Читать книгу Cattleman's Heart - Lois Faye Dyer - Страница 11

J ackson stacked his hands beneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. Outside the bedroom window, one of the maples’ far-reaching branches scratched gently against the glass pane. The three-quarter moon threw leaf-shaped shadows across the white ceiling, the dark shapes shifting and changing with the faint breeze.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do about Rebecca Wallingford.

She represented a complication that he didn’t have time to deal with. He was up to his neck in work, putting in fourteen-hour days to finish upgrading the ranch’s buildings and fences. He hadn’t been too wild about the idea of having a representative of the investment company underfoot, but the unexpected offer of financing from the San Francisco firm had arrived after he’d been turned down by every bank within a five-hundred-mile radius of Colson. Eli Kuhlman had left him land worth millions but no cash assets, and the fences, buildings and machinery were all desperately in need of repair. He’d reached the point where he would have done anything short of a criminal act to get the money to develop the ranch. When he was told that the accountant would be a fifty-three-year-old man named Walter Andersen, he’d resigned himself to squeezing one more boarder into the house for a few months. He’d hoped that Walter could at least play a decent game of poker.

Then Rebecca arrived. One look at her green eyes and curvy body had his temperature rising.

“Hell,” he muttered. Two or three long months. Maybe it was a good thing he had enough work to keep him busy twenty-four hours a day, if needed. Because there was no way he was acting on his instinct to ignore the engagement ring on her finger and pursue her. He had a hard-and-fast rule—never date anyone you work with—and he never broke it. Never. He’d been down that road and lived to regret it. He wasn’t going there again.

Rebecca had difficulty falling asleep. Accustomed as she was to the sounds of traffic and the occasional siren from the street below her sixth-story apartment windows in downtown San Francisco, the complete silence surrounding the ranch house was unsettling. But if it was strangely quiet outside, inside, Rebecca’s thoughts were uncharacteristically chaotic.

What was she going to do about the impact Jackson Rand had on her senses? Despite her earlier confidence that she could control her body’s reaction to the rancher, she hadn’t been able to shut down her response to him in the office. Would she become more adept at ignoring him with time? Or less so?

Thank goodness I never have to worry about any of this with Steven, she thought. Life with Steven would be comfortable and placid, with no disturbing wakes and whitecaps, no turbulent waters to threaten the calm comfort of their life together.

She woke the next morning to the sound of water running in the bathroom next door and the muted sounds of men’s voices, followed by the thud of boots on stair treads. Disoriented, she lay still, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she remembered where she was.

She turned her head and squinted at her small alarm clock on the night table.

Five o’clock? Her body was still on San Francisco Pacific time, where it was only 3:00 a.m. She groaned aloud and rolled over, pulling the sheet and blanket over her head.

The maneuver didn’t help. Fifteen minutes later, she shoved the covers back and glared at the clock. The luminous dial glowed silently back at her.

It’s no use. She admitted finally and tossed back the covers. Groping for her ankle-length robe at the end of the bed, she pulled it on over her pajamas, shoved her feet into matching white terry-cloth mules and took her toiletry bag from the top of the dresser. If she couldn’t sleep, she thought, she may as well get up, get dressed and get to work.

The hall was silent when she stepped out of her bedroom. In the vacant bathroom, damp towels hung over the racks, droplets of water dotted the sink and the faint scent of mint toothpaste hung in the warm air.

She splashed her face, brushed her teeth, ran a brush through her hair and caught it up into a high ponytail, then left the bathroom.

She moved quietly down the stairs, drawn by the irresistible smell of brewed coffee, and paused to listen intently at the bottom of the steps. The house was quiet. Breathing a sigh of relief that she had the house to herself, she walked down the hall and was two steps into the kitchen before she halted abruptly. Jackson was seated at the table, a coffee mug cradled in his hand.

“Good morning,” she managed, her voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning.”

His deep drawl curled her toes inside her slippers and made her feel much too vulnerable in her half-awake state.

Caffeine. I need caffeine.

She crossed the room to the counter, took down a mug and filled it, grimacing at the first strong, black sip.

“Something wrong with the coffee?”

She looked up. Jackson’s eyes held amusement.

“Not at all. It’s just that I usually drink tea in the morning and coffee later. Tea isn’t quite as strong as coffee.”

“The only kind of tea I ever drink is iced and loaded with sugar,” he commented.

Rebecca wondered if all Montana men felt this way about tea, since this was exactly what Hank had told her yesterday.

The growl of powerful truck engines sounded outside.

“The lumber delivery must be here.” He stood and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

He walked toward the counter, passing Rebecca as she headed for the table.

“Make yourself at home. If you need anything today or have any questions about the books, I’ll be down at the barn. Or if it can wait, we usually break for lunch around noon.”

He filled a thermal mug with coffee, snapped the lid on and headed for the back door, pausing to look down at her as he passed the table. “You all right?”

“What? Oh, yes.” She yawned. “Really. I’m just not awake yet.” She added when he looked unconvinced.

“If you say so.” He shot her one last look and left the kitchen, the screen door slapping softly shut behind him.

Rebecca groaned and dropped her face into her hands.

I can barely think early in the morning, let alone deal with him.

All that sex appeal should come with a warning label, she thought, getting up to put the kettle on. Coffee just wasn’t a substitute for a strong cup of tea first thing in the morning.

Revived by hot tea and toast, Rebecca headed back up the stairs to shower and dress for the day in a lightweight white skirt, matching top and sandals. By seven o’clock, she was opening the office door, laptop and briefcase in hand.

Much to her surprise, she found the computer unpacked, the heavy monitor, CPU and keyboard sitting on the desktop, while the printer stood on a table placed at a right angle on the far side of the desk.

“Jackson must have unpacked it last night after I went to bed,” she mused.

Touched by his consideration, she took time to plug in her laptop to check her e-mail, then pulled out her cell phone. The phone didn’t respond with a dial tone, however, and she switched to the desktop phone. It took only a few moments to check her phone messages at her apartment, but much longer when she connected to her office voice mail. Her pen flew across the paper as she jotted down names, phone numbers and noted priorities, making a mental note to check her electronic daytimer before e-mailing her secretary with instructions.

Satisfied that her responsibilities in San Francisco were taken care of, she connected the cables and plugged in Jackson’s new desktop computer. Green, red and amber lights blinked and the CPU hummed with a satisfactory, familiar sound. She installed her favorite software and loaded the programs Jackson had bought to address specific ranching issues, including a spreadsheet to track the breeding program. She found the programs surprisingly fascinating.

At ten o’clock, she glanced at her watch and reached for the phone. It was eight o’clock in San Francisco and her mother’s secretary promptly put her through to Kathleen.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Good morning, Rebecca. How was your flight?”

“Fine, except for the truly terrible lunch the airline served in first class. I had rubber chicken again.”

Kathleen’s chuckle warmed the phone line. Rebecca eased back in the swivel wooden desk chair and stretched out her legs, propping her feet on the round metal wastebasket beneath the desk.

“Other than that, how are things going? Are you settled in?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’? Weren’t your rooms ready?”

“Not rooms. Room, Mom, singular. One bedroom, which is fine. The bed is comfortable and that’s the most important thing. The problem is that the house has four bedrooms, one of which is mine. The other three are occupied by the four men who work here on the ranch. And Mr. Rand seems to think that the two youngest ones will fight over dating me while the third man, Hank, who I’m guessing is somewhere in his seventies, hates women and wants me to leave.”

“What about Jackson Rand?” Kathleen asked after a short silence.

Rebecca had a quick mental image of Jackson’s abrupt departure earlier that morning. “I suspect that he strongly wishes that I would leave, too, but he’s stuck with me and he knows it.”

Kathleen’s sigh was clearly audible over the line separating Montana and San Francisco. “Good grief. Why can’t these things ever be simple?”

Rebecca laughed. She was familiar with her mother’s long struggle to survive in a male-dominated business world. “Because of the never ending battle of the sexes.” She quoted her mother’s oft heard comment. “It’s going to be fine, Mom.”

“Are you sure you’re safe living in the house with these men?”

Kathleen’s concern was clear and Rebecca hastened to reassure her. “Absolutely, Mom. I’m not the slightest bit worried about safety. It’s just going to take a while to convince Mr. Rand that I’m not going to encourage either of the younger members of his crew, and that I can win over Hank. By the way,” she added, grinning, “Hank reminds me of Mr. Althorpe.”

“Hmm. Maybe you can bribe him with chocolate.”

“Exactly what I wondered.”

The two women shared a companionable, understanding moment of silence.

“So,” Kathleen said briskly. “What can you tell me about the business?”

Rebecca told her what little she’d learned about Jackson’s operation in a brief, concise report. “I haven’t had a tour of the facility yet, but plan to ask Mr. Rand to show me around tonight after work. Mom,” she paused, wondering how to word her question and opting for bluntness. “I have to confess, I’m baffled as to why you want me to stay here for so long. The operation seems fairly straightforward. I understand that you want to keep a close eye on Bay Area’s money since this is our first investment in this type of business, but I could just as easily have flown in for a few days and then come back in a month or two to check on the status of the business. I’m not sure what it is you expect me to do every day that will keep me busy for a few months.”

Kathleen’s hesitation was so brief that if Rebecca didn’t know her so intimately, she might have missed it.

“I’d rather err on the side of caution, Rebecca. With you on-site, I know we’ll have instant input if there are any problems with Mr. Rand’s business plans going forward. And besides,” she added, “you haven’t had a vacation in four years. It’s about time you drew an assignment with enough downtime to let you relax.”

“I’m not sure that I need a vacation,” Rebecca replied, unconvinced that Kathleen was telling her all of her reasons, but knowing that her mother wouldn’t share the whole story until she was ready. “But if you want me here, I’m sure I’ll find plenty to occupy my time.”

“Good,” Kathleen replied. “I’d like you to check in with the attorney, Victoria Bowdrie, in Colson today. She has some documents that need to be signed and, instead of having them forwarded here to the central office, I’ve authorized you to sign on behalf of the company.”

“All right. I’ll drive in this morning, it’ll give me an opportunity to get my bearings and check out the shopping in Colson.”

Kathleen laughed. “That’s my girl.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Kathleen rang off and Rebecca tidied up the desk, shut down the computer and headed upstairs to collect her purse and car keys.

Jackson was in the hayloft of the big barn, tearing out broken floorboards and replacing them with new planks. The huge doors stood open at each end of the loft, the slight cross-breeze doing little to cool the midmorning heat trapped beneath the rafters. He hammered a nail home and stood, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm as he walked to the open door where it was several degrees cooler. He picked up a five-gallon thermos jug off the floor just inside the door and held it aloft, twisting the spout to let the water pour over his head and shoulders before lowering it to his mouth. The cool water felt as good going down his throat as it had cascading over his torso, the slight breeze cooling him further as it flowed over his wet chest and arms.

The day promised to be another scorcher, he reflected, wondering just how hot it was.

The slap of wood against wood sounded clearly across the ranch yard. Jackson glanced toward the house and went still, the water jug forgotten in his hand.

Rebecca descended the porch steps, legs and arms tan against a white skirt and short-sleeved top. Her hair was loose, brushing against her throat and the boat-neck white top. She carried a small purse and a slim black leather briefcase.

Jackson leaned one shoulder against the door frame and watched as she walked down the path to the fence, opened and closed the gate, then rounded the front of her car and slid beneath the wheel.

What the hell am I going to do about her? He shook his head as she drove away, aware of the tighter fit of his jeans. Just watching her walk turns me on. Irritated, he turned back to the waiting broken floorboards.

Unaware she’d been observed, Rebecca retraced her journey from yesterday, but this time, she wasn’t as travel-weary and was able to take in more details of her surroundings. The land stretching away from each side of the road was as different from San Francisco as the earth from Mars. Instead of urban streets and glimpses of the sparkling blue waters of the Bay from the city’s steep, crowded hills, Rebecca saw a patchwork of green wheat fields and the black dirt of plowed land. The cultivated fields were interspersed with rough pastures dotted with silvery sagebrush. Large, often flat-topped buttes rose to loom over fields and pastures and above it all, the dome of endless, bright blue sky stretched without a cloud in sight.

As much as she appreciated San Francisco’s charm, Rebecca felt drawn to this extremely different landscape with a deep pull on her emotions that felt oddly as if she had come home.

Which was silly, she reflected. She’d never before visited Montana, let alone called this area home.

Dismissing the notion, Rebecca switched off the air conditioner, rolled down the window and luxuriated in the clean, sage-scented air that blew in, tangling her hair and sending it skeining across her face, her sunglasses keeping the strands out of her eyes.

The bright sunlight, already hot though it was only June, heated her bare arm. Rebecca wasn’t used to real summer heat. In San Francisco, the breeze off the Pacific cooled even the hottest days.

And I’ll be here for a few months, she reflected. Which means that perhaps I’ll see the fall season, too. The thought was appealing. Raised in the mild climate of California’s Pacific Coast, she hadn’t experienced the changing of seasons with the same degree of intensity Montana residents were accustomed to seeing.

The weather is one of those unique-to-the-area things that I told Jackson I’d find to enjoy here. She felt smug satisfaction that barely a day after he’d doubted that she’d find anything of interest in Colson, she had already proved him wrong.

Strange not to be stuck in traffic, nor to smell exhaust and be hit by noise with the car window down, she thought idly.

She crested a hill and below her lay the small ranching community of Colson. Slowing at the outskirts, she checked her directions. Deciding that the attorney’s Main Street address was most likely in the center of town, she turned right at the next cross street. A large, flat-roofed building on one corner had a big neon sign declaring that the Crossroads Bar and Grill was open for business. She wondered briefly if the Crossroads was the local version of a singles’ bar.

Rebecca drove through a residential area with old Victorian houses set back amid immaculate green lawns and beds of roses, peonies, marigolds and alyssum that bloomed profusely; majestic old maples shaded the wide streets. Without a map, she relied on instinct, turning left. Houses gradually gave way to commercial buildings, and in moments Rebecca found Main Street.

“Dennings Pharmacy, Annie’s Cafe,” she murmured aloud, noting that the street numbers were climbing higher. At least I’m going in the right direction.

The attorney’s office was tucked between the First National Bank and Marnie’s Dress Shop, the gold lettering on the spotless window reading “Foslund and Bowdrie, Attorneys at Law.”

Rebecca angled the car into the curb and switched off the engine, gathering her purse and briefcase.

A bell jangled as she opened the office door, and the pleasant-faced woman behind the reception desk looked up, smiling a welcome.

“Good morning. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I don’t have an appointment but I wonder if Victoria Bowdrie is available?”

“I’ll check. May I tell her who’s calling?”

“Rebecca Wallingford of Bay Area Investments.”

Moments later, a petite blonde in a cream summer business suit followed the secretary into the outer office where Rebecca stood.

“Ms. Wallingford? I’m Victoria Bowdrie.” Smiling, she held out her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and please call me Rebecca.” She returned the smile and shook the attorney’s hand. “I spoke with my mother this morning and she asked me to see you today. I believe you have some documents that need to be signed?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Victoria waved Rebecca ahead of her and into the inner office. “An addendum to the original contract that addresses your review reports and release-of-funds dates. Have a seat, Rebecca.”

Rebecca dropped into one of two leather chairs facing the polished oak desk while Victoria took a seat behind the desk and collected a folder from a wooden tray. She opened it and handed her a sheaf of papers across the glossy desktop. “I think you’ll find these self-explanatory.”

Silence reigned while Rebecca carefully read the pages of legal jargon, puzzlement growing before she finished and looked up at Victoria.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t see any outstanding differences between this document and the original in my file.”

Victoria chuckled. “The changes are fairly small, but your mother wanted the details clarified.” She flipped a page on her copy of the document, scanning quickly until she found what she was looking for. “If you’ll look at page two, paragraph four, I believe you’ll find that the due date on your first report is moved back two days, with the resulting release of funds to Mr. Rand upon receipt of a favorable review by Bay Area Corporate Office to be moved back an equal amount of time.”

Rebecca reread the paragraph, noted the dates and pulled her electronic daytimer from her leather briefcase. Victoria was right, she thought, the dates were changed by two days in each instance.

Odd that Kathleen wanted her to sign the revised documents immediately, she thought with a frown. But then, she mentally shrugged, it gave her a good excuse to visit Colson and see what the town was like.

Ten minutes later, Rebecca stepped out of the office, pulled the door closed behind her, and glanced up and down the wide main street. She took a few moments to return her briefcase to her car and then strolled down the sidewalk to window-shop. Murphy’s Market yielded her favorite brand of English Breakfast tea and browsing the aisles of Dennings Pharmacy added a new bottle of hot-pink nail polish to her bag.

Rebecca strolled down one side of Main Street and halfway up the other when she reached Annie’s Cafe. An elderly gentleman pushed open the door and stepped briskly out to move off down the sidewalk. The aromas that wafted out to Rebecca through the briefly open door reminded her that it was nearly lunchtime and that more than a few hours had passed since she’d eaten a piece of toast for breakfast.

Forty minutes later, replete with homemade soup and a delicious turkey sandwich on wheat that was the luncheon special, Rebecca left the cafe, pausing to hold the door open for a group of older women entering.

The first two ladies smiled absentmindedly and murmured, “Thank you,” but the third glanced at Rebecca and halted abruptly, her eyes widening in shock, her face visibly paling.

“Who are you?” the older woman demanded.

Taken aback, Rebecca stared at the woman for a second before finding her voice. “I beg your pardon?”

“Who are you?” the woman demanded again. “And what are you doing in Colson?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.” Rebecca eyed the woman. “Do I know you, ma’am?”

“You most certainly do not. Nor are you likely to.” The woman drew herself up, chin lifting haughtily. “And let me warn you, miss, whatever you’re planning, it won’t work.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rebecca was beginning to wonder if the woman had mistaken her for someone else.

“Don’t play the innocent with me,” the woman said. “Just because you’ve got Charlie’s green eyes and black hair doesn’t prove a thing.”

“You must have me confused with someone else.”

“And if you stir up that old scandal again, you’ll be sorry,” the woman went on, as if Rebecca hadn’t spoken.

This time, she didn’t answer. Instead, she pointedly took a step back and held the door wider.

The impeccably dressed woman tilted her chin higher and swept past Rebecca and into the cafe.

Shaking her head in puzzlement, Rebecca paused on the curb, waiting for a truck to pass before crossing the wide street to her car. The drive back to the Rand Ranch gave her plenty of time to go over the strange conversation, but when she drove into the ranch yard and braked in front of the house, Jackson pushed open the screen door and the sight of him drove the incident from her mind.

Annoyed at the swift surge of pleasure that quickened her heartbeat and breathing, she drew a deep breath, gathered her briefcase, purse and light shopping bag and left the car.

She joined him on the porch, aware that his gaze hadn’t left her on the walk from car to house. “Hello,” she said pleasantly, proud of hard-won composure that kept her voice even.

“Afternoon.” He held the door for her. “If you don’t have something you need to do right now, I thought I’d take you on a tour of the outbuildings. Or we can do it after dinner tonight, if you’d rather.”

“No, now is fine.” Business, she reminded herself. This is business and he’s just another client. “Give me ten minutes to change into jeans and I’ll be right with you.”

Jackson nodded. Rebecca hurried up the stairs, dropped her packages on the bed and pulled jeans and a cotton shirt from their hangers. She stripped off the white skirt and top, quickly slipped them onto the two hangers she’d just emptied, and stepped into the jeans, yanking them up her legs and shrugging into the pale blue shirt. She buttoned the shirt with swift efficiency and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans before slipping a belt into the jean loops.

It took only moments to locate a pair of socks in her drawer, pull them on and tug on worn but polished brown hiking boots, lacing them with quick movements. Although she’d never hiked in the California mountains, she loved the boots for their practical toughness in the city’s winter rain and cold.

She glanced in the mirror, smoothed her hair with a few quick strokes of her brush and left the room.

Jackson was standing just where she’d left him, his hat tugged low over his brow, arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the porch post, staring out across the rolling pasture that stretched to the buttes edging the horizon.

He turned when Rebecca pushed the screen door open, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe in one swift glance, generating a surge of heat.

“You should wear a hat,” he commented, plucking a straw cowboy hat from the seat of a rocking chair and handing it to her. “The sun can be dangerous if you’re not used to it.”

“Thanks.” Rebecca ignored the rush of awareness when his fingers brushed hers. His long strides made nearly two of hers, and he was ahead of her before they reached the gate. He glanced back at her and immediately slowed.

“Sorry.” He held the gate wide and Rebecca went through ahead of him. “The basic structure of most of the buildings was solid, but all of them needed a lot of work.” They set off across the lot toward the outbuildings. “A couple of cattle sheds were too far gone to save so we pulled them down. We’ll rebuild them after finishing the repairs to the barn.”

“What happened? Why did the previous owner allow the buildings to deteriorate so badly?” Rebecca asked as they stepped from the hot sunlight into the shadowy barn. Curious, she gazed upward, her eye drawn to the aged rafters visible through a hole in the hayloft floor above her. The pungent scent of raw lumber mingled with the lingering smells of hay, leather and animals.

“I doubt he meant to,” Jackson answered. “But he was over ninety years old when he passed on, and from what the neighbors tell me, he was a recluse. Running this ranch alone would be a tough job for a young man, let alone a man as old as Eli. Not only are there buildings and equipment to maintain, but miles of fence to repair. At the end, he was running only a few head of cattle and most of those were wild as jackrabbits. I doubt he even knew how many he had.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” He glanced at her, a small frown drawing a V between his eyebrows.

“Do you know how many cattle you have?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t got a clue. I haven’t had time to ride the pastures and round up the cattle that belonged to old Eli. I spend most Saturdays or Sundays riding the fence line, trying to keep enough strands of wire upright to hold the few wild steers and cows that belong to me on Rand pasture and off of Bowdrie grass.”

“Bowdrie? Is that Victoria Bowdrie? Is she your neighbor?” Rebecca asked with interest.

“Cully and Quinn Bowdrie own the spread to the west of me and Victoria is Quinn’s wife. Why?”

“No reason. I met Victoria Bowdrie today, in fact. She’s the reason I went into Colson this morning. There were a couple of small changes to your contract that I had to initial.”

“The wording that moved the due dates of your reports and the payment delivery dates?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You folks are always so picky about a couple of days?” he asked, eyeing her with curiosity.

“We at Bay Area Investments prefer to call it ‘paying attention to detail,’” she responded with a touch of wry humor. Her stepfather had been a stickler for small details and her mother continued the practice. Still, she wondered why her mother had insisted that she personally initial the minor changes to the contract. She also wondered why her mother had wanted it done immediately.

The list of things that baffled Rebecca about her mother’s directions for handling the Rand Ranch investment was growing longer by the day.