Читать книгу Winning Over the Rancher - Mary Brady - Страница 9

THIS WAS EITHER the most brilliant move KayLee Morgan had ever made in her life or it was the biggest blunder. One thing was absolutely certain, they weren’t in Southern California anymore. No, two things were certain. She didn’t have a warm enough coat for April in Montana. And, for crying out loud, she shouldn’t have worn her favorite blue wrap dress in this wind, either.

The early afternoon sun shone brightly, but a chill swept across the expansive porch of the rambling house at the Shadow Range Ranch and had her holding the folds of her coat tightly together for protection. To get herself pumped, she rose up onto her toes and lowered and did it again. Time to be brave.

Do-or-die time.

Do something. Don’t just stand there time.

Securing the strap of her shoulder bag in place with one hand, she put her other palm on her belly. “Here we go, kiddo.”

“Talkin’ to yourself?”

KayLee spun to see a man standing several feet away from the base of the steps—not just a man, a rancher, a real live Montana rancher. He had his cowboy hat pushed back on his forehead and gloriously blond curls spilled from under the brim. His well-worn leather jacket gaped open—didn’t he know it was cold in Montana?—and showed off a cream-colored shirt, open at the neck. His jeans clung to his muscular thighs, cowboy boots gave him an inch he didn’t need and on his face he wore an expression that could only be described as neutral, though he was only a millimeter away from a frown.

But man, he was—well, by the standards she had left two days ago—beautiful.

“I guess I was talkin’ to myself.” She used his own vernacular and then spread a quick so-pleased-to-meet-you smile across her face. She knew how to look confident. She had, after all, recently come from the land of people versed in becoming the part, any part. “Would you be one of the Doyle family?”

“Baylor Doyle, ma’am.” He doffed his hat and the curls jumped loose. And then, oh, my God, he actually ran his hand through his hair.

A new kind of shiver passed through her. Yeah, yeah, she said to her pregnancy-crazy libido. All she wanted from this guy was for his family to hire her for the job. She did not need another pretty face in her life, but she’d deal.

She started to descend the steps with her hand outstretched. “KayLee Morgan of K. L. Morgan and Associates.”

Diamond-blue eyes narrowed a bit and a frown came on full bore. Baylor Doyle met her halfway up, engulfed her hand with his big rough one and squeezed with a polite amount of firmness. He studied her without blinking.

“You’re K. L. Morgan.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a disappointment. K.L. was supposed to be some fortyish man with a touch of confidence-building gray at the temples. Most of the people she’d met during this desperate work search kept expecting her to tell them she’d go get the boss and to throw off a curtsy or something. Not her fault she looked a lot younger than twenty-eight or that her “nads” were ovaries.

Oh, shoot. She had forgotten to wear her glasses. She didn’t really need them, but they helped her look her age.

“I am K.L.” She pulled her spine straighter. She absolutely could not afford to blink even once, as she was positive ranchers were no-nonsense people—and she was working for two, or she would be when somebody gave her a job. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me in person, I’m excited to show you and your family my ideas for the Shadow Range Eco Ranch project. I think you will all be very pleased.”

“I expect everyone else is already in the house.” He held his hand out for her to proceed back up the steps.

His soft Western drawl clipped a few of his words as he spoke and she found the sound attractive in an exotic, alien-to-the-Eureka-state kind of way.

Wait a minute, she thought as she crossed the porch. Everyone else? She knew there was a son or two involved in the deal. How many more players were there? Were they all going to frown like this one?

He held open the door of the house for her and she stepped into a previous century. Antlers hung from the walls of the foyer and the huge stone fireplace in the adjoining pine-paneled room had discoloration from the heat and smoke of a hundred years of use, maybe more.

He led her into the large room dominated by heavy leather furniture and filled with Western objects from varying cultures and time periods.

“About time you got home, Baylor. She’ll be here anytime,” a man’s voice called from down the hallway.

He grimaced. “Wait here, please. I’ll see if they are ready for you.”

“Am I early? Do you want me to wait outside?”

KayLee regretted the questions as soon as the words were out. They made her seem tentative. Not good in a place where life was serious and flippancy was most likely confined to the children.

He shook his head and strode off down a hallway from where the voice had come. His broad shoulders, it seemed, spread from wall to wall, and could probably hold the weight of the world.

Frown or no frown, if she weren’t careful, she’d be in love Hollywood-style with this man—fast, hot and gone as soon as sanity returned.

She took in her surroundings as she waited: pottery on high shelves, stark black-and-white photos of Old West life in groupings on one wall, family type photos hung in a large collection on the far wall. If these were all family photos, there were a lot of Doyles. One photo, if she wasn’t mistaken, was Baylor Doyle, with his parents, his two brothers and a sister from at least ten years ago. She walked over to the photo.

She wondered if she’d have to face all of them today.

“They don’t bite.” Baylor’s deep voice came from behind her.

Funny, she thought, coming from a man who looked as if he might, but when she faced him, he wore a deliberate smirk. It made him skew bad boy even more than the frown. Attraction stirred in her and she gathered her full coat around her. A pox on bad boys. That had been why her husband had been so attractive, a rogue producer on the fringes of Hollywood.

“Most of them don’t, anyway,” he continued, sans drawl, and it was her turn to narrow her eyes in suspicion. “My mother will be here in just a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you.” Bring ’em on, all of them, KayLee decided as she stepped away from the wall of photos and over to a carefully lit painting of a solitary horse, saddled, riderless, standing on a rocky hilltop, proud. If he hadn’t been wearing a saddle, she would have thought him a wild stallion.

“This horse must be special to your family,” she said as she examined the delicate brush strokes and the colors suffused with light and energy.

“Not the horse so much as the artist.”

KayLee glanced at the man again. His playfulness was gone, replaced by something that might be hurt, but also might be “none of your business, so don’t ask.”

She leaned closer. In the lower left corner in pale blue paint was the name Crystal.

“It’s beautiful.” She wanted to ask about it, but if she didn’t get the job…

He let her wander the room, getting to know the Doyle family a bit more. She tried to affect casually interested and empathetic, not needy or like the fish out of water she was.

If the objects in the room were an indication of the family history, KayLee couldn’t help but feel awe at the depth. She moved from the gleaming silver cup sealed in a glass box to a handmade baby gown pinned out on a frame and also protected behind glass. “Some of these artifacts appear to be really old.”

“Many of them have been in the family for a long time.”

“Those?” She pointed at the pair of rifles hanging above the fireplace.

“They were used on the ranch well over a hundred years ago.”

The stocks of the rifles were worn and the barrels dinged but they had been polished with care. She wondered how many lives they had taken and how many they had saved.

“It’s all so far-removed from the chrome accessories and plastic fingernails in my life.”

He checked her hands and she held them up. “A little clear polish is all.”

“Good, I’d have hated to have to throw you out over plastic fingernails.” His expression gave nothing away, but he sounded as if he were kidding.

At least she hoped to God he was. Baylor Doyle was a swarming mass of confusing signals. She’d have to steer clear of him as much as she could.

An older woman entered the room from the hallway. She glared pointedly at Baylor, then smiled welcomingly as a tray of chocolate chip cookies just off the cooling rack in grandmother’s kitchen.

“Hello, Ms. Morgan. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s lookin’ to be booted out of the state,” she said, giving the man a “be good” look that could only come from a mother.

“You must be Evelyn Doyle.” KayLee stepped toward the older version of the woman in the family photo and put her hand out. “This is a lovely home, so full of history.”

“The Shadow Range Ranch has been in the family for over five generations. Though it’s much larger than the original homestead.” Evelyn Doyle’s smile broadened and she adjusted the thick gray ponytail that hung down the front of her Western-style plaid shirt.

“And we’d like to keep it that way.” Baylor leaned down, placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek and then stepped away.

Evelyn took KayLee’s hand in one of hers and put her other hand on Kaylee’s shoulder, giving her a couple of pats. “I am Evelyn Doyle, but Evvy will do,” she said. Then, without taking her hand away, she looked up at Baylor. “Welcome back, Bay, dear. Your buying trip must have gone well.”

“They’ll be delivering the new stock as soon as it can be arranged.”

Evvy let her hand drop and smiled at KayLee again. “I’m afraid there’ll be a lot of livestock talk here. We’ve bred our own line of Angus beef and we’d like to think it’s superior to most of what’s out there.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about beef that isn’t ready to put on my plate,” KayLee said and looked from Evvy to Baylor, hoping that wasn’t some sort of faux pas.

Baylor made a quiet, derisive sound.

“Baylor.” Man and mother held a momentary wordless exchange and then Evvy continued, “I’m glad you made it in time. Bay, take her coat now, please.”

Evvy gestured toward KayLee, who shrugged off the heavy shoulder bag and placed it on the floor at her feet. The light touch of Baylor’s fingertips on her shoulders as he helped her out of her coat might have felt sensual if she weren’t standing between the rancher and his mother. And not at all if pregnancy hormones hadn’t tricked her brain into becoming a sex engine. Thankfully, Baylor took her coat and left quickly.

“And your drive?” Evvy asked KayLee as Baylor strode away.

KayLee tugged on the tails of the white sweater she had put over her dress when she realized her coat wasn’t going to be warm enough. “I can’t get over how gorgeous Montana is. I hope I’m not being insulting if I say you all live in a scenic postcard.”

“Not at all. Even those of us who were born here think the same thing from time to time. Well, come, we’re all in the den.”

“I’m so glad to have the chance to meet everyone.” Everyone. Gulp.

When KayLee heard Baylor coming back into the room, she spun around slowly and faced him. His steps faltered and he gave her a long, questioning look with his eyebrows nearly drawn together, but he didn’t say anything.

She smiled to herself. This was the moment he realized he was seeing a pregnant woman, that her girth wasn’t just from her coat that fell from her shoulders in voluminous folds.

Evvy had not been surprised or, at least, not bothered.

After more smiles and nods, Baylor snatched up KayLee’s shoulder bag from the floor, and they all headed down a hallway, Evvy Doyle in the lead.

The ranch house was big—bigger than she expected. Good. They were already used to big spaces inside as well as out. Hopefully, they’d like the wide-open design of her guest cabins the best. If K. L. Morgan and Associates got this job, her design firm might have a future, she might have a future and so might her baby, who was the only associate she had.

KayLee buried any sign of desperation under a bright Hollywood smile and kept her place in the parade.

Moments later, they stepped into a den with a knotty pine floor and walls, and a cheery fire in the fireplace. Five more faces assessed KayLee as they stood to greet her—two women and three more men. Seven against one. Fine, she’d faced worse odds when her husband’s creditors came after her.

The older man, no doubt the Curtis Doyle from the phone calls and the father in the photo, stepped forward to stand beside his wife. If there were middle-aged, Western-wear wedding-cake couples out there, then this pair had been the model. There weren’t two people in the world as well-matched as Evvy and Curtis Doyle, or who looked more honest and upstanding.

Or two people she knew she couldn’t disappoint. Well, where did that come from?

“Mr. Doyle, I’m KayLee Morgan. Nice to meet you in person.”

He shook her hand firmly and then introduced her to the rest of the family. The younger men and women were dressed in what KayLee thought might be casual-office Western wear, jeans and boots with open-necked button shirts from plain to plaid, and they all inspected her carefully.

Lance and Seth were Baylor’s older brothers and the women, Holly and Amy, were their wives. The wives grinned and the men smiled politely. All handshakes were firm, not one limp hand in the bunch. She expected no less and gave as good as she got.

Crystal, the sister from the photo who had painted the stallion, apparently lived in Denver and wasn’t able to make the meeting Curtis had said.

When they were all seated, Baylor and his father flanked the elder Mrs. Doyle like the Fu Dogs outside Grauman’s Chinese Theater. She was guarded well. Point taken, KayLee thought. The family was tight.

Good. She’d rather set up an alliance than broker family squabbles any day.

She shifted her gaze from one Doyle to the next. These were not boardroom types. They didn’t come here to posture and preen. They came to review the package she had prepared for the development of the ranch project and to make a decision. Excitement frizzling along her nerves let her know she was ready for this.

“Small talk or business first?” she asked.

Lance, the oldest son, barked a sharp laugh. “Well played, ma’am.”

Most of the others nodded.

Time was money—their money, not from the bank account of some big corporation—and she knew how they felt.

“I think we pretty much laid out our position in the information we sent to you.” This was from Curtis Doyle. “Why don’t you show us what you brought?”

KayLee donned her let-me-entertain-you smile.

As she did a quick study of the group, the fire crackled and the sounds of children’s laughter filtered in from a distance. “Great then, I’ll get started.”

She splayed open her leather shoulder bag and took out a half-dozen copies of her proposal, including samples of her past work, her work from her life before Chad. Her old laptop sat on the backseat of her car. Its age wouldn’t make her presentation cutting-edge, and she suspected these people were hard-copy types anyway.

She kept one for herself and placed the rest on the large round wooden coffee table in the center of the room. “I apologize for not having enough.”

“We can share,” Amy said, handing one to Holly. The husband-and-wife couples snuggled close and KayLee suddenly wanted to cry.

Pregnancy hormones. She blinked, had several soothing swallows from the glass of water on the table in front of her and continued. “In the final plan there are the seven guest cabins you requested and I recommend they be of varying sizes. My proposal is to build one of the medium-sized and one of the smaller ones first. I believe beginning on all of them at once would put too much of a strain on the resources here in the valley. The sheer noise created by doing the project on such a large scale would be unpleasant for the people as well as the wildlife.”

She saw a couple of nods and one slight smile. The smile was from Evvy. The rest had remained neutral, except Baylor, who just frowned harder. Tough nut. She wondered what it would take to crack him.

KayLee took another drink of water and then checked to see that her smile was still in place. She’d made harder sales than this one and that was when she was a youngster compared to now.

“I suggest, in keeping ahead of the curve, that all of the building materials be as green, as eco-friendly, as possible.” There were a couple more nods with this proposal. “But I also propose that the second medium cabin, when built, be constructed with the materials and ventilation needed to make that particular house a safe environment for anyone who, for health reasons, cannot tolerate what most of us consider normal indoor pollutants.”

The faces of the group had all taken on a rather neutral countenance. She searched for a sign. Approval? Bewilderment? Boredom?

Amy leaned forward and refilled the glass of water in front of KayLee. It wasn’t much, but she took it as a sign someone wanted her there.

She nodded her thanks, took a drink and then drew herself up and pressed on with the details. She answered their questions as they asked them, giving a solid look of confidence and an honest response. She had built her premarriage business on integrity and expected to do the same now.

As she explained the family area concept where two cabins were located near an all-natural play area, but not near the other cabins, she got nods and smiles from the three women.

She had worked hard studying their wish lists, the absolutes of the landscape, aerial photographs, topographical maps and available supplies in the area. She had a decent idea of what she was facing. She hoped it showed. By the time she had spread out her design of the first medium cabin to be built in a stand of pines, near enough to the stream to hear the burbling water on a quiet night, but not close enough to pollute the water, and the second near the proposed play area, she was sure she had all of them in her corner. Well, all except Baylor.

The more she talked, the more questions she answered, the more confident she felt she had sold herself and her ideas to the others, the more Baylor seemed to scowl. She wondered how much influence he had on the group as a whole.

By the time KayLee was almost finished, it seemed as if the sun should be setting, but only about an hour and a half had passed. She hoped what she had to offer next would make even Baylor sit up and smile.

“I know you all want this project started as soon as possible, and I can arrange my schedule to accommodate an immediate launch if you should choose to go with these designs.”

She scanned each Doyle. Evvy and Curtis were the image of warmth and receptivity. The younger husband-and-wife teams held hands and expressions of approval. KayLee gave in to a small shiver of excitement. This was the first real hope she’d had since the accident that had taken her husband.

And then her gaze landed on Baylor.

He sat, arms crossed over his big chest, chin tucked, forehead creased. He had asked many questions, grilled her was more like it, and she’d met every query with knowledge and conviction. She wondered what he doubted now.

The senior Mr. Doyle looked up from the written proposal. “You have been very thorough, Ms. Morgan,” he said as he squeezed his wife’s hand.

“I like the play area for the children.” Amy smiled at her husband with hope and love. They must be parents to one or more of the giggling and chattering young voices she heard coming from another room.

“What would we be talking about as far as a time frame for completion of the first two cabins?” Evvy asked.

“I’ll have a better idea of that when we have materials and workers on hand, but with ideal conditions, the middle of summer would not be out of the question.”

They all leaned in a bit toward Baylor.

He leaned in as well and folded his hands over the papers on his lap.

“It has been nice meeting you, Ms. Morgan. Thank you for putting so much work into your proposal. We have your card if we have any further questions.” Baylor’s words were polite, even regretful sounding, but she read body language well enough to clearly read “thanks, but no thanks.”

A shock wave of failure overtook her. She hadn’t expected a go-ahead, but she hadn’t expected outright rejection, either. She knew getting accepted or declined was a combination of personality, design and dollars, but Baylor Doyle didn’t even want to give her a chance. He clearly had the power of decision here and she supposed there must be a family reason for that.

She pushed to her feet, rebalancing her weight carefully.

Curtis rose from his seat and so did everyone else.

“You’ve given us a lot to consider with your proposal. What we’re going to have to do now is to talk among ourselves.” The patriarch’s words seemed to abate the finality of Baylor’s pronouncement, but not by much.

Evvy gave her a warm smile. KayLee suspected Evvy was kind to everyone, even a rejected designer. “Your plans are elegant and resourceful, KayLee. You won’t be heading for home yet today, will you?”

Home? She almost laughed. She didn’t have a home.

“I’ve got a room at the inn in town. I thought I’d get a good night’s sleep and I’ve always wanted to get to know Montana better.” Oh, blab and dither. Stay professional. “Anyway, thank you so much for the opportunity to share my ideas with you. It’s been a pleasure. I hope to hear from you soon.”

She gathered her bag and the papers she would need, leaving her proposal and credential information for the Doyles, hoping she had a reason to stay in town and not flee back to…where?

Well, she was competent and strong. She’d find something, if not here, somewhere else. That was her anthem and her prayer, and she was sticking to it.

“Anyone in town will help you with whatever you need.” Amy’s tone seemed to offer an apology for the group, and her smile their regret.

Her husband, Seth, put a hand on Amy’s waist and nodded his agreement. “If you need anything, you can call out here, too.”

They truly were good people and from what Mr. Doyle had said, when completed, this project needed to boost the ranch’s income, not be a drain on it. Besides cattle and summer cabins, KayLee wondered what income ranches in Montana used to stay afloat.

She really didn’t know as much as she thought about the area where she proposed to work.

Her inadequate coat seemed to appear from nowhere and Baylor held it up for her to slip into. When they walked her as a group to the front door, she wanted to grab each one of them and ask what more she could have done. Instead she nodded to each in turn. “Thank you all. You’ve been very kind.”

And then she fled.

When she paused at the bottom of the wooden steps, it seemed as if she were about to leap off with no possibility of knowing if she would ever land, let alone land safely.

She lifted her chin, sucked in a breath of clean Montana air and patted her belly. It’s okay, Baby, she thought, Mama’s got your back.

She stepped into the oblivion called the rest of her life.

AFTER K. L. MORGAN DROVE away in her tiny blue Ford, Baylor herded the rest of his family back to the den. Though they had come docilely enough, none took their seats.

Standing was a better fighting position.

He shoved the hair away from his face, leaned forward and placed his hands on the back of an upholstered chair. Deliberately, silently, he held the gaze of each one of them. When none of them so much as blinked, he spoke quietly. “Have you all gone nuts? Did you all not notice K. L. Morgan is pregnant? I’m only a good judge of cows and horses, but I’d say very.”

“And you’d hold that against her?” Amy challenged as she moved over to stand next to his mother and Holly.

“I think you know me better than that, but we need someone who can get the whole job done and get started yesterday.”

“She can do the job, Bay,” Holly said as she approached him, Amy and his mother at her side. “And she said she could start right away.”

“I don’t doubt she believes she can start this job. She might even believe she can get it done, but that doesn’t make it so.” Baylor took a seat on one of the couches, but none of them followed his lead.

“She graduated from the School of Architecture and Urban Planning at UCLA and she presents herself nicely.” His mother gave him a benign mother smile when she spoke. “And her bid was lower than any one else’s.”

His sisters-in-law glared at him and his father and two brothers were in a tight knot, no doubt trying to figure out how to handle him. Just why he needed handling, he had no idea. They all knew that every single one of their futures rested on this project. He had promised himself and all of them, he’d see to the development of the Shadow Range Eco Ranch, and he was fairly certain K. L. Morgan was not going to be part of that promise.

Now they formed a semicircle around him with arms crossed over their chests, except his mother. She had picked up a stack of papers from the coffee table.

“And what about the baby’s father?” Baylor asked.