Читать книгу Roping In The Cowgirl - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 8
ОглавлениеHe’d been...fired? Seriously?
Blake Darnell bent forward in his tufted-leather desk chair and studied the legal document he’d just received in the afternoon mail. He was so caught up in reading what his great-uncle’s new attorney had drafted and filed with the Texas court that he only now heard someone speaking to him.
“Did you hear me?” the law firm’s administrative assistant asked, her voice rising a decibel.
He glanced at his open office door, where the efficient older woman stood. “I’m sorry, Carol. What did you say?”
She crossed her arms, her expression of curiosity morphing into one of concern. “I asked if there was anything else you needed me to do before I leave, but you were a hundred miles away. Is something wrong?”
Apparently she’d been standing there for a while, long enough to notice the furrow in his brow, the frown on his face. But he shrugged off her question and his penchant for honesty. “No, everything’s fine.”
“It doesn’t look that way to me.”
That’s because things were actually a mess. What had Uncle Sam been thinking when he’d made this decision? Yet as stunned as Blake was, as angry at the circumstances, a niggle of guilt wormed its way into the mix. And having to assume at least part of the blame didn’t sit well with him, especially since he could justify everything he’d done. But it was what he’d failed to do that was most unsettling.
Carol entered his office and made her way to the edge of his desk, the familiar scent of her favorite perfume still faintly clinging to her at the end of the workday. “When I sorted the mail, I noticed the return address on that envelope was from a law firm in Brighton Valley. Does it have anything to do with your uncle?”
Normally, Blake kept his personal affairs to himself, but Carol was an exceptional employee and loyal to a fault. She’d also taken him under her wing six years ago, when he’d first started out at the Beverly Hills law firm of Greenburg, Rawlings and—now that Blake had made partner—Darnell.
Before he knew it, Carol had become a second mother to him, baking him homemade cookies and even inviting him to her house for dinner on the weekends. In fact, in many ways, she was more maternal than the one who’d given birth to him.
She’d mentioned retiring a couple of times, which was understandable since she was approaching her sixtieth birthday. But if and when she actually decided to turn in her resignation, he and the other partners would have a hell of a time replacing her.
Blake blew out a ragged sigh and leaned back in his chair, the springs and leather creaking with his movement. “Apparently Uncle Sam wasn’t satisfied with my legal advice or my ability to look over his financial affairs, so he hired another lawyer and has taken back full control of the Darnell Family Trust.”
“Is he competent enough to do that?” Carol asked.
“His mental abilities were never in question.” Still, Blake suspected the elderly rancher had lost the grip he’d once had on his common sense.
Damn. Was this really happening? Blake pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Then he walked to the window and gazed down at the cars driving along Wilshire Boulevard.
“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “I only asked that question because, the last I heard, he’d moved into a skilled nursing facility.”
“That was nearly a year ago. But a lot has changed since then. He moved to a retirement home for old cowboys called the Rocking Chair Ranch.” And if Blake hadn’t been so tied up with those last two cases and had let one of the other attorneys handle them, if he’d gone to Texas and visited his uncle in person, then maybe Sam wouldn’t be in this fix.
“A home for retired cowboys should be a fitting place for a man who’d been a rancher all of his life,” Carol said.
Blake turned away from the window and raked his hand through his hair. “Yes, it is. But the Rocking C is also a working ranch. And several months back, my uncle got a wacky job offer to be the foreman.”
“That’s a surprise—and a nice one.” Carol smiled and lifted a single brow, apparently awaiting Blake’s agreement.
Instead, he slowly shook his head. “Yeah. But he’s pushing eighty.”
“As a woman facing retirement age, I’m not looking forward to giving up my independence. After a few weeks of leisure, I’d probably jump all over a job offer that would allow me back into the workforce and let me use the skills I’ve acquired over the years.”
Blake didn’t doubt that. From the purple streak in Carol’s trendy hairstyle to the multiple piercings along her ears, she did her best to remain youthful and stylish. And while he valued her opinion, this situation was so...personal. The mishmash of feelings he was dealing with kept popping up in his chest, making him feel as though he was playing an unending game of whack-a-mole.
Carol crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. “You were so worried about losing him last year, I’d think that you’d be happy that he’s found a new purpose in life.”
“Under normal circumstances, I would be. But... Well, it’s complicated.” Blake wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share, especially since his feelings were involved.
Okay, so it was his guilt that ate at him the most, and he wasn’t sure how to make things right. But Carol knew how much he loved his uncle, how he’d tried his best to take care of him—albeit from a distance.
Two years ago, when Uncle Sam and Aunt Nellie decided to sell their ranch and retire, Blake had tried to talk them into moving to California so he could look after them. He’d even asked Carol to check out various nearby senior communities—all expensive, top-notch places where they’d be safe and well-cared-for. But Sam, who could be as stubborn as that ornery old mule he used to own back when Blake was a kid, had refused to even consider it.
Instead, he and Nellie had remained in Texas, moving into an assisted living complex in Brighton Valley. At that point, they’d signed over their trusteeship to Blake, their only heir. And he began looking over their financial affairs, which were considerable, although most folks wouldn’t know it. Sam Darnell might look like a plain and simple cowpoke, but back in the day, he’d been a sharp cattleman, landowner and investor.
After Aunt Nellie suffered a stroke and died, Blake was heartbroken. But what had really torn him up was seeing how badly his uncle took the loss. The couple didn’t have any children, so it was just the two of them. And when Nellie passed, Sam lost his will to live.
In fact, his health had suffered so badly that he needed skilled nursing and had to move into a separate medical facility down the road. His doctor told Blake they’d have to call in hospice if Sam continued to lose weight and strength.
Again, Blake had suggested that his uncle move to California, but the stubborn old cowboy dug in his boot heels, insisting he was a Texan—born and bred. And that’s where he intended to die.
In what seemed to be a miracle at the time, a nurse’s aide managed to connect with him and encouraged him to start eating again. When she inherited a ranch called the Rocking C, she told Sam all about her plan to open a retirement home and asked him to come to work for her as her foreman. But there was more to the story. Things that didn’t sit well with Blake.
Carol crossed the room and closed the door to his office, drawing him from his musing.
“Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Blake let out a sigh. “Sam struck up a romance. According to him, she’s not only a ‘younger woman,’ but a ‘sexy brunette with sparkling green eyes’. And I’m afraid he plans to give away the farm—so to speak.”
At that, Carol scrunched her brow. “A woman he met at the ranch?”
“Her name is Joy, and apparently, she works there, too. As long as I had control over the finances, I would have been able to put the kibosh on any wild-ass plan he had to whip out his credit card or write a check. But now I don’t have a say, so Sam’s free to make any crazy financial decisions he wants.”
Carol cocked her head. “Isn’t it his money to do with as he chooses?”
“Yes, absolutely. And even though I’m supposed to inherit his estate—unless he’s changed that, too—I don’t care about the money. I already have more than I need. It’s the principle of the thing. I don’t want to see anyone take advantage of him.”
“Do you really think he’s that lonely—or that gullible?”
“I wouldn’t have believed it before. But he emailed last month and said he wanted to get the woman’s teeth fixed. He even mentioned buying her a house. And, apparently, she has a niece who wants to go to medical school, but can’t afford it.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I said, ‘Absolutely not.’ He was talking about spending a lot of money on a woman he’d just met. I can only imagine how she’s playing him.” Blake had known plenty of gold diggers like that. Hell, he’d almost married one until he’d finally seen through her manipulations.
“Okay, you said you’ve been emailing him. And I realize you’re reluctant to go on vacation, in spite of my advice to take some well-deserved time off so you can fill the well. But have you tried talking to him in person, at least, on Skype or the telephone?”
Blake blew out a sigh. “Yes, I tried calling the ranch a few minutes ago. The woman who answered said he wasn’t available, but I heard his voice in the background.” Blake turned to Carol, unable to mask his feelings. “Can you believe it? For the first time in my life, my uncle refused to talk to me!”
“Ouch.”
“And to make matters worse, I just got sucker punched with this.” Blake tapped his finger on the document lying on his desktop. “I’m not sure whose idea this was, but I’m not going to stand by and watch my uncle get taken advantage of by a woman intent upon taking him to the cleaners. I’m going to fly to Texas and check things out for myself.”
“Under the circumstances,” Carol said, “that’s probably a good idea. I’ll make your travel arrangements. I assume you’d like to go as soon as possible.”
Blake would leave right now, if he could. But he’d have to brief whichever attorney would be covering for him while he was gone.
“What’s on my calendar?” he asked.
The ever-efficient Carol smiled. “Nothing that can’t be postponed, canceled or handled by someone else, so consider it cleared. You’re free for as long as you need to be.”
Blake must have appeared skeptical—and hesitant—because she added, “Oh, come on. You haven’t taken any significant time off in years. And while this isn’t the same thing as a real vacation, at least it will get you out of the office for a while. Some evenings I was afraid we’d have to move a bed into the supply closet for you.”
He smiled at the thought—and at the woman who knew him better than anyone probably ever had. “You’re one in a million, Carol.”
“So are you. And one day, when you finally put that broken engagement behind you, some sweet, unselfish woman is going to see that, too.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in striking up another romance—or in finding a sweet, unselfish woman. Right now I’m going to confront that gold-digging, green-eyed brunette who’s gotten her hooks into my poor old uncle. So book me a first-class seat on the next available flight to Houston—nonstop.”
“Will do,” she said. “I hope you plan to stay for more than a day or two.”
He’d probably have to. It might take a while to talk some sense into the stubborn yet naïve old cowboy. “Let’s make it a one-way ticket for now.”
Blake wasn’t sure what kind of resistance he was going to meet from his uncle or the woman who’d turned his head, but come hell or high water, when he returned to California, he was bringing Sam home with him.
* * *
Shannon Cramer gripped the steering wheel, slammed on her brakes and skidded to a stop as a flat-bed truck spun out in front of her, spilling its precariously stacked load of hay bales onto the road and blocking traffic to the Rio Rico Bridge in both directions. The driver, a befuddled teenager who’d probably just gotten his license, climbed from the cab and gazed at the mess.
Several cars had already lined up behind Shannon, and more than one driver honked. She had half a notion to join in their frustration, but the blaring horns and angry voices weren’t going to help or do anyone any good.
Of all days to have this happen. She never overslept, although for some reason, she’d forgotten to set her alarm last night. And now she was going to be more than just a little late to work.
The wide-eyed teenage boy, his cheeks flushed, pulled the bill of his baseball cap down, as if attempting to hide his face. Apparently he had no idea what to do about the problem he’d caused or the angry motorists he’d inconvenienced, because he slunk back to the cab of his truck and climbed inside. When he placed his cell phone to his ear, Shannon assumed he was calling someone to help him clear the road.
She reached for her own cell to dial the Rocking C and let them know she’d get there as quickly as she could. Only trouble was, the call didn’t go through.
That was the problem in this part of the valley. For some reason, the cell tower wasn’t able to pick up signals in the low-lying areas. And even if you did manage to get a bar or two, the reception was terrible.
Dang it. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She needed to relieve the night nurse at the ranch. Darlene, the LVN, also had a part-time afternoon job waiting tables at the truck stop café along the interstate and needed to get some sleep before she started her shift.
Shannon glanced at her wristwatch, then at all the hay that blocked both sides of the road and the entry of the narrow, two-lane bridge. On any other day, she might have gotten out of her car and started clearing the mess herself. Heck, she’d grown up on a ranch and had been handling hay since she was a kid. But last Friday, while helping an elderly man get out of a rocking chair on the front porch, she’d pulled something in her back. The pain had finally eased and she was feeling much better now, but she didn’t dare try to drag eighty-to ninety-pound bales of hay out of the street and risk hurting herself again.
She frowned at the blocked road. Maybe she could encourage a few of the other drivers to help out. She’d no more than opened the door of her Toyota Celica when a couple of lanky cowboys jumped out of their pickup and started toward the chaos. One, who looked remarkably like the champion bull rider who’d been raised on a ranch on the outskirts of Brighton Valley, got right to work.
The other knocked on the window of the teenage driver’s door. When the boy glanced up, the cowboy hollered, “Dammit, kid. You passed us two miles back, driving like a bat out of hell. Didn’t anyone tell you to tie down a load? Get your butt out here and help us get this cleaned up.”
Thank goodness. Still holding her smartphone, Shannon got out of her car, made her way around the hay bales and walked to the bridge, hoping to get a few bars and to have better reception there. After a couple of tries, she finally reached Sam Darnell, the Rocking C foreman. At least, it sounded like Sam’s voice through the crackling on the line.
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident on the county road,” she said. “No one was hurt, but I’m going to be late to work.” When Sam didn’t respond and the crackling stopped, she lowered her phone and glanced at the display. No Service.
She let out a ragged sigh. The single bar she’d seen moments earlier had completely disappeared. Hopefully Sam got the message and would pass it on.
A few minutes later, as one of the cowboys began to wave the cars through, Shannon slid behind the wheel and started her engine. Finally, she was on her way. Yet while the ranch was only two miles away, she was still twenty minutes late when she pulled into the yard.
As she parked near the barn—which Sam and a couple of hands had painted red last week—she glanced at the clouds that loomed on the northern horizon. They weren’t dark yet, which was good. Whenever heavy rain hit the valley, the bridge washed out, making it impossible for vehicles to get in or out of the ranch for days at a time.
The TV weatherman had said the first incoming storm had stalled and probably wouldn’t hit until tomorrow or the next day. But predictions were sometimes wrong. Either way, she had a well-stocked medical supply room and could handle more than basic first aid. However, a serious accident or illness would require a trip to the Brighton Valley Medical Center, which was forty-five minutes away.
She’d no more than started toward the back entrance of the sprawling ranch house when a late-model white Lexus pulled up beside her and parked.
That was odd. The ranch owners were out of town for the next few weeks. And the elderly residents, as well as the ranch hands who worked at the Rocking C, didn’t get many visitors, especially arriving in fancy vehicles.
By the time the driver, a handsome man in his early-to midthirties, got out of the car, her curiosity had grown to the point that even though she needed to get inside, she couldn’t seem to move her feet.
He wore an expensive suit and fancy loafers—Italian leather, no doubt. At well over six feet tall, with blue eyes and dark hair that must have cost him a pretty penny to have cut at an expensive salon, he was more than attractive. In fact, he’d be drop-dead gorgeous if he’d soften his expression with a smile.
Who was he? And what business did he have at the ranch? There was only one way to find out.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“That depends. Who are you?”
Shannon, who’d had her fill of frustration for the day, bristled at his rude response and crossed her arms. “Why don’t you go first?”
His lips curled ever so slightly into a smile, and his expression mellowed a bit, as if he might actually respect her spunk. “I’m Blake Darnell, Sam’s nephew.”
The California attorney? Shannon had heard about him. He rarely visited Sam and had left the poor man to nearly waste away in the nursing facility in town.
Darnell arched a dark brow. “And you’re...?”
She let the question dangle a moment before introducing herself. “I’m Shannon Cramer.”
His gaze swept over her, traveling from head to toe and back again. He seemed to be assessing her and the pink scrubs she wore.
“A nurse’s aide?” he asked.
“An RN,” she corrected.
Darnell nodded, then walked to the back of the Lexus, opened the trunk and pulled out a suitcase.
What in the world was he doing with that? Surely he didn’t plan to stay here. Maybe he came to bring some of Sam’s belongings to him.
Before Shannon could question him, Aunt Joy stepped out onto the porch and met Shannon the way she usually did—with a cup of coffee. “Here you go. Fixed just the way you like it—with a splash of cream and a dash of sugar.”
“Thanks.” Shannon took the mug in both hands, letting the heat warm her fingers from the crisp autumn chill.
“There’s pumpkin bread to go with that,” Joy said, her voice light, her smile refreshing.
It was nice to see her aunt happy again. Her second husband had left her in dire financial straits after wiping out the nest egg she’d once had. When most people were thinking of retiring, Joy had had to find a job. But since she’d been out of the workforce for more than forty years, she had no way of supporting herself. Fortunately, the Rocking C had needed a housekeeper/cook, and Shannon had told the owners that Joy was the perfect candidate.
And that was true, since Joy’s most notable qualifications were her culinary skills and an innate ability to make a house a home. So it had worked out beautifully for everyone involved.
Then Joy met Sam Darnell, who soon put a sparkle in her eyes and a spring in her steps. There was a happy glimmer in Sam’s eyes, too. It was heartwarming to see.
“I’m glad you’re finally here,” Joy told Shannon. “Darlene’s eager to go home.”
“I know.” Shannon took a sip of coffee. “It couldn’t be helped. There was a little incident on the road near the bridge.”
Joy turned to Darnell and offered him a warm smile, which he didn’t return. Instead, he seemed to assess her, but in a far more critical manner than he’d studied Shannon just moments earlier.
Why was that? Joy was one of the sweetest women on the planet, which was one reason her jerk of an ex had been able to take advantage of her.
But then again, Shannon knew that Sam’s nephew had called him yesterday, and the foreman had refused to talk to him.
The California attorney cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose either of you can tell me where I can find Sam.”
“He went out to check a leaky pump in the south pasture,” Joy said, her voice soft and kind. “But he should be back shortly.”
At nearly eighty years old, Sam Darnell could well afford to retire and take life easy, but he thrived on being useful. And he certainly was. The Rocking C had been a struggling cattle ranch when Chloe Martinez had inherited it. There were back taxes and a second mortgage to pay. But Sam, with his wealth of knowledge and experience, had begun to turn things around in a few short months. They certainly weren’t out of the woods yet, but the sweet old foreman had told them not to worry, that everything would be okay in time.
For that reason, Sam reminded Shannon of her father, a good and loving man she’d lost way too soon.
“If you don’t mind,” Darnell said, as he strode toward the front porch toting his fancy suitcase, “I’ll sit here and wait for him.”
Actually, Shannon did mind. A lot. But she bit her tongue out of courtesy to Sam. She adored the former rancher, who’d become a friend. And if he married her aunt, he’d become a part of the family.
In fact, if Sam and Joy actually did decide to tie the knot, Shannon might have to “accidentally” misplace Blake’s invitation.
Because while she couldn’t think of anything she’d like more than to help Joy plan the perfect wedding. Sam’s nephew was a stuffy, conceited tool, and she wasn’t looking forward to adding him as a relative!
