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“Think again. This ‘small’ ranch sits on over three hundred acres.”
Max sat up, alert suddenly. “You think it’s income producing?”
“Don’t get too excited. Nevada is still the desert.” She frowned and shook her head. “There’s something strange about this letter. Did you even bother to read it?”
“Yeah, most of it.” Taylor could be so damn annoying at times. Who wouldn’t have been interested in an inheritance? Even if it was a ranch. Cash would be better, especially when he had three more years before he’d be solvent again. “But it doesn’t make sense. A ranch is supposed to have cows and horses and chickens…stuff like that, right?”
She shrugged. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know about chickens though. Aren’t they raised on farms with pigs?”
One side of Max’s mouth lifted in wry amusement. They’d both lived their entire lives in Boston, he on Beacon Hill, Taylor in Roxburry.
She frowned thoughtfully as her gaze scanned the letter. “It’s near a town called Bingo. All that acreage should be worth something.”
He snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
Her cell phone rang. “So you’re just going to roll over and play dead?”
Max smiled. “No, I’m going to let you look into it for me.”
She glanced up before taking the call. “God, you’re so predictable.”
He was about to make a crack when she answered the phone, her tone crisp and businesslike. If he knew Taylor, he wouldn’t be getting rid of her soon, so he thought about hopping into the shower. And then he heard her mention Nevada.
He shook his head with a half smile. Of course she was already on the case. Probably had had her calls forwarded. She was efficient, if nothing else.
“Isn’t there anyone besides Mr. Southby who can help me regarding a letter he sent out on the fifth?” she asked into the receiver. “When do you expect him?”
After a brief pause, she said, “It’s the middle of the week. He can’t just go fishing and not say what day he’ll be back.” Taylor’s expression tightened. “That’s not good enough. I need someone to help me now.”
Max checked a grin. It was really too bad about Taylor and him. There was so much to like about her. Yet the lack of chemistry was the least of their problems. As an attorney she could be a pit bull, which was good. But as a life partner, he needed someone who wasn’t so ambitious, someone more fun-loving and adventurous, like himself. And if she had her own trust fund, all the better.
“Yes, regarding the Swinging R Ranch. I’m Mr. Bennett’s attorney, and we’re somewhat confused about the lack of inventory outlined in Mr. Southby’s letter, or maybe livestock is a better word. Anyway—”
Her sudden silence drew his wary attention. He looked up at her stunned face.
“Would you please repeat that?” Color slowly tinted her cheeks. She visibly swallowed. “I see.” Then she cleared her throat, and he could tell she wanted to laugh. “I’ll be sure and tell him. Uh-huh. Yes, I will. Oh, I suspect he’ll be arriving in Bingo within a few days.”
He frowned as their gazes met. She couldn’t mean him.
Her sudden grin told him otherwise. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Crabtree.” She hung up the phone, not even trying to hide her amusement.
Whatever foolishness she was up to, he wasn’t in the mood. Only one thing interested him. “Is the ranch profitable?”
“Oh, I suspect it might be.”
“And?”
“Congratulations, Mr. Bennett.” Taylor struggled to stifle a laugh. “You’re the proud owner of an honest-to-goodness, legal-as-a-copper-penny brothel.”
“GOOD EVENING, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Abby Cunningham for Mayor dinner. Of course, as you all know, I’m Cabby Anningham.” Letting out a shriek of disgust, Abby made a face at her tired reflection in the bathroom mirror.
She’d known most of the people who’d be at the dinner since she’d started toddling around Bingo twenty-five years ago. How she could still get so nervous and tongue-tied was beyond her comprehension.
Her stomach in knots, she padded out of the bathroom, into her bedroom and headed straight for the dish of peanut M&M’s sitting on her dresser. Chocolate wouldn’t cure her nerves. In fact, she’d probably end up with a face full of zits for the dinner tomorrow night, but right now, those little suckers were the only things that would get her through this rehearsal.
She still had to decide whether to wear her hair up in a more sophisticated style, like maybe a French twist, or leave it long and loose to her shoulders the way she always wore it. The people of Bingo tended to favor familiarity, but Abby wasn’t sure how much her age was a deterrent. Twenty-six was awfully young to be mayor. Even if her father had held the office for three terms, as did his father before him.
After carefully sorting four red candies from the rest of the colors, she sank to her bed, leaned back against the pillows and started popping the M&M’s into her mouth. She’d eat the green ones next, and then the rest in no particular order. It wasn’t that she was superstitious exactly, but she saw no point in changing her habits now.
“Abby…yoo-hoo. Abby, I’m home.”
At the sound of her grandmother’s voice, Abby bolted upright and slid the dish of candy into her underwear drawer. She swallowed the last M&M whole, then cleared her throat. “I’m in my room, Gramms.”
Estelle Cunningham instantly appeared in the doorway. Her smile faded, her gaze narrowed, and she sniffed the air. “I smell chocolate.”
“In here?” Abby laughed. “You’re imagining things. Do you think I should wear my hair up or down tomorrow night?” She twisted it up and sent her grandmother a questioning look.
Gramms brushed past her, sniffing, and went unerringly to the dresser drawer. Abby’s only hope now was that the ill-favored peanut variety she’d purposely bought would discourage Gramms.
“Really, Abby, you shouldn’t mix these with your unmentionables.” Estelle sat on the bed with the dish on her lap, scooped out an orange-colored one and carefully nibbled the coating and chocolate off the nut. “You know, maybe that’s how someone thought to invent those edible panties. Do you suppose? I think they’re called Candies, or some such thing.”
“How do you know about that?” Abby frowned. “You’ve been hanging around those women at the Swinging R again, haven’t you?” She grabbed the dish of M&M’s. “And no more of these. Doctor’s orders.”
“You have no business talking to my doctor, Abigail. No business at all. You forget who’s the grandmother here.” She shook her snow-white head and briefly eyed the candy before directing her stern blue gaze at Abby. “And don’t let me hear you referring to the ladies of the Swinging R as those women again. Shame on you. Why, Rosie, Mona and Candy have all contributed handsomely to your campaign fund, young lady.”
Sighing, Abby sat beside her grandmother and patted her age-spotted hand. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It’s not that I don’t appreciate their support, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to be passing out gift certificates for future services at the Ranch.”
“Why not? The gift certificates are separate from the ‘Vote for Abby’ flyer. They’re stapled together but we were very careful not to make it sound like a bribe.”
“We? You haven’t been…Oh, Gramms.” Slumping, Abby dug into the bowl and popped candies into her mouth without regard to color. Why bow to superstition? Her career was probably over anyway.
Estelle chuckled. “You young people think everything is such a big deal, that the whole world is going to come to an end if one little thing goes out of whack in your life.” Her smile gentled, reminding Abby so much of her father that it made her chest ache with fresh grief. At forty-eight, her parents had been too young to die. But the driver of the speeding semitruck hadn’t taken that into consideration.
“I know you disapprove of the Swinging R,” Estelle continued, “but brothels are legal in this county and the place is practically an institution. Folks don’t mind having the ladies around. They’ve always contributed to the community just like everyone else.”
Abby decided to keep further comment to herself. There was no point in upsetting her grandmother. Besides, she really didn’t have anything against the Swinging R, as long as her grandmother didn’t start hanging around there too much. “I know,” she said, passing her two M&M’s. “And I’ll welcome each of their votes.”
Gramms frowned. “Don’t be stingy with those. You weren’t raised that way.”
“You know what the doctor said—”
“Abigail, you’re only twenty-six. How can you be such an old fa—?”
The phone rang, cutting off their conversation. Just as well, Abby thought as her grandmother pushed off the bed to get it in the next room. Abby had heard the admonishments before. Many times, in fact. She was too serious, too responsible, too staid for a person her age. Baloney. All of it.
Even if it were true, it wasn’t as if Abby had a choice. She was all Gramms had and someone had to look after her. Next month she’d be seventy without a hint of slowing down. That’s why Abby never bothered to get the phone anymore. It was always for Gramms.
“Some of the girls want to go play bingo tonight,” Gramms said as she breezed back into the room. “We’re going to grab a bite to eat on the way.”
Abby smiled, tucking her disappointment away. “No fries or cheeseburgers, and definitely no cheesecake.”
Her grandmother made a face. “I was going to ask you to come with us, but now I’m not so sure.” Her gaze strayed to the clothes spread out across the bed. Then her eyes met Abby’s. “Did you have plans for us tonight?”
“No.” Abby shrugged off the lie. “I’m just trying to decide what to wear tomorrow night.”
Gramms frowned at the selection, then went to the closet and pulled out the short red dress she’d given Abby last Christmas. “This is what you should wear. Not one of those old fuddy duddy navy or gray suits. Now let’s go.”
Abby took the dress and gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. “Go have fun. I’m still practicing my speech.”
Gramms waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to do that. You’ll beat old man Cleghorn just by showing up. No one wants that antiquated fool back in the saddle.” She put a finger to her temple, and lowered her voice even though there was no one else in the house. “His chimney’s been clogged for some time now, and he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when he was in his prime, if you know what I mean.”
Abby wasn’t sure she did, but she knew better than to ask. “I don’t want to win by default, Gramms. I want to win because I’m the best person for the job.”
Estelle’s eyes widened. “Everyone from here to Las Vegas knows you care more about this town than a bear loves honey. Even when all your friends flew the coop after college, you came right back here. Not that I agree with your decision, mind you.” Gramms gave her that gentle smile again that made Abby’s heart constrict. “No one here doubts your ability or your loyalty, Abigail. And when you win, it isn’t going to be by default or because your name is Cunningham.”
“Thanks, Gramms.” Abby sweetly smiled back. “But you still aren’t getting any more M&M’s.”
Estelle’s smile faded and she snorted. “Don’t buy the peanut ones anymore. They get in my dentures.”
“Good. Don’t eat them. Now, outta here. The girls are waiting for you.”
Gramms hesitated. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stick around and help you?”
“Nope. I’m just going to putter around a bit. Maybe take a nap before dinner. I made a casserole. Enough for three nights. Later maybe I’ll have time to bake a batch of cookies for your bridge club meeting on Sunday.”
Estelle frowned. “There’s something very wrong with this picture. It’s Friday night. You should be going out.”
Abby gently took her grandmother by the shoulders, faced her toward the door and walked her out of the room. “I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing.”
“Taking care of me?”
Abby grimaced at her grandmother’s weary tone. “Don’t say it like that. You hardly need a baby-sitter. I’m just a homebody, Gramms—I always have been. You know that. Now, go have fun. But don’t stay out too late.”
She hesitated again, and Abby had to give her another nudge before she grabbed her patchwork purse off the hall table. “You know I’ve loved staying with you here in your daddy’s house, don’t you, honey? And how much I’ve treasured our time together?”
Abby reared her head back at her grandmother’s serious tone. “You’re not leaving me and getting married or anything, are you?”
“Oh, good Lord, no.”
Abby had been teasing. Sort of. Gramms could be awfully impulsive at times. “Nothing’s going to change,” Abby assured her, realizing she was probably worried about their time together being upset by Abby’s job. “You’re not losing a granddaughter. Hopefully you’ll be gaining another mayor in the family.”
Oddly, Gramms didn’t look pleased. She merely stood motionless for a long moment, staring back with an uncertainty that made Abby uneasy. “Well, I’d better go. You know how I hate being late.”
“Gramms? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
She pushed open the front door and paused. “Just that I love you. And there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you.”
Despite the lingering summer heat, Abby walked out onto the porch, watched her grandmother climb into her car and waited until the blue sedan had disappeared behind the hedges of pink oleander that lined the end of their driveway.
The feeling that something wasn’t right stayed with her long after she’d returned to her room, selected an outfit, decided on a hairstyle, taken a nap and had some dinner. But it wasn’t until she went into Gramms’s room to get her laundry basket that Abby understood why she’d felt uneasy.
Gramms’s closet was half empty. So were her drawers. On the center of the handmade quilt that covered her bed was an envelope.
Heart pounding, Abby lunged for it.
She tore half the note along with the envelope and had to piece it together. When the message became clear, Abby let out a shriek that shook half of Bingo.
2
IT HAD ONLY BEEN AN HOUR since Max stepped off the Bennett family’s private plane and onto Nevada soil and already he hated Bingo and everything associated with it. The desert was not his idea of a good time. It was hot, dusty and he didn’t give a damn what the pilot said, Max knew he saw a friggin’ scorpion. So what that they’d still been forty feet from the ground. A scorpion was pretty damn hard to miss.
From the back seat of the hired car, Max eyed the passing landscape with disdain and suspicion. Scorpion or not, he had no use for anything smaller than a kitten that had four or more legs. He shook his head. How could Aunt Lily have left Boston for this place?
Of course Boston didn’t have legal brothels.
He smiled, thinking of the events of the past twenty-four hours. The Bennetts had gone bonkers over Aunt Lily’s bequest. Normally when he asked for use of the family plane, he’d get a lecture. Not this time. His parents had coughed it up so fast it was a joke. They wanted him to hurry and wash his hands of the place. He’d really have hated telling them that he was thinking about keeping it to supplement his trust fund. So he hadn’t.
“How much longer before we get there?” Max asked the driver, and like the two other times he’d asked, the man sighed.
“About fifteen minutes.” The man muttered something under his breath, then added, “Don’t they teach you boys how to tell time back east?”
At the man’s insolence, Max gave a startled laugh. “Yeah. They even teach us manners. What’s your name?”
“Herbert Hanson.” The man shook his head and from under the battered tan cowboy hat he wore, his black eyes met Max’s in the rearview mirror. “You must be one hardheaded son-of-a-gun.”
Max snorted. “I’d ask how you arrived at that conclusion except I have a feeling that’s unnecessary.”
“If they taught you manners, you weren’t listening too good. I introduced myself to you when I picked you up, son. But you were too busy shooting your mouth off about how you’d ordered a Lincoln Town Car.”
Very few people could render Max speechless. Herbert Hanson’s brassy dressing-down had him dumbstruck.
“I’m sure you’re used to getting what you want,” Hanson continued, “but out here in Bingo, folks are plumb grateful to get what they need. This old Caddy will get you there safe and sound,” he winked into the rearview mirror, taking some of the sting out of his words, “in the next thirteen minutes. You can count on that.”
A dozen sarcastic remarks flew through Max’s head, including one that would make old Herbert think twice about getting a tip. But the man had hit a nerve and Max decided to leave it alone.
He stared out the window in silence, wondering how long it would take to get his business wrapped up and get the hell out of Dodge. There was only one motel in town and he certainly wasn’t expecting much there. He’d had a difficult enough time getting picked up. There was no limo service in Bingo. Herbert was the motel manager’s uncle and he’d agreed to run Max around to supplement his retirement income.
A good reason not to tick off the old guy, or Max could end up without wheels. And scorpion territory was not the place to be hotfooting it around.
Of course he could always stay at the Swinging R Ranch. After all, he owned the place. The thought made him cringe, and he had to remind himself that brothels were legal here in certain parts of Nevada. Hell, it probably boosted the local economy, supplied jobs, kept women off welfare, provided college tuition.
He shoved a hand through his hair. None of this reasoning made him feel better. He’d never been forced to evaluate his position on prostitution, legal or not, and he sure as hell didn’t want to do it now. Not when he was almost broke. Still, the idea that a woman ever had to make a living on her back made him squirm. Great time for him to develop a conscience.
On the near horizon, the flat dusty terrain gave way to a handful of buildings. He glanced at his watch. That had to be Bingo. Taylor had warned him the town was small, but he’d figured a population of nine-hundred-and-two required more than a ghost town.
From behind his dark glasses, he squinted at the sign coming up on the right. It said, Welcome To Bingo, and below it, Population nine-hundred-and-two. Except the two was crossed out and five was etched in.
“What do you people do? Count cows and horses?” Max asked.
