Читать книгу Cowgirl in High Heels - Jeannie Watt - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“IT WAS BAD,” Francisco said as he took the cup of coffee Lydia handed him. “Not as bad as right after he signed the sale papers, but I think he can’t hold his alcohol as well as he used to.”

“If he’s going to do this every time someone from the family comes to the ranch... Well, that isn’t going to work at all,” Lydia said. “He’s going to—” She abruptly closed her mouth as the bathroom door opened, and then slow footsteps came down the hall.

“Son of a bitch,” Walt muttered as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Where’s the truck that hit me?”

“The truck had a big Budweiser logo emblazoned on the side,” Lydia said as she folded a dish towel. “And you know better than to stand in the middle of the street in front of it. Sit down.”

Walt sat. He was a small guy, with a thin, wiry frame that had caused a lot of people to misjudge his strength in his younger days. “Who rescued me?”

Francisco raised a hand.

“I owe you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Francisco said. “More than that, you owe Jessie. It was bath night.”

“Sorry about that.” He raised red-rimmed eyes toward Ryan. “You’re quiet.” Ryan shrugged. “Did you win?”

“Of course he won,” Lydia snapped. “The question is, are you going to keep doing this?”

“What?” Walt blinked at her.

“What?” Lydia propped a hand on her aproned hip and waved her spatula at him. “Drinking yourself into oblivion whenever the Bradworths show up.”

“That’s not—”

“Bull. How do you want your eggs?”

“Scrambled.”

“How about you?” she asked Ryan, eyeing him carefully.

She had her mother radar on full force, having sensed something was off the moment he’d walked in the door with Francisco, twenty minutes before. There was no way he was telling her he’d had contact with the Montoyas. As far as he was concerned, that episode was over and done—unless, of course, his father did something stupid.

“I’ve got to get to the vet clinic pretty soon,” Ryan said.

“After you eat.”

“Scrambled,” he said. Another hard mother stare and then Lydia turned back to her eggs. Ryan scowled at Walt. “Francisco will take you home and then you’d better clean up—just in case this lady wants to talk to you.”

“Just like last time,” Walt muttered. When it’d taken Ryan a good day to calm him down after he’d discovered what Mrs. Bradworth had in mind for his ancestral home.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Walt said in a grim voice.

“Yeah?” Ryan bit.

“You’re thinking that it’s stupid of me to stay at the ranch when it hurts knowing someone else owns it.” Walt placed his palms flat on the lace tablecloth. “Well, they might own the business, but I don’t feel like they own the land. They don’t know nothing about the land. That land is still mine.”

Lydia’s eyebrows went up from where she was stirring the eggs at the counter behind Walt.

“I’m part of it,” Walt said. “I’m gonna die there.”

Lydia gave her head a shake and poured the eggs into the pan.

Ryan tamped down the twinge of alarm that had started to rise. Walt had never talked of dying before. “If you’re talking about taking yourself out—”

Walt’s eyes flashed up. “I didn’t say I was going to die soon. Or that I was going to take myself out. Just that I’m never leaving my property.”

“In that case, play ball. Okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” Walt grumbled.

“See to it.”

Fifteen minutes later Francisco escorted a muttering Walt to his pickup for the drive back to the ranch while Ryan hung around a few minutes to help his mother clean the kitchen. He figured, vet or no vet, it was the least he could do.

“I don’t like this dying talk,” Ryan muttered as he closed the dishwasher and set the controls.

“You aren’t his keeper, son.” Lydia brushed wisps of blond hair off her forehead. Despite the rather tumultuous life she’d led, his mother looked younger than her fifty years.

“Closest thing he’s got,” Ryan said, wiping his hands on a towel and then hanging it to dry.

Lydian touched his shoulder. “I heard about Matt Montoya.”

Ryan sucked in a breath, wondering how his mom could mention Matt’s name so casually. “Yeah.”

“How you doing with that?”

Ryan met his mother’s eyes, so like his own. “I don’t quite know yet.”

* * *

IT TOOK A good twenty minutes before Ellie could no longer smell pumpkin, nutmeg and cloves, even with the windows cracked open. The sad thing was that Ellie loved pumpkin pie—or rather, she had.

Finally she ventured into the kitchen and closed the windows, then took a cautious breath. All clear.

Relieved to have the kitchen back, she put the shiny new kettle on the burner to brew some of Angela’s chamomile tea. She ripped open the packet, then quickly sniffed it to make sure the baby didn’t object before dropping the tea bag in the mug.

Reality was definitely setting in. A reality she hadn’t counted on and frankly didn’t think she deserved. She’d planned her life so carefully, after all. Had dotted her i’s, crossed her t’s. Sacrificed. Stayed in and studied when other people went out during college. Worked overtime. Volunteered for assignments.

Sleeping with the handsome guy from Atlanta hadn’t exactly been her usual modus operandi. Even flirting with him had been outside her usual code of conduct, since they were employed by the same company in different branches. But he’d been smooth and funny. Charming. Determined to get her to bed before she made her final consulting trip to Atlanta. And Ellie had enjoyed the journey.

He hadn’t called after their hot night together. The pursuit had ended and Ellie had chalked it up to been-there-done-that. She’d indulged in a one-nighter and had enjoyed it...right up until the new regional manager, who would be overseeing her office from his Atlanta locale, was announced two weeks later. Nick Phillips.

That had been the first sucker punch. The second was when she’d discovered that Nick was now a newlywed. Ellie had been his last hurrah. Fine. He could have been more honest, but she hadn’t been looking for a relationship.

And then she’d missed her period.

That was one too many punches. She could work for a man with whom she’d had a fling. The fact that he was now married made it easier. But she couldn’t do that while carrying his child....

Ellie felt the familiar throb at the base of her skull at the thought. Anxiety and stress—a different kind of stress from the work-related kind that energized her.

She’d thrown up after reading her first pregnancy test, and not because of morning sickness. Another test, taken with hands that shook, gave the same result. And for the first time in her life, Ellie had no idea what to do or how to deal with the numb realization that her life would never be the same.

Denial seemed a viable option. Gallons of ice cream another.

Instead she had called Nick and told him the facts: she was pregnant and he was the father. He’d instantly offered her money, for medical costs, for support, for silence. The silence had been his utmost concern. Or perhaps she would consider a termination....

Ellie had made no promises, told him she’d think about the money, hung up the phone and then drafted her letter of resignation.

Never in her life had she reacted to a situation with her emotions leading the charge, but never in her life had she encountered a situation such as this. Or dreamed she ever would. The reason planners planned was to avoid these kinds of situations.

Ellie took her tea to the dining room table, sat with a notebook and started doing what she should have done from day one: writing down her goals and the necessary steps to achieve them.

Goal— Her pen stilled. She briefly closed her eyes, then wrote Have a healthy baby.

There. No more denial. She was pregnant. In seven and a half months she would be a mother.

Steps to achievement. One: seek prenatal care. Two: research pregnancy.

Ellie’s pen hovered for a moment before she wrote:

Goal—Use time at ranch constructively to prepare for personal future.

She had no idea what her steps were there, so she skipped a few lines and moved on to the next item.

Goal—Present Milo with understandable overview of ranch operations to enable him to make future ranch management decisions.

That was what he’d hired the consultant to do, but having another point of reference wouldn’t hurt matters.

Steps to achievement. One: observe ranch operations on a daily basis.

She wasn’t certain of what she would learn, since she was starting from ground zero, but it seemed like the logical first step.

Two: informally evaluate employee performance, goals, strengths, weaknesses.

Now, that she could do.

Three: observe operations at other ranches and compare to Milo’s operation.

Again logical.

Four: meet with consultant.

There. Two goals set out in a businesslike manner. Three if she counted the one with no steps, but she didn’t because a nebulous goal was more like a wish.

Feeling slightly more in control, she pushed the notebook aside and sipped her tea. This was a start. A good start. She had direction. She reached for the pen again, hesitated, settled her left hand on her abdomen before she wrote, Research OBs. Make baby appointment.

* * *

FINALLY.

Ellie heard the truck approaching and pulled open the front room curtains to get a look at it, wrinkling her nose as dust wafted into the air. Whoever was cleaning this place needed a few lessons.

The red pickup pulled in between the small house and the barn, just as it had the night before, but this time she got a better look at the driver. Tallish, lean build, neatly dressed in jeans and a short jacket, ball cap over sandy hair.

He shot a quick look in Ellie’s direction before he mounted the porch, and she instinctively stepped back even though he probably couldn’t see her. As soon as he disappeared inside his house, Ellie slid her feet into her shoes and headed for the door, intent on intercepting him before he took off again.

The sun was out, but the air was crisp as she crossed the wide graveled area between the main house and barn. She hugged her arms around herself, wishing she’d grabbed a coat, but not wanting to turn back. She mounted the single porch step and crossed the creaking planks to the weathered six-paneled door, where she knocked once before rubbing her hands briskly over her upper arms. If this was what summer felt like in Montana, she didn’t think she’d want to spend a winter here. She was about to knock again when she heard movement from inside the house, and then a second later the door opened and Ellie found herself face-to-face with a rather incredible pair of greenish-gray eyes in an angular, magazine-worthy face. No wonder Montana was so popular.

“Hi,” the guy said with a frown that made Ellie realize she’d been staring. “Do you need help with something?”

“Are you Mr. Feldman?”

The frown cleared. “Madison. Ryan Madison.”

Ellie extended her hand. “Ellison Hunter. I’m Angela and Milo’s niece.”

Ryan took her hand briefly, then released it, but not before she’d registered how very callused his palm was. “Nice to meet you,” he said, sounding very much like Lonnie, the pie delivery boy. “I hope you enjoy your stay.” And that had been Jessie’s line.

“Yes, about that... It’s more than just a stay.” She sensed Ryan Madison taking a mental step back. After five years of working in human resources, she was pretty good at reading people, reading reactions. Most of the time anyway. She’d totally missed the boat with Nick and was now paying a very steep price. “I’m here to learn about the ranch.”

“Learn what?” he asked.

“How it’s run.”

“Do the Bradworths have a problem with the way the place is run?”

“They don’t know yet,” Ellie said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m here. I’m sure everything is fine, but you can see where my aunt and uncle need to be brought up to speed before moving onto the property.”

“Of course,” Ryan said. His hand was still on the door, as if he wanted to be able to close it as quickly as possible. “What can I do to help?”

“I’d like to meet with all the employees, discuss their duties. Get to know the operation and work from there.”

Ryan nodded, but gave no answer.

“I’d like to start soon.”

His eyebrows lifted. “How soon?”

“Well, as soon as it’s convenient.” She wanted something to do, something to focus on.

“Are you thinking today?”

“I was.”

“Fine.”

But she had a feeling it wasn’t. “I need to get in touch with the other employees and don’t have the means to do so. I can’t find any records.”

“There are three of us. Francisco Garcia, Walt and myself.”

“Could you give me cell numbers?” she asked.

“I can for Francisco,” he said. “Walt doesn’t have a cell phone.”

“Really?”

“Old school.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Old school was not usually the best practice when it came to business, but then Angela had said the place was about fifty years behind the times.

“I’ll have him get hold of you,” Ryan said.

“That’s what Mrs. Garcia said yesterday.”

“Jessie’s kind of busy with the kids right now. Maybe it slipped her mind. I’ll have Walt down here by the end of the day.”

“Thank you.” She shifted her weight, wishing she wasn’t feeling the urge to let her eyes travel slowly down his long body. “When would be a good time to meet with you?”

He looked over her head, out at the pastures, seemed to debate then said, “Whenever you want.”

“Half an hour? At the house?”

Ryan shrugged. “Sure. Half an hour.”

“See you then.”

* * *

RYAN SLOWLY CLOSED the door. This woman was here to evaluate the ranch? Great timing.

He watched through the half-open curtains as she walked across the graveled drive toward the main house. Ellison Hunter wore jeans that hugged her legs, a long expensive-looking sweater and flat ballerina shoes. Her dark blond hair was twisted up into one of those French-roll things that made him want to pull out the pins and let it fall back down. Cool and elegant, she didn’t look like any kind of ranch expert he’d ever seen, but looks could be deceiving. One of the best ropers he’d ever encountered was a sixty-five-year-old grandmother. And she wasn’t half bad at flanking and throwing, either.

Ellison disappeared into the main house and Ryan stepped away from the window and headed back into the bedroom to find a decent shirt.

Damn. What was this about? It figured that the new owners were going to do something with the ranch, since it was, despite what Walt seemed to think, theirs. Walt had been hoping that the Bradworths would be like the new owners of the old Trail Creek Ranch and never set foot on the place, instead using it as some kind of a tax dodge, and, frankly, so had he. Not to be.

Twenty-five minutes later Ryan knocked on the main-house door. Ellison answered almost immediately and he noticed that she’d put on makeup. Nothing major—just brownish eyeliner that made her green eyes seem larger, and lip gloss. Her hair had been smoothed and she had changed out of the long sweater for a white blouse and black jacket that, despite the jeans, made her seem much more...official.

He didn’t have a good feeling about official.

Or maybe it was just that he hated being in the dark. Until matters were settled with the family and Walt came to terms with whatever their plans were, things could be a bit dicey.

“Have a seat,” Ellison said, waving him to one of a set of leather chairs near the tall windows looking out into the semitamed backyard. Walt had never been much for landscaping, but on Mrs. Bradworth’s first visit she had made it clear that the lawn was to be mowed regularly and the bushes trimmed back. Flowers would be nice. Unfortunately, the deer and rabbits had thought flowers were nice, too, resulting in a lot of stems and not many flowers.

After Ryan sat, Ellison took the opposite chair with her back to the windows and settled a yellow legal pad on her knee. Then she smiled at him. A cool, professional, put-you-at-ease smile that only served to tense him up. He’d seen a similar smile once before—just before getting laid off from his last job during college.

“Just a bit about me,” she said. “I work in the field of human resources, so I tend to focus on employees as...well, resources.”

Cool. He was a resource. With her fake, distant smile, she looked like the type who saw employees as resources rather than people.

“Employees are the most valuable component of a smooth-running operation, as I’m sure you know.”

The nasty feeling in the pit of Ryan’s stomach intensified. “This place runs smoothly.”

She smiled again, kind of, and clicked open her pen. “I’d like to talk to everyone employed here, find out what it is you do and how it contributes to the overall operation of the ranch.”

“Is this a formal evaluation?”

“Not really. It’s more of a get-to-know-the-operation evaluation.” She cocked her head. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

There was no way to answer that question honestly.

“It’s just a surprise, you showing up to get to know the operation,” Ryan said smoothly.

“My aunt told Mr. Feldman I was coming a week ago, so my visit is not really a surprise,” she replied in a reasonable voice.

As he’d thought. And Walt hadn’t said a thing until the very last minute when he’d phoned Jessie to send the keys and then gone off on his bender. Or perhaps he’d called midbender.

“The informal evaluation part,” he said. “Did your aunt mention it to Walt?” Because he didn’t believe Walt would have kept that secret. An evaluation was something they needed to prepare for—or at the very least, prepare Walt for.

“Actually, I’m not certain,” Ellison replied.

None of this felt good, but good or bad, he had to deal with it. Ryan leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

Ellison squared up her notepad. “What is your job title?”

“Cowboy.”

“No. Really.”

He spread his palms in an I-don’t-know-what-else-to-say gesture and she frowned as she realized he was serious. She wrote cowboy after his name.

“I guess you could call me a ranch hand, if it makes you feel better.”

“No, I’m fine with cowboy. And your duties are?”

Ryan leaned his head back slightly as he debated where to begin. “What season?”

Ellison’s eyebrows arched before she said with a faint note of challenge in her voice, “Spring.”

“Calving, branding, fencing. First cutting of alfalfa. Evaluate the grazing.”

Ellison made a note. “Summer?”

“Haying, fencing. Vaccinating. Moving cattle. Irrigating.” A movement outside the window caught his eye. A blue jay had landed on the flat box sitting on the picnic table. The bird turned his head to study the closed flaps through first one eye and then the other.

“Fall?” Ellison asked, and he turned his attention back to her.

“Getting the fields in shape for winter. Fall branding. Preg checking.”

“‘Preg checking’?” Strangely, her cheeks seemed to go a bit pink.

“Seeing which cows are pregnant, then deciding whether to keep or ship those who aren’t.”

“Ship?”

“Sell.”

“Winter?”

His mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “In the winter we mend the harness, of course.”

She gave him a cautious sideways glance. “Meaning?”

Did this woman have no sense of humor? “You can’t do much in the winter here except for feed the livestock. In the old days, the ranchers and farmers would use the downtime to care for their equipment, which is what we do. Winter servicing. And feeding. And generally just trying to keep everything alive.”

Outside the window the jay starting pecking at the box. Ryan kind of wished he was outside with the bird.

Ellie pointed a finger at the legal pad. “These jobs you’ve mentioned, could you be more specific about what it is you do?”

“Like make a list or something?”

“If you made a résumé, what skills would you put on it?”

He simply blinked at her. “Am I writing a résumé? Or a job description that you might post somewhere in the future when you hire someone to replace me?” He didn’t want to give her ideas, but he didn’t want to make it easy to replace him, either.

Ms. Hunter blinked at him. “Neither. I want you to write the list so that the owners can be familiar with exactly what it is you do.”

“Do you want bullet points?”

“Yes.” There was no hint of humor in her voice.

Another jay landed on the picnic table, then two more. A squabble broke out, but the original jay held his position on top of the box.

“I’ll do what I can,” Ryan said. “I’ve been gone a couple days and I have a full schedule today. Maybe I can get something worked up tonight or tomorrow.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Yeah. I bet you will. And I bet you’ll be wearing that fake smile if you happen to announce you’re letting us all go. If the worst happened, he could get another job, but Walt needed this position and Ryan hated to think about what would happen if he had to move off the place—especially after his wild talk that morning.

“What else—”

Ellison sucked in a sudden breath, cutting him off, and jumped to her feet. It was obvious what had startled her. Birds. Lots of them.

The jays had managed to work open a flap of the box and now five of them were happily pecking at what looked like a pumpkin pie. Ryan rose to his feet and walked over to the window.

It was a pumpkin pie, and he instantly recognized what was left of the pastry leaf design on top.

“You put Jessie’s pie out for the birds?” he asked as he turned toward Ellison, whose cheeks were flushed a deep pink.

“No.” The word came out too fast.

“Then why is it out there?”

“I wanted it to cool so I could put it in the fridge.”

“Last I heard fridges did a real good job of cooling.”

Ellison pushed a few stray strands of hair back into place. “The boy who brought it—Lonnie—said I shouldn’t put it in the fridge, so I put it outside.”

“As opposed to leaving it on the counter in here?” Ellison went totally red. Good. Ryan cocked his head. “How much time have you spent in the country?”

“Some.” She met his eyes with a touch of defiance.

Skiing, perhaps? “Don’t put food outside. It brings in the animals. You’re lucky that mob of birds isn’t a bear.”

Her lips started to form the word bear then tightened. “I didn’t know,” she said stiffly, giving Ryan the distinct impression that she did not like to be wrong.

“I really have to get to work,” he said. Not that this hasn’t been fun and all. But he needed to get out of there and regroup before he said anything that jeopardized his job, or Walt’s. As it was, he was too damned close to pointing out that she wasn’t qualified to evaluate a ranch or anything in a rural setting.

“I understand.” Ellie walked to the window, close to where he stood—close enough that he caught the subtle scent of probably expensive perfume—to get a better look at the bird-infested pie. The biggest jay was now standing smack in the middle of it, orange pumpkin staining his underbelly. Ellison pursed her lips thoughtfully before looking up at him, her expression once again distant. Professional.

“Could we keep this between us?” she asked.

Afraid of owning up to your mistakes? The words teetered on Ryan’s tongue, but instead he said, “The pie?”

“Yes.”

“I’d hate to hurt Jessie’s feelings, so yeah. I’ll keep quiet.”

For now. He’d make his final decision after he got a feel for how all of this was going to play out.