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“Sure, we got that,” Freda said, eyeing Cal. She tapped on her order pad for a few seconds. “And you watch out for this one here. He’s got sweet words that’ll have you outta your drawers before you can blink.”
Maggie looked at Cal like he was a cottonmouth curled up on a rock.
Cal gave Freda his patented smile. “Don’t be scaring the little lady just because Punch won’t let you come play with me, querida.”
“If I did play with you, cowboy, you’d have no good reason for looking for any other fun. I have a big playground right here,” she said, smacking her large backside and laughing.
“Wait a sec, I’m here on business, not—” Maggie started.
“Relax, she’s just flirting with me. Did you see Willie and Jeb? Ain’t much to mess with around Coyote Creek.”
Maggie gave a lift of a delicious shoulder. “Okay, so can you give me some information about the Triple J, Mr....”
“Lincoln. Cal Lincoln.”
“As you can tell, I’m not from here.”
“No way,” he joked with a smile.
He saw her relax a little. “I’m from the Northeast actually. Uh, Philadelphia. This is my first time in Texas.”
“Welcome to the Lone Star State.”
“Thank you,” she said with pretty manners. Her eyes were the color of smoky brown topaz. His mama had had a ring with the stone when he was a boy. She dragged it out every time she went to church...which wasn’t much since she’d worked days at the Coyote Creek Motel. She’d loved that damn ring.
For a few seconds they didn’t speak. Freda plopped a huge glass of Diet Coke down in front of Maggie. After a few seconds of neither Maggie nor Cal talking, Freda sighed and went back to her usual spot wiping the counter down. Her ear remained tuned in their direction.
“Are you kin to Old Man Edelman? He croak or something?”
“He passed away last month,” Maggie said, her eyes shadowed with sadness. “He was a good man.”
“You related to him?”
“No. I was his administrative assistant.”
“How’d you end up with his place, then?”
Her expression grew guarded. “People down here sure are nosy.”
“Part of being a Texan. We’re friendly and nosy.” Cal picked up his half-finished coffee and took a sip. It had grown cold so he motioned for Freda to give him a warm-up. She ignored him. “Might as well spill right here and now.”
“Well, if you must know, he grew sick in his later years. I was his assistant, helping him run his day-to-day affairs. When he passed and the will was read, I found out he left the Triple J to me. I expected nothing, of course, since I was an employee. But Mr. Edelman was a good man. His children made a bit of a fuss, but what Bud Edelman wanted he got even in death.”
Everyone in Coyote Creek knew old Bud Edelman had more money than hell had sin. He owned a company that sold ice cream all over the country. The Triple J had been a self-indulgent lark for the old tycoon. He’d shown up every summer for a month and played at being a cowboy before he went back to Pennsylvania and his millions. But the place hadn’t been occupied in over ten years and had been left in the care of Charlie Lowery, an irresponsible drunk.
“That’s quite a story,” Cal said, eyeing this woman who’d flown out to look over the ranch. What in the world had possessed her to come to Coyote Creek? Nothing glamorous about the small Texas town, nothing particularly pretty about it, either. “But why did you come all the way out here?”
She looked at him like he was a moron. Which some would say was accurate but Cal wasn’t admitting to it. “Because I’m a responsible person who can’t ignore something she’s been gifted. I called the town hall to inquire about the property and someone named Millie gave me Mr. Lowery’s name and number. Took me a week to get in touch with him. He told me the place needed a good scrubbing, but there were cows and a horse. He wanted me to wire him money. But I’d rather meet him and view the property in person.”
“If you were Bud’s assistant, how come you didn’t know all that to begin with?”
She looked annoyed at the question. “Mr. Edelman liked to take care of matters with the Triple J himself. My job was to transfer money into the ranch account. He handled everything else.”
“Millie should have given you the number to a good realty company and saved you the trip out here.”
“You’re assuming I’m selling the place?” she asked, placing those plump lips around the straw. He noticed. Gosh damn, did he notice those lips.
“I ain’t assuming nothing. Tell you what. I’ll drive you out to the ranch,” he said. She needed to see what she was getting herself into. He hadn’t been out that way since he’d come home last time, but he knew all the local kids sneaked out there to drink and shoot Coke cans. Someone had mentioned a load of feral cats in the barn, too. Supposedly, Charlie had allowed it to slide into disrepair which was a damn shame because it had once been a nice place.
“I need the keys. Otherwise I could have gone myself, Mr. Lincoln. I do have a navigation system.”
Cal smiled. “Of course you do, but the thing is, some of these Texas roads aren’t on the map.”
“This one is. But I figured it would have a gate or something. Mr. Lowery said he’d bring all the keys and show me around. I’m not sure I could even get on the property without a key.”
Cal smiled. “I guarantee I’ll get you to the front door.”
“I suppose I can follow you in my rental,” she said, like any good city girl who knew better than to climb into a pickup truck with a stranger wearing Wranglers with holes in the knees. Of course his straw hat was new and expensive...not that a girl from Philly would know.
“Sure,” he said, motioning for the check. This time Freda hurried over.
“You paying for her Coke?” she asked, hooking an eyebrow.
“No, here, let me,” Maggie said, reaching for her bag.
Cal plopped a twenty down on the handwritten ticket Freda had ripped off and sat on the chipped Formica. “I always buy pretty ladies a drink.”
Maggie made a frowny face which made her look cute. Still sexy. But cute, too. “Thank you.”
“Keep the change, Freda. I’m going to take Mrs....Miss?”
“Miss,” Maggie conceded.
“Miss Stanton out to the Triple J. Send the sheriff if I ain’t back in two days,” he joked as he grabbed his hat and slid out of the booth.
He was damned glad to know she wasn’t married. Not that it really mattered. She’d take one look at that dump out on Highway 139 and all he’d see was a trail of dust out of Coyote Creek. In fact as soon as his body healed, he’d be hitting the road, too. The day-to-day boredom paired with his mother harping about him getting killed, about him finding something safer to do...about him being too much like his deadbeat father drove him crazy. His cracked ribs were better and the punctured lung had healed, but his shoulder still hurt like a bitch. His agent called every other day wanting to know his progress. PBR and PRCA reps called, too. His sponsors emailed him. Friends texted him. Everyone wanted him back on the tour come August, except for his mother. And maybe the bulls. They’d never liked him much ’cause he could stay on almost half the time.
“Wait,” Maggie said, rising beside him. “Why would someone have to come get us? What are you guys not telling me about this place?”
“No worries, Maggie,” he said, gesturing toward the door before sliding the pill out of his pocket and popping it in his mouth. Only half the dosage. He had to wean himself from the painkillers. “I’m banged up but perfectly capable of looking after you.”
“I don’t need looking after. I’m a grown woman,” she said, quite serious about it.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said, refusing to slide his eyes suggestively down her body like he wanted to. Didn’t want her to think he was a pervert. She looked skittish enough at the thought of following him out to the Triple J.
Freda snapped her fingers. “See? Don’t say I didn’t warn you about this cowboy.”
Maggie shouldered her bag and perched her sunglasses atop her head. Then she gave Freda a wry smile. “I’ll be sure to keep my legs crossed.”
Cal barked a laugh. “I want to see you drive with your legs crossed.”
Maggie let a self-deprecating laugh escape. “Dear Lord, what am I doing?”
“I don’t know,” Cal said, pushing open the door to greet the sunny morning. “But I’m kinda glad you’re doing it with me this morning. I’ve been bored as hell around here.”
2 (#ulink_1b9e321f-0226-5f12-9434-31960387b3a4)
MAGGIE WIPED A sweaty palm against her linen shorts and focused on the hot cowboy’s tailgate, which bumped down the dusty highway at a fast clip. Nothing like a man in worn jeans who drove fast and talked slow. She wondered what other things he did slowly.
Then she swallowed hard and warned her libido that now was not the time to get interested in a man.
Of course, there had been too much of telling herself no over the past several years, which is probably why she’d noticed just how sexy one Mr. Cal Lincoln was. Being the personal and administrative assistant to Herbert “Bud” Edelman, owner of Edelman Enterprises, was a big job, but it was one she did surprisingly well. Growing up the fatherless child of the Edelman estate’s housekeeper had given Maggie a set of valuable skills—she was diplomatic, humble and hardworking. After college, she had planned on taking a position with a law firm, with the idea of applying for law school in the back of her mind, but life had a way of putting a person down where it wanted. Bud had needed her, so she’d taken advantage of the salary and security...and found out she was a damn good administrator. Her competency had allowed an ailing Bud to untie himself from his work and focus on recovering from his debilitating stroke.
But now her mentor was gone.
She glanced over at the box containing Bud’s ashes resting on her floorboard and tried not to tear up.
No time for tears, turkey.
The pickup in front of her slowed. To her left she saw a rusted sign arcing above the entrance to the ranch. From either side, fencing stretched across as far as she could see. Tall grass waved in the ditches and the land rose up so she couldn’t see where the graveled road led. Three rusty Js were woven into the sign. The Triple J had been named after Bud’s three children—James, Julien and Judith. All worthless idiots too busy to visit their father unless they needed money. Which meant they’d come by the estate fairly regularly.
Cal pulled in and put his truck into Park. She pulled in beside him, eyeing the locked gate, and rolled down the window of the rental car.
He climbed out, leaving his pickup running. “Let me look at the lock.”
He moseyed toward the padlock holding a length of chain threaded through the gates. He studied it and then let it drop, clanking against the metal. Then he moseyed back to his truck, opened the lid of a trunk thing in the back and brought out a large pair of bolt cutters. One hard squeeze—which caused a flash of pain across Cal’s face—and the chain fell uselessly to the side.
Turning, he gave her a dimpled grin that made heat shoot into her belly. “Don’t need keys in Texas.”
“So I see,” she said, glancing back at the lock before returning her gaze to the cowboy. Cal wasn’t a big man, but he covered a lot of ground with his broad shoulders and tight ass. He looked like a rodeo queen’s dream with his ambling walk, lazy grin and naughty blue eyes beneath the brim of the cowboy hat.
Cal kicked the two gates open and then gestured. “Ladies first.”
She pulled past the gate and waited for him to climb back into his truck. He shifted into Drive and followed her over the hill and down the path.
Her first impression was that Bud had been right. The Triple J was a piece of heaven on earth with wide, waving pastures, dotted with occasional scrubby brush. Shady trees she couldn’t identify framed a rippling pond, and a picturesque red barn sprawled not far away from several paddocks and a low building that looked like a hall of some sort. Situated to the right was a white farmhouse with a huge porch that sagged, broken windows that yawned and a roof covered by blue tarp signifying a leak. A skin-and-bones nag looked lonely in the far pasture, and when Maggie rolled up next to the house, about eight cats scattered from the yard, reminding her of a drug bust she’d once seen in a bad part of Philly.
Her heart sank.
“Shit,” she whispered as the tiny worm of an idea that she might have been gifted a new future shriveled up.
“Well, this is it,” Cal said, hopping down from his cab and slamming the truck door.
Maggie climbed out, shielding her eyes. “This is not what I expected.”
He surveyed the run-down ranch house. “Never is, is it?”
Truer words were never spoken.
“What’s with all the cats?” she asked.
“Dunno, feral cat problem?”
“Feral cat,” she repeated, walking over to the lonely horse.
“On the bright side, you probably don’t have much of a rat problem,” he said.
“Mmm,” she said, looking over the horse that looked as if it hadn’t been fed in weeks. She lifted a hand to its nose, though she’d only ever touched the nose of a pony at a friend’s birthday when she was eight years old. The horse blew out a gentle breath. “Is this horse malnourished?”
Cal walked to the beast. The horse turned toward him as if it knew he could be trusted. It blew again as he stroked the coat with his strong hands. “Hey, now, old gal, hey.”
His words soothed even her.
“Nah, she’s just old. Ain’t ya, girl?” Cal slapped a hand against the horse’s neck. “Let’s check the barn.”
She turned to the red barn and noted the graffiti scrawled across it. Some very naughty words along with the rendering of a giant penis graced the front. “Nice artwork.”
“Yeah, the kids in town come out here to drink and screw. This old place has probably seen more action than a Reno whorehouse.”
The barn doors had been busted open, so Cal didn’t have to fetch the bolt cutters again. Empty dusty stalls and an old tractor met them. Bags of feed spilled over. Several cats peeked out and she heard mewling kittens somewhere in the dank hay. “This is a mess. What in the hell has this Lowery guy been doing with the money I moved into the ranch accounts each month?”
Cal shrugged. “The animals are alive.”
“You sure? I didn’t see the thirty head of cattle that supposedly roam the ranch.”
“Probably in the back field. Shade trees there and it’ll be plenty hot today,” Cal said, wiping a hand over his brow. The back of his T-shirt already showed dampness.
Maggie didn’t want to show her disappointment in front of the cowboy...if he even was a cowboy. Just because a man wore boots, a hat and Wranglers didn’t mean he was a cowboy. In her limited experience thus far, lots of Texans wore cowboy stuff no matter what their profession. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Sell it. It needs work, but you can get something out of it. I don’t know much about the real estate market, but it’s good acreage.”
Of course, selling the ranch was the smartest option. Wasn’t like she was actually interested in owning a ranch, but the terms of the will made it complicated. If she kept the ranch for five years, the title would be hers. If she sold it, the profit would be split with the Edelman children, with her only getting a fourth of the sale. Maggie’s first thought was to hold on to the property for the required years, but she didn’t have the money needed to both maintain a ranch and support herself in Philadelphia. If it hadn’t been so dilapidated, the money netted from the sale would be plenty to help her start a new life, but as is...
She sucked in a deep breath. “How do I find Mr. Lowery?”
“Try the bars.”
“Which one?”
“All of ’em.”
Great. Bud had been paying a drunk to take care of the place. The old man’s pride and joy, the surprise bequest he’d left her, had been abandoned for a bottle of whiskey.
Piece of heaven her ass.
Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can sell, but I’ll have to fix it first. No one’s going to make an offer on something needing this much work.”
“Sure they will. Sell it ‘as is.’”
