Riding along through the open forestland, it was a thrill to listen to the scolding of the blue jays, to spy overhead a gray squirrel leaping from branch to branch. Yellow and white trout lilies and bright pink shooting stars, pale blue cat's ears nodded their delicate heads as the horse's hooves brushed against them as they rode through small meadows and vales before entering the forests once more. They splashed through narrow, crooked creeks that burbled and sang over the rocks, the water clear and cold.
With each stride of her horse, memories came rushing back. Happy memories of her riding with Josh in this same manner, perhaps even along this very trail, crowded her mind. She smiled at Acey's trio of dogs—she and Josh had even had a pair of black-and-white cow dogs that had followed them. Memories, too, of teenage summers spent on horseback as she and her friends prowled this whole area flooded her thoughts. How could she, Shelly wondered, have stayed away for so long? And why had she allowed a silly, aborted love affair to drive her away? She shook her head. The only answer that occurred to her was that she had been a damn fool—and a coward.
As they rode, there was a companionable silence between them. Yet the world was not silent—the creak of leather, the muted thud of their horses' hooves harmonized with the sounds of nature all around them and created a joyous symphony. Some of the sounds Shelly recognized—the soft whistle of mountain quail, the screech of the ever-present blue jay and the chatter of the gray squirrels, but the small mysterious noises and rustles in the brush eluded her. Probably mice and lizards, she thought. She wrinkled her nose. And snakes. Once Acey pulled his horse up short and pointed. A smile on her face, Shelly watched as a doe, big-eyed and dainty, stepped across the trail in front of them. A moment later, the deer was gone, the slight waving of the fir branch the only sign of the animal's passing. Acey's sharp call to the dogs stopped them from chasing after the doe.
They'd been riding for over an hour when they began to climb up one of the hills that formed one flank of the valley through which the Granger right-of-way ran.
Acey halted his horse for a second and glanced back at her. “You talk to that Sawyer fellow lately?” he asked.
Shelly looked surprised and shook her head.
Acey grunted. “Didn't think so.”
Without another word, he turned away and urged his horse up the rocky slope. Once they reached the ridge, the ground flattened out a little, and Shelly pressed forward eagerly. Just beyond the stand of pine trees on the far edge the terrain fell away, tumbling downward in a series of shaley ledges shaggy with manzanita and brush; a few pine and fir and the occasional oak or madrone tree clung tenaciously to the hills surrounding the valley.
Only there was no longer a valley there. Openmouthed, Shelly stared at the serene lake that lapped halfway up the hillsides and covered what once had been a small valley…and the Granger right-of-way.
Jaw set, eyes flashing green fire, she glared at Acey. “You knew about this, didn't you?”
Acey nodded. “Yep. Josh sold the right-of-way to the Ballingers about three, four years ago. Can't remember exactly when. Got a good price for it, too.” He rubbed his chin. “Actually it was downright highway robbery, the damn thing probably wasn't worth more than a few thousand dollars, but Sloan would have paid even more—anything to get you Grangers out of his hair.”
Shelly was stunned to feel hurt, and she was aware of a strong sense of betrayal that Josh hadn't told her, that he hadn't even discussed it with her. She was angry, too, for the same reasons. And she wondered again if she had ever really known her brother. It was becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile the understanding, generous, loving brother she had known all her life with the man who had callously denied his own child. Her mouth twisted. A man who might very well have struck a devil's bargain with a pair of notorious dope dealers. But knowing how Josh had felt about the right-of-way, it was almost easier to believe the other things about him than to believe that he had sold it.
She'd always believed that there was an unhealthy obsession in the Granger family about that damned right-of-way and privately, she'd thought that they should have abandoned their claim to it a long time ago. That Josh had actually sold it to Sloan seemed incredible.
Her face set, she asked, “Do you know what it sold for?”
“Sure do. It was a big secret—Sloan's orders—but Josh couldn't help telling me—he had to tell someone. He got drunk one night and blabbed to me. Said he'd soaked Sloan for around fifty thousand dollars. He was happy as a lizard with a bug on a board. Thought he'd really pulled one over on the Ballingers.” His gaze on the lake, Acey added, “I never told anyone, as much because Josh swore me to secrecy, as the fact that Sloan would have taken a strip off of Josh's hide and then come looking for me. Sloan's a fair man, but he ain't someone I'd cross—I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
Well, that explains the land sale, Shelly thought to herself. The time is about right.
Staring down at the lake once more, she was surprised to feel behind her anger and bewilderment a sense of loss. The right-of-way had been part of her heritage, part of the lore that surrounded the Ballinger/Granger feud. She would be first to admit that they should have sold or given up the right-of-way years ago. They didn't need it, hadn't for decades—just before the turn of the century her great-grandfather had bought a piece of land that connected the Granger land with the Tilda Road, eliminating the need for the right-of-way. Only contrariness and sheer perversity had kept the Grangers tramping across it all these years. She grimaced. Not exactly something to be proud of or to brag about. Uncomfortably she realized that deep inside she was prey to another emotion, not a very nice one at that. Try as she might, she couldn't help feeling resentful that the damned Ballingers had finally gotten their way—and never mind that any fair-minded person would have given up the right-of-way when it was no longer needed. She wasn't feeling very fair-minded at the moment.
She sent one last look at the lake and turned her horse around.
“Where're you going?” Acey called as he fell in behind her.
“Home. I've lost my taste for any more riding right now.”
They rode several minutes in silence, then Acey piped up, “You gonna pout all the way home?”
Shelly laughed reluctantly. “No. It was just a shock. I'll get over it.” And she would, she realized. Maybe it was best that the blasted right-of-way and the source of so much bad feeling over the years was no more. It was gone and in a way, now that she thought about it, she was almost glad. Over her shoulder she asked, “Are you sure of the amount Josh got?”
“Sure as I can be. Don't think Josh lied. But I sure as hell didn't go ask Sloan if he'd let himself be snookered out of fifty thousand dollars.”
Another crime, Shelly thought bitterly, to be laid against the Grangers, and even she would have to agree that it had been criminal. Josh might as well have held up Sloan at gunpoint, she admitted, her sense of fair play digging painfully into her conscience. There was no other honest way to view it. Fifty thousand dollars! She squirmed in her saddle, feeling guilty and ashamed of Josh's greed.
“Thought you said you weren't going to pout,” Acey said, bringing his horse beside hers as the trail widened.
She smiled crookedly at him. “I wasn't, I was just thinking.”
“Well, don't think too much—it ain't healthy.” He flashed her a shrewd look. “It isn't your fault what Josh did—or didn't do.”
Shelly sighed. “You're probably right, I just can't help—”
“Thinking,” Acey finished for her. “And what did I just tell you?”
She laughed, and together they both said, “It ain't healthy!”
Acey studied her expression a moment, then with a gleam in his eyes, he murmured, “It ain't healthy either for a woman your age to be alone. What you need is a man. Nice, young, strong man would keep you smiling all the time.”
Shelly made a face at him. “No, I'm serious,” he said. “You take my widow woman—before I come
along, she was just pining away, lonesome for some red-blooded loving.”
“But now, I suppose, with you in it, her life couldn't be better,” Shelly said dryly.
“Damn straight.”
“Acey, I hate to tell you this, but you're living in the wrong century.”
He looked offended. “I'll have you know that I'm a modern man—I let her buy me dinner now and then.”
“Acey…” she warned.
His features resembling those of a mischievous old monkey beneath his creased and worn cowboy hat, Acey murmured, “As a matter of fact, we're going out to dinner tonight.” He wiggled his gray eyebrows. “Think I'll order oysters.”
Chapter Seven
On Friday, Shelly's belongings from New Orleans arrived. She spent the weekend unpacking, her thoughts only half on what she was doing. She'd find herself stopping in the middle of her tasks, her mind on Josh, Sloan, and the fifty-thousand-dollar right-of-way. She couldn't even think of it anymore as the Granger right-of-way; it was, now and forever, the fifty-thousand-dollar right-of-way. She shook her head. She couldn't believe that Sloan had allowed Josh to take advantage of him that way. Dumping a sweater in the bottom drawer of the dresser in her bedroom, she tried to justify Josh's actions, tried to feel a sense of satisfaction that the Grangers had gotten the last laugh on the Ballingers, but somehow she didn't feel like laughing. What she did feel was guilty and ashamed—and disloyal to the generations of Grangers who had come before her for feeling as she did. It didn't help her conscience much to tell herself that Sloan could have nailed her brother with a glance from those glittering gold eyes of his and laughed in Josh's face. It wasn't, she argued, as if Sloan hadn't had a choice. He could have said no. He should have said no, she thought moodily. Staring blankly at the packing box on the floor, she wondered why Sloan hadn't done just that. And why the hell should it bother her?
When she discovered that she had unpacked and put her coffee mugs in the medicine cabinet, she gave herself a shake and made an effort to pay attention to what she was doing. Fortunately, the boxes were all marked and after some poking around she selected the ones that held mostly clothing and art supplies. Everything else, with Nick's and Acey's help, she'd stashed for the time being in one of the storage sheds out behind the house. Acey didn't hang around. Looking sly, he climbed into his pickup, and said, “Got a hot date. That widow woman sure keeps me busy.”
Shelly and Nick watched him drive off before wandering over to the stout corral near the barn that held a lone occupant: Granger's Ideal Beau. Beau was big, black, and beautiful, every inch a monarch. Leaning on the top rail of the corral, they watched him as he sauntered regally over to them.
“He knows he's really hot stuff, doesn't he?” Shelly said with a smile.
“He's got a right,” Nick said. “Beau's one of the best bulls Granger's ever bred—or would have been if Josh had used him to his full potential. It's a damn shame he never bred him like he should have.”
“Well, we're certainly not going to make that mistake, are we, partner?” Shelly teased.
Nick shot her an uncertain look. “Are you sure you still want to be partners? I mean, you could make it on your own—you don't really need me.” He grimaced. “Actually, I need you a whole lot more than you need me.”
Shelly laid a hand on his arm. “Nick, stop that. We've discussed this subject countless times in the last few weeks. I want this partnership. We need each other. I can't do it alone. I need your help.” She grinned at him. “I really do need your young healthy muscles.”
He smiled crookedly. “I know. And I know all the arguments why it's such a good deal for both of us. I know we both benefit and that pooling our resources only makes sense, it's just that…” He stopped and looked embarrassed.
“It's just what?” Shelly asked softly.
“It's just that I don't want you offering me a good deal because you feel sorry for me…or guilty…or something stupid like that,” he said unhappily.
She smacked him lightly on the head. “Now that would be stupid,” she said with exasperation. “I'm doing this because it makes sense. I'm not going to kid you, Nick—un-less we can make this thing work, there's a good chance I'll lose the ranch. Literally. Except for the land, Josh depleted most of the Granger assets—I have to come up with a way to make it pay. I told you when I first broached the idea of a partnership, that we've got the land, Beau, your herd and, I think, I hope, enough money to get us started.” She shook him slightly. “You're not looking at a rich little girl playing at raising cattle to amuse herself. I have to make it work, and I can't do it alone. I need you. And I don't feel one damn bit guilty about asking you to share my leaky ship either. We either bail out of this mess or we sink…together.”
Nick's lips twitched. “When you put it that way, I guess all I can say is thanks.”
“You're welcome. Although whether you'll be thanking me in six months remains to be seen.”
Nick flung a friendly arm around her shoulders. Nodding in Beau's direction, he said, “Don't worry. We'll make it. With Beau as our herd sire, hell, we're halfway there already.”
“He really is a great bull, isn't he?”
Nick nodded. “More importantly, without him, Granger Cattle Company would be screwed. Thank God, Josh didn't sell him. He's our future.”
By Monday the bulk of her clothes were stowed in her bedroom and the art supplies had been lugged up the stairs to the huge unfurnished room on the third floor. The area resembled a tower and like so many things these days, moving her belongings into it had been a bittersweet experience. Maria had shown her the incredible eight-sided room weeks ago, when she had first arrived, and had innocently knifed her in the heart when she'd said, “Josh mentioned once during construction of the house that if you ever came home again, you would need a place to paint. It even has an outside deck—I think now that he planned it for you.”
A lump the size of Texas in her throat, Shelly had to agree. It was the perfect artist's studio, flooded with natural light from the skylights placed along the soaring, open-beamed ceiling and the tall windows that were interspersed throughout the room. She grinned when she spied the small glass-fronted woodstove in one corner. Josh and his fireplaces—how he had loved them, but she imagined that on rainy winter days, she might herself love the sight of a cheerful fire burning in the stove. Hauling the wood upstairs, she decided wryly, might take some of the pleasure out of it.
Stacking the last of her canvasses against one wall that Monday afternoon, she glanced around the room, thinking again that Josh couldn't have created a space that would have pleased her more.
The room had been thoughtfully planned, giving her just what she needed, privacy, space, views, light, even cupboards, some countertops, one with a sink in the middle of it, and closets for her supplies. Her eyes lit on the door at the far end of the big open room, and she smiled. Practical Josh—he'd even had a small utilitarian bathroom with a shower installed.
Despite its size and lack of furnishings, it was a welcoming room. The oak floors gleamed warmly in the morning light that poured in from the many windows, the scent of coffee from her coffeemaker on the counter wafted through the air, adding to the sense of welcome. A moment later, mug of coffee in hand, Shelly wandered around the room, touching things, familiarizing herself with her new domain.
A couple of easels had been set up near a pair of windows that overlooked the valley and the green-and-red-plaid couch she'd pilfered from Josh's office sat in lonely splendor in the middle of the big room. Protesting and swearing, Nick had helped her muscle it up the stairs last night. She'd need to see about some recessed lighting and a mini refrigerator—she wasn't hiking up and down two sets of stairs every time she wanted a cold drink or some real cream in her coffee. She eyed the couch. Maybe she'd splurge on a fake fur rug, too. It'd look great in front of the couch.
Sliding open one of the glass doors that led to the small east-facing deck, Shelly stepped outside. Breathing i
n the cool scent of the woods, she drank her coffee, her thoughts once more sliding to the fifty-thousand-dollar right-of-way. It wasn't her problem, she told herself. And if she were any kind of Granger at all, she'd be dancing with delight at having really stuck it to the Ballingers. Hadn't the two families spent the better part of the last 150 years trying to do just that to each other? And why, she mused, did it all seem so silly to her? Was it because she had moved away so many years ago? Because she hadn't spent the last seventeen years being steeped in the lore and legend of the Granger/ Ballinger feud? She grimaced. If the truth were known, once she had left Oak Valley behind, the last thing she'd wanted to think about had been the Ballingers—especially Sloan.
Shelly closed her eyes, still not wanting to think about Sloan. But it was no use, behind her lids his dark, hard face swam in front of her. It wasn't a face easily forgotten, the rough-hewn features having a memorable attractiveness all their own. When Sloan Ballinger walked into a room, women looked and kept looking; the tough, masculine face with those striking gold eyes and that wide-lipped mouth at once mesmerizing and compelling. It didn't hurt that the body that went with the face was completely and utterly male. Shelly would bet that there wasn't a woman alive whose gaze wouldn't have lingered, even if only for a passing second, on his big, muscular body. Sloan dominated a room just by walking into it, something alive and vital, the promise of something exciting and feral entering with him. Just thinking about him, picturing him walking toward her, that mocking half smile on his lips, sent a flash of warmth spiraling through her, making her remember things she'd sworn to forget.
But Sloan was unforgettable—at least for her, she admitted bleakly. He'd been her first lover and for a precious few months, she'd adored him. To her cost, she'd discovered all too soon that he'd lied to her and betrayed her. She should hate him, some days she did, but to her distress, even when she was certain he was the most loathsome man alive, she still found him fascinating. Which showed just how much of a fool she was! And which, she reminded herself, did not change the fact that he'd paid an outrageous price for the right-of-way. It hadn't been a fair deal. She frowned. Was that why it bothered her? Because it hadn't been a fair deal? Or was it, whispered a sly voice, because taking advantage of Sloan the way Josh had only confirmed the Ballinger opinion that the Grangers were a bunch of thieving, crooked, underhanded bastards. Her mouth twisted. Of course, the Grangers had the same opinion of the Ballingers.
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