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Moving down the stairs, he quickly walked to his red Chevy pickup and climbed in. While the mice were away, the cat could play. It was time he gave Gus Hunter a little visit.
* * *
GUS HEARD THE POUNDING on the screen door. She was in the kitchen making cookies when the harsh sound echoed down the hall.
“Hold your horses!” she yelled, wiping off her hands and grabbing her cane. Who could it be? Val and Griff had left an hour ago to get supplies in town.
Hobbling down the hall, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the door. Lifting her upper lip into a snarl, Gus quickly recognized him. She shoved the screen door open, making him leap back.
“What the hell you doin’ here?”
Curt doffed his cowboy hat in deference to the small woman glaring up at him. “Why, Miss Gus, I thought I’d drop by and say hello.” Downing held up a sack. “I brought us some lattes. I thought we might sit out here on your porch and chat a spell?” Curt saw the silver-haired woman sneer at him. Oh, he knew Gus was a red-hot pistol. She spoke her mind and didn’t care at all about diplomacy. He added a hopeful smile and gave her a pleading look. “Please?”
Snorting softly, Gus let the screen door slam shut behind her. “You listen to me, you young whippersnapper, I’m not interested in sellin’ the Bar H! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Curt ambled over to the small table near the swing at the end of the enclosed porch. “Why, Miss Gus, you misunderstand my intentions,” he said in a soothing voice. Setting the sack down, Curt opened it up and placed two Starbucks coffee cups on the table. “I was at the Horse Emporium just now and I saw your truck. Griff McPherson was driving it.” He walked over and offered one to Gus. “I was surprised. I wanted to make sure that he hadn’t stolen it from you.” Curt congratulated himself on planting seeds in her mind that McPherson was not to be trusted.
“Get that crappy coffee outta my face!” She raised her cane and threatened to strike the cup out of Downing’s hand. “I like real coffee! Not that citified stuff!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Gus.” Curt feigned a hurt look. He quickly placed the cups back into the sack. “Might you invite me in for a real cup of coffee, then?” He added a warm smile along with a coaxing look he hoped would melt her anger.
Gus scowled. “I’d rather invite a pissed-off rattler in to dine with me, Downing.”
He looked up and placed his hand over his heart. “Miss Gus, you hurt me to the quick.”
“You can’t hurt a rock.”
Downing had always respected her spunk. Prodding Gus was like prodding a bull elk in heat: you knew he would get angry and charge. “Now, Miss Gus, I came out here with concern for you. That was your flatbed I saw at the Horse Emporium?”
“Of course it was! And what business is that of yours? You aren’t Gwen Garner! I don’t mind speaking to her, but you, I don’t trust any further than I could throw you.”
Curt smiled inwardly. The old woman’s face was pinched, angry, and she looked like she was going to have a heart attack any moment. Not that he would mind. Then he could scoop up her ranch. “Miss Gus, I saw a lovely young red-haired woman with McPherson,” he said, playing dumb. “She was in the truck with him. Who is that?”
Gus grinned savagely. “That, Downing, is my granddaughter, Val Hunter.”
Downing pretended to be as shocked as he was at the Emporium earlier. “What? I thought she was in the Air Force? Is she on leave to visit you?”
“No, you fool, she’s home for good!” Gus pointed to her hip. “And it’s not gone past your nose to know I can’t handle this ranch by myself any longer because of my broken hip. Everyone in town knows it never healed right. Val has come home to help get the ranch back up to an operational level.”
“I see….” Downing choked and nervously coughed. His mind spun with shock. He’d been expecting Gus to put up the For Sale sign any minute precisely because she was now crippled and no longer able to work. This was a definite setback. “But…what about McPherson? Yesterday, he worked at the Horse Emporium.”
Giving him an irritated look, Gus barked, “Well, he’s now our wrangler. With Val and Mr. McPherson’s help, the Bar H is going to be just fine. How about that, Mr. Big Shot?” Gus waved her cane in his face. “I know your type. You’re like a snake that slinks through the bushes just waiting for the right moment to lunge out and bite someone on the ankle. But you ain’t gettin’ our ranch. So don’t even think you can!”
Standing there, Curt felt like the world had fallen out from beneath him. Damn! He desperately needed this ranch! Of course, he couldn’t tell the angry old woman why. Even if he could, it’d only raise her hackles more. “I’m so glad to hear you got help once more, Miss Gus,” he murmured in a placating tone, trying to ratchet down her anger toward him. Walking over to the table, Curt picked up the sack. Turning, he said, “I really hope that your granddaughter can stay.”
“Oh, she’ll stay. This is her home!” Gus said, jabbing her finger down at the porch. “You know ranch families stick together. And I know you’re wantin’ to buy up any ranch land you can get your filthy hands on. Well, it won’t be our ranch. Git goin’, Mister. I have cookies to bake and I don’t like talkin’ to the likes of you!”
Moving down the porch steps, Downing turned, doffed his hat again and said, “I wish you a good day, Miss Gus. I’m here for you in case you need any help. The Bar H has a wonderful history and I know with your granddaughter home, things will get better. Good day.”
Gus snorted, breathing raggedly as she watched the bastard climb into his big gussied-up truck. The damned pickup held so much chrome it glittered like a Christmas ornament. But that was Downing. She’d watched him grow into a bully through the twelve grades of school. His father, Red, had been a bully, too. An abusive drunk always causing havoc for people in the valley. There were times when she’d hear that Curt had a black eye at school. And a small part of her felt sorry for the younger Downing. Well, minus the drunkard part, the kid had grown up to be just like his daddy.
Gus watched the truck pull out of the driveway. And then she saw that Val and Griff had returned. The two trucks passed one another on the road into the ranch. She watched Griff drive the truck around to the barn. Hobbling off the porch, Gus went to greet them.
Val climbed out of the truck as Gus approached. “Was that Curt Downing we just passed?”
“Sure as hell was.” Gus looked up at the bales of hay tied down on the flatbed.
“What did he want?”
Griff came around the truck to hear the conversation. Gus was clearly upset, her eyes narrow along with her pursed lips. He saw Val was concerned because she tugged at her ponytail. It was a habit he’d seen before and finally recognized it for what it was.
Gus told them what had transpired. She patted Val’s arm. “Now, get that worry wiped off your face. He’s gone and out of our lives.”
Griff pushed his hat up on his head. “Downing was surprised that we’re here?”
Cackling, Gus said, “Oh, it looked for a moment like he was going to fall through the porch. He was that surprised!”
Griff grinned a little. Gus got pure pleasure out of meeting Downing head-on. He liked her backbone. She might be small but that didn’t stop her from taking on the likes of Downing. Most of the town was afraid of him, but Gus was not. “Are you okay?”
“Ohhh,” Gus said, reaching out and patting Griff’s arm, “I’m fine, son. Not to worry. I’m not afraid of that bully!”
Val frowned. “He came out to ask about me?”
“Yep,” Gus said. “He’s a nosy son-of-a-gun.”
Mouth quirking, Griff said, “I’m going to start moving this hay inside, ladies.”
Val was pleased to see the wrangler move into action. She placed a hand on Gus’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go in? You look like you’re in pain, Gus. Do you need some aspirin?”
Moving her hand over her hip, Gus muttered, “Yeah, Downing got my dander up for sure. I was waving my cane around instead of using it to support myself.”
Smiling gently, Val said, “Come on, I’ll walk you back into the house.”
Nodding, Gus gripped her hand. “You’re a good granddaughter. Do you know that? It’s nice to be taken care of every once in a while.”
Laughing a little, Val escorted Gus back toward the house. The morning sun was warm, the sky blue and there was a pine scented breeze. “Oh, Gus, I always worry about you. You’re like a little banty rooster. I agree, Downing is dangerous and I don’t trust him. But you don’t need to get your blood pressure up because of him.”
“He’s a snake snoopin’ around, Val. You can’t ever trust a snake!”
Gus was moving very slowly and in obvious pain. “You know, I heard a commercial for the Scooter Store on the radio this morning when we were driving into town, Gus. A power chair could get you around here much more easily, even outside.”
“Oh, don’t you start jawin’ about a scooter for me. Cowgirls ride horses. What an embarrassing comedown.”
Chuckling, Val knew it would take a while to get her grandmother to consider another type of transportation. She was a proud, tough, Wyoming rancher woman who was used to using her two legs to get where she was going. Helping her slowly negotiate the stairs to the porch, Val replied, “Maybe we can talk about it another time.”
Gus snorted. She rested a moment at the top of the stairs. “I’ll bet Downing’s heading for Gwen Garner’s quilt shop. He’s gonna ply her with questions about you.”
Unconcerned, Val opened the screen door for Gus. “Gwen is a trusted friend to our family. I’m not worried about her. Come on, I’ll make us some coffee and you can sit down and give that hip of yours a rest.”
“Might help me finish those cookies, too?”
Grinning, Val said, “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER SIX
GWEN GARNER STOOD at the rear of her quilting store next to a grocery cart filled with new fabrics that had to be placed out for sale. The store was busy and she had her head down, tucking a bright, colorful Hoffman batik fabric into place when someone tapped her smartly on the shoulder.
Looking up, Gwen scowled. “Mr. Downing.” She continued placing the fabric into the end cap.
“Mrs. Garner, how are you today?” Curt tipped his tan Stetson hat in her direction. He saw her face turn sour. Curt didn’t like having to come into the quilt shop and beg for information. And by the look in Gwen’s narrowing eyes, he wondered if coming here was smart. He added a hopeful smile and settled his hat on his head. “I was just over at Andy’s Horse Emporium getting hay for my horses when I saw Val Hunter.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you know she was in town?”
Gwen pushed her cart to the next island of fabrics. “Of course I did, Mr. Downing.”
Curt followed her, keeping his voice low and always scanning the store. “Val was in the Air Force. She was making a career of it. Why would she return home?”
Raising an eyebrow at him, Gwen said, “It ought to be pretty obvious, Mr. Downing. After Gus broke her hip, she couldn’t maintain the Bar H by herself. She asked her granddaughter to come home and help.”
“Wow,” Curt said, “that’s asking a lot.”
“Ranching families stick together,” she retorted, iciness in her tone as she picked up another bolt of fabric and slid it into place.
Continuing to follow her, Curt asked, “Then, she’s here for good?” That made him anxious. The old biddy wouldn’t sell no matter what.
“As far as I know, yes.”
“A shame to throw away her career like that.”
“And an even bigger shame if a family ranch goes belly-up, don’t you think?”
Curt tried to hide his irritation. Gwen obviously didn’t want to talk to him, her voice sharp with rebuke over his questions. “I mean,” he said, “why not hire a wrangler or two?”
“Enough of this, Mr. Downing.” Gwen jammed her hands on her hips. “I don’t pretend to know what’s in the mind of anyone, but the facts are in front of your nose. Val Hunter has come home for good.” She gave him a frosty smile. “Guess that sort of stops your plan to steal the Bar H out from under Gus, doesn’t it?”
Curt felt heat sweeping up from his neck and into his cheeks. He clenched his teeth for a moment, his jaw becoming hard. This bitch of a woman was too powerful in Jackson Hole. He hated her, but he needed her. If she only knew what he could do to her and her family… Forcing a thin smile, he continued, “You have to admit, the Bar H is a very nice property. With Long Lake on half of it, I could see bringing in a realty development to build a lot of condos. It could be a great place for tourists and their families. And it would help the town’s economy.”
Nostrils flaring, Gwen said, “Gus knows you would never honor the ranch or its land. Frankly, I’m glad Val is home.”
Curt watched as Gwen turned around and pushed the cart down another aisle. He didn’t follow her this time. Hiding his anger toward the woman, he strolled out of the quilt shop. On the wooden porch, Curt looked around. He decided to go visit his Realtor, Bobby Fortner. It was a mere walk around the corner to Raven Realty.
Fortner was at his desk when Curt entered his office. Instantly, the short man was on his feet.
“Mr. Downing, an unexpected pleasure.” Fortner scuttled around his massive oak desk and gestured to the chair in front of it. “Please, have a seat. May I get you some coffee?”
This was more like it. Curt secretly reveled in Fortner’s beta wolf reaction to him. He should. Over the years, he’d made this plain man with squinty brown eyes and lifeless black hair very rich. “Thank you, Bobby. And no, I’ll pass on the coffee.”
Quickly running his short, thin fingers through his hair, Bobby sat down. “What can I do for you, Mr. Downing?”
“Well,” Curt said, leaning back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, “I need more in-depth information on the Bar H.”
“Oh, yes sir.” Bobby quickly typed the name into the computer in front of him. “What would you like to know?”
“First, is it completely paid off? Or is there a still a mortgage on it? Any liens?”
“No, it’s paid in full and no liens, sir.” Fortner’s brow scrunched. “They continue to be up-to-date with their property taxes, too.” He peered around his computer. “Is this what you needed?”
Mouth thinning, Curt growled, “Yes, I suppose so. If that crusty old woman wasn’t so damned stubborn, the Bar H would have been easy to snap up.”
“I know you’ve wanted the property for a long time. You’re looking for ways to get Miss Gus to hand it over.” Fortner shrugged. “Realistically, unless she wants to sell it, there’s nothing else that can be done.”
Snarling out of frustration, Downing said, “She’s eighty-four years old, for God’s sake. You’d think she’d die. I need that ranch, dammit!” Curt clenched his fist. Fortner had no idea he moved drugs for a Mexican cartel, but he didn’t seem suspicious of why Curt wanted the land so badly.
“Short of a forest fire or an earthquake taking the ranch down,” Bobby said in jest, “I don’t know what else could be done.”
Curt thought about the Realtor’s offhand remark but said nothing further about it to Fortner. The Bar H stood in a clearing and was surrounded by heavy forest. “I want you to go out and visit Miss Gus. Be nice to her. See if she’ll bite on my offer again. Up the bid to one point five million dollars. That should get her attention.”
“I’ll try, but she always turns me down,” Bobby said, giving him a helpless look.
“Take a box of chocolates to the old dame. Just get her talking and see what her ideas are for the ranch. But call ahead and make an appointment. She hates someone showing up unannounced.”
Flustered, Bobby wiped his perspiring brow with his handkerchief. “Er…you want me to just drop by, chat and find out what I can?”
Rising to his feet, Curt said, “Yes. She’ll talk to you more easily than she did to me.” He didn’t add that Miss Gus had practically thrown him off the property, such was her hate for him. Settling his cowboy hat on his head, Curt walked to the door. “Call me after your visit.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Curt left the office. As he walked around the corner toward his bright red truck, his mind revolved around how to get Miss Gus out of that damned property so he could have it. He needed it. Now. Not later. Fortner’s offhand comment about a forest fire consuming the ranch had given him a new idea.
* * *
GRIFF WAS IN THE BARN WITH the parts from an old automatic posthole digger spread across a canvas on the floor. The day was warm and he appreciated the breeze through the box stall area where he was repairing the cranky equipment. Working alone for long stretches of time had given him time to think. The honesty and goodness of Miss Gus and Val had shown him how important it was to have integrity. It made him really want to apologize to Slade for the way he had treated him when he was a big shot on Wall Street. His brother had needed his help and he hadn’t offered it. He felt terrible about it now and realized the right thing was to apologize sincerely to his twin.
He heard footsteps approaching across the concrete. Lifting his head, he saw it was Val. Griff felt she was a secret pleasure to him. She was tall, lithe, her red hair in a ponytail swinging behind her shoulders. Even though she wore typical ranch clothing, Levi’s and a white, short-sleeved tee, they lovingly outlined her body. He wondered as he had many times if she had a man in her life. He’d not heard it come up in table talk and wasn’t about to broach the topic himself. That would have been out of line. He was the hired hand. Not a family member.
“How’s it going?” Val asked, halting and studying the parts of the posthole digger. She tried to quell her reaction to Griff’s gaze. On his hands and knees, a wooden toolbox nearby, he was easy to look at. The light and dark in the barn accentuated the hard planes of his sun-darkened face.
Griff gave her a half smile and he wiped his hands off on a nearby rag. “It’s going.”
“That thing hasn’t been used in years,” Val said. “I’m sure the carburetor needs to be cleaned out or replaced.”
“You’re right,” Griff agreed. He pointed to the engine piece. “I was just starting to pull it apart to see if it’s gummed up. I’m sure it is.” And that meant buying a rebuilt carburetor for the digger. If one could be found.
“Did you try starting it first?”
“I broke the rope trying to get it going. I’ll have to buy a replacement rope in town.” Griff had a tough time keeping his eyes on his work. Val was a powerful draw. Loneliness, having been without a woman for a long time, was part of the allure. Another, which Griff tucked away in his heart, was his appreciation of her as a woman who was not only attractive but had a lot of common sense. Val was nothing like the women he’d had relationships with in New York City. They were beautiful tropical birds in comparison and would never survive the harsh environment of ranch life. Val wore no jewelry, no makeup, not even lipstick. She didn’t need cosmetics. Her lips were a natural pink color. Most of all, he liked her freckles. They made her look like a young girl instead of the mature woman she was.
Val picked up the frayed and broken rope. “Well, this auger is about thirty years old. It’s DOA, dead on arrival.” She squatted in front of him, elbows resting on her thighs, opposite of where he was working. Griff had strong-looking fingers and yet, he expertly opened the engine and delicately began checking it with expert ease. His head was bent and she had a chance to absorb his strong profile. His mouth, which she found delicious, was pursed as he focused on his inspection. Her curiosity got the better of her.
“Do you miss your home?”
