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Pound, pound, pound.
Her father was home. She knew he was. He’d become nocturnal, staying ensconced in his den of trash by day, only emerging at night to complete his weekly circuit of Dumpsters, searching for perfectly good things that other people threw away.
“Dad!” she shouted, hating that she was creating a scene.
A bolt slid, then another, then a series of chain locks unlatched and the door opened a crack. Her father’s watery blue eyes stared, large behind his glasses. “Oh, Gloria-Rose. It’s you. What are you doing here?”
Such a good question. Swallowing down the bile that rose in her narrowed throat, she held up the grocery bag. “Meals on Wheels,” she said with a fake smile.
Her father’s smile was genuine and his watery eyes teared up in delight as if she didn’t do this every single month. The sight broke Gloria’s heart.
“You’re such a sweetheart. Come in. Come in.” He opened the door wide and Gloria was greeted by a wall of stuff. Mostly newspapers, fliers and old books, piled from floor to ceiling, creating a wall of paper goods on either side. Her father lived in a massive fire trap. A coffin of stuff.
“Oh, Dad.” How the hell did he live this way?
“You’ll have to go in first so I can lock the door.”
Gloria shook her head. She couldn’t do it, the piles were claustrophobic. “Can we visit outside today, Dad? I’m not feeling so good.”
He gnawed on his lip, rubbed his face and adjusted his glasses, all nervous behaviors that had worsened over the years. Before he had a chance to answer, a siren came from down the street, growing closer. Her father’s already pale face went ashen. “Get inside, Glo. Now.”
She shook her head and held her dad’s hand, uncertain about what was going on, but having a sense that she needed to be here for this.
The cruiser stopped outside the gate followed by a city truck with a logo for Health and Public Safety on the door.
“Those bastards,” her father muttered beneath his breath. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?”
Two uniformed officers emerged from the cruiser. There was no mistaking the revulsion on their faces as they took in the house and yard. “Mr. Andrew Hurst?” the bigger of the two officers asked as he tried to make his way to the door, having to walk sideways in places.
“Who wants to know?”
Gloria squeezed her father’s hand. Her vision going spotty as the anxiety and panic took over.
“Cook County Sheriff’s Department. You’re under arrest.”
* * *
GLORIA SAT AT her desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. She should just go home and sleep except she couldn’t, her father was there, “working,” which meant he was calling lawyers and writing angry letters to the justice department about his civil rights. If he wasn’t doing that he was likely yelling over the phone at some poor city clerk about the injustice he was facing.
The injustice he was facing? How about the injustice she was facing? Her whole life savings, all seventy thousand, had gone to pay his fines: five years’ worth of fines for public nuisance. If he hadn’t been able to pay, he would have been facing jail time.
So, bye-bye nest egg.
Yet, there was a part of her that was glad because not only had Public Health and Safety condemned the yard, they’d scheduled the house for inspection to determine whether it should be condemned, too. Which it would. The whole place was sagging.
But that meant her father would never be able to go home.
Faith came in, carrying a steaming cup of tea. She set it down beside Gloria’s hand and then plopped herself into the chair on the other side of the desk. Gloria had confided some of what was going on. She’d finally had to tell someone.
“So, now what? We go over and enact a little Black Sect Tantric Buddhist Feng Shui on the place?”
There it was. Faith’s daily recitation of the full, tongue twister of a name of the brand of feng shui she studied. She smiled out of habit. “I wish it were that simple.”
“How bad can it be?”
“A thousand times worse than you can possibly imagine.”
“I bet it’s not that bad.”
Gloria scrolled through the photos on her phone, found some of the best—or worst—of her dad’s yard and turned the phone around so Faith could see.
“Holy shit,” Faith said, her voice low with awe. She leaned across the desk and took a sip of tea from the mug she’d given Gloria. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.” She shook her head. “I love my dad. I want to help. But this is a sickness and he needs professional help. I can’t pay for that sort of help and his teacher’s pension sure isn’t enough, either.”
“Hmm.” Drumming her fingers on the desk, Faith considered her. “Speaking of money, did you see the contract that came in this morning?”
“Which one?”
Coming around to Gloria’s side of the desk, Faith slid the keyboard closer and tapped on the keys, opening up the office email and clicking on one that had come in early that morning. The subject line read, Montana Estate Sale, Stager Required.
Gloria read through the email from a real estate agent in a place called Half Moon Creek, Montana. A large ranch was going on the market and needed an experienced stager to prepare it for sale. The email intimated that the client was hoping to attract a certain type of buyer and had been given Gloria’s name as a recommendation.
“What the hell?” Gloria asked, clicking on the attached contract.
“You know someone in Montana?” Faith asked.
“Nope.”
“So where do you think they got your name?”
“I have no idea.” She reread the email. “And what do you think they mean by, ‘a certain type of buyer’? it sounds like code for something.”
“I was just reading an article about all the celebrities who are buying up ranches in Montana.”
“Like who?”
“Letterman, Dennis Quaid, Michael Keaton, Harrison Ford...”
Gloria swiveled her head toward Faith in surprise.
“What?” Faith smiled sheepishly. “So I follow celebrities? They’ve got nice places and people with nice places like to hire people like us.” She pointed between the two of them.
“I bet it was one of the guys from the fund-raiser I threw for Daisy’s bakery last year,” Gloria said, still stuck on the question of who would have recommended her for a celebrity-style job in Montana.
“That could be it.” Faith moved closer, reading the screen over Gloria’s shoulder. “But you’re not even at the best part yet. Go to the last page.”
Scrolling to the final page of the contract, Gloria read through the terms of payment. “It says 2.5 percent of the sale,” she murmured. “Are you kidding me? No flat rate?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have any idea what ranches this size go for?”
Faith took control of the mouse and went to a file she’d been working on only fifteen minutes ago, a property comparison analysis, showing her the recent sales of ranches of comparable size and location.
“Holy crap,” Gloria whispered.
“You said it.” Faith’s smile was wide. “And I have a feeling if we do well, get a big-time, celebrity buyer, we could get more deals like this, don’t you?”
Gloria considered the situation she was in. This seemed like a godsend. But there was her father. She couldn’t leave him, not alone in her place. “Maybe you should go. You’ve got enough experience to handle it.”
Leaning over her shoulder, Faith pointed to a line in the contract. “They’re asking for you, Glo. Not me. I can stay here and hold down the fort.”
Leaning back in her chair, Gloria considered the possibilities. With one contract she could earn enough to float the company for six months and to give both herself and Faith a nice little bonus. If the contract led to more high-end work, they’d be set. But the thought of leaving her father alone? It didn’t seem like a good idea.
With a hand on her shoulder, Faith said softly, “Your father made his mess, Glo. You’ve got to let him clean it up.”
“I know, but...”
She squeezed her knotted shoulder muscles. “You’re the child in this situation, not the parent.”
Faith was right. She had to take care of herself, otherwise there was no way she could help her father. But even though that made sense logically, her heart was having a hard time with the idea.
“I’ll keep an eye on your dad...and your place. I promise.”
She considered the offer for a little longer, knowing she should decline it but then...what the hell? Opportunities like this only came around once in a lifetime. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to fly out to Montana to make sure this is legit,” she said finally.
“Nope. Wouldn’t hurt a thing.”
Gloria grinned. “Okay, then. I’ll do it.”
“Yeehaw!” Faith slapped her on the back. “Montana...here you come!”
* * *
DILLON AWAITED MAX Ozark’s arrival. He was Half Moon’s only real estate agent. He was also the mayor and owner of the Gold Dust Hotel, not because he was particularly ambitious but because none of his three occupations actually kept him occupied. Max had called him earlier in the day to let him know that Gloria had checked into the hotel and he’d be bringing her out to the ranch that afternoon.
Arriving early to the ranch, he saddled up one of the spirited stallions to go for a ride. Urging the horse into a trot then a canter, he rode across the expanse of grassland and up the gentle side of the bluff. It was a hot day for May and the heat led to thoughts about the fiery redhead. She’d be so out of place here where rolling hills, pastures and streams replaced high-rises. Where the Beaverhead National Forest edged the land instead of Lake Michigan. It’d be interesting to see how she handled it.
It’d be interesting to see how she handled him, too.
Would she be surprised to see him? Nah. She must have put two and two together when she read the contract. Who else did she know in Montana?
The fact she had signed so quickly and was here only a week after he’d sent it, told him one thing. For as much as Jamie claimed Gloria didn’t like him, he knew differently. Not that the damn bet he’d made with his cousin mattered. Dillon had only made the bet out of habit. When they were kids, he and his cousins made bets over everything, from penny poker to who could catch a greased pig or be first to pole-vault over the creek. Chuckling, he gazed out at the Wells property, Silver Tree Ranch, it wasn’t quite as big as the ranch he’d grown up on, but it sure was pretty with the hills and gullies, the forests and streams and the mountains in the distance. The Cross place, Mountain Shadow Ranch, was adjacent to Silver Tree, and Dillon and Kenny had basically become best friends because of proximity. They’d gone to school together, pulled typical teenage stunts together, started riding bulls together. That was when the rivalry started, taking the place of friendship as they vied for better times, titles and women.
Char, for example.
He and Char had dated first, then, next thing he knew, she was marrying Kenny. That had hurt more than he cared to admit and he’d still be pissed at Kenny over it if it wasn’t for that thing that happened two years after they married. Then Char split, just up and left, and Dillon and Kenny reverted to being the close friends they’d started off as, never speaking of Char again.
Now Kenny was gone, and the decision about whether or not he should tell his friend about what happened was moot. It was all too late now.
When Dillon reached the old homestead, now fondly called the Doghouse, he pulled up on the reins and turned the horse. They were standing on high ground overlooking the ranch buildings in the distance: the big log house that sat on the edge of the pond, the winding creek and forest to the west. It sure was nice. But there was no way he could keep it. He just couldn’t. As long as whoever bought it kept it running like it was meant to run and made sure the hired hands who were the backbone of the place stayed on because there were fewer and fewer places for hired help to go for decent jobs these days.
With a hand to his hat, he craned his neck to check the road. Sure enough, a couple of cars were making their way along the mile-long gravel lane that led up to the ranch. If he took a shortcut across the creek, he’d make it back shortly after they arrived. With a gentle nudge with his boots and a clicking sound with his tongue, he urged the horse forward, picking a careful trail down the slope of the embankment to the creek below, making switchbacks to lessen the grade for the animal. After making it to flat ground, he followed the creek, looking for a shallow place to cross and then located a game trail through the woods that headed in the general direction of the compound.
Once the buildings were in sight, he rode directly to the barn, dismounted and led the animal inside where a ranch hand named Curtis was mucking out stalls. “Can you take care of this one for me?” Dillon asked. “Max is here.”
“Sure thing.” Curtis, a stoic young man of few words, looked less than thrilled at the mention of the real estate agent’s name. Dillon didn’t blame him.
He gave the horse a pat on its neck, passed him off to Curtis and then made his way to the end of the barn where a wash station was set up. He washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face and neck. He could almost see Gloria’s look of disdain at the image he painted. Why the hell did the little redhead’s disdain amuse him so much?
Damn, he was acting like a kid about to go on a first date.
One thing was clear: he couldn’t wait to see her again.
4 (#u012b6bbd-a460-5f27-a28c-e5b35d483fe5)
WITH HER PHONE in one hand and her notebook in the other, Gloria took pictures of the enormous ranch house. More like a lodge than a house, it was gorgeous. Much newer than she’d expected, too, which was a good thing because staging it alone was going to take a ton of work. She snapped another picture of the kitchen before following Max Ozark into the living room. No. Not living room, this was what you called a great room.
The vaulted ceiling was crisscrossed with wide solid beams of wood. West-facing windows lined the entire wall. She stopped to admire the view of the pond right out front with forest and mountains in the background.
“It’s spectacular,” she said before snapping a bunch more photos.
“It has potential,” Max said, chewing on the toothpick that had been stuck in the corner of his mouth during the entire tour.
Gloria leaned against a wall, opened her notebook and added to the growing list of things that needed to be done: declutter, clear out furniture, clean windows, get new rugs, art and lighting. She made a rough diagram of the room and blocked where the new and/or repurposed furniture would go. She’d already made rough sketches of each of the eight bedrooms—yes, eight bedrooms!—plus their attached en suites. Then the enormous kitchen, the gigantic dining room, the den, the foyer, the two half baths on the main floor. Sighing, she closed the book. “What does someone need eight bedrooms for?” she muttered to herself, trying to imagine the sort of buyer they would be looking for.
“The original owner had planned to run the place as a dude ranch.”
“What happened?”
“He died.”
“Oh, sorry. Did you know him?”
“Yeah. He was young. Cancer.” Max shook his head, sadly. “Everyone thought he was crazy for building this.” He gestured toward the house at large. “Including my client. He inherited this place and probably figures it’s too big to keep.”
Gloria blinked and suddenly saw the place through new eyes. It was perfect for a guest ranch. “So what kind of buyer are we looking for? Someone who wants to run this as a business?”
“Either that or we find some high roller with money. Could be a celebrity type or just some bigwig corporate type who wants to pretend to be a cowboy for a few months out of the year. As long as they’d be willing to keep the place running like it is now. That’s important to my client.”
“What about a really big family?” Gloria turned a circle, imagining kids growing up here, adults growing old here. It seemed...idyllic.
“No one around here can afford something like this. We could throw a for-sale sign on the place and you know what would happen? Same thing that’s happened to 80 percent of the places around here, one of those big corporations will buy it, leaving this brand-new house to rot, treating the land and the livestock like a factory.” He shook his head. “The client doesn’t want that.”
“Hmm.” Gloria held her pencil to her lips. “It’s going to be a lot of work to attract the kind of buyer you’re looking for.”
“What are we talking?”
