Читать книгу Platinum Cowboy - Rita Herron - Страница 8

The first rays of sunlight streaked the bedroom with various shades of red and orange and gold, waking Lora Leigh from a troubled sleep. She brewed a pot of coffee, then sat in the porch swing to watch the sun slowly rising behind the willow trees, soaking in the quiet as she observed a mare and her foal roaming in the pasture nearby. Others ran across the open space, their manes whipping in the slight breeze. The brilliant colors streaking the horizon made the rolling, lush pastures of the Diamondback look elegant and peaceful, although peace evaded her.

She removed the letter her father had written before he died and unfolded the single piece of plain stationery, studying the scrawled writing. She’d always teased her father about his chicken scratch, but now the narrow print and jagged lines of his penmanship made her long for him even more.

She’d read the suicide note a dozen times, but once again, she reread his last words, needing them to fortify her for the day ahead.

My dearest Lora Leigh,

I write this to you today with a heavy heart, but I do not want yours to be heavy or for you to mourn me when I’m gone. I have had a wonderful sixty years. I loved your mother with all my heart, and you and Johnny completed my life in a way the ranch couldn’t even do.

The Double W was my dream. The smell of the earth, the feel of soil beneath my hands as I planted crops, the sound of cattle grazing and horses galloping across the land—these were precious to me and reminded me of how fleeting and beautiful life is. I only wish that I could have held on to it for you. But I don’t regret a moment of my life or the sacrifices we made as a family together.

That is what families do.

As I said, the Double W was my dream. I hope when I’m gone that you both find your own dreams and make them come true. Now it is time for me to join your mother. Don’t cry for me. Know that I am with the love of my life, and that we’ll both be watching over you.

I love you always,

Dad

Lora Leigh wiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks, finished her coffee, then headed to the cafeteria for breakfast, bracing herself to face Flint, take care of his prized animals, and pretend that she didn’t despise him for breaking her father’s heart.

FLINT READ THE NEWSPAPER over his morning coffee and his breakfast of steak and eggs in his home office. The front page spread about Prince Viktor Romanov’s death reminded him of his personal loss. Memories of Aggie tailgating, frat parties, and bonding over beer and chili flashed back.

Dammit, the news reports stated that the bodies of the royal family had been burned beyond recognition. The authorities were still sifting through the debris and bodies from the explosion that had destroyed the palace, trying to make sense of the mess and identify all those lost. But they were convinced that Viktor and his entire family were gone.

Flint scrubbed his hand over his face, his chest aching. But his personal loss was nothing compared to the loss of Viktor’s fellow countrymen.

The people of Rasnovia would suffer. In the wake of the political unrest, Viktor had been instrumental in guiding them from Soviet rule to a free and democratic society. The Aggie Four Foundation had invested in the country’s infrastructure and burgeoning local businesses, which had improved Rasnovia’s economy.

Now the country was in turmoil again, and all the assets would be tied up. And who would bolster Rasnovia’s fledgling democracy and protect the people from the rebels?

He finished his coffee, knotting his hand into a fist. He hoped to hell they found the party responsible for the royal family’s demise and punished the perpetrators for what they’d done.

Lucinda tottered in, with a smile and more coffee, but Flint shook his head as his cell phone rang. He checked the number—Norton International. Deke Norton, another Aggie grad, who was a few years older than Flint, Viktor, Jackson and Akeem, had built his empire with a focus on his import/export business and had also offered each member of the Aggie Four financial advice over the years, which had aided them immensely. He was also a good friend and was mourning Viktor’s death.

Flint connected the call. “Good morning, Deke.”

“Is it?” Deke asked, with an edge to his voice.

Flint pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, not really. I was trying to be optimistic.”

“What’s going on?” Deke asked. “First Viktor is killed. Then your business is attacked.”

Flint frowned. The two couldn’t be related. “I know. I still can’t believe Viktor is actually gone. I keep expecting him to call and say it was a horrible mistake.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Deke said bleakly. “But what about you? Were you hurt at the airport?”

“No, but two of my ranch hands and my pilot were killed.”

“The Arabians weren’t injured?”

“They’re fine and in quarantine now. I hired a new vet to oversee their medical care. Are you still interested in a purchase?”

“Absolutely. I’ll try to get out there soon to take a look. Remember, I get first pick.”

“Of course.”

“I’m going to the auction house today to look at a few yearlings from promising lines.” Deke hesitated. “Do you know if there’s going to be a memorial service for Viktor here in the States? I thought someone at A&M might be planning one.”

“I haven’t heard, but if I do, I’ll let you know.” They agreed to talk later, and Flint disconnected the call.

He thanked Lucinda for the meal, stood, grabbed his Stetson and headed toward the door, but his cell phone rang again. He checked the number and saw it was his half brother, Tate Nettleton. Tate was a pain in the ass, and he didn’t have time to deal with him now, so he let it ring.

That afternoon he had to attend funerals for Grover and his pilot, but this morning he planned to pick up Lora Leigh and show her around his ranch. Pride bloomed in his chest as he stepped into the warm spring sunshine and inhaled the scent of grass and hay. For a moment, he paused to drink it all in, his land, his horses and cattle, his home. He smiled as he watched two mares gallop across the pasture, their foals trotting awkwardly behind.

He was damn proud of what he’d built here, and for some odd reason, he wanted Lora Leigh to be impressed.

But he sensed she might be immune to his accomplishments.

Although she had liked the handmade quilt he’d had Lucinda dig out from his mother’s collection for her bed. Lucinda had questioned him about using items from his treasured personal collection for an employee, but he’d shrugged off her curiosity by saying that it was time he put the quilts to use.

But that wasn’t entirely true. He had seen the homemade quilts at the Whittaker house when he’d stopped by to meet with Lora Leigh’s father, and he’d decided that using one on the bed in the guesthouse would make her feel at home.

He climbed in his truck, started the engine and drove to the guest cottage, his stomach tightening when he spotted Lora Leigh waiting on the front porch. She was dressed in a baby blue T-shirt that hugged her breasts, jeans that molded her lean, muscular legs and work boots, and she had a jacket tied around her waist. Her beautiful blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, which she’d fitted through the back of an Aggie baseball cap, making her look impossibly young and…sweet.

He’d never seen anyone wear denim the way she did. He’d never thought anything was more beautiful than his horses, but Lora Leigh took his breath away.

But judging from the professional expression tacked on her face as she strode toward him, she didn’t think the same about him.

LORA LEIGH SETTLED INTO the passenger seat, trying to ignore the tension simmering between her and Flint as he began the tour. She’d wanted to flash Johnny’s picture around the cafeteria this morning and ask about him, but she’d forced herself to wait. She couldn’t draw suspicion to herself on the first day at work. She had to be patient, to slowly begin to ask around.

Still, she had searched the sea of faces and had introduced herself to a few ranch hands, assistant trainers and grooms, as well as to two other vets.

Much to her consternation, they had all sung Flint’s praises. He was fair. A great boss. He cared about his employees. He offered great benefits and competitive salaries.

He was innovative in farming, cattle ranching and horse breeding, crossing American and European strains in line breeding to develop the ranch’s thoroughbreds.

Flint handed her a map of the Diamondback. “Basically, the ranch is divided into four quadrants: northeast, northwest, southeast and southwest. I know that’s simplistic, but it works. The northeast and northwest quadrants are the largest and hold the cattle, the southwest quadrant is our agriculture and farming mecca, with fruit groves and wheat our core specialties, and the southeast, where we are now, is designated for horse breeding. We also have race tracks for training.”

She nodded and glanced at the map, then at the pastures, barns, stables and small housing areas, as they drove. Live oaks, cedar trees, large pinion pines and elms dotted the property, along with natural shrubs and grass.

“We have about fifty-five thousand cattle in our herd in the north quadrants. The terrain is more mixed, with rugged, high hills, large canyons and valleys with dry creek beds and limestone bluffs. But we get water from the river and also have several running creeks throughout.”

“You use helicopters and ATVs for herding?” Lora Leigh asked.

“Yeah, I have the Falcon. But we’re still a little old-fashioned around here, and we sometimes work on horseback. ” He pulled down the lane to a large stable, where she saw two grooms brushing down quarter horses.

“This stable houses the working quarter horses,” Flint said. “You’re welcome to take your pick if you want to ride.”

He stopped, and they got out so he could show her inside. A lean-looking cowboy glanced up from where he was organizing tack.

“This is Dr. Whittaker, our new vet,” Flint said. “Lora Leigh, this is Jake Kenner. He’s new with us, too. A trainer. But if you’ll let him know which horse you want to use, one of our hands will have him saddled for you.”

Lora Leigh extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Jake. But I can saddle my own horse.”

Flint frowned, but Jake smiled and shook her hand.

From there, Flint showed her the vet clinic and introduced her to Carol, a charming, robust woman in her forties, who served as the office manager. Carol greeted him affectionately.

Flint grinned. “Carol does everything around here. She’s in charge of ordering medical supplies, coordinating communication between the veterinarians, shipping medical tests to the lab, arranging for assistants. You know we have interns to check the animals nights and on weekends, to give you time off,” he said. “Although we might need you for an emergency.”

“Of course,” Lora Leigh said. “And I don’t mind working weekends.”

“Everyone needs a life,” Flint said. “I don’t want my people burning out.”

Darn it. He sounded nice. Not what she had expected at all.

Then again, he’d fooled her father into selling him his ranch. That was Flint’s game: he knew how to woo and seduce and get what he wanted. She couldn’t fall for his act.

Back in the truck, they headed into the horse quadrant. “That’s the stud barn, and there’s the turnout area for the stallions. The breeding area is part of that barn. We have a separate area for the Thoroughbreds and quarter horses. Broodmares are turned out in pastures, except those getting ready to foal or to be bred.” He gestured to some outdoor pens, where she noticed three gorgeous, sleek mares.

“The yearlings are kept separate, and some are being sent to the auction house now. I keep the show horses and sale horses separate as well.”

“Do you keep them under lights in the winter to keep their coats slick?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “We have some race horses on the road in training, but a couple of our younger ones are kept here near the track.”

“You retired Diamond Daddy to stud?” Lora Leigh asked.

“Yes, his first season.” Flint smiled again, obviously proud of his prized stallion. “I’m anxious to see if he produces another Triple Crown winner.”

“You board and train a lot of horses for Middle Eastern owners?” Lora Leigh asked.

He nodded. “I’ve got contacts there through my friends. We’ve raced the quarter horses as well as competed in reining, cutting and roping and in some of the big rodeos.”

“I saw that one of yours won the National Cutting Horse Association Championship.”

“Yeah. Salamander. We’ve racked up some quarter horse world championships.”

Lora Leigh noticed a bald eagle soaring gracefully above the land. “I heard you’ve instituted hunting regulations on your land.”

“Absolutely. I had to in order to protect the quail and deer. We also have turkeys and whistling ducks. I installed windmills at various intervals and fenced off areas from the cattle to provide water for the wildlife. We have a lot of quail, and we half cut the shrubs to provide shelter for them. We also planted prickly pear cactus plants in open areas to serve as cover for the wildlife.”

Impressive. “Have you had any problem with feral pigs?”

He cut her a strange look. “Some. If you spot them, keep back and let me know. And I’d advise you against riding alone in the more isolated areas, especially near the cattle land. Occasionally, we’ve had trouble with rustlers trying to steal our stock. I’ll supply you with a pistol for protection against them and the snakes.” He hesitated. “Do you know how to shoot?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “Of course. My father taught me when I was a kid.”

He veered to the left and drove to an isolated barn set among ancient trees, a stable and outdoor pens that opened to luscious green pastureland. “This is where we house the Arabians.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the spurt of excitement budding in her chest. She jumped from the truck before he had a chance to come around to her side and followed him up to the barn, determined to prove herself worthy of her job. Too many men had assumed that due to her size, she wasn’t strong or capable enough to handle the magnificent beasts she worked with.

But size had nothing to do with it. She understood the horse’s nature, listened to him speak, honed in on his mood and anxieties, and soothed him with her voice and manner.

She reined in her excitement as she entered the barn, knowing the animals would respond to her mood, as she would to theirs and lowered her voice as she approached the stalls.

Four incredible horses had been stalled. Two bays, a chestnut and a gray, which was the largest of the four, standing at least fifteen hands, compared to the average of 14.1 hands of the others.

“What are their names?” she asked.

“The larger bay is Sir Huon, and the other, Lord Myers. The chestnut is Iron Legs, and the gray one, Eastern Promise.”

“Nice,” she said, stroking Eastern Promise’s mane. One of her jobs would be to verify a horse’s good disposition before reproducing; another was to meet the quarantine standards and administer medical care.

Iron Legs whinnied and kicked the stall, as if agitated, while Sir Huon stood almost docile. She eased from stall to stall, quietly assessing each horse, noting the refined, angular heads, the large eyes and nostrils, and the small muzzles, searching for any indication that they weren’t well bred. But the distinctive concave profiles, the arched necks and structure of the throatlatches looked good, as did the well-angled hips, high tail carriages, and well-laid-back shoulders of the beasts.

“So what do you think?” Flint asked.

She reached out and stroked the taller of the bays. “They’re incredible. Of course, I’ll conduct some tests, but I think you made a wise choice.”

When she angled her head to look at him, he was smiling. “I’m glad you appreciate my animals.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart tripping as she met his gaze. Of course she did. The fact that he was a talented, cutting-edge breeder and an intelligent rancher and businessman wasn’t in question.

The fact that he cunningly used people to ensure his own personal success was. His choices had driven him to ruin her father and others.

That was why she needed to take him down.

FLINT’S CHEST SWELLED with Lora Leigh’s compliment, even though an odd tone tinged her words, as if giving him praise pained her.

But why?

He’d read her résumé and files. She was smart—possibly brilliant—and specialized in equine care.

And she was a horse whisperer. That hadn’t been in her file, but it was obvious by the way the animals had quieted the moment she entered the barn. Her quiet, melodic voice had mesmerized them.

As it did him.

Workwise, they would make an incredible team.

But there was definitely an underlying tension between them, a disdain for him, which he couldn’t ignore. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a partner—just an employee who could complement his staff.

His cell phone trilled, jarring him from his thoughts. The chestnut Arabian whinnied and started to kick at the stall. Flint excused himself and stepped outside to check the phone number. The police.

Maybe they had information about who had sabotaged his shipment and killed his men. “Flint McKade speaking.”

“Mr. McKade, this is Detective Brody Green. I’d like to talk to you today.”

“Do you have a lead on who attacked my plane?”

“Let’s discuss it in person. I’ll be at your house at noon. Meet me then.”

Flint agreed and hung up, although anxiety knotted his gut. Knowing he had an enemy put him on edge.

He glanced back at the barn, then across his land. Overhead in the distance, he spotted a lone vulture soaring above a copse of trees, its talons bared, as if preparing to swoop down and attack, reminding him that he had a stalker of his own.

Was it possible that one of his own employees had sabotaged him? Had they wanted the Arabians or just to hurt his business?

Who had it in for him? Was it someone he knew and trusted, someone who worked for him or for a competitor?

He mentally ticked down a list.

His half brother, Tate, who hated him because Tate was a leech and Flint had cut him off financially? Lawrence McElroy, because Flint had outbid him for Diamond Daddy? Someone who didn’t like his connections to Viktor and the Middle East?

He hated to suspect his own men, people he considered part of his family, but having money meant making enemies, and he obviously had garnered at least one.

He had to figure out who it was before anyone else got hurt.

HE STUDIED THE DIAMONDBACK mansion from his horse. Dammit, how had things gone so wrong at the airport? Nobody was supposed to die that night.

But someone had betrayed him, and that was the cost.

He just hoped to hell that Flint McKade and the police didn’t figure out what was going on.

But the murders had attracted the attention of the cops. Not a good sign.

He had to do something to distract them, throw them off the scent.

First, he’d hack into McKade’s files, doctor a few things, then sabotage the ranch.

And if anyone interfered, he’d get rid of them, just as he had the men on the plane.

Nothing was going to get in his way now. McKade would go down, one way or the other.

And he’d be laughing as the arrogant bastard fell.