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A tiny smile began to play at the edges of Miranda’s mouth as she seemed to realize that her opponent was of a higher caliber than she’d anticipated. “I inherited the operations lease from your father.”
Jordan kept his expression as blank as possible, watching for Miranda’s reaction to his lack of reaction. Nothing. “Will you be farming?”
“No. I’m looking at creating a satellite guest ranch there.”
Jordan’s pulse spiked and he knew from Miranda’s expression that she’d observed and noted his reaction. One point for her.
“What makes you think you have a right to do anything but farm the place?”
Miranda gave an exaggerated shrug. “Because upon reading the lease, I noticed that it said, ‘operations.’ It didn’t say, ‘farm operations.’ Simply ‘operations.’”
“The lease was written for farming.”
“Then it was written poorly, because it is not exclusive to farming,” Miranda said. “And there’s also that recreational-use clause. I’ll have my lawyer send a copy if you don’t believe me. Should it go to you or...?”
“Emery Anderson.” Who would no doubt confirm what she’d just said, but maybe he could also find a loophole.
“As you wish. And, as you no doubt recall,” she said smoothly, “the lease is for twenty years. There are twelve years left on the contract.”
Jordan focused on the spotless glass coffee table in front of him, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he considered twelve years of battling Miranda. Which was exactly what she was counting on. That and his losing control. If he did, then Miranda would win the first battle—and the big cowboy waiting downstairs would probably feed him the floor. Slowly he raised a steely gaze back up to his former stepmother.
“You understand that you can’t interfere with my operations on the place,” she said.
“And you can’t interfere with my occupancy,” he replied. “You have right to some of the buildings—”
“All of the buildings.”
“Only those south of the east-west fence line. Not the house.”
Miranda’s pale red eyebrows drew together. “Have you been reading the lease contract?” she asked curiously.
“I’m not that out of it or damaged or whatever the hell you think I am. When I found Shae there, I decided to check into things.”
“You were fast.”
“I’ve learned from experience it doesn’t pay to be slow when you’re involved.”
“Would you be interested in selling?” she asked, as if he hadn’t spoken. Jordan had fully expected a buyout offer, but he hadn’t expected it today. He’d figured she’d attempt to drive him out first. “I’ll pay you market value, which might not be as high as you like, but would easily give you enough to buy elsewhere.” She cocked her head, her red hair sliding over her shoulder. “Away from the memories. I recall that you don’t much care for this ranch in its present incarnation and you probably won’t like the High Camp after I get done with it.”
“No.”
“You don’t like the ranch?”
“I’m not selling.”
“Don’t be hasty, Jordan. Think about your future. Don’t let stubbornness cause you to make the wrong decision. It won’t be easy to sell the place, encumbered as it is, if at some point in the future you find you don’t like living there. And if it comes to that—” she gave an elegant shrug “—my offer may not be so generous.”
Jordan got to his feet, glanced around the room, which had at one time held exactly one worn sofa, reloading and fly-tying equipment, and leather tools. There’d been a time he’d associated this room with his dad. No more. The woman had wiped all signs of Hank Bryan out of this house.
Miranda stood and calmly met his eyes. “Think about my offer, Jordan. It makes sense. Staying at the High Camp will only continue to remind you of everything you’ve been so open about despising. You know...the things that have made this ranch a viable operation.” She took a step forward, as if she were going to touch him, and Jordan automatically stepped back. “I can help you find another place. I have the resources.”
His anger began to rise, but he choked it back down. “Thanks,” he said flatly as he turned to go.
“If you change your mind, the offer stands.” He didn’t slow down, gave no indication of having heard her, taking the stairs two at a time and then walking past the bodyguard and receptionist without looking at either one of them.
Oh, yeah. He was certain the offer would stand. And just as certain that he wasn’t taking it. Miranda had won every throwdown between them. She wasn’t winning this one.
“Jordan!”
He stopped on the porch and turned to see Miranda behind him. She must have taken the steps two at a time herself. “What?”
“My lawyer and I will be in contact. Soon. Just so we understand one another. And in the meantime...cooperate with Shae.”
* * *
THE ONLY THING Jordan didn’t buy on his supply list was a chain saw to take care of the tree in the road. He recalled an ancient McCulloch at the ranch—if he could find it, he’d try to get it running. If not, he was fairly certain that Miranda would see to it that the log was removed. After all, she was the operator of this ranch...for now.
When he reached the log, he parked the Subaru a few feet away from it in the middle of the road and then started unloading his purchases, wondering if Shae was going to risk her Audi again tomorrow. She’d obviously reversed all the way back down the road earlier today. He’d seen where she had finally found a spot wide enough to turn around, and he’d also seen the numerous places where the car had slid into the deep ruts. Seeing the marks in the dirt had given him a sense of satisfaction. No one should drive an Audi on a road like this and if they did, they deserved what they got.
So what was he going to do when Shae showed up again?
He figured the first thing he should do was to take off his shirt. She’d been openly shocked when she’d seen the fingers that had been amputated by shrapnel and then burned by the flash of the explosion. The burns continued up his forearm, around his side and onto his back, where the worst scars lay, and the deep-tissue skin grafts were still healing. Remarkably, the majority of his shoulder had been spared, so he had mobility there, and the burns up his face were for the most part superficial. If you could count losing part of his ear as superficial. No grafts had been necessary there, but the damaged skin was red and shiny in places. Ugly.
Shae McArthur didn’t appear to do well with ugly, and he was going to use that to his advantage. He had to concede, though, that she’d made no attempt to hide the fact that she had been staring at his injuries. There were none of the darting glances that he’d come to expect as people attempted to wrap their minds around the extent of his injuries without appearing rude—and a part of Jordan kind of appreciated her openness. At least she was honest. The scars were there and she didn’t pretend they weren’t.
And she didn’t pretend they didn’t bother her, either.
Okay. One point for Shae for honesty.
But he was still taking his shirt off whenever he could.
Jordan unloaded his brand-new cheap tent, the sleeping bag he’d used on his cross-country trek, a box of groceries and his duffel bag of clothes, then proceeded to carry them around the windfall and load them onto the sturdy rubber-wheeled gardening wagon he’d bought. At almost two hundred dollars, it had all but wiped out his cash supply, but there was no way he’d be carrying much weight on his back and he figured the wagon would come in handy around the ranch.
Clyde instantly got the hang of what was going on and jumped up on top of the gear Jordan had piled into the wagon, his small body lurching and swaying when Jordan started pulling. Only a mile. No sweat.
Except that the wagon was heavy. He wasn’t used to the altitude and despite working out as much as his body would allow, he was gasping for air by the time the ranch came into view. The sun was starting to set and he still had a lot to do.
But at least he was alone.
It wasn’t until he’d unloaded everything into a pile that Jordan realized he’d left his pills in the car. He was not going back—it would be a pill-free night. If he didn’t sleep, tough. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to sleepless nights. And if he had a nightmare, the only one he’d disturb was Clyde—who was sticking to him like glue now that it was getting dark. Jordan didn’t know what kind of shape the house was in, and since he didn’t want to share with rodents, he started setting up his tent. If the fabric had been any thinner, it would have qualified as disposable, but it was all he’d been able to afford after the wagon purchase, and if the zipper worked, he could keep the rain off and the mosquitoes at bay.
He and Clyde had shared a couple of hamburgers prior to driving back to the camp, but now he was hungry again. Apparently Montana air was good for him, because food hadn’t been any kind of priority over the past year—just something he needed for survival. Until recently chewing had felt awkward and uncomfortable as the skin on his face healed, so he hadn’t taken much pleasure in food. Now he wished he had another burger. Instead he made do with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich made by the light of a battery-operated lantern.
Feeling ridiculously exhausted after dragging the wagon to the ranch, he laid out his sleeping bag and settled on top of it, letting the sounds of the wilderness lull him. He didn’t expect to sleep that night—not easily, anyway—because sleep was never easy without the meds, but at least he could listen to the sounds of his childhood instead of the traffic on the thoroughfare near his Virginia apartment.
Clyde appeared to prefer the traffic noises. After nervously pacing the tent for at least ten minutes, snuffling the air and trying to see through the nylon at what was causing the fascinating noises outside, the poodle finally turned a few circles and collapsed in a curly heap against Jordan’s side. His eyes remained stubbornly open, though, fixed on the tent door. Jordan reached down to idly ruffle the hair on the poodle’s head, then a few seconds later his hand relaxed on the dog’s warm body.
That was the last thing Jordan remembered.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHAE SPREAD THE packet of eight-by-ten aerial photos on the dining room table, determined to get the general overview she hadn’t gotten that afternoon due to Jordan’s arrival. Each day was precious and she’d lost one, but Miranda had said not to worry. Shae was going to do her best not to.
Except that was impossible.
Finally she picked up her phone and called Mel, who, despite her invitation to Shae to call anytime, did not answer. Study time. Mel was going to make a great lawyer because she had laserlike focus. Well, so did Shae, but somehow organizing marketing events, rodeo-queen competitions and weddings—all of which took an incredible amount of planning and effort—just didn’t generate the same respect as pursuing a law degree did. Shae smirked at herself, lifted her wineglass and took a healthy swallow. Nope. No respect for the wedding planner.
Not even from the groom, who’d said he’d felt secondary to the process more than once. And she had not listened. That had been a mistake.
The phone rang and Shae scooped it up, thinking Mel had taken a break.
“Shae.” Not Mel.
“Miranda?” Shae took a fortifying swig of chardonnay.
“Yes. Would it be possible for us to meet informally? Tonight or tomorrow morning?”
Shae almost choked on the wine. She was being fired. “Tonight?” It was close to ten o’clock.
“I’ve driven in from the ranch to attend to some business, so I’m in town right now.”
“Then why not tonight?” Shae said. Because she wasn’t going to sleep until she knew what the deal was...although she probably wasn’t going to sleep afterward, either. “Would you like to come here?” Home territory. That way she wouldn’t have to drive home while upset. She’d done enough of that recently.
“That would be fine.”
Shae gave Miranda the address, hung up and then collapsed on her sofa, letting her head fall back against the cushions. The phone rang in her hand and Shae raised it to see the caller. Mel.
“How was your first day on the job?” Mel asked cheerfully.
“Not what I expected,” Shae said flatly. “Jordan Bryan showed up.”
“Jordan!”
“Funny thing. Miranda had the same reaction.”
“The last I heard from the grapevine—” meaning her sister, Dani, who kept close tabs on everyone they went to high school with “—he was recovering from his accident in some kind of special care facility.”
“He’s out. He’s back. And he thinks he owns the property I’m working on.” Shae took a couple agitated paces toward the darkened window. “Why didn’t you tell me how seriously he’d been hurt?” She vaguely recalled hearing that Jordan Bryan had been injured in a military accident. Injured. That had been the description, which in her mind had meant broken bones or injuries one healed from. No one had said, “seriously injured” or “heinously injured.” In fact, no one had ever brought the matter up again, that she could recall.
“Honestly, Shae, I thought I had. But you were pretty immersed in other things when it happened, so maybe I didn’t.”
Other things. The wedding, of course.
“How bad is it?” Mel asked softly. “I know that Cole flew back east to see him, but the visit didn’t go well.”
“It’s bad.” She described what she’d seen—his hand, his face. “I don’t know what the rest of him looks like and I don’t know that he’s all there, Mel. Mentally, I mean. He looked pretty out of it.” Which concerned her if she was returning to the property.
“So what happens now?”
“It’s complicated. Miranda’s on her way over to explain it to me now.” And probably to fire me. But if she did, Shae was going to do her best to finagle another shot at her old job.
“Miranda’s coming to your place at this time of night?”
“Yeah. I know. Doesn’t sound good, does it?”
She heard Mel blow out a breath. Answer enough. “Let me know what happens,” Mel said.
“Will you pick up?”
“Yeah. I’ll pick up.”
A soft knock on the door made Shae jump. “Miranda’s here. I’ll talk to you later.” She set the phone on the glass coffee table and crossed the room, heart pounding.
She pasted a smile on her face as she swung the door open. “Miranda. Hi.”
“Shae. Thanks for allowing me to come over.”
Oh, yeah. As if she wouldn’t.
Miranda walked inside, glanced around and gave an approving nod before moving over to the table where Shae had spread the aerial photos.
“Will I need those?” Shae asked, deciding they might as well get to the crux of the matter.
Miranda traced her finger over the photo with the ranch buildings before looking up. “I certainly hope so,” she said and Shae felt a swell of optimism. “But there are issues. That’s why I need to make certain you know exactly what’s going on, so that you can tell me whether or not you want to continue.”
“I signed a contract.”
“And I’ll release you. If you want, that is.”
“Does Jordan own the property?” Shae asked.
“He does.” Miranda met her gaze square on, a touch of challenge in her pale green eyes. “Hank held the land in common tenancy with Jordan, who inherited Hank’s part of the tenancy, meaning the actual land, upon his death. However—” Shae found herself holding her breath, sensing this was a big however “—I inherited Hank’s lease on the property, which allows me to conduct business operations. The guest ranch is a business operation and I plan to proceed with the proposal.”
“Does Jordan know this?”
“He does now.”
“And he’s okay with it?” Which she was going to have one hell of a time believing.
“He doesn’t have much choice.”
Shae exhaled, focusing on the photos. Nothing was ever easy. “Is he leaving, then?”
Miranda slowly shook her head. “Probably not until he understands that I’m serious about developing this property.”
“He can live there.”
“Yes.”
