Читать книгу Stranded With The Rancher - Rebecca Winters - Страница 9
ОглавлениеWyatt Fielding exhaled slowly and straightened his back, then knocked on the lawyer’s open door. “Mr. Derrick? Your secretary told me to come in.”
“Of course, Mr. Fielding. Please sit down.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I offer you tea, coffee, a soft drink?”
“Nothing, thanks,” Wyatt said. Though a cool drink would have been refreshing in the August heat, he wasn’t sure he could stomach anything at the moment.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t see you until today. I had business out of town all week.”
“I understand. When I made inquiries about who was the best attorney in Wyoming, your name came up many times. As I told you on the phone last week, mine isn’t truly a criminal case, but what happened to me felt criminal at the time. I left a retainer with your secretary.”
The other man nodded. “Go ahead and tell me your story. I’m recording our conversation.”
Wyatt cleared his throat, swallowing past the dry lump there. “Eleven years ago I graduated from high school in Whitebark, Wyoming.”
“That’s clear across the state.”
“Yes. Wind River Country.”
“One of my favorite places to vacation. Go on.”
“I was in love with a girl and we were expecting a child. We wanted to get married, but she wouldn’t turn eighteen until August, so we decided to keep everything quiet until after her birthday, then get married.”
“So her parents didn’t know?”
He shook his head. “They disapproved of their daughter being involved with anyone. She couldn’t go to them. But in July she suffered a miscarriage at six weeks and was taken to the hospital. At that point, her parents would have been told what was wrong. She got word to me at the ranch through one of the nurses. I rushed over to the hospital the next morning to be with her. To my shock, I learned she’d been discharged and sent home.
“I then drove to her house. Her parents told me she no longer lived with them, that I wasn’t welcome there anymore, and that I shouldn’t try to find their daughter.
“I hurried home to tell my grandparents. I’d brought Jenny to our home lots of times. They knew we were in love and they would have let us be married at home. But under the circumstances, they advised me that her parents were in control. I should wait until I heard from Jenny.
“When a week went by with no phone call or letter, I was half out of my mind and went to the hospital to talk to the doctor who had taken care of her. I was told nothing. I begged the head of the hospital to at least give me some information about her health, about where she’d gone, about the miscarriage. He said he couldn’t disclose private records.
“I went back to the ranch feeling as if I’d had an out-of-body experience. That nothing was real. All our plans and dreams destroyed.”
The attorney’s brows lifted. “To this day you’ve never had word of her?”
“No. Two months later I went by her house and saw a for-sale sign in the yard. The neighbor across the street said they’d moved with no forwarding address.”
“That’s a tragic story. I’m very sorry, Mr. Fielding.”
Wyatt leaned forward with his hands clasped. “My grandparents raised me after the age of five and have been my mentors. They wanted to get counseling for me, but I fought it. Before my grandmother died, she urged me to talk this out with someone because she knew the experience had changed me. Both she and my grandfather feared I’d go through life carrying this burden.”
“Were they right?”
“Yes,” Wyatt admitted.
“What brought you to the point you came to me?”
“I’m a sheep rancher and volunteer firefighter. I’m good friends with another firefighter who recently married after being separated nine years from his high school sweetheart. He came back to Whitebark still in love with her memory, and they found their way back to each other.”
“Is that what you’re hoping? That if you find her, you’ll get back together, too?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t know. What I’d like to do is find out where she is and how she’s doing. I’m praying she’s married with children and happy. That would help me a lot. It would probably be too much to ask if she were willing to talk to me about the loss of the baby. Neither of us had closure, but I would never want to disturb her life. Just knowing she’s all right would give me peace of mind.”
“Are you asking me to find her?”
“Yes. Any information would be helpful.”
“All right. Give me the particulars you can about her and her family.”
“Her name is Jenny Allen and by now she would be twenty-nine, like me. She was an only child. Her parents were Joseph and Marjorie Allen. I learned they moved to Whitebark, Wyoming, from Hardin, Montana, after she was born.
“Her dad had been a pastor at a church there and took over at the church in Whitebark when the local pastor died. Her father had a widowed aunt in Miles City, Montana, but the woman passed away while we were dating. Jenny might have had family on her mother’s side, but I never met anyone. That’s all I know.”
“Give me her physical description.”
“She was five-four, about 118 pounds, slender, with brown eyes and brown hair she wore swept back in a ponytail. She had a one-inch scar above the elbow of her left arm where she once got cut on the ice as a child. Jenny was soft-spoken.”
“Good. Were you on speaking terms with her parents?”
“No. Jenny never invited me to her home. They were very strict, but I had no idea how difficult it must have been for her until the day they closed the door on me. Do you think you can find her?”
“I could, but why not hire a private investigator yourself?”
“I sought you out because I know of the connections you have with people in that field. And I’d just feel better if you handled everything.”
“Very well. I’ve worked with a PI for years. He’ll make a search. As soon as I have any information, I’ll let you know.”
Wyatt got to his feet. “I can’t ask for more than that. Thank you very much. I gave your secretary my personal information.”
Mr. Derrick stood up and shook his hand. “I hope to have some news for you soon.”
Wyatt hoped so, too. His glance fell on a framed maxim hanging on the wall as he said goodbye and left the office.
While we are postponing, life speeds by.
—Seneca 3BC–65AD.
Life was speeding by.
During Wyatt’s ride to the airport in a taxi, he realized he should have seen about this problem plaguing him long before now. But at least he’d finally done something positive.
Perhaps the attorney wouldn’t be able to learn anything, but for the first time since Jenny’s parents had closed the door in his face, he had hope. Depending on what he learned, he’d confide in his grandfather, but until he had more information he’d keep this to himself.
An hour later he was winging his way back to Jackson Hole to pick up his car in the short-term parking and drive home to the ranch in Whitebark.
* * *
“HEY, MOM, HOW are you?” Alex Dorney was walking around her small Manhattan apartment getting ready to leave on another business trip.
“Well, I’m fine. How lucky to hear from my long-lost daughter!”
“Long-lost is right. I’m sorry, but I was knee-deep finishing up another deadline for the magazine when I was in Florida.”
“Since you’re back, come on home this weekend. We’ve missed you.”
Her family, including her married brother, Jeff, and his wife, Natalie, lived in Union, New Jersey. Alex’s father was the provost at the university there. Her parents’ home was only a half-hour drive from Alex’s apartment, but it might as well have been ten hours for the amount of time she’d been able to spend with her folks.
“I wish I could, but I’m all packed and leaving from JFK in a couple of hours to do another story.”
“Oh, no, honey. You never take a break these days.”
“I like work. Mr. Goff is a great boss who gives me the latitude to do stories as I see them.”
“I’m glad to hear that, but it’s not an answer. When are we going to see you next?”
“I didn’t mean to sound flippant.”
“I know, but I’m a mother who has the right to worry about you.”
Alex knew her parents had been concerned since her broken engagement. But that had been five years ago!
Her mom suffered because there was no man in her daughter’s life, but Alex didn’t care about that anymore. Not since her fiancé had told her she was too needy and ought to do something with her life besides wait around for him.
Ken Iverson had been six years older than Alex’s twenty-two. He was a corporate attorney in a growing local law firm. He’d just gotten back from being out of town and had flung the stinging rebuke at her during a heated moment when she’d asked how soon they should set their wedding date.
His words had burned into her brain. After saying she was going to take his advice, she’d removed the diamond ring he’d given her and gotten out of his car.
Once she was inside her parents’ home, she’d backed up against the closed door, vowing never to be accused of that again. He’d followed her from the car, but no amount of pleading on his part could get her to open it or crack the ice around her heart. She was so done it was scary.
“Where are you off to this time?”
“Colorado, then Wyoming.”
“Interesting. I’ve never been to Wyoming.”
“Nor I. The boss calls it flyover country.”
“Everyone has said that for as long as I can remember. What are you working on? Is it more exciting than my latest project?”
“Indubitably. Your stuff is dull as dust,” Alex teased, though it was the truth. Her mother wrote for different software companies who needed her technical expertise to describe their products. She was fabulous at it. “No offense intended, Mom.”
Her mother chuckled. “No offense taken.”
“When I get there and am settled into some saloon where they rent rooms upstairs, I’ll call and run it by you.”
“Wouldn’t that be funny, if there was such a place these days?”
“Very funny, Mom. I’ve got quite a bit of digging to do before I begin writing this one, and I don’t want to listen to the drunks below living it up after riding into town on their trusty steeds.”
“Maybe you should do a magazine spread on the Wild West of today.”
Alex laughed. She loved her mom, who had a great sense of humor. “I can promise that Rockwell Food Business Magazine won’t be putting out an article like that anytime soon.”
“With you on board, who knows?”
Another chuckle escaped. As a student, besides garnering many awards, Alex had been given the NYU Business and Economic Reporting scholarship by the New York Financial Writers Association. The merit-based competition had been open to any graduate or undergraduate student in the New York tristate area who’d been interested in business journalism.
In time, she’d been taken on as a featured writer for the prestigious Rockwell Magazine. One of her major objectives was to stay ahead of shifting national consumer purchasing patterns and attitudes. Many CEOs looked to their magazine for new trends.
Money had never been her god, but she had to admit it felt good to know she made more than Ken, whom she’d heard through her brother was no longer with the same firm and still a bachelor.
“When will you be back?”
“Let’s see.” She looked at her Disneyland wall calendar, given to her by her four-year-old niece, Katy, for Christmas. It hung below her framed graduate diploma in journalism from NYU. “Today’s Saturday, the third of September. I’ll be home in a week. That will be the tenth.”
“Perfect. Let us know what time you get in and we’ll pick you up at the airport. Plan to come home with us for a few days.”
Home sounded good. “I promise.”
“Text me once in a while.”
“You, too.”
“Stay safe.”
“Who, me? Ciao.”
After hanging up, she reached for the suitcase that held her laptop and digital recorder, then left the apartment. New York was experiencing sunny, seventy-five degree September weather. The wrong time to leave, but she had no choice.
Alex walked out to the street and waited until she saw a Yellow Cab with the middle two lights on the roof lit up. She called out, “Taxi!” The driver stopped. Alex made her way through the crowd and opened the back door. “JFK. Delta Airlines terminal.”
Part of her trip would involve interviewing sheep ranchers at Wool Growers Association conventions in Montrose, Colorado, and Casper, Wyoming. According to their websites, those organizations existed to preserve and promote the sheep and livestock industries in their states.
They would be good resources to help her start her investigation and obtain interviews. During her initial research, she’d picked up on a surprising trend in the demand for lamb. If it was a fluke, she needed to find out.
On the way to the airport, it hit her that, despite frequently traveling to new places, there was a sameness to her life. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t infusing her with a sense of excitement or fulfillment, either. She let out a deep sigh. Maybe she was asking too much of life.
* * *
“CHIEF POWELL? DO you have a minute?”
The head of the fire station in Whitebark, Wyoming, lifted his head. “Sure. Come on in.”
Wyatt entered the private office. “I’ve just gone off duty and wanted to remind you that I’m leaving for the mountains in the morning. I’ve already told Captain Durrant, so he knows not to schedule me for a week.”
The chief smiled. “So you’re off with the sheep.”
“Yup. It’s that time of year to bring the ewes down to the lower elevation.”
“Lots of work.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“The weather couldn’t be better.”
“I agree. Here’s hoping that at least eighty-five percent of the ewes are pregnant. The trick is not to lose any of them.” That included the thirty Hampshire stud rams.
“Take care, Wyatt, and good luck. See you when you get back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He left the station in his car and drove to the Fielding Sheep Ranch just a few miles east of Whitebark. After a grueling twelve-hour shift putting out a warehouse fire, he was starving.
Thank heaven for Martha Loveridge, the part-time housekeeper for Wyatt and his disabled grandfather, Royden. Two years ago, his tough old sheep-rancher grandfather had accidentally shot himself in the leg during a hunting trip with friends in the mountains.
Damage to two of the major muscles and a fracture of the left femur had resulted in a limp, even after physical therapy. Today he needed a cane to get around and couldn’t do all the activities he’d loved.
The Loveridges lived on the ranch to the south and had been friends of the Fielding family for years. Since the death of Wyatt’s grandmother, Martha had come over to help out. She always left enough food for lunch and dinner. He hoped it was a roast and was already salivating.
After this trip to the mountains, Wyatt planned to hire a permanent live-in housekeeper. Though they compensated Martha well, she was getting older and it was time to make the change.
He drove around the rear of the ranch house and parked his car in the garage. Then he backed his truck out so he could load all his gear for tomorrow’s journey.
The first thing he did after walking through the mudroom to the kitchen was lift the lid on the Crock-Pot. Mmm. Pot roast and potatoes. His grandfather’s beagle, Otis, pretty much on his last legs, came to greet him.
Wyatt scratched his silky head. The dog’s movements had alerted his grandfather that someone was in the house. Royden suffered from a certain amount of hearing loss.
“Wyatt?”
He served himself a plate, gave a few pieces to Otis, then walked into the living room where his grandfather was watching old reruns of Perry Mason from his favorite easy chair.
“I’m here, Grandad.” He sat down on the couch next to him. Otis planted himself at his owner’s feet.
“You had a long shift. Was it an arson case?”
“Nope. An electrical problem started a fire in the Olsen Warehouse.”
“How much damage?”
“Half the building gone. It could have been worse.” Wyatt looked over, knowing what was really on his grandfather’s mind. “Grandad? If you want, I’ll ask Martha to stay overnight while I’m gone.”
His grandfather made an arm motion that said forget that. “I’ll be fine. The only thing I’m praying for is that the ewes haven’t mixed with those from Les Nugent’s herd up there.”
“That’s what we pay Pali for.” Pali was their Basque sheepherder who lived in his camper at the seven-thousand-foot level. “Between him and his sheepdog, Gip, they’re as good as they come. You know that or you would never have hired him.”
“You’re right.” But his grandfather was never happy these days.
“I know you’re upset because you can’t go up with me.”
“Damn right I am! Who knows how many predators have been ambushing the flock.”
“Pali has a sharp eye and will be keeping count.”
“Those sheep are vulnerable to every wolf, mountain lion and coyote in The Winds.”
The Winds was what the locals called the Wind River Range here in west-central Wyoming. Hard to believe there was a time when Wyatt had hated these mountains, which were famous throughout the West. Had even been afraid of them.
“Anything else you need to tell me before I start loading up my gear?”
“Be sure you keep a few rams up at the ten-thousand-foot level to find the few ewes who failed to secure mates.”
“Will do.”
“And make sure they’re not mixing with the bighorns. We have enough trouble without transmitting bacteria from our domestic sheep to the wild ones.”
Wyatt knew it all by heart. He’d been taught by his grandfather, who was known as the expert in this part of the state. After finishing the last of his dinner, he got to his feet. “If that’s it for now, I’ll get started packing.”
He went upstairs to his bedroom to grab a few things, then began the laborious process of loading the truck.
Besides his US Geological Survey maps and cases of food and water, he had a ton of things to load for survival: a gas catalytic heater; tarps; a large tent and several pup tents, in case he needed to use one to nurse a sick ewe; a privy; a couple of sleeping bags; lanterns; matches; knives; medicine; his rifle and shot gun; ammo; binoculars; extra heavy clothing; boots; gloves; blankets; feed for the horses in case Jose brought them; fishing gear; cooking gear and his CB radio to communicate with ham radio operators in case of an emergency.
The next morning he was up at seven thirty to talk to Jose Rosario, the stockman-cum-foreman, who stayed on the ranch in a cabin located behind the ranch house with his wife, Maria.
Since Wyatt’s teens they’d lived here year-round and it was where they had raised their family. Lately Jose helped Wyatt’s grandfather by answering the business calls that came through and wrote messages for him. Wyatt asked him to be sure to take any calls for him while he was gone—hopefully one from Mr. Derrick. It had been a month. Maybe Jenny couldn’t be found...
By eight o’clock he’d put fresh food and water out for Otis. His grandfather was still in bed and had left his radio on all night at full volume. He could be a candidate for an implant. That was something Wyatt planned to talk to him about when he got back.
With everything done he could think of, Wyatt left the ranch. On his way out of town, he stopped at Hilda’s for breakfast and saw a couple of his firefighter buddies. They were in their turnout gear looking grubby. The poor guys must have just returned from a fire.
Porter Ewing called out to him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Up in the mountains on ranch business.”
“You lucky dog. On a day like this, I’d give anything to go with you.”
“Tell Captain Durrant and hop in the truck.”
“Don’t I wish. How soon will you be back?”
“In a week.”
“Call me. We’ll watch some football and get a card game going with Holden.” Holden was the sheriff, and another single guy always up for a game of cards.
“That’s a plan.”
Their only plan. They lived in a town of just over 1,300 people. Without a woman on the horizon who suited any of them, none of them had much else taking up their spare time except work.
* * *
AT THE JACKSON HOLE airport on Thursday, Alex rented a car and headed for Whitebark, an hour and a half away. She would be leaving for New York day after tomorrow, but had a free day ahead of her now. It was only one in the afternoon. In the morning she’d drive back to Jackson Hole and stay at the hotel she’d already booked. They provided limo service to the airport.
After spending time in Colorado gathering information, she’d flown to Casper to attend the Wyoming Wool Growers Association conference. The people there had been helpful. She’d gathered a lot of useful information. One rancher had told her the best sheep person to interview in the Cowboy State was Royden Fielding.
He hadn’t been able to attend the conference. However, they had his phone number on file. She could call him.
Alex had done just that and had ended up speaking to his ranch foreman, Jose. When she told him why she was calling he said, “If you wish to talk to Mr. Fielding, it will have to be in person. He’s a little hard of hearing and doesn’t do well over the phone.”
“Oh, I see. Would he be available if I come later today?”
“Of course.”
Hmm. That was easy. “I’ll need directions to his ranch.” The man had accommodated her and they’d hung up. Then she’d booked her ticket to Jackson Hole.
She bought a hamburger in town. While she ate, she made a reservation at the Whitebark Hotel for the night, then headed southwest on Highway 191 beneath a cloudy sky. It had been beautiful weather up to today.
Alex had thought she’d never seen anything as magnificent as the Teton Range of mountains from the air until she found herself looking at the Wind River Range ahead of her.
She let out a gasp at the sight of peaks knifing into the rarified atmosphere amidst pockets of snow. According to the brochure she’d picked up, one of them, Gannett Peak, was over 13,000 feet. This was the sheep country the man in Casper had been telling her about?
Though she lived in New Jersey, she traveled quite a bit for her job and was stunned by what she was seeing. Whoever called this flyover country had never once come down to earth and put his or her foot on Wyoming soil or smelled such clean air. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the rugged, primitive beauty all around her.
When she reached Whitebark, she followed Jose’s directions to the Fielding Sheep Ranch. Alex drove to the front of the two-story ranch house and got out. To her surprise, an older woman walked out onto the front porch.
“Ms. Dorney?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Martha Loveridge, the housekeeper. Jose said to expect you. Come inside. Mr. Fielding is excited for a visitor.”
“Well, thank you. I’m thrilled he would allow me an interview.”
She picked up her briefcase and followed Martha inside the house to the living room. It had a cozy, warm feeling.
“Please sit down. I’ll tell him you’re here. He’s hard of hearing, so look at him when you speak.”
She nodded. Jose had said the same thing.
While she waited, Alex walked around looking at the framed pictures of different couples and children at different ages on horseback. There were rodeo and formally posed pictures, too, propped on the end tables.
She stopped when she came to the eight-by-ten colored photograph on the mantel. An impossibly gorgeous male, probably in his late twenties, was wearing a firefighter’s dress uniform. His luxuriant black hair and blue eyes stole her breath.
Who was he?
