Читать книгу Rocky Mountain Cowboy - Tina Radcliffe - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIt had been a good many years since Rebecca Anshaw Simpson had inhaled the earthy combination of cattle, horse and hay that was home. As the scents wove their way in through the vents of her car, it seemed like only yesterday that she was a kid, riding like a swift rush of wind through the valley of Paradise, Colorado. Life was simple then. So blessedly simple.
Rebecca yawned and rolled down her window to fully appreciate the enticing perfume of home. As she stretched, her aching neck protested. The muscles were stiff because she’d fallen asleep inside the ancient compact Honda.
When an almost icy spring breeze moved through the car, Rebecca pulled her down-filled vest closer.
A horse and rider appeared in the distance. Silhouetted against the horizon and the rising sun’s orange glow, the man in the dark Stetson approached at a rapid clip, with two dogs racing alongside.
She’d know that profile anywhere.
Joe Gallagher.
Tension crept along her shoulders. She’d had serious reservations about taking this job because of Joe. They’d dated all through high school, even though she was two years younger than him. Joe was her first love. Until she’d dumped him.
Young and naive, she’d been swept off her feet at the end of her sophomore year of college, and eloped with Nick Simpson.
What a trusting fool she’d been. For a lingering moment, Rebecca allowed herself to contemplate what life would have been like if she’d stuck with the homeboy.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.
None of it did. All that mattered was today. Life as she’d known it had been stolen from her two years ago. She had returned to Paradise to begin again.
What irony that she should be returning home to the man she had scorned. Forced to face him again, after so many years. The Lord surely had a sense of humor opening the door to this assignment. OrthoBorne Technology had not only given her a job, but it had dangled a huge bonus, like a proverbial carrot on a stick. She’d taken the bait and was determined to make the most of this chance.
When the man on the horse was close enough for her to see his midnight-black hair peeking out from under his hat and the shadow of a beard on his face, Rebecca inhaled a sharp breath. Joe Gallagher had changed. He’d become ruggedly handsome in the years since they’d parted.
“Becca?” Joe slid off his horse and approached the gate. His deep voice reflected stunned surprise, and the underlying tone was anything but welcoming.
Tired of craning her neck, she opened the car door and stepped out, stretching her stiff legs while discreetly pulling down the sleeves of her sweater. She still had to look up to meet his gaze. Joe was taller than she remembered, with that same dangerous loner aura.
He rested his gloved left hand on the top of the gate, while his other hand, the prosthetic one, according to her notes, remained tucked away inside the pocket of his fleece-lined denim jacket. For a long minute he simply stared. It was as though he was looking through her, to the past.
The lean black-and-white cattle dogs at his feet barked and raced in energetic circles, eager to be part of the conversation.
“Sit,” Joe commanded, his voice steely.
The animals instantly obeyed.
“Been a long time,” he finally said, his gaze returning to hers.
Rebecca tried to gauge what he was thinking, but his expression was unreadable. Apparently he still held everything deep inside.
“It has been, hasn’t it? A very long time,” she murmured. “I heard you joined the army after college.”
“Yeah. When my dad died, I went ahead and took an early discharge.”
“I’m so sorry about your father,” she said, immediately regretting her words. “I, um, I know how close you two were.”
He gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. “What about you?” he asked. “Home for a visit? Is your husband with you?”
At Joe’s question, everything around Rebecca slowed down and began to blur. The world came to a stunning halt as the words slipped from her mouth.
“Nick is dead.”
Joe jerked back slightly, eyes widening a fraction. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Unmoving, she stared at him. The surprise on his face seemed genuine enough. Could Joe Gallagher be the only person in Paradise, in Colorado for that matter, who didn’t know about the accident? The trial? Hadn’t it been splashed in every newspaper? The grandson of one of the founding families of Paradise Valley had been taken from this world far too soon.
Apparently Joe didn’t know her life had been on hold for the last twenty-four months as she awaited the results of the jury trial.
“You okay?” Joe asked when she didn’t answer.
“Yes. Yes. Sorry.” Rebecca leaned against the Honda and massaged her arm. Glancing down, she realized what she was doing and stopped. “Long drive from Denver. I started out Friday afternoon. It was so late that I just slept in the car.”
His eyes rounded. “You spent the night in your car? Why didn’t you drive to your mom’s house?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t spend the night in the car. Two hours. A nap.”
Joe raised a brow.
Rebecca shrugged. “There was a huge accident on I-25 outside the Springs, and then I ran into issues with the starter when I hit Alamosa.”
“Why are you parked here?”
She nodded to the sign on the gate. “I thought this was still the main entrance to the ranch. Until I saw the sign.”
Joe grimaced as he, too, glanced at the sign.
“Do not cross this pasture unless you can do it in nine seconds, because the bull can do it in ten. Please close the gate.”
“That would be my mother’s handiwork.”
“Why not put a padlock on the gate?”
“It’s the ingress for emergency vehicles. If I put a padlock on it, then I have to remember where the key is.” He paused and looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Why are you at Gallagher Ranch?”
“Since I have to drive out here to see you anyhow, I thought I’d do a dry run. By the time I finally arrived, I was a little more tired than I realized.” She lifted a hand. “Thus the nap.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” When he suddenly straightened and raised a hand, the black horse behind him whinnied and stepped back several paces, causing the dogs to bark.
Joe laid a comforting hand on the animal and silenced the dogs again. “Let’s start over here. Did you say you’re here to see me?”
Rebecca glanced at her watch. “Yes. Our meeting is scheduled for Monday morning.”
“Things have been pretty hectic around here, but I don’t forget appointments. And I’m even less likely to have forgotten an appointment with...”
Rebecca swallowed when his words trailed off. What had he been about to say? With someone who had treated him so callously? The girl who dumped him.
Joe pulled the glove off his right hand and then tugged the matching one off his left hand using his teeth, before taking out his phone. The skin tone silicone cover of the myoelectric prosthesis made his right hand appear nearly identical to his left. She couldn’t help assess that he really didn’t use the prosthesis, apparently utilizing the device simply as a placeholder.
After fiddling with the phone for a moment, he paused and slowly met her gaze. Complete shock was reflected in his eyes. “Are you...”
“I’m the therapist who’s been assigned to complete the certification for your prosthesis.”
“You’re a therapist?”
She nodded.
“I thought they were sending someone from Denver. They told me it was someone who would help with those media people who are coming, as well.”
His voice was edged with irritation, and Rebecca held her breath and stepped back from him.
“They are. They did. I am.”
Joe Gallagher’s face looked like he’d just been struck with a cattle prod.
She crossed her arms and stated the obvious. “This is going to be a problem.”
He took off his Stetson and then slapped it back on so that it rested at the back of his head, revealing more of his jet-black hair. She could clearly see that his moss-green eyes were troubled.
“Joe?”
“I guess it better not be, because the way I see things, I don’t have much choice. Do I?”
“You tell me.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Is our history going to get in the way?”
“History? Is that the politically correct term these days?” He offered a bitter chuckle.
She studied him once again. His face was a mask, his gaze shuttered.
“No, Becca,” he finally continued. “You don’t have to worry. Even this Colorado cowboy realizes that was a long time ago. We were kids. This is business. More important, the future of Gallagher Ranch depends on me completing the requirements of my contract with OrthoBorne. I cut a deal to pay off this fourteen-karat-gold myoelectric arm.” His eyes pinned her. “And I always keep my word.”
Joe turned his head to glance out at the land, and she realized she’d been dismissed. The knowledge burned.
“So Monday, then?” she asked quietly.
“That’s fine. I’m past the main house. A bit farther up the road. Two-story log cabin.”
She nodded.
He turned to her. “When do your friends arrive?”
“They aren’t my friends.” Rebecca bristled. “I don’t even know who was contracted for this job, except that there’s a videographer and a copywriter.”
“When will they finish?”
“That is wholly dependent upon you and the weather.”
He offered a slow shake of his head that said her answer wasn’t nearly satisfactory enough. “What about certification? How long do you think that will take?”
“Once again, everything depends on you. I don’t anticipate more than four weeks reviewing your ADLs.”
He straightened, jaw tense, and his face was almost thunderous. “Four weeks! Four weeks? I have a ranch to run.”
“Joe, that’s exactly why it will take that long. In fact, knowing how a ranch runs, I asked for extra time so our sessions don’t interfere with what you have to do at the ranch or with the media crew.”
“And what’s an ADL?”
“Activities of daily living.”
He sucked in a breath but said nothing.
“Look, that doesn’t mean we can’t get everything done earlier than scheduled. I’ll accompany you on your routine chores, schedule one-on-one sessions related to your ranch work. Then I’ll assist you to incorporate the prosthesis into your daily life that isn’t ranch related.”
“Can you still ride?”
“What?” She shook her head, certain she’d heard the terse question incorrectly.
“Ride. Do you ride?”
Rebecca frowned. “I was born in a saddle, like you were. Cowgirls don’t forget how to ride.”
The tension in Joe’s shoulders eased a bit. “That’ll help, because, no offense, Becca, but I plan to graduate way ahead of schedule.”
“While it’s my job to treat you the same as all my clients, there is no doubt in my mind that you’ll beat all records getting this done. Then I’ll be gone, and you can go back to your life.”
Rebecca looked up at him, standing tall and proud, profiled against the land. For a brief moment she imagined she saw a glimpse of something familiar from years ago and the closeness they once shared.
That was crazy because yesterday was long gone. Once again Rebecca reminded herself that it was high time to start looking forward instead of behind.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Simpson, but it’s no longer available.”
“How can that be? I called before I left Denver to make sure everything was set.”
Joe turned at the sound of Becca’s voice.
He’d sidestepped the woman for twelve years, and now he managed to run into her twice in the space of a few hours?
She stood on the sidewalk of downtown Paradise, and was obviously doing her best to get her point across to a wiry guy as they stood outside the real-estate office.
How little the years had changed her. He’d been stunned to see her at the fence this morning. The years had tumbled back, and he realized with painful clarity that the tall, lean beauty who’d stolen his heart at sixteen apparently could still tie him in knots.
The difference was that this time he had a strong rope anchored to his heart, holding down those once generous emotions of his. Only a fool gets burned twice.
He’d made more than his share of mistakes in his life, and he liked to believe he’d learned from every single one of them. Joe glanced down at his prosthesis, remembering the farm accident that had taken his limb. He pushed the memory away and focused on the here and now.
Joe glanced back down the street. From a distance, he could feel the tension in the air. He tucked himself back into the doorway of a shop, grateful he stood well behind Becca’s line of sight.
She pushed strands of dark hair away from her face as she dug in her purse to pull out neatly folded papers. “You took my deposit and my credit-card information. Why, you even mailed me a receipt. I have the paperwork right here.”
Confusion laced Becca’s voice. To her credit, she maintained her composure, though her hands were clenched tightly around her purse.
The Realtor adjusted his tie, swallowed and shrugged, obviously avoiding eye contact with her. “I’ve reversed the charges, ma’am. No worries.”
“No worries?” She blinked and began to gesture with her hands. “No worries?”
Joe found himself unable to resist listening to the conversation, and at the same time fighting the urge to come to her defense. Why should he? Becca had made it clear a long time ago that she didn’t want him in her life. No, he reminded himself, her return to Paradise and whatever was going on here was none of his business.
“Are you kidding me?” Becca continued, her voice louder and tight with frustration. “Couldn’t you go inside and check your files again?”
“No need,” the man returned, his voice low and upbeat in an effort to defuse the situation. “That’s why I stepped outside. I saw you coming, and I thought I’d save you some time.”
“Okay, so if that rental isn’t available, do you mind telling me what is?”
“Ma’am, I don’t have anything for you right at the moment. Maybe you could try some of those new condos down by Paradise Lake.”
“I can’t afford those.”
“I’m real sorry, Mrs. Simpson. It’s just one of those things.”
“One of what things?”
The young man squirmed while gesturing helplessly.
“Look, I rented the house a month ago. Not only that, but your ad today in the Paradise Gazette says you have at least five summer rentals still available in the area. Now you’re claiming that you have none?”
“Ma’am, I’m real sorry.”
Shoulders slumped, Becca shook her head. “This is unbelievable,” she murmured.
An ache he couldn’t explain gnawed at Joe. Without thinking, he strode down the sidewalk, zigzagging around people, oblivious to a sudden flurry of shoppers creating obstacles in his path, and stepped up to Becca and the real-estate agent.
“Everything okay here, Becca?”
Startled, her brown eyes popped open and she looked up at him. “I... I have this under control, Joe.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” he returned, purposely shooting the other man a scowl.
“Joe.”
He met Becca’s gaze.
“You need to stay out of this. Besides, my business is done here.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her face shielded by a curtain of chocolate-brown waves.
Behind him, Joe heard the sound of bells as the real-estate agent disappeared into the storefront.
Joe quickly yanked open the door, setting the bells into a wicked frenzy. The guy behind the desk had a solicitous smile on his face when he turned around.
Then he saw Joe.
He straightened and inched back farther behind the desk. “May I help you?”
“I sure hope so...” Joe glanced at the man’s name tag. “Jason.”
Jason came out from behind the desk and thrust a hand in greeting. Apparently his plan was to pretend that the incident outside moments before had never happened. “Have we met?” he asked.
“No, we haven’t. Joe Gallagher. Gallagher Ranch.” Joe looked the other man up and down before offering his prosthetic hand.
Jason’s eyes widened, and he dropped his own hand.
“New to town?” Joe asked.
“Yes, I am. How may I help you, sir?”
“I want to rent a house.”
“I’m sure we can fix you up. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“I’d like the one that you were supposed to lease to Rebecca Simpson.”
Jason’s face paled and he stepped backward, once again effectively putting the desk between him and Joe. “Sir, I don’t recommend that you get involved in that situation.” Tiny beads of perspiration popped out along his upper lip.
“What situation is that, Jason?”
The man swallowed hard before darting to the front door and switching the sign from Open to Closed. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’m closed for the day.”
Joe followed him, getting squarely in the man’s personal space, towering over him with as much intimidation as he could muster. “Off the record, Jason, tell me what’s going on.”
Jason swallowed again as if he was desperate for a glass of water and a way to get rid of Joe.
“Can you tell me why you just turned down a paying customer?”
“I... I...”
Joe shook his head and growled, “I don’t like this, Jason.”
“I don’t much like it either, but I have a wife and a new baby to think about.”
Joe turned on his boot heel and left the office. Though he did his best not to slam the door, the bells were once again ringing a dissonant tune behind him as he put distance between himself and a sour situation.
It was time for a little chat with the sheriff of Paradise. Joe started toward his truck and then changed his mind. Walking was just what he needed. He headed in the other direction, cutting through the park in the center of town and past the gazebo toward the office of Sam Lawson, where he pulled open the heavy wooden door.
This wasn’t about Becca, he reassured himself. It was the principle of the thing. No one should be treated unfairly. Especially in Paradise.
Bitsy Harmony MacLaughlin, the administrative assistant, sat at a huge battered desk, guarding the entrance to Sam’s office like a geriatric bouncer.
“Sam available?” he asked.
Bitsy stood and realigned the silver braided knot on the top of her head. “The sheriff is on the phone. Give him five minutes.”
Joe nodded. He wasn’t eager to lose the momentum of his purpose by chitchatting with Bitsy, so he turned to examine the bulletin board.
“Cup of coffee, Joe? It’s fresh.”
He eyed the pot and sniffed the air. “What do you have brewing?”
“Vanilla caramel pecan.”
He did his best not to grimace. “Um, no. I’m going to pass. Thank you very much, ma’am.”
Bitsy poured herself a mugful from the carafe, all the while shooting him inquisitive glances. “I heard you’ve got some Hollywood people coming out to your ranch next week to film a movie.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Hollywood? A movie? Where did you hear that?”
“Here and there.”
Joe met her gaze. “I never told anyone they were coming.”
“They did.” Bitsy’s blue eyes were unwavering. “Made reservations at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast and chatted with the clerk. She mentioned it to me.”
“I see.” He nodded. “Except your source got it wrong. It’s not a movie. They’re coming out to film ranch life and take a few pictures. In and out. No big deal.”
“They don’t need any extras?”
“Extra? Extra what?”
“You know. Like actors. Walk-on parts.” She offered him a knowing smile. “I had high hopes of becoming an actress myself, once upon a time.”
Joe ran a hand over his face. “Bitsy, I’m telling you, it’s not a movie.”
“If you say so, Joe.” She glanced down at the lights on the desk phone. “He’s done. Let me buzz him.” She picked up the receiver. “Joe Gallagher here to see you, boss.”
Moments later, Sam Lawson came out of his office and crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me ‘boss’ anymore.”
Bitsy shrugged. “Coffee’s fresh.”
The sheriff’s expression made no effort to conceal what he thought about the coffee. Joe nearly burst out laughing.
“No, thanks,” Sam finally said. He looked to Joe. “Come on in.”
The two men walked into his office. Sam shut the door and took a deep breath. “The woman would try a saint. No doubt she’s listening at the door right now,” he muttered.
“I figured as much.”
Sam turned on the tower fan in the corner.
“You’re warm?” Joe asked.
“White noise. She can’t hear us when the fan is on.”
“Ever thought about replacing her?”
“Only about three dozen times a day, for the last four years.” His eyes narrowed. “But that’s for cowards. I am no coward. My plan is to wait her out. She has to retire eventually.” Sam sat down behind his desk and took a deep breath. “What can I do for you?”
“Rebecca Simpson is back in town,” Joe said as he eased into the banged-up oak chair.
“The woman who was in all the newspapers? I heard she was found innocent.”
Joe’s head jerked up. “What are you talking about?”
“Rebecca Simpson. Isn’t that who we’re discussing? I’ve never met her, but I read about it in the Denver Post.”
“Read about what?” Joe asked, becoming as agitated as he was confused.
“The accident.”
“What accident?”
“Are you telling me you don’t know?” Sam rubbed his chin. “Rebecca Simpson was arrested for vehicular manslaughter. She was driving in the rain when the vehicle skidded, ran off the road and overturned. Her husband Nick wasn’t wearing a seat belt. The news said he was killed on impact.”
The air whooshed from Joe’s lungs and he froze, unable to speak for moments. Finally he cleared his throat. “That doesn’t sound like vehicular manslaughter to me.”
“Exactly what the jury decided. Her father-in-law, Judge Nicholas Brown, was the one who insisted she be charged.”
He shook his head. “How did I miss this?”
“Two-and-a-half years ago, you were in Afghanistan. Then your dad died.” He nodded toward Joe’s prosthesis. “Your arm. I don’t suppose reading the Denver paper was on your radar, although by then they were probably onto something else.”
“Hard to believe my mother didn’t mention anything.”
“Maybe she thought you had enough on your plate.”
Joe released a breath. “I guess.”
“Did you know Nick Simpson?” Sam asked.
“No. Though it was hard to avoid the gossip when he and Becca eloped. His parents have a summer home near Four Forks. He went to boarding school out East. I hear he spent most of his summers doing whatever it is that rich kids do in the summer. Never saw him in Paradise.”
“How’d she meet him?”
“College. Becca had a full ride to Colorado College. I went local. We ranch boys like to stay close to home, so we can smell the loam in our own backyard.”
“Is that how it works? Didn’t someone tell me you two used to be an item?”
“We were kids. Too long ago to even remember.” Joe shifted in his seat. “So what do you think about the accident?”
“I don’t know what to think, Joe. Why wasn’t a smart guy like that wearing his seat belt was my first question.”
Joe shook his head, thinking.
Sam shrugged. “Truth is, I can’t tell you anything that wasn’t in the news or on the television. I remember thinking at the time that the whole situation seemed sensationalized to sell more papers.”
The only sound for moments was the hum of the fan as Joe considered the information Sam had shared, while trying to piece it all together.
“Funny how one moment can define the course of your entire life,” Sam finally said.
“Tell me about it.” Joe stood. “Thanks for your time.”
“Sure. I can’t say I’ve told you anything everyone else doesn’t already know. You can probably read the newspaper account at the library.” Sam stood as well and came around his desk.
Joe nodded.
“Any idea if she’s here to stay?” Sam asked.
“To stay? No idea. She’s doing the certification on my prosthesis. That’s all I know.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I thought there was. The real-estate agent refused to rent her a house.”
“You think Judge Brown could be behind that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you want me to investigate?” Sam asked.
“No. But thanks, Sam. After what you told me, I’m sort of looking forward to figuring this one out myself.”
