Читать книгу Sweet Mountain Rancher - Loree Lough - Страница 13
ОглавлениеJOE SLOUCHED AGAINST the tufted red Naugahyde booth at Breakfast King, scrolling through the pictures Eden had taken at Pinewood. “I’ll bet this happened when they dragged the stove out the door,” he said, pointing at an image that showed a deep gouge in the kitchen’s door frame. His dark brows furrowed as he studied photos of curtain rods hanging from single screws and cabinet shelves that slanted at awkward angles. He turned off the camera and slid it to her side of the caramel Formica tabletop.
“Saying I’m sorry doesn’t begin to cut it,” he said. “I feel awful that the Hansons stuck you with that mess.”
Eden folded her napkin back and forth, back and forth, and fanned herself with the resulting paper accordion. “I’m sure you’ve faced situations like this before. Any idea what we’re looking at in repair costs?”
Joe shook his head as the waitress delivered their coffee.
“Thousands,” he said when the woman walked away. “Easily.”
Eden waited for him to empty two milks and three sugar packets into his mug before continuing. “So how does this work? Will you hire a contractor?”
He nearly dropped his spoon. “Me? Whoa. You expect me to foot the whole bill?”
Eden smoothed out her paper accordion. “In retrospect, I should have paid more attention to the Hansons. It’s my property, after all.” She met his eyes. “But as we discussed when I hired you, the nature of my job makes it difficult, at best, to get away. You told me not to give that another thought, because absentee landlords make up the bulk of your client list, and that it was your job to do periodic spot checks, to make sure tenants are living up to the conditions outlined by the lease. And that if they didn’t, we’d come to an agreement about repairs, in order to avoid arbitration.” She paused long enough for her words to sink in. “Remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Nodding, Joe stared into his mug. “I spent most of the night on the computer, trying to hunt down the Hansons.” He looked up. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a bit of luck.”
She drew an invisible figure eight on the tabletop. “In other words, since you can’t find them, we can’t file a lawsuit.”
He winced slightly at the word. “Oh, if I kept looking, I could find them. Eventually. I used to be FBI, remember. But what’s the point?”
If he quoted the old “can’t squeeze blood from a turnip” cliché again, Eden didn’t know what she’d do. She pointed at her purse beside her on the seat. “I brought our contract, just in case we needed to refer to it.”
Smiling slightly, he nodded again. “Why am I not surprised.” Joe picked up his mug, put it right back down again. “Okay. I admit it. Somehow, we completely overlooked your property. I could make excuses, like it’s on the opposite side of town, or my regular guy quit and there wasn’t anyone in the office capable of doing the job. I’m embarrassed to admit that we screwed up big-time, but—”
His phone rang, and one glance at the screen was enough to cut his sentence short.
“Sorry, it’s my kid’s school. I have to take this.” He stood. “When the waitress gets here with our food, ask her to bring me some tomato juice, will ya?”
Eden went back to pleating the napkin. Her landlord wanted an answer. More accurately, he wanted to sell Latimer House, the sooner the better. A lot depended on whether or not Joe would do the right thing. She felt like a passenger in a leaky dinghy, sinking slowly, while a big storm loomed on the horizon.
“You’re up and at ’em early...”
Eden jumped, and then looked up into Nate’s smiling blue eyes. “I could say the same thing.”
“Had some early-morning appointments. Thought I’d grab a cup of coffee before heading back to the Double M.” He pointed over her left shoulder. “I’ve been sitting right over there.”
She glanced at the red counter stools behind her. He’d been near enough to hear everything she and Joe had discussed.
He slid into Joe’s seat. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me back there, shuffling the pages of yesterday’s Denver Post. Bet I read the same article four times, trying to tune out what you guys were saying.”
“Oh, good grief. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?” Nate harrumphed. “That guy should be embarrassed, not you.”
The waitress delivered breakfast. “Coffee, sir?”
“Sure. Why not.”
When she left, Nate pointed at Joe’s food. “I saw your pal leave. Seems a shame to let perfectly good flapjacks go to waste.”
“See, that’s why I hate sitting with my back to the door.”
The waitress brought over his coffee and topped off Eden’s mug. “Thanks, hon,” he said.
“Hon? I haven’t heard that since I left Baltimore.”
“Yeah, it’s one of the few things I picked up out there that I can’t seem to put down.”
Eden smiled. “I always loved the way everybody used the term. Made the city seem so much friendlier.”
“Speaking of friendly, think your pal is off wheeling and dealing to spare himself a lawsuit?”
The idea made her laugh. “I bet he’s halfway to his office by now.”
“Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, I always say.”
“And I haven’t heard that one since grade school.”
Nate shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just as true today.”
“I don’t know if it’s fair to lump him in with the trash just yet.”
Nate returned her halfhearted smile. “So what’s your next move?”
Move. What a peculiar choice of word, considering what she and the boys might be doing in the very near future. She sighed. “It’d be easy to blame Joe for everything the tenants did to Pinewood, but there’s no escaping the fact that the house was—and is—my responsibility. I should have checked on things myself.”
“Still, he had contractual obligations. What if you lived in Chicago or San Francisco? Or Baltimore?” He grinned. “I really like that name, by the way. Pinewood has a homey ring to it.”
“That’s what my grandfather thought.” Eden had no sooner finished the sentence when her cell phone pinged. “Well, speak of the devil,” she said, opening the text.
Sorry to stick you w/tab. Son fell @ school, broke a tooth. Here’s my offer: Templeton Prop. Mgmt. will replace missing appliances, light fixtures, faucets, vanities. You make cosmetic repairs. If agreeable, call & I’ll recommend contractors.
She repeated the message to Nate, trying her best to sound lighthearted.
She could almost read Nate’s mind: Joe had all but ignored Pinewood; what made her think she could trust him now? If the answer affected her alone, it wouldn’t matter nearly as much. But the boys had put their trust in her. Why hadn’t she seen this coming, and done something to prevent it?
“Hard to believe a few measly words could solve so many problems, isn’t it?” she said, sliding the phone into her purse.
“Uh-huh.”
She took a sip of her coffee.
“Do you believe the guy this time?” Nate asked.
This time? Even a near stranger understood that Joe’s word was less than stellar.
“Aw, don’t pay any attention to me,” he added. “Ask anybody. I tend to rain on parades.”
“No, you made a valid point. To be honest, I don’t have a clue if he was sincere or not, or if something like a text message would stand up in court if he wasn’t.”
“I know a couple good contractors. How about I make a few calls for you? We can meet them at your grandparents’ house—your house—and see which one can give you the most for your money. And if that snake slithers out of his promise to share the costs, I’ll front you the money for repairs.”
“What? I can’t ask you to do that!”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He grinned and, using Joe’s fork, speared a bite of sausage. “I like your boys, so we’ll consider it a donation to Latimer House.”
She could tell that he meant every word, but she couldn’t take his money. Eden never had a problem accepting checks from Cora Michaels and other regular donors. What made Nate’s contribution feel so...different?
“I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I just can’t—”
“Fine. I get it.” He held up a hand, preempting her rejection. “Who knows? Maybe ol’ Joe will do the right thing.”
There was an awful lot riding on that maybe.
That leaky dinghy seemed deeper in the water now, and despite the sunshine on the other side of the windows, she sensed that storm was closing in fast.
* * *
NATE POSITIONED THE Phillips head drill bit into the crosshairs of a loose screw, wincing when it slipped and gouged his left thumb. “Nearly bored a hole clean through it,” he mumbled. “My own fault for letting my mind wander.”
On the other side of the stall gate, Patches bobbed his dark-maned head, as if in agreement.
“Okay, smart guy. I’d like to see how well you’d concentrate with a pretty filly running around in your head.”
The Paint only snorted and went back to munching contentedly from his eye-level hayrack.
“Nobody likes a smart aleck, y’know,” Nate said, moving the tool to the next loose screw in the hinge.
Fellow ranchers had accused him of spoiling his horses. “You treat them nags better’n I treat my wife!” Phil Nicks often joked. But Nate wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d personally drawn up the blueprints for the new barn that housed ten stalls, each with wrought iron gates, rails and yoke openings, swivel grain and water doors, and windows set high enough that the horses could stick their heads out to watch the goings-on outside. An insulating wall-to-wall rubber mattress system covered the floors, and oscillating fans helped circulate the air. Since the flicker of fluorescent bulbs made some of the horses jumpy, he used nothing but incandescents, purchased by the truckload when the government banned them in favor of swirled compact fluorescent, LED and halogen bulbs. Finally, at one end of the barn, he’d installed a wash bay, and across from that, a tack storage cubicle outfitted with saddle and bridle holders and swing-arm blanket racks.
“If ever you take a wife,” Phil had said at the last hoedown, “you’d better keep her out of this place, or she’ll expect the same kind of pamperin’!”
“Take a wife?” Nate’s dad countered. “How’s that supposed to happen when this son of mine hasn’t said yes to a woman in years?”
“Hasn’t said yes to much of anything in years!” his mom added.
They’d been right, and Nate still hadn’t figured out if his Just Say No policy was a good thing or a bad thing.
Instantly, Eden’s pretty face came to mind. Eden, who earned the respect of boys big enough to snap her like a twig, though none seemed to have a mind to. Nate admired her, too, for all she’d accomplished with her charges and for what she’d sacrificed to guarantee them a stable home and a secure future. He hoped the boys were mature enough to realize how fortunate they were to have her in their corner.
When he’d overheard her tell Joe what the state paid to keep Latimer House functioning, he’d nearly choked on his coffee. With such a paltry amount, how did they expect her to do more than pay the rent and keep the lights on? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that using her own money was the only way to afford gas for the van, food and clothing for growing boys, and something other than the TV to keep them entertained and occupied.
A good thing or a bad thing? he wondered again.
She’d looked sad, scared and humiliated when he’d offered to front the cash for repairs at her grandparents’ place. For the past two years, he’d lived by two simple rules: “do unto others,” and his own “just say no.” How weird, he thought, that by following one, he’d violated the other. Least he could do was give her a call and apologize for putting her on the spot.
He was about to dial her number when his foreman’s name appeared on the screen.
“Hey, Carl,” he said, picking up. “What’s up?”
“Found another one of your dad’s horses out in the south pasture. I sent Ivan and Seth out there to pick up the carcass. No sense encouraging more of the same.”
“Good thinking.” Nate ran a hand through his hair, wondering which horse it had been and how to break the news to his father. “What do you reckon, bear or cougar?”
“Cougar, most likely. Bear would have left a far bigger mess.”
Carl was right. Bears were greedy, sloppy assassins that often began feeding before their quarry was dead. Cats, even when near-starved, preferred to kill with a bite to the back of the neck. And because the opportunistic felines didn’t like feeding out in the open, they tended to drag uneaten carcasses as far as possible from the kill site and cover them with grass, pine needles or dirt, preserving the meat for a future meal and reducing the chance that another predator might sniff it out and steal it.
“My guess is this cat was forced into new territory by a bigger, better fighter,” Carl said.
“Either that,” Nate said, “or those so-called animal experts captured and tried to relocate it, and now it’s scoping out new hunting ground.”
“Well, we got plenty of pictures, in case Colorado Parks and Wildlife demands proof if we have to take drastic measures.”
“Good, good,” Nate said. “You boys keep your wits about you and rifles and sidearms at the ready, you hear?”
“Don’t worry, boss. We’re like that credit card company—‘Never leave the bunkhouse without ’em.’”
