Читать книгу Sweet Mountain Rancher - Loree Lough - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

“I CAN’T TELL you how much I appreciate this.”

Stuart returned his dog-eared magazine to the stack on the bank’s waiting room table. “Hey, anything for my big sister. Even putting on my uniform eight hours before my shift starts.” Yawning, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So tell me again why I’m here?”

“Moral support. No one would say no to me with a police officer present. Not even a banker!”

“I hate to break it to you, but disrespect isn’t against the law.” He winced slightly. “Neither is turning down a borrower who has no collateral.”

When it had come time to split their grandparents’ assets, they’d flipped a coin. Stuart called tails, giving him ownership of the condo in Vail.

“I have Pinewood,” she countered. Eden pictured their grandparents’ house and groaned. “Then again, point taken.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Do I look as petrified as I feel? Be honest, I can take it.”

Stuart studied her face for a moment. “Just remember what Gramps taught us—always repeat a question in your head before answering it out loud. And sit on your hands.”

“He never said... Oh, I get it,” she said. “So Mr. Judson won’t see them shaking.”

“Or those raggedy cuticles.”

Eden gave Stuart’s shoulder a playful poke. “Thanks, Stewie. That’s the way to show support.”

“Hey, what do you expect from a sleep-deprived, overworked, underpaid cop?”

The door beside them opened, startling them both.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Quinn kids,” the banker said, extending a meaty hand. “Good to see you. How long has it been? Ten, fifteen years?”

“Too long,” the siblings harmonized as he ushered them into his plush office.

Mr. Judson’s black leather chair squealed when he filled it with his considerable bulk. He spent a few moments catching up, asking what they’d been doing in the years since losing their grandparents. He was semiretired, he told them, and spent as much time as possible skiing in Aspen or sailing at Tahoe. And then he sat back and smoothed the nonexistent hair on his shiny head.

“Now,” he said, flashing a salesman-like smile, “what can I do for the two of you?”

Eden sat up straighter. “As I told the receptionist when I made the appointment, I’d like to discuss a loan.”

Frowning, he adjusted his black-framed glasses. “Yes, yes she did make note of that.” He grabbed a sleek silver pen from the marble holder on his desk and glanced at Stuart before meeting Eden’s eyes. “My goodness, dear girl. How much do you need that you felt it necessary to bring a gun-toting companion?”

While he laughed at his own joke, Eden remembered Stuart’s advice and repeated the question internally. “Twenty thousand,” she said, tucking her fingertips under her thighs.

The gleaming ballpoint went click-click as Judson raised one bushy eyebrow. “More than I expected. What, exactly, is the loan for?”

Eden kept her explanation brief and to the point: Pinewood’s tenants had left behind a lot of damage, which had to be repaired before it would pass a city inspection in the event the sale of Latimer House forced her and the boys to relocate.

“For the most part,” she concluded, “the money will buy paint and replace missing appliances and light fixtures.”

Click-click. “With twenty grand, you can buy a lot of lamps.”

Judson slid open a desk drawer and removed a manila folder labeled Quinn.

“I had a feeling Pinewood might have prompted this meeting, so I drove by the house on my way home last evening. And the minute I arrived this morning, I perused your file.” Removing his glasses, he opened the folder. “As I recall, your grandfather’s will specified that upon his death, his life insurance was to pay off the mortgage, so that your grandmother would never have to worry about keeping a roof over her head.”

“And we abided by his wishes to the letter,” Stuart said. “So your point is...?”

The banker ignored Stuart’s impatient tone. “I understand you hired Templeton Property Management to oversee the house and grounds?”

“Yes...”

“That’s odd. He made no mention of damage to the house or grounds.”

“You spoke with him?”

“Well, of course I spoke with him. It’s my job to gather all the facts to look out for our investors’ and depositors’ best interests.”

I’ll bet Joe didn’t tell you what he promised—in writing! “And did Joe provide any helpful facts?”

“No, not really.” Judson smirked. “He didn’t say much of anything, except that you threatened to sue him.” Click-click.

Eden’s pre-meeting jitters had turned into full-blown panic. “I didn’t threaten to sue. Exactly.”

“If we can arrange a loan—and at this stage, I can’t promise that—what collateral can you present? Property? Vehicles? Investments? Savings?”

Since every penny to her name was right here in his bank, Judson already knew the answers. Eden decided his questions were rhetorical, and felt no obligation to reply.

Click-click. “Says here that numerous complaints were registered against the boys who reside at Latimer House. Litter, noise ordinance violations, lack of attention to the home’s exterior...” He met Eden’s eyes. “If you were to move the youngsters to Pinewood—if you can bring it up to the city’s code requirements, that is—what assurances can you offer that the boys won’t cause the same problems in your grandparents’ neighborhood? Continued bad behavior will impact property values, you know, and since the house is your collateral...”

“How did all of that end up in the Pinewood file?” Eden glanced at Stuart, who merely shrugged.

“Stuff like that is part of the public record,” Stuart said. “Just a matter of typing some basic information into the state’s court records files, and voila.”

So Judson had looked for reasons to turn her down, even before hearing how much she wanted to borrow? But why?

“First of all,” Eden said, “lack of proper supervision by the former administrator was to blame for everything on your list. And since your research is so thorough, you’re no doubt also aware that since I took over, the house has been well-maintained, and there hasn’t been a single complaint.”

“True, but...” Judson tapped the file entry. “With kids like that, you can’t guarantee continued good behavior. Uprooting those boys, in and of itself, could spark a rebellion and who knows what else.” Click-click. “I personally approved the mortgage on your grandparents’ home, so it pains me that I can’t help you out now.”

Not can’t, Eden silently corrected. Won’t. “It isn’t fair to judge the boys based solely on what happened in the past, or to punish them for their parents’ mistakes, or for the former director’s neglect, for that matter.”

Judson closed the file and got to his feet, a not-so-subtle indication that the meeting was over.

“It was good seeing you both, truly.”

Stunned and disappointed, Eden felt her mouth go dry. Returning his half-baked compliment or offering her hand seemed beyond hypocritical, but she did it anyway.

“Wish I could say the same,” Stuart growled, taking her elbow. “Sorry we wasted one another’s time.”

Halfway across the parking lot, he said, “If I had the money, I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I know.” She side-bumped him. “Ya big softie.”

He feigned pain and rubbed his biceps. “Sheesh! Have you been working out?”

“Oh, right. Like I have the time and money for a gym membership or exercise equipment.” Instantly, she regretted her brusque tone. “Sorry, little brother. You’re not to blame for any of this mess. I should have barked at that tightwad, instead of taking my frustrations out on you.”

He stood between his pickup truck and her van. “Meet me at Tom’s. My treat.”

“Your treat? I thought I promised breakfast would be my treat.”

“You don’t have money for a gym membership, remember?”

“Ah, I see. It’s pity food.”

He produced a ten-dollar bill. “Found this last night in the precinct parking lot.” He returned her halfhearted grin. “Do you know how to get there from here?”

“I was a little beside myself for a minute in there,” she said, “but I think I can find my way to our favorite diner.”

Thanks to their crazy work schedules, getting together was a challenge, so they met at Tom’s once a month to catch up. Eden considered passing on his offer, but she didn’t want to go home just yet. One look at her worried face and the boys would want to know what was wrong. They would also know if she was lying, so she needed time to collect herself.

“I’ll follow you over there,” she said. “But just so you know, I’m not in my usual chatty mood.”

Stuart unlocked his pickup truck. “You won’t hear me complaining. You talked enough when we were kids—and ever since—to tide me over till retirement.”

She opened the driver’s door, grimacing when the rusty hinge groaned. “I hear they’re looking for comics over at the Bug Theater. In case you ever decide to switch careers, that is, wise guy.”

He slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll keep that in mind, if you’ll be my straight man.”

During the short drive, Eden thanked her lucky stars for that brother of hers. He’d made it easier to cope with the brutal loss of their parents. Made it easier to adjust to relocating from Baltimore to Denver after the funeral, too. They’d always been close, but over the years, they’d also become best friends.

Friends. She steered into Tom’s parking lot, wondering why the word brought Nate to mind. Had his offer to finance repairs at Pinewood been genuine? Or was he cut from the same cloth as Jake, whose every action had been carefully calculated to ensure complete control?

* * *

NATE’S SISTER LEANED around their cousin and his new wife. “Just look at you,” she said, “hoggin’ the biscuit basket, again.”

Zach and Summer sat back to give the siblings a direct line of sight to each other.

“Poor Henrietta,” Nate said, “never has figured out the difference between biscuits and rolls.”

Her wadded-up napkin flew past the newlyweds and landed in Nate’s mashed potatoes.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Hank, not Henrietta.”

“You may be Hank on the barrel-racing circuit,” he told her, calmly buttering his roll, “but you’ll always be Henrietta to me.”

“Nate,” his mother scolded, “don’t taunt your sister. You know as well as anyone that her name change is legal.”

“Legal or not,” his dad muttered, “I’m sticking with my initial opinion— it’s ridiculous. The name Henrietta was good enough for your grandmother, and I’ll never understand why it isn’t good enough for you.”

Hank sighed. “Dad, please. We’ve been over this a dozen times. It was a business decision, pure and simple. The name gives me a psychological edge over my competition. No one would fear a barrel racer named Henrietta.”

She’d probably taken this guilt trip often enough to earn frequent-flyer miles, and Nate felt bad about stirring things up again, especially over Sunday dinner at Aunt Ellen and Uncle John’s house.

“You still planning to change it back once you’re married with kids?” he asked. With a little luck, she’d agree, at least for the moment, and put an end to the whole name-change discussion.

Zach laughed. “Don’t do it, cousin! I can hardly wait to introduce our young’un to Auntie Hank,” he said, patting Summer’s round belly. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to quit the rodeo circuit and settle down. I can almost hear your kids’ kids calling you Granny Hank. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Your grandmother might not agree.”

If their father noticed Hank’s second heavy sigh, he hid it well. Nate heard it, though, and he didn’t need to look up to know she’d branded him with a blistering glare. After dessert, he’d take her aside and apologize. She’d always had a fiery temper, and if things ran true to course, she’d make him prove how sorry he was...with dinner at Shanahan’s, her favorite restaurant. Hank sure did know how to get her way.

“I thought you gave up sucking your thumb when you were three, Nate.”

It took a second to figure out what his mother was talking about. Laughing quietly, Nate put down the butter knife and wiped his glistening thumb on a napkin.

“I know that googly-eyed look,” Hank said, smirking. “I’d bet my Greeley Stampede barrel champion buckle on it. He was off in la-la land, daydreaming about some woman.”

Time and again, he’d told well-intentioned family members that he wasn’t ready for another relationship, not with the cultured young women who volunteered with his mom and aunt or the flirty rodeo gals Hank tried to set him up with. His sister knew the reasons better than any of them, so her wisecrack made no sense.

Zach piped up. “You know, Hank, I think you’re on to something here.” Leaning around Summer, he added, “All right, dude. Out with it. Who is she?”

Nate’s ears and cheeks went hot, and he hoped they hadn’t turned bright red. Why hadn’t any of the other Marshall men been cursed with the tendency to blush like schoolgirls?

Don’t overreact, or you’ll play right into their hands. “There is no ‘she.’”

His mom’s eyebrows disappeared behind dark, silver-streaked bangs. “Oh, my,” she said, drawing out the word. “This one must be a real doozie if he feels the need to hide her.”

Et tu, Mom?

He could easily take the spotlight off himself by directing the conversation back to the Hank v. Henrietta thread, but throwing his sister under the bus wouldn’t solve anything. “If there isn’t a ‘she,’ then it stands to reason there’s no one to hide, right?”

They weren’t convinced. He could tell by their sly grins and winks.

“Sheesh. Guy can’t even butter his thumb around here without everybody jumping to conclusions.”

While they laughed, Nate decided to keep them distracted by reporting the latest ranch news.

“Carl found another horse yesterday.” He kept the description vague, as much for his nieces’ and nephews’ sake as his dad’s. “We got plenty of pictures. Near as we can tell, it was a cougar attack.”

His mom gasped softly. “Oh, I hope you’re mistaken. There hasn’t been a cat sighting since...” Maeve faced her husband. “How long has it been, Royce?”

“Five, six years? I’d have to check my log books.” He looked grim. Concerned. “Are you sure, son?”

“Positive.”

“So the boys found tracks, eh?” Zach said.

“Not at first. The ground’s pretty dry. But once we found one sign, plenty more showed up. We have pictures of those, too.”

“What about rumen and bones?” his dad asked. “Right near the kill sight, or scattered all around?”

“Close by for the most part. No blood trail, either, so it’s pretty clear the cat didn’t feel pressured to move the carcass. It left plenty behind, though, which tells me its meal was interrupted.”

“Any idea by what?”

“Could have been anything, Hank. Another cat. Bear. Heck, one of the other horses could have spooked it.”

She nodded. “True. Cougars are pretty skittish.”

“Honestly,” his mom interrupted. “Can’t the four of you wait until later to discuss this? You’re frightening the children.”

Nate looked at the wide-eyed faces of his cousins’ kids. At their mothers’ faces, too. Sally and Nora agreed with his mom, and he could hardly blame them. Even though he’d been far younger than any of them when he got his first up-close-and-personal eyeful of what a determined predator was capable of doing to livestock. The experience taught him the importance of caution and alertness. He turned to their parents. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to take them out there soon,” he said, pointing toward the fields. “Teach them how to keep their eyes open and their ears perked.” Nate met each child’s eyes. “You’re ranch-raised, same as the rest of us, and spend a whole lot of time outside. There are all kinds of dangerous critters out there. But you already knew that, right?”

They nodded their agreement.

“Things are scariest when you don’t know anything about them. Once you have the facts—”

“Well, now,” Hank said, “aren’t you just a big ol’ ball of warm and fuzzy today.”

He got to his feet. “I’d rather give them a couple of scary dreams tonight, Henrietta, than have something terrible happen out there later.”

Tossing his napkin onto his chair, Nate faced his aunt. “Dinner was great as always. Thanks.”

“You’re leaving?” his mother said. “Before dessert? When I made your favorite?”

Not even hot-from-the-oven apple pie could tempt him to stay. Nate didn’t know what to blame for his agitated state of mind. With any luck, a few gulps of fresh mountain air would cure what ailed him.

“Thought I spotted a loose gate, couple of leaning fence posts in the main corral,” he said with another nod toward the window. “That sky looks pretty threatening. I’m gonna check ’em out before the storm rolls in.”

He made a beeline for his pickup and drove straight to the barn. If he didn’t waste time, he could saddle Patches and get those gates secured before the storm hit. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they were in for a big one. The clouds hung low and dark, and there was a certain bite in the spring air. The wind rolled across the north pasture, laying the new ryegrass fields almost flat. They needed a gentle soaking, not the hard-pounding downpour that was about to hit. Patches sensed it, too. Normally, he’d nibble contentedly at the blades of grass growing alongside the fence. Today, he whimpered, stamping his front hooves and testing the strength of his tether.

“Easy, boy,” Nate said. “I’m almost through here, and if you quit kickin’ up a fuss, I’ll give you a good rubdown and add some oats to your feed.”

Good thing you started at the corral, he thought, disconnecting the come-along from the now-taut barbed wire. He stowed it in the burlap sack that hung from his saddle horn, untethered Patches, and climbed into the saddle as the first fat drops began thumping the brim of his Stetson. The air quickly filled with the thick, musky scent of plant oils, bacterial spores and ozone. Nate found it rather pleasant. Patches did not. But the horse, true to form, obeyed his master’s every directive.

The rain was falling in earnest now, hitting the hard ground like wet bullets. It was tough to see more than a few yards ahead, but Nate held tight to the reins to make sure Patches didn’t panic, rocket forward and step into a gopher hole.

“Easy, boy,” he said again, holding the steady pace even as the gusts rustled the grass and bent the trees to the breaking point. A violent boom rolled across the fields, startling Patches and Nate, too, and seconds later, lightning sliced the sooty sky.

Once they reached the barn, man and horse exhaled relieved sighs and shook off the rain. Now Nate wished he’d eaten some pie; when this deluge let up, the pan would no doubt be empty.

Patches nickered and bobbed his head. “You’re right,” Nate said. “Fifteen minutes more and we’d be out in the middle of this bedlam, instead of warm and dry in here.” Plus, the broken latch and leaning gatepost would have blown over. It took only one curious cow to notice the opening for a couple of dozen to follow, and it would require days to round them all up.

If that cat didn’t get them first.

Based on the size of the paw prints, Nate and the ranch hands had decided it was likely a female. They all agreed she had a right to hunt and prowl the territory. But with elk and deer so plentiful in the Rockies, they knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Choosing easy pickings such as tame horses and cows could mean she’d been wounded. She might be pregnant, or have a litter of cubs hidden nearby. Cubs that would learn many lessons in killing from their stealthy mother.

Nate stowed Patches’s combs and brushes in the tack room and walked to the window, where the rain clouded his view of the Front Range. But he didn’t need to see the mountains to know they were there. He’d been living in their shadow since birth, and could point them out with his eyes closed: Grays Peak and Mount Evans, Longs Peak and Mount Bierstadt, and one of the world’s highest, Pikes Peak. Several years ago, Nate had been able to cross an item off his bucket list when he’d reached its summit. Up there, it seemed he could see the whole world. The sight made him pity Lieutenant Zebulon Montgomery Pike, who, after a four-month trek, spied the mountain on the horizon and knew even before arriving that he’d never reach its pinnacle.

“Wonder how many cougars old Zeb saw?” he asked Patches.

The horse snorted again, as if to say, “I’m busy eating the treat you gave me and can’t be bothered with such trivial matters.”

Nate’s mood began to lift. It wasn’t so bad, being stuck out here in the barn. He’d spared no expense to equip it with every creature comfort for the horses. In the loft, he’d even constructed a sparsely furnished bedroom and a closet-sized bathroom, and installed grates in the floor to allow heat to rise from the propane-fueled furnace. On the rare occasion one of his mares had difficulty foaling, he wanted to remain nearby, and the space had served its purpose well.

Seated on the corner of his cot, Nate toed off his work boots and changed into dry jeans and a flannel shirt. Everything, even the socks, smelled like mothballs, but the scent was far preferable to the stale, fusty odor of mold or mildew. Back in the main area of the barn, he filled the aluminum coffeepot with water and grounds and set it to boil on the two-burner hotplate. He kept a stash of energy bars in the metal box atop the minifridge, and unless one of the ranch hands had raided it, he’d have one for supper. Not his first choice, but unless he was seriously mistaken, this storm had no intention of letting up anytime soon. He’d take granola over hitting the hay on an empty stomach.

The horses didn’t seem to mind having their nosy, two-legged Pa meander the barn, as evidenced by soft snorts, blows and nickers. There might be a cougar on the prowl, but for the moment, all was well at the Double M.

Sated by his makeshift meal, which he washed down with strong black coffee, Nate lay back on the cot and closed his eyes. Rain pelting the barn’s metal roof made him drowsy.

He remembered the year when he, Zach and Sam had ridden to the Double M’s north boundary to round up two runaway calves. They’d been in high school, and felt proud and manly, being out there on their own. They’d searched until they ran out of daylight, then set up camp and bedded down under the starry sky. Nate was the first to wake up, and after stoking the fire, he’d gone looking for sticks and twigs to get it hot enough to brew their coffee and heat up the bacon biscuits Zach’s mom had packed them. Nate didn’t know what made him look up, but when he did, the breath froze in his lungs. A huge male cougar stood on a rocky outcropping nearby, head high and powerful shoulder muscles undulating under thick, reddish-brown fur. Nate had reached for his revolver, realizing too late that he’d left it near his bedroll. Thankfully, in the blink of an eye, the cat had disappeared, leaving Nate to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

His cell phone rang, startling him so badly he sat straight up on the cot. He didn’t recognize the number and answered with a terse “Yeah?”

A slight pause, and then, “Oh. I’m so sorry to disturb you. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

Eden. “It’s not the wrong number,” he said, softening his tone. “This lousy storm has me stuck out here in the barn. Guess I drifted off and the phone surprised me.”

“Sorry,” she said again. “If I hang up, you can pick right up where you left off.”

Was she kidding? Go back to that pins-and-needles cougar memory, when he could talk with an angel?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he admitted. “This cougar stuff has us all a little edgy.” And so did his reference to her as an angel.

“Cougar stuff?”

He gave her an abbreviated version, leaving out some of the gorier details to avoid scaring her. “I’m sure it’s holed up somewhere in this weather, though, so for the time being, it’s not a concern.”

Liar. Anyone with a functioning brain would be worried, especially after finding that mutilated horse. But she hadn’t called to listen to his woes. Just as well. He wasn’t big on chitchat, either.

“So...what’s up?”

“The boys and I have been talking,” she said hesitantly, “and we’d like you to come for supper. Tomorrow night, if you’re available. I’m making their favorite. Spaghetti and meatballs.”

He’d planned to attend a town hall meeting the next night to discuss possible solutions to traffic problems caused by cattle getting loose. His father and uncles refused to go, citing the fact that their livestock rarely got out, and when the cows did stray, they never went too far for too long. He wouldn’t be missing out on anything he hadn’t heard before anyway.

“Just so happens spaghetti and meatballs is one of my favorites, too. What time do you want me there?”

“Well, we sit down at five thirty, but you’re welcome to get here anytime after four. I’ll put you to work chopping vegetables for the salad.”

An hour and a half, alone in the kitchen with Eden Quinn? Sure beat listening to city folk moan and groan about cow poo on the highway!

“What can I bring? Dessert? Garlic bread?”

“Just your appetite.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, and it brightened his gloomy mood. “See you tomorrow, then. If this storm doesn’t wash out the road.”

“It wouldn’t dare,” she said before hanging up.

Nate stared at his phone for a second or two before hitting End. A few days had passed since he’d offered to help her out financially. More than enough time for her to look into other options. He wondered if sometime between dessert and drying the last spaghetti plate she’d tell him how many hoops she’d jumped through to solve the housing problem on her own. He checked his watch. By his estimate, he didn’t have much time to figure out how to convince her it was a no-strings offer. He’d known her just long enough to understand that Eden was a proud, independent woman who’d do just about anything for those kids. Truth was, he wouldn’t mind a few strings, provided they kept her close by, at least until he got to know her better. She might have more baggage than an airport carousel, and common sense warned him to keep a safe distance, at least until he found out why, every now and then, her big gray eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn’t define.

* * *

EVEN BEFORE HE climbed out of his pickup, Nate felt calm. He took note of flowers planted on both sides of the brick path that made the short walk to the front porch of Latimer House colorful and welcoming. He rang the bell, and while waiting for someone to answer, he took in the row of mismatched rocking chairs lining the white clapboard facade. Nate counted six before the wide wooden door opened.