got a good look at Rosie. Her hair wasn’t blond. It was white. Attractive, but definitely white. The lines etched around her mouth and fanning from her brown eyes put her in the late sixties category. Was she the cook? Which made Mona…what? The housekeeper?

His gaze strayed over to her. He tried not to gape. She’d removed her apron and now he knew what they did with black lace. The fabric fit her like a second skin, clinging and diving to a deep V between her sizable breasts.

“Max.” Mona grabbed the hand he’d offered earlier. “I assume I can call you Max? And of course you already know I’m Mona. Mona Lisa. And this here is Rosie Peach.”

“Mona Lisa. Rosie Peach,” Max repeated slowly. This couldn’t be what he was thinking.

Mona nodded. “Candy Kane is out shopping but she should be home soon. There’s only three of us these days.”

Oh, man. Max swallowed, not sure what to say.

To his further embarrassment, Mona and Rosie exchanged knowing looks. Then Rosie smiled. “Don’t worry, Max,” she said patting his arm. “There may be snow on the chimney but there’s still fire in the furnace.”

“WHERE IS SHE?” Abby stood on the porch of the Swinging R and planted her hands on her hips, waiting for Mona to deny that Gramms was here.

“I presume you’re talking about Estelle.” Mona folded her arms across her chest, keeping the screen door open with one hip. “She’s not here.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“She’s out shopping with Candy.”

“Oh.” Abby hadn’t been prepared for the admission. “Well, what time will she be back?”

“How should I know, Abigail? I’m not her mother.” Mona narrowed her dramatically made-up eyes. “And neither are you.”

Abby lifted her chin. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what this show of rebellion was about. She knew Gramms thought she was too bossy. But Abby sure wasn’t about to discuss their personal business with Mona. “I’ll wait.”

“Don’t you have campaign things to go worry about?”

Abby was about to reply when she heard a deep rumbling laugh coming from inside. She’d already seen Herb Hanson’s car parked alongside the house. No surprise. Everyone knew he and Mona had been an item for a number of years. But that wasn’t his laugh she’d heard. Curiosity elbowed her and she shifted to get a look inside.

Mona shifted, too, blocking her vision. “Abigail, you know we like to protect the privacy of our gentlemen callers.”

Everyone knew the Swinging R had been closed to that kind of business for nearly twenty years. Mona was just trying to be a pain. Abby sighed. “Are you going to make me wait out here?”

“I’m thinking about it. Unless you promise to leave Estelle alone. She’ll go home when she’s good and ready.”

Abby tried to keep her chin up. But it hurt to think that Gramms was trying to get away from her. They’d always been close, and after Abby’s parents died, they’d gotten even closer.

“Ah, shoot. Come on in, honey,” Mona said, and Abby stiffened at the trace of pity in her voice. “Rosie made some fresh lemonade a little while ago.”

Abby was about to refuse, upset that she’d somehow revealed too much of her thoughts. But Mona’s eyes were kind, and that deep rumbling laughter coming from inside called to Abby again.

“Thank you,” she said a little more stiffly than intended, and followed Mona inside.

As soon as she crossed the threshold she saw him. He had his back to her. A very nice back. Medium brown hair a tad too long. Broad-shouldered, tapered waist. And his jeans fit him…extremely well.

“Nice buns, huh?” Mona whispered.

“I wasn’t looking there,” Abby shot back, obviously in too loud a voice.

Both men turned.

Heat blossomed in her cheeks. “I guess I’ll go find Rosie,” she muttered.

Before she could slip away, Mona grabbed her arm. “Not so fast. There’s someone we want you to meet.”

Abby had no choice but to stop and look up.

Oh, no.

Green eyes. She was the world’s biggest sucker for guys with green eyes. She’d made two huge mistakes over green-eyed men—one in high school, one in college. Both disastrous. And this man’s eyes were gorgeous, especially the way they lit up with his smile.

“Hi, I’m Abby,” she said, disgusted at how tongue-tied she felt.

“I’m Max Bennett.” His perfectly shaped mouth curved slowly, a faint dimple appearing in one cheek.

“You certainly are,” she murmured, astonished by the sheer beauty of him. She cringed. Had she really said that out loud?

“Did I tell you I’m Abby?”

His green eyes gleamed with amusement and she found she couldn’t look away. When he started to nod slowly, she found herself absently nodding along with him. Horrified, she snapped out of the trance.

This was not at all like her. The clammy palms, the speeding pulse. Sure, he was gorgeous but…she wanted to be mayor. She had to focus on her campaign, concentrate on her career, on bringing Bingo into the twenty-first century. Her future had been too meticulously planned. It did not include a man. Or a family. For now, anyway. Maybe later…

She took a deep breath, trying to rein in her wildly galloping thoughts. For heaven’s sake, she was only being introduced to the guy. Campaign jitters, that’s all.

She stuck out her hand. “Abby Cunningham. I’m running for mayor.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes. “Mayor? I assumed you worked here as one of the…” He shrugged.

Abby’s mouth opened but nothing came out. He thought she was a…She couldn’t even think it, much less say it.

“Nah, Abigail’s been to college and everything,” Mona said. “She’s going to be our next mayor just like her daddy was.”

“Good for you.” Max’s slow grin had her getting all rubbery again, and she forgave him for mistaking her for an employee here. The warm feel of his palm pressed to hers just about finished her off. “When’s the election?”

She quickly withdrew her hand and inconspicuously rubbed her tingly palm down the front of her jeans. “In two months.”

“Pity I won’t be here to help celebrate your victory.”

He didn’t mean he would really celebrate with her, of course, but at the low intimate timbre of his voice, Abby got all shivery inside.

“What do you mean?” Mona asked. “Who’s going to run the place if you’re not?” At Abby’s puzzled frown, she added, “Max is the new owner of the Swinging R.”

Abby gaped at him. “You’re the new owner?”

He nodded.

The warm fuzzy feeling instantly vanished. What the heck was he doing here? If he had even a passing notion of reopening the place…or allowing Gramms to stay on…

Abby got so worked up she could barely sustain the thought.

“You’re right, Mr. Bennett. You won’t be here in two months. I’m going to shut you down.”