Читать книгу Maddie Inherits a Cowboy - Jeannie Watt - Страница 9

MADELINE WATCHED Ty Hopewell walk away, every inch the cowboy in his jeans, boots and burgundy wool jacket. And how appropriate that he wore a black hat over his dark hair. She didn’t trust him. Not for one minute.

Skip had thought the world of him, but there was something fishy going on here. Why would the ranch make a decent profit right up until Skip’s death? Her accountant had pointed out the vast amount of money Ty was pouring back into the ranch, which cut the profits down to nothing, but neither of them knew whether the expenditures were necessary…or even happening.

Madeline lived two thousand miles away. Ty could say he was doing a lot of things, but whether or not he was—that was the question. If he was benefiting from her brother’s death and cheating her in the process, it was going to stop. If he merely stank at managing the place, that had to be addressed as well, and thanks to an unfortunate twist of fate, she was free to look into the matter.

At least some small bit of good would come from her suspension.

Her temples throbbed at the thought. Madeline was a consummate rule-follower, and being suspected of illegally misappropriating data in her boss’s groundbreaking study was killing her. There was nothing she could do until the formal investigation was completed, except to drive her legal counsel, Everett, crazy, so here she was. With Everett’s blessing and wishes of Godspeed, she’d decided to channel her considerable energies into understanding exactly why her inheritance was no longer making money.

And…if she chose to take the chicken’s way out, to lie low at the ranch until this brouhaha at work was over, so what? She owned half the blasted property. She was entitled.

She stalked back through the lobby, past the Starbucks with green metallic garlands strung along the counter, past the reception desk with the tasteful winter floral arrangements. Christmas music played over the speaker system, music that always made her feel closer to Skip. He’d died on Christmas Eve, and sometimes it was almost as if he was speaking to her through the songs.

Tidings of comfort and joy…

She didn’t feel much joy, but she did feel comfort.

Or she had until her confrontation with Ty.

Where was he now? Leaving the parking garage on his way to “the ranch”? The place didn’t even have a name, as far as she knew. Having been born and raised in Syracuse, she wasn’t all that ranch savvy, but didn’t all ranches have names? The Lazy M or the Flying L or some such thing?

Skip would have known. Skip had not only thrown himself into studying the West, he’d thrown himself into the culture. He’d been bound and determined to be a cowboy.

Madeline swallowed a lump in her throat as the elevator doors slid open. She pushed the key card into the slot and then punched in her floor number. Every now and then grief still hit her, but she’d been expecting it this time because of the circumstances. She wished for the zillionth time that Skip had never met Ty Hopewell, had never gone into the cattle business with him.

At first she’d blamed Ty for Skip’s death, but after studying the accident report had concluded, as had the highway patrol, that it was simply an unfortunate accident involving a cow on a dark highway. Eventually she’d shoved her feelings of blame aside. Skip was gone. She could honor him best by enjoying the memories she had of him.

The doors opened and she walked down the hall to her room to gather her bags and check out. The only reason she wasn’t hot on Ty Hopewell’s tail right now was because she wasn’t the type who left her key in the room and had her invoice emailed to her. No. She liked to check out in person, examine the bill and then leave with a hard copy in her hand. No mistakes that way.

She sat on the edge of the bed, then after a few seconds lay back on the brocade bedcover, her feet still hanging over the side, toes dangling above the floor. Her no-mistakes era was over. She stared up at the ceiling, not caring for once if she wrecked her perfectly flatironed hair. She’d tried so hard not to make errors in any area of her life. To cross her t’s and dot her i’s. To cover her ass and more than that, to make certain she never had anything to cover her ass for. And what happened?

Her trusted mentor was accused of academic misconduct that threatened federal funding to Wilcox University, that’s what. And, as Dr. Jensen’s former associate, she was being sucked into the undertow.

Madeline hadn’t been involved—she’d known nothing about the blood samples Dr. Jensen had used without permission for research into the origins of indigenous peoples—but she’d worked so closely with him on his previous projects that she had to be investigated, too. Or at least that was the explanation given when she’d been put on leave. Madeline didn’t buy it for a second.

It was obvious to her that the new anthropology department head, Dr. Vanessa Mann, was indulging in revenge, since Madeline had the unfortunate tendency to speak out when she disagreed with policies and procedures. As soon as she’d taken over the department, Dr. Mann had begun emphasizing research over education. Research brought in money, but the college was supposed to educate, for heaven’s sake. It was absolutely wrong to have the majority of classes taught by graduate students and teaching assistants while the tenured professors holed up in their offices….

Madeline stopped herself.

She’d felt safe speaking out since she’d had justified concerns. The result? Well, she was living the result. Someone else was teaching her classes. Someone else was guiding her graduate students. And Dr. Mann had made it look like a necessary action that had been taken as part of an important investigation.

Madeline squeezed her eyes shut, felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Even after two weeks she was so damned embarrassed.

She forced her eyes open again.

She needed to pack. She needed to figure out how to get to this ranch with no name. She had a full day ahead of her and no time to feel sorry for herself.

EVERY NOW AND THEN Ty found himself glancing into the rearview mirror and checking the traffic behind him on the freeway to see if he was being followed. Which was ridiculous, since he’d been on the interstate within five minutes of leaving the annoying Dr. Blaine in the lobby of the Nugget. There was no way she was on his tail, and even if she was, he had no idea what she was driving, so he couldn’t have spotted her, anyway.

I’m going to stay on the ranch…. His lips twisted. For a night maybe. Until reality set in. She didn’t look like the type who would embrace life off the grid. He’d made a tactical error, though, by letting his anger get the best of him, and walking away. He should have let her follow him to the ranch, see what the property was like, assure herself that there was a ranch—that he wasn’t embezzling funds or equipment or pretending to buy things he hadn’t.

But when she’d pretty much said he was either dishonest or stupid, with those Christmas carols playing in the background…well…he wasn’t at the top of his game. So what now? They were still business partners. He couldn’t exactly go back and find her. But he could call her. Apologize for being insulted by her unfounded insinuations. Try to do some damage control.

Hell. Whatever it took to get this issue settled. He fumbled for his phone as he drove, but when he dialed her number, there was no answer. He dropped the phone back on the seat beside him. Oh, well. He’d tried. Ty glanced in the mirror again, caught himself, cursed and focused on the road ahead.

The turnoff to Fallon was coming soon. Three more hours and he’d be home. Hell of a long drive to make, only to be pissed off. Now he had to consider what he was going to do when Madeline showed up, because, barring a blizzard—which to his disappointment wasn’t in the offing—he had no doubt she’d find her way to the ranch.

Skip had often spoken of his sister’s tenacity in a fond way. Ty was going to experience that tenacity up close and personal.

AFTER A FEW MINUTES on the internet, using the geographical coordinates from the legal documents, Madeline had both a map and the name of the road the ranch was on. Lone Sum Road. She stared at the screen, wondering if she was looking at a typo or if this was Western cleverness. Lone Sum. Lonesome?

Whatever.

She printed the map on her portable printer and then loaded her bags on the folding luggage dolly she never traveled without. Some of her associates teased her about the tubular steel device on wheels—but never when they were battling their own luggage.

Madeline’s larger suitcases were still in the car. She hadn’t bothered to bring them in, since she’d assumed she’d be following Ty Hopewell to the ranch. After making her suspicions known, she hadn’t expected him to be enthusiastic, but she hadn’t expected him to simply drive away, either.

Which left the question of whether he’d merely been insulted by her direct approach or did he have something to hide?

She’d soon find out.

As she traveled east, her cellular service popped in and out, mostly out, so she was surprised when she got a call. It was Connor, her research assistant and the only person, according to Skip, who was more of a tight ass than she was—which was why Madeline was glad she had him. If she forgot some detail, she was certain Connor would catch it.

“Where are you?”

Madeline took in the barren landscape. “Quite liter ally in the middle of nowhere. I’m driving to the ranch.

It’s more than four hours from Reno.”

“I tried to call three times.”

“Bad service here. You should see this place. Mountains and flat. That’s it. I’ve driven for more than thirty miles without seeing a house.” Madeline shifted the phone to her other ear. “What’s happening there?”

“Nothing on the professional front, but I went to visit your grandmother.”

“How is she?”

“Rambunctious.” Madeline felt a surge of relief.

Rambunctious meant no bronchial relapse. “There’s been complaints from the apartment next door. Loud music—”

“She’s losing her hearing.”

“Parties.”

“Give me a break.” Connor might be a detail guy, but he had a sense of humor.

“I tried to talk her into the iPod again, but no luck. She refuses to wear headphones.”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t get kicked out.” Grandma Eileen, also a professor of anthropology, lived in a retirement complex that catered to the academic set. She was seventy-two years old and very active. Madeline’s many cousins made sure she was never lonely, but it was Madeline and Skip that had a special bond with Eileen, who’d taken them in when their parents divorced and went to find themselves on different continents. Her grandmother was also the reason Madeline had been able to make peace with what had happened to her brother.

Grieve now or grieve later, Eileen had said, but she wanted Madeline to understand that she wasn’t going to escape the process. She hadn’t escaped, but after a year she had reached acceptance. The stage where she could remember Skip without sharp pain.

“Thanks for taking my visit,” Madeline said. Connor, who had next to no family of his own, considered him self one of the grandkids, so she knew it was no chore. “Are you sure there’s no news on the Jensen front?”

“Noth—” A sharp beep cut off Connor’s reply. No signal. Madeline snapped the phone shut.

An hour later she pulled into Winnemucca for gas. It was hard to believe she was still in the same state and that she’d passed through only two towns of any size since leaving Reno. The emptiness, the vastness of this land, was daunting. Not only that, it was damned cold and snowy. This was not the desert she’d envisioned from her brother’s enthusiasm about his new home. The mountains were pretty, much more rugged and barren than the ones she was used to, but other than that, what had Skip seen in this country?

Madeline adjusted her collar against the wind and screwed the gas cap on. According to the GPS, she had another hundred and eighty miles—and two more towns—to go before reaching her target destination.

She was nearing the town of Battle Mountain when it began to snow, and during the sixty mile drive to Elko what should have been an hour’s drive turned into an hour and a half.

Ty might have been angry when he’d told her to bring food, but Madeline took him at his word. As soon as she hit Elko, she stopped and bought a bag of groceries—mostly cereal and cookies. Carbohydrates fed the brain.

When she left the store, she was glad to see that the skies were clearing, although there was a good six inches of unplowed snow on the road. She loaded the groceries into the car and wearily got back in. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to reaching the ranch, but she was looking forward to not driving anymore. It had been one long day. And it was only half over.

THERE WAS NO WAY in hell that a car, even one with all-wheel drive, should have made it up Lone Summit Road after a snowfall. But damned if Madeline Blaine didn’t climb out of a Subaru Outback and wade through the drift to the gate at the end of the driveway.

Ty tipped back the brim of his black felt hat and watched from the corral where he’d just fed the bulls. A full minute later he knew he had to go help her. What kind of a person could navigate that road and then not be able to figure out a gate latch? Apparently one with a doctorate in anthropology.

He muttered a curse and trudged down the snowy drive with Alvin, his border collie, at his heels, walking in the same track Ty created. She was obviously het up to see the ranch, so see the ranch she would. He had a feeling when she was done that she was going to wish she’d believed him.

Madeline did not give up on the latch. She continued to wrestle with it right up until he stopped on the opposite side of the gate.

“Need help?” he asked mildly.

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You don’t want to know what I think…. “I’m surprised you made it,” he said after he pulled the mechanism that released the latch—the mechanism that Madeline had been pushing for all she was worth. She lifted her chin slightly when she saw how easily the latch sprang open.

“What do you mean?”

“The snow, the ruts, the road.”

She made a face. “I grew up in New York. I can drive in the snow and I don’t need one of those to do it.” She pointed at his four-wheel-drive pickup truck parked next to the barn a hundred yards away.

“Bully for you,” he muttered as she trudged back to her car and got inside. He and Alvin stood clear as she drove past, and then Ty shut the gate. Madeline had parked next to the truck and was out of the car, standing in the snow, when he and Alvin caught up with her.

“I’ll show you Skip’s house.”

“Thank you.”

She followed him as he broke trail through the calf-deep snow to the double-wide closest to the barn. Skip had lived in the newer of the two prefab ranch houses. Both were roomy, with three bedrooms and two baths and, under normal circumstances, quite comfortable. These were not normal circumstances, though. Skip’s place had been uninhabited for almost two years and Ty had a feeling Madeline wasn’t going to find the place all that inviting. Oh, well. He’d told her not to come.

Ty walked up the stairs and opened the door.

Madeline stalled out at the bottom step. “I assume there are no mice inside? It has been empty for some time.”

He had managed to keep the mice out so far—no small feat in the country—with a lot of caulk and steel wool. He figured that if he ever expanded to the point that he could hire help, or if he got another partner to buy into the operation, he’d need to keep the house up.

Perhaps that had been a mistake.

“No mice. I check frequently.” It was still hard for him to go inside Skip’s place, and cleaning it out had been a hell he never wanted to have to repeat.

Madeline slowly climbed the stairs with a suitcase in each hand. Her concern about mice only reinforced his belief that she wasn’t going to last long at the ranch, but he had to give her credit for not flinching at the amount of fine silt that had worked its way in through the edges of the windows and settled. One of the joys of desert life—even in the high country.

The only furniture in the two front rooms was a leather sofa that pulled out into a bed—in case Ty had company who wanted privacy, which was laughable because Ty never had company—and a small kitchen table with two chairs. The other rooms were empty.

Everything had been shipped home or sent to charity.

“I sent the bedding and towels and stuff to Goodwill.”

“I know,” she said briskly. She walked through the house, the floor squeaking beneath her steps. “I brought a sleeping bag.”

“You’re really staying.”

Her eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise, but the reaction seemed forced—quite possibly because of where she would be staying. The house was not inviting. “I told you I was.”

“Suit yourself.” The sooner she saw that everything was on the up-and-up, the sooner this walking, talking reminder of Skip would be out of his life.

“I will.” She glanced around and from the way she moistened her lips he had a feeling she was fighting to keep her placid expression. She brought her eyes back to his face.

“Not much to do here,” Ty explained. “No TV or anything.”

“I plan to use any free time I might have to work on a book I’m writing.”

Ty stared at her. “How long do you plan to stay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Three and a half weeks.”

Oh, shit. Why didn’t she just take out a gun and shoot him?

This went beyond not wanting to be reminded about Skip. Ty enjoyed his solitude. Hell, he embraced it. When he wanted company he went to town. He did not want it forced on him.

Madeline squared her shoulders. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get the rest of my luggage. I have a busy afternoon.”

Ty nodded and headed for the door. There wasn’t much else he could do.