скачать книгу бесплатно
“Are you sure you’re safe living in the house with these men?”
Kathleen’s concern was clear and Rebecca hastened to reassure her. “Absolutely, Mom. I’m not the slightest bit worried about safety. It’s just going to take a while to convince Mr. Rand that I’m not going to encourage either of the younger members of his crew, and that I can win over Hank. By the way,” she added, grinning, “Hank reminds me of Mr. Althorpe.”
“Hmm. Maybe you can bribe him with chocolate.”
“Exactly what I wondered.”
The two women shared a companionable, understanding moment of silence.
“So,” Kathleen said briskly. “What can you tell me about the business?”
Rebecca told her what little she’d learned about Jackson’s operation in a brief, concise report. “I haven’t had a tour of the facility yet, but plan to ask Mr. Rand to show me around tonight after work. Mom,” she paused, wondering how to word her question and opting for bluntness. “I have to confess, I’m baffled as to why you want me to stay here for so long. The operation seems fairly straightforward. I understand that you want to keep a close eye on Bay Area’s money since this is our first investment in this type of business, but I could just as easily have flown in for a few days and then come back in a month or two to check on the status of the business. I’m not sure what it is you expect me to do every day that will keep me busy for a few months.”
Kathleen’s hesitation was so brief that if Rebecca didn’t know her so intimately, she might have missed it.
“I’d rather err on the side of caution, Rebecca. With you on-site, I know we’ll have instant input if there are any problems with Mr. Rand’s business plans going forward. And besides,” she added, “you haven’t had a vacation in four years. It’s about time you drew an assignment with enough downtime to let you relax.”
“I’m not sure that I need a vacation,” Rebecca replied, unconvinced that Kathleen was telling her all of her reasons, but knowing that her mother wouldn’t share the whole story until she was ready. “But if you want me here, I’m sure I’ll find plenty to occupy my time.”
“Good,” Kathleen replied. “I’d like you to check in with the attorney, Victoria Bowdrie, in Colson today. She has some documents that need to be signed and, instead of having them forwarded here to the central office, I’ve authorized you to sign on behalf of the company.”
“All right. I’ll drive in this morning, it’ll give me an opportunity to get my bearings and check out the shopping in Colson.”
Kathleen laughed. “That’s my girl.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Kathleen rang off and Rebecca tidied up the desk, shut down the computer and headed upstairs to collect her purse and car keys.
Jackson was in the hayloft of the big barn, tearing out broken floorboards and replacing them with new planks. The huge doors stood open at each end of the loft, the slight cross-breeze doing little to cool the midmorning heat trapped beneath the rafters. He hammered a nail home and stood, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm as he walked to the open door where it was several degrees cooler. He picked up a five-gallon thermos jug off the floor just inside the door and held it aloft, twisting the spout to let the water pour over his head and shoulders before lowering it to his mouth. The cool water felt as good going down his throat as it had cascading over his torso, the slight breeze cooling him further as it flowed over his wet chest and arms.
The day promised to be another scorcher, he reflected, wondering just how hot it was.
The slap of wood against wood sounded clearly across the ranch yard. Jackson glanced toward the house and went still, the water jug forgotten in his hand.
Rebecca descended the porch steps, legs and arms tan against a white skirt and short-sleeved top. Her hair was loose, brushing against her throat and the boat-neck white top. She carried a small purse and a slim black leather briefcase.
Jackson leaned one shoulder against the door frame and watched as she walked down the path to the fence, opened and closed the gate, then rounded the front of her car and slid beneath the wheel.
What the hell am I going to do about her? He shook his head as she drove away, aware of the tighter fit of his jeans. Just watching her walk turns me on. Irritated, he turned back to the waiting broken floorboards.
Unaware she’d been observed, Rebecca retraced her journey from yesterday, but this time, she wasn’t as travel-weary and was able to take in more details of her surroundings. The land stretching away from each side of the road was as different from San Francisco as the earth from Mars. Instead of urban streets and glimpses of the sparkling blue waters of the Bay from the city’s steep, crowded hills, Rebecca saw a patchwork of green wheat fields and the black dirt of plowed land. The cultivated fields were interspersed with rough pastures dotted with silvery sagebrush. Large, often flat-topped buttes rose to loom over fields and pastures and above it all, the dome of endless, bright blue sky stretched without a cloud in sight.
As much as she appreciated San Francisco’s charm, Rebecca felt drawn to this extremely different landscape with a deep pull on her emotions that felt oddly as if she had come home.
Which was silly, she reflected. She’d never before visited Montana, let alone called this area home.
Dismissing the notion, Rebecca switched off the air conditioner, rolled down the window and luxuriated in the clean, sage-scented air that blew in, tangling her hair and sending it skeining across her face, her sunglasses keeping the strands out of her eyes.
The bright sunlight, already hot though it was only June, heated her bare arm. Rebecca wasn’t used to real summer heat. In San Francisco, the breeze off the Pacific cooled even the hottest days.
And I’ll be here for a few months, she reflected. Which means that perhaps I’ll see the fall season, too. The thought was appealing. Raised in the mild climate of California’s Pacific Coast, she hadn’t experienced the changing of seasons with the same degree of intensity Montana residents were accustomed to seeing.
The weather is one of those unique-to-the-area things that I told Jackson I’d find to enjoy here. She felt smug satisfaction that barely a day after he’d doubted that she’d find anything of interest in Colson, she had already proved him wrong.
Strange not to be stuck in traffic, nor to smell exhaust and be hit by noise with the car window down, she thought idly.
She crested a hill and below her lay the small ranching community of Colson. Slowing at the outskirts, she checked her directions. Deciding that the attorney’s Main Street address was most likely in the center of town, she turned right at the next cross street. A large, flat-roofed building on one corner had a big neon sign declaring that the Crossroads Bar and Grill was open for business. She wondered briefly if the Crossroads was the local version of a singles’ bar.
Rebecca drove through a residential area with old Victorian houses set back amid immaculate green lawns and beds of roses, peonies, marigolds and alyssum that bloomed profusely; majestic old maples shaded the wide streets. Without a map, she relied on instinct, turning left. Houses gradually gave way to commercial buildings, and in moments Rebecca found Main Street.
“Dennings Pharmacy, Annie’s Cafe,” she murmured aloud, noting that the street numbers were climbing higher. At least I’m going in the right direction.
The attorney’s office was tucked between the First National Bank and Marnie’s Dress Shop, the gold lettering on the spotless window reading “Foslund and Bowdrie, Attorneys at Law.”
Rebecca angled the car into the curb and switched off the engine, gathering her purse and briefcase.
A bell jangled as she opened the office door, and the pleasant-faced woman behind the reception desk looked up, smiling a welcome.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I don’t have an appointment but I wonder if Victoria Bowdrie is available?”
“I’ll check. May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Rebecca Wallingford of Bay Area Investments.”
Moments later, a petite blonde in a cream summer business suit followed the secretary into the outer office where Rebecca stood.
“Ms. Wallingford? I’m Victoria Bowdrie.” Smiling, she held out her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and please call me Rebecca.” She returned the smile and shook the attorney’s hand. “I spoke with my mother this morning and she asked me to see you today. I believe you have some documents that need to be signed?”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Victoria waved Rebecca ahead of her and into the inner office. “An addendum to the original contract that addresses your review reports and release-of-funds dates. Have a seat, Rebecca.”
Rebecca dropped into one of two leather chairs facing the polished oak desk while Victoria took a seat behind the desk and collected a folder from a wooden tray. She opened it and handed her a sheaf of papers across the glossy desktop. “I think you’ll find these self-explanatory.”
Silence reigned while Rebecca carefully read the pages of legal jargon, puzzlement growing before she finished and looked up at Victoria.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t see any outstanding differences between this document and the original in my file.”
Victoria chuckled. “The changes are fairly small, but your mother wanted the details clarified.” She flipped a page on her copy of the document, scanning quickly until she found what she was looking for. “If you’ll look at page two, paragraph four, I believe you’ll find that the due date on your first report is moved back two days, with the resulting release of funds to Mr. Rand upon receipt of a favorable review by Bay Area Corporate Office to be moved back an equal amount of time.”
Rebecca reread the paragraph, noted the dates and pulled her electronic daytimer from her leather briefcase. Victoria was right, she thought, the dates were changed by two days in each instance.
Odd that Kathleen wanted her to sign the revised documents immediately, she thought with a frown. But then, she mentally shrugged, it gave her a good excuse to visit Colson and see what the town was like.
Ten minutes later, Rebecca stepped out of the office, pulled the door closed behind her, and glanced up and down the wide main street. She took a few moments to return her briefcase to her car and then strolled down the sidewalk to window-shop. Murphy’s Market yielded her favorite brand of English Breakfast tea and browsing the aisles of Dennings Pharmacy added a new bottle of hot-pink nail polish to her bag.
Rebecca strolled down one side of Main Street and halfway up the other when she reached Annie’s Cafe. An elderly gentleman pushed open the door and stepped briskly out to move off down the sidewalk. The aromas that wafted out to Rebecca through the briefly open door reminded her that it was nearly lunchtime and that more than a few hours had passed since she’d eaten a piece of toast for breakfast.
Forty minutes later, replete with homemade soup and a delicious turkey sandwich on wheat that was the luncheon special, Rebecca left the cafe, pausing to hold the door open for a group of older women entering.
The first two ladies smiled absentmindedly and murmured, “Thank you,” but the third glanced at Rebecca and halted abruptly, her eyes widening in shock, her face visibly paling.
“Who are you?” the older woman demanded.
Taken aback, Rebecca stared at the woman for a second before finding her voice. “I beg your pardon?”
“Who are you?” the woman demanded again. “And what are you doing in Colson?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.” Rebecca eyed the woman. “Do I know you, ma’am?”
“You most certainly do not. Nor are you likely to.” The woman drew herself up, chin lifting haughtily. “And let me warn you, miss, whatever you’re planning, it won’t work.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rebecca was beginning to wonder if the woman had mistaken her for someone else.
“Don’t play the innocent with me,” the woman said. “Just because you’ve got Charlie’s green eyes and black hair doesn’t prove a thing.”
“You must have me confused with someone else.”
“And if you stir up that old scandal again, you’ll be sorry,” the woman went on, as if Rebecca hadn’t spoken.
This time, she didn’t answer. Instead, she pointedly took a step back and held the door wider.
The impeccably dressed woman tilted her chin higher and swept past Rebecca and into the cafe.
Shaking her head in puzzlement, Rebecca paused on the curb, waiting for a truck to pass before crossing the wide street to her car. The drive back to the Rand Ranch gave her plenty of time to go over the strange conversation, but when she drove into the ranch yard and braked in front of the house, Jackson pushed open the screen door and the sight of him drove the incident from her mind.
Annoyed at the swift surge of pleasure that quickened her heartbeat and breathing, she drew a deep breath, gathered her briefcase, purse and light shopping bag and left the car.
She joined him on the porch, aware that his gaze hadn’t left her on the walk from car to house. “Hello,” she said pleasantly, proud of hard-won composure that kept her voice even.
“Afternoon.” He held the door for her. “If you don’t have something you need to do right now, I thought I’d take you on a tour of the outbuildings. Or we can do it after dinner tonight, if you’d rather.”
“No, now is fine.” Business, she reminded herself. This is business and he’s just another client. “Give me ten minutes to change into jeans and I’ll be right with you.”
Jackson nodded. Rebecca hurried up the stairs, dropped her packages on the bed and pulled jeans and a cotton shirt from their hangers. She stripped off the white skirt and top, quickly slipped them onto the two hangers she’d just emptied, and stepped into the jeans, yanking them up her legs and shrugging into the pale blue shirt. She buttoned the shirt with swift efficiency and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans before slipping a belt into the jean loops.
It took only moments to locate a pair of socks in her drawer, pull them on and tug on worn but polished brown hiking boots, lacing them with quick movements. Although she’d never hiked in the California mountains, she loved the boots for their practical toughness in the city’s winter rain and cold.
She glanced in the mirror, smoothed her hair with a few quick strokes of her brush and left the room.
Jackson was standing just where she’d left him, his hat tugged low over his brow, arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the porch post, staring out across the rolling pasture that stretched to the buttes edging the horizon.
He turned when Rebecca pushed the screen door open, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe in one swift glance, generating a surge of heat.
“You should wear a hat,” he commented, plucking a straw cowboy hat from the seat of a rocking chair and handing it to her. “The sun can be dangerous if you’re not used to it.”
“Thanks.” Rebecca ignored the rush of awareness when his fingers brushed hers. His long strides made nearly two of hers, and he was ahead of her before they reached the gate. He glanced back at her and immediately slowed.
“Sorry.” He held the gate wide and Rebecca went through ahead of him. “The basic structure of most of the buildings was solid, but all of them needed a lot of work.” They set off across the lot toward the outbuildings. “A couple of cattle sheds were too far gone to save so we pulled them down. We’ll rebuild them after finishing the repairs to the barn.”
“What happened? Why did the previous owner allow the buildings to deteriorate so badly?” Rebecca asked as they stepped from the hot sunlight into the shadowy barn. Curious, she gazed upward, her eye drawn to the aged rafters visible through a hole in the hayloft floor above her. The pungent scent of raw lumber mingled with the lingering smells of hay, leather and animals.
“I doubt he meant to,” Jackson answered. “But he was over ninety years old when he passed on, and from what the neighbors tell me, he was a recluse. Running this ranch alone would be a tough job for a young man, let alone a man as old as Eli. Not only are there buildings and equipment to maintain, but miles of fence to repair. At the end, he was running only a few head of cattle and most of those were wild as jackrabbits. I doubt he even knew how many he had.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?” He glanced at her, a small frown drawing a V between his eyebrows.
“Do you know how many cattle you have?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t got a clue. I haven’t had time to ride the pastures and round up the cattle that belonged to old Eli. I spend most Saturdays or Sundays riding the fence line, trying to keep enough strands of wire upright to hold the few wild steers and cows that belong to me on Rand pasture and off of Bowdrie grass.”
“Bowdrie? Is that Victoria Bowdrie? Is she your neighbor?” Rebecca asked with interest.
“Cully and Quinn Bowdrie own the spread to the west of me and Victoria is Quinn’s wife. Why?”
“No reason. I met Victoria Bowdrie today, in fact. She’s the reason I went into Colson this morning. There were a couple of small changes to your contract that I had to initial.”
“The wording that moved the due dates of your reports and the payment delivery dates?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You folks are always so picky about a couple of days?” he asked, eyeing her with curiosity.
“We at Bay Area Investments prefer to call it ‘paying attention to detail,’” she responded with a touch of wry humor. Her stepfather had been a stickler for small details and her mother continued the practice. Still, she wondered why her mother had insisted that she personally initial the minor changes to the contract. She also wondered why her mother had wanted it done immediately.
The list of things that baffled Rebecca about her mother’s directions for handling the Rand Ranch investment was growing longer by the day.
Chapter Three
“I suppose keeping all the details clear makes your job easier,” Jackson commented.
“Yes,” she responded. “It does.” She glanced away from him and up at the ceiling again. “What happened there?” She pointed at the hole in the hayloft floor.
“The roof directly above leaked and the moisture rotted the planks. We’ve repaired the roof, but haven’t had time to replace the flooring yet. Several sections of the barn still need work.” He curved his hand around a support post, muscles flexing as he tested its stability. “But the majority of the structure is solid. The bull barn is through here.”
Rebecca followed him down the center aisle of the old barn. A door stood open at the far end and she stepped through into a smaller building that was clearly a new addition. Here, the individual box stalls were roomy with high, sturdy walls. Curious, she silently counted the number of thick gates standing open down the wide alley.
“How many bulls do you plan to keep here?”
“I’ll have space for a dozen in this building, but at the moment, I only have one.” He led the way to a stall at the far end. “This is Tiny.”
Rebecca peered through the narrow opening between two of the heavy planks. “Tiny?” She glanced at Jackson in disbelief. His swift smile sent a jolt of electricity shivering up her spine.
“His registered name is too long to pronounce, so Hank gave him a nickname.”
