by AC Arthur
Tyler pushed open a screen door and stepped out to the cemented deck area. Gabriella followed him, looking around at the new surroundings. More dirt packed landscape, outdoor lounge furniture that was a big step up from all the wicker she’d just seen, an open fire pit at the center of the chairs and a large stone grill built into the side wall of the house.
“This is a great space,” she said before stopping at one of the chairs and setting her bag down. “We could open this up a bit. A pergola would look great down that way, with nice thin curtains in a cheerful color. Maybe an archway there, instead of the screen door, to soften the space a bit and alert guests that they’re entering into a new space.”
“Do you eat steak?”
His question shocked her into silence and Gabriella once again looked at her host for the evening. He stood near the grill and did not appear to be the least bit interested in what she had been saying. She took a quick breath and fixed her professional smile in place.
“Ah, yes. I do. Red meat is my favorite, much to my mother’s chagrin. She insists I need to cut back or at the very least go for the leanest cuts of red meat I can find.”
“We breed our own cattle here, in case you didn’t know,” he said. “And we don’t use any antibiotics. We have mostly grain-fed beef, but a few years ago my dad started experimenting with the grass-fed method.”
“I don’t know the difference,” she told him as she walked over to the grill.
He looked so natural standing there, holding the long handled fork. Next to him smoke billowed up from the grill, the delectable scent of cooking meat wafting into the air. He also had vegetables on one side of the grill—zucchini and red peppers. Wrapped in foil she suspected were baked potatoes.
“Most cattle spend the majority of their lives eating grass and other feed such as alfalfa out in pastures. Then they move on to a feedlot for grain finishing. These are called grain-fed. Grass-finished cattle stay on a pasture and alfalfa diet for their entire lives. There are few regions in North America that grow grass all year long, so the majority of grass-finished cattle are shipped from Australia and New Zealand. American organic farmers shelter their cattle in the winter and feed them hay and silage so they’ll be grass-finished all year long. Grass-finished beef is leaner.”
“Then why don’t you raise your cattle that way here?” she asked.
He turned the vegetables over and then went to a table near the grill to pick up a plate.
“Beef cattle typically go to market weighing between 1,000 and 1,250 pounds. Grain-fed cattle put on weight more quickly than grass-fed, so they’re ready for market sooner. Much of that weight is in the form of fat. So while leaner is good, grass-fed cattle won’t have the marbling that makes the finer cuts of beef more tender and juicy.”
“Oh,” she said and watched him move the vegetables and potatoes to a plate.
He had a lean frame, but Gabriella knew that beneath those clothes were rippling muscles. She’d seen them during her Google search of him. Sculpted muscles that had made her reach out and touch her screen because her fingers had tingled with the urge to feel the cuts and bulges personally.
“How do you like your steak?”
She swallowed hard and gave a slight shake of her head to clear those silly, but enticing, thoughts from her mind.
“Well done, please.”
He nodded. “That’s how I like mine. My dad used to say I was doing the ranch a disservice by overcooking the meat he worked so hard to create.”
“My mom says she doesn’t want to eat meat that’s still mooing at her from the plate,” Gabriella added with a chuckle.
He smiled in return. A real smile that she was certain gave his eyes a little glimmer. Her excitement was short-lived as he motioned for her to move to the table.
“Pour the wine and uncover the rolls. I took them out of the oven just before you arrived,” he told her.
Again, she did as he directed, noting that he had gone through a lot to prepare a business dinner. The table was set for two, no candles or flowers, or any type of romantic frills which made sense. Still, there were cloth napkins, silver cutlery and wine glasses, as opposed to paper plates and Styrofoam cups which usually accompanied meals on the grill. She was overthinking this, she knew and she warned herself to stop. By the time Tyler came to the table with the plate of steaks in one hand and the vegetables in the other, Gabriella was sitting and placing her napkin in her lap.
He shocked her once more by bowing his head to say grace before doing anything else. The Bennetts were a blend of Beatriz’s Brazilian heritage and Marvin’s African American lineage. As far as religion went, that just meant that even though Beatriz had been raised Catholic, their family had been raised in a Baptist church, just as Marvin had when he was young. So the blessing of her food before she ate wasn’t foreign, it was, on the other hand, not something she saw frequently when on dates. But this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself.
“Why are you here?” Tyler asked after about three bites of food.
Gabriella had been just finishing another sip of wine. It was an excellent choice, she noted, full-bodied and spicy with a touch of oak.
“This wine is excellent,” she told him as she set her glass down and looked at the wine bottle. “But I don’t think I’ve heard of the vineyard before.”
“It’s local,” he said. “Are you a wine taster as well as an interior designer?”
“No,” she replied. “But I did attend a double wedding at Basset Banks Winery in Napa Valley. While I was there, I took a tour and learned some things about wine. Since then I’ve been tuned in to different pairings and tastes.”
“I’ve heard of Basset Banks,” he said.
“Oh really? Wade Banks married Brynne Donovan and Bailey Donovan married Devlin Bonner. The Donovans are my extended family through marriage. That’s why I was invited. The scenery combined with the food and wine at the reception was glorious.”
“And you still haven’t told me why you’re here,” he said before spearing another chunk of steak with his fork.
“Yes. I did when I came by yesterday,” she told him. “But I can start over. My name is Gabriella Bennett and I work for The Proctor Group. They specialize in the sale of ranches and wineries all over the world. I was hired by Dessie Gwynn to stage the house and resort in preparation for sale.”
He set his fork down slowly as he finished chewing. Then he picked up his glass and took a sip. Gabriella sat back in her chair after speaking and now watched and waited for his response.
“My parents have only been gone for three weeks. Clyde Gwynn was my father’s lawyer for as long as I can remember. He read my father’s will soon after I returned. Ownership of the ranch and resort came to me and my brother, Jagger. To date there has been no decision on whether or not we intend to sell.”
That meant she shouldn’t be here. Disappointed and a little irritated that this key point in the deal hadn’t been hashed out before she flew all the way down here, Gabriella picked up her napkin and dabbed the sides of her mouth. She wiped her fingers and dropped the napkin onto the table.
“Thank you for clearing that up. I will be going now,” she said and moved to stand.
“Wait,” he said and stood as well. “I don’t know why Dessie hired you. To tell the truth there’s a lot going on around here that I don’t know about. But I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
“As I suppose you should. So I will just get out of your way and let you handle that.”
“I feel bad that you came all this way for a job that doesn’t exist,” he said.
“It’s fine. The company paid for the trip and the resort is rather nice. I may just stay another day to relax at the pool.”
She picked up her bag and was heading toward the door when he touched her arm. She stopped immediately and looked down to see his hand on her bare skin. Actually, she was trying to figure out why that particular spot now felt so warm and that weird warmth was easing through her.<
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“I’ll pick up the tab for the resort. Stay as long as you like,” he told her.
He was looking at her intently as if there was something else he wanted to say. It was strange. This whole meeting, dinner, not date, whatever it was had been strange and Gabriella was ready to get back to normal. Actually, she’d been striving to get to that point for the past few months.
“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome,” he told her and walked her through the house once more.
It wasn’t until she was in the car heading down the driveway that Gabriella looked into her rearview mirror. He was standing on the porch, hands thrust in his front pockets, watching her drive away. After a few moments he looked desolate standing there. Alone and confused, she thought as she continued to drive. It was none of her business. She’d stay at the resort for one more day and then she was going home. She’d just have to wait for another opportunity to prove her worth to The Proctor Group.
Chapter 3
Tyler shut down his computer after reading all the email messages he could stand for the moment. His manager needed him to review contracts for international distribution of the last series of fitness videos he’d produced and there were three invitations for him to speak at various fitness conferences for next year. His career was blossoming, taking him in directions he’d never dreamed of. But he couldn’t think about any of that at the moment. His mind was too wrapped up in what happened to his parents, the ranch and now, Gabriella Bennett.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to play out. His parents had planned to grow old at Westwind. They’d also planned to hand it down to their sons—the two who hadn’t worked the ranch at all in their adult life. But someone had altered that plan, someone Tyler wanted to see behind bars. In the meantime, Tyler needed to figure out what was going to happen with the ranch. He couldn’t stay here and run it, not only because he didn’t want to, but also because he had a life in L.A. He needed to get back to his career.
Gabriella Bennett could help with that. She said she was here to stage the house and the resort for sale. If he let her do her job, they could sell the ranch relatively quickly and Tyler’s life could get back to normal.
The faces staring back at him from the picture sitting on the edge of the desk said otherwise. His parents. They’d loved this ranch and their sons. Waves of guilt washed over Tyler as he recalled how little he and Jagger had given them in return.
Sitting back in the leather desk chair, Tyler finished the bottled water he’d grabbed when he came into his father’s office before the sun was up this morning. Now, blush-tinged light poured through the windows while he sat behind the old elm wood desk he remembered falling and gashing his head against as a child. It was just after seven and he still wanted to get a run in before he was scheduled to meet with the sheriff for an update on the case.
“Excuse me, Mr. West,” a male voice said following a quick knock on the door.
Tyler hadn’t closed the door because he was the only one in the house. So his frown should have been understandable when he looked over to the tall man standing there dressed in worn jeans, an equally as worn plaid shirt and beige vest. He had a dark brown complexion, broad shoulders and workman’s hands which held his Stetson as he met Tyler’s gaze.
“Come in, Stephen,” he replied. “And call me Tyler.”
Stephen Garret was the ranch manager at Westwind. He’d been in that position for two years and according to Clyde, was doing an exemplary job. George had no complaints about him. Tyler wondered if that meant his father had complaints about the previous ranch manager, but hadn’t found a moment to inquire about that as of yet.
“Mornin’, Tyler,” Stephen spoke as he came deeper into the office.
He stopped in front of the desk, between the pair of zebra pattern guest chairs. Tyler had been trying to figure them out since he’d arrived at the ranch, and decided they must have been his mother’s idea. Stephen, didn’t give them a second glance.
“We’ve got a problem,” Stephen continued, his brow crinkling as he stared down at Tyler.
“What type of problem?”
“Down at the chicken coop and goat stalls. Latches were broken on the stalls and the door to the coop was wide open when I first came out. Nevil pulled in about half hour after I did and we’ve spent the last few hours wrangling all the animals back to where they belong. We were gonna fix the latches and get more netting for the coops, but then just on a hunch I walked down to check on the horses. There are some fresh muddy footprints in there and a pair of wire cutters were laying out on the ground. Could’ve picked up that mud from the goat stalls and tracked it all the way down to the equestrian center. It did rain a little last night.”
None of this sounded good. In fact, Tyler thought as he slowly came to a stand, it was, just as Stephen had said—a big problem.
“Did you touch anything?”
“Not a thing,” Stephen assured him. “Guess I was thinking just like you are right now.”
Tyler nodded. “Good. Let’s go have a look.”
Minutes later Tyler and Stephen rode from the main house down to the equestrian center in Stephen’s truck. It was a Westwind issued Jeep, one of their fleet of twelve used by staff when traveling around the twenty-five hundred acre property. They both jumped out of the vehicle and walked through the open doorway. Natural light poured in from outside but Stephen hit the switch to turn on all the interior lights. This was a relatively new structure, built just five years ago. Tyler remembered because his father copied him on all of the ranch’s yearly reports and while Tyler didn’t pay a lot of attention to them, he recalled the photographs of the new equestrian center when it had been christened. They’d always had a few horses on the ranch, but after a while George had thought to bring in more horses and offer riding lessons as well as some breeding services. The structure looked great with beamed wood ceilings, black iron and wood stall enclosures and cement flooring.
On that floor were unmistakable footprints.
“They go all the way to the back and then stop,” Stephen said. “We checked and nobody’s back there, but where the hell did he go?”
“Those back four stalls are empty,” Tyler said. “Did you check them?”
“Nevil did. GG was antsy so I took him out and around a bit to calm him down. I don’t know how long he’d been irritated, but I’m guessing since whoever came waltzing in here.”
“Why would somebody come into the stables and then go out and open the chicken coop and goat stalls? Doesn’t make sense,” Tyler said more out loud than he’d actually thought.
“Not that I can see either. But then, things ain’t been the same around here since your mom and dad died.”
“You sure things were fine before they died, Stephen?” Tyler asked as he kept walking down the center of the dwelling. There were stalls on each side of him, but as they only had eight horses at the moment, they weren’t all full. “I can’t shake this feeling that something’s been brewing here for a while. Like I’m walking into—”
“Into a heap of horse shit!” a voice yelled and followed with a hearty laugh.
Tyler looked down to make sure what was said was just a joke and then turned to see who had come through the front doors of the paddocks.
Jagger.
“What’s going on big brother?” Jagger said as Tyler walked toward where he was standing. “Heard you’re taking the fitness world by storm. Getting ready to launch that new clothing line. You should really hit me up about your marketing though. I can take your brand to the next level.”
In true Jagger fashion the conversation shifted completely to him regardless of the fact that they were standing on their deceased parents’ land.
“Glad you could finally make an appearance,” Tyler said and accepted Jagger’s extended hand for a shake.
“Did you want me to drop everything and fly here from Paris? Come on, man. You know how it
is in the business world. At least you should, considering how good you’re doing.”
Jagger West was shorter than Tyler by two inches. His hair was black, but they both had close cut beards and blue eyes. They were also similarly built, even though Tyler sensed by the way Jagger’s suit hung on him, that he was more on the muscled side than his younger brother.
“We have a situation here, Jagger,” Tyler told him and turned to make the introduction. “This is Stephen Garret. He’s the ranch manager. Stephen, this is my brother Jagger.”
Stephen stepped up and Jagger shook his hand too.
“Are you about to go horse riding?” Jagger asked. “I expected to find you at the house, but I saw the truck stopped here when I was driving up so I pulled over.”
“That’s because something happened here last night,” Tyler said.
“Actually, I think it may have been earlier this morning,” Stephen interrupted. “I was here until around seven last night. I used to stay at the staff barracks, but I got married last month, so my wife and I have a place just fifteen minutes down the road.”
“That’s great,” Tyler said. “Congratulations.”
Jagger shrugged, his easy smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, congrats. Seems like wedding bells are in the air.”
Tyler didn’t get a chance to ask what that meant before they were joined by someone else. A woman, tall—probably near five feet six or seven, without the heels she was wearing—brunette, dark eyes and a pouting mouth that instantly shifted to a smile as she drew closer.
“Tyler, meet Brook Radison. Soon to be Brooke West,” Jagger said.
Brooke extended her left hand to Tyler, turned upward so he had no choice but to notice the large diamond on her ring finger.
“Nice to meet you, Brooke,” Tyler said and shook her hand. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”