She’d probably never forgive him for that kiss, he thought. And worse, she’d never forgive herself. He grabbed his boots. “We’ll see about that. And by the way, I’m borrowing Maureen for the rest of the trip. This cowboy has walked his last mile.”
* * *
THEY DIDN’T SPEAK again after that. Which was just as well, Freddy thought as she trudged heavily down the trail toward the ranch’s corrals, the wet leather of her boots complaining with every step. Why in heaven’s name had she let him kiss her? They could have eventually forgotten about the incident with the Bag Balm, but a kiss was never forgotten. Especially a kiss like that, one that probed deep into the secret canyons of desire they’d kept hidden from each other until now. She was doomed.
Duane was giving a beginning riding lesson in the main corral when they approached. Two men, a woman and two children turned to stare as Freddy led Mikey over to the large metal watering trough. Duane glanced in their direction, pulled his hat lower over his eyes and continued with the lesson. At least he hadn’t laughed out loud, and for that she decided to give him a bonus at pay time. If her new bosses would allow it, she thought with a wave of bitterness.
She imagined what she must look like. Eager to end this disastrous trail ride, she’d started down the mountain with her clothes and boots still wet. Along the way, she and Mikey had stirred up the dry dust of the trail, which had caked onto her wet clothes and dried, until she probably looked like an adobe version of a cowgirl.
She held Mikey’s reins loosely while he drank. At last, unable to bear the suspense, she flicked a glance back to see if Ry was coming.
He was, slow but sure. Outwardly, he looked better than she did, because he’d at least been riding above the clouds of dust. But the grim set of his mouth told her he wasn’t in as good shape as he looked. He walked Maureen over to the trough and let her drink while he stayed in the saddle. Freddy waited for him to climb down. It wasn’t nice to stand there waiting for his groan of pain when he dismounted, but in her present frame of mind, she no longer cared about nice. Ry didn’t budge.
“Aren’t you getting down?” she said at last, unable to contain her curiosity.
He stared straight ahead. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I think my butt’s welded to the saddle.”
She bit the inside of her lip to control a chuckle. “I see. Want me to get Duane to help you off?” She figured that would light a fire under him.
It did. He wasn’t far wrong about being welded in, though. Moisture, heat and dust had formed something similar to glue between denim and leather. His backside came out of the saddle with a sound like a cow pulling its hoof out of the mud.
Freddy’s laughter broke through. She couldn’t help it. She’d probably be fired before the day was out, anyway. And once she started laughing, she couldn’t stop. She laughed until tears streamed down her mud-caked cheeks.
Ry’s bowlegged hobble as he walked over to her made her laugh even harder.
“Think it’s pretty funny, do you?” he asked.
She nodded, too overcome with giggles to speak.
He stood there, legs spread and hands on his hips while she gasped and tried to regain her composure, only to have a new fit of hysterics overtake her.
Duane rode over to the edge of the corral. “You got a problem over there?” he called.
“I think she’s having a fit,” Ry said. “Any suggestions?”
“Nope. Never seen her get like that.”
Freddy laughed even harder.
“Only one thing for it,” Ry said, coming toward her with his bowlegged swagger.
“Now, Ry,” she said, starting to hiccup as she backed away from him.
“This always works in the movies.”
He was surprisingly quick, considering his condition. She whooped in protest as he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed.
“Put me down!” she screamed, kicking and struggling. But it was too late. Water splashed over her head as he dumped her in the horse trough. After the first shock, it felt surprisingly good and not half as cold as the snow-fed pond. She came up for air slowly and pushed her hair out of her face to find several sets of eyes, including Mikey’s and Maureen’s, focused on her. The guests seemed fascinated, but Duane looked terrified. He’d never seen anyone toss his foreman in the horse trough before, and he obviously expected all hell to break loose.
Then she glanced at Ry, who was regarding her with his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze enigmatic. She wanted to strangle him for making a spectacle of her. She longed to lash out at him for being a bully and a cad. But the cool water had brought her to her senses. A man who would toss her in the horse trough certainly had enough moxie to clinch a deal on the ranch. That meant he would soon hold her fate in the palm of his hand. And staying on the ranch had always been, and continued to be, the most important thing in the world to her.
She met his gaze. “Thanks,” she said sweetly. “I needed that.” Then she climbed out of the trough with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she was a walking waterfall. One boot stayed in the trough and she had to fish it out. She poured the water onto the ground, put the boot on and took the other off to repeat the process. Then she reached for her hat floating on the surface of the water and settled it on her head. Water drizzled down her face as if she were standing in the shower. She blew the drops away. “If you’ll please unsaddle the horses, I’ll go up to the house and change into something dry so I can tend Mikey’s wound.”
“Be glad to,” he said amiably, his blue eyes dancing. There was something deeper burning there, too, something that might have been admiration.
Freddy glanced over to Duane. “Can I borrow your truck?”
“Keys are on the floor,” Duane said, looking totally amazed. “Need any help?”
“Not at the moment.” Back straight and leaving a dribbling trail of water in the dust, she marched over to Duane’s old truck and climbed in.
* * *
EAGER TO CALL Joe Gilardini, Ry put off his Jacuzzi and took a quick shower before changing into khaki slacks and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. As physically miserable as he’d been wearing Curtis’s and Duane’s cowboy garb, he already missed it.
A light snack had been waiting in his room when he’d arrived, probably ordered up by Freddy. She’d apparently had an attitude adjustment since her baptism in the horse trough. Much as he didn’t want a continual fight on his hands, he would miss her fiery belligerence.
He ate his food and rehearsed his pitch for bringing Joe into the partnership. Going by the rough figures Joe had given him on the money in his pension fund, the deal could be finalized with that and with what Ry could raise. Lavette would make things easier all the way around, but Joe was the critical part of the transaction.
Yet Joe hadn’t been willing to commit himself before Ry had left Manhattan. Over drinks at Joe’s favorite bar, the cop had told Ry that yes, he was definitely quitting the force, but no, he wasn’t sure a guest ranch was the place to put his retirement money. All he’d promised was that he’d have exact figures on his pension the next time they talked. No promises, no commitment to invest the pension, but he would have the figures.
So this was it. If Joe wouldn’t go for the deal, Ry would have to start through his list of contacts until he found someone who’d put up the money. And he’d have to do it fast, before Westridge became tired of waiting and accepted Whitlock’s puny offer. In the past twenty-four hours, that possibility had become unacceptable to Ry.
Clearing the tension from his throat, he picked up the receiver of the phone on his bedside table and dialed an outside line. Then he sat on the bed, an antique four-poster, while he punched in Joe’s number. As the exchanges clicked through, he gazed out the window. His room was at the corner of the house, with one window facing the mountains and the other looking out on the wide front porch. Holding the receiver to his ear, he walked over t
o the porch window and leaned against the wall to look out. At the far end of the porch, sitting on one of several old cane-bottomed chairs, was Dexter Grimes, his walker positioned to one side of his chair. Next to him sat Leigh Singleton. A long-haired black-and-white dog rested at their feet, completing the Norman Rockwell portrait.
The line rang, and Joe answered quickly.
“Joe, this is Ry—T. R. McGuinnes. Have you got those figures?”
“Sure.” Joe sounded impatient. “But first tell me what the ranch is like.”
Ry closed his eyes with relief. He had no idea what had changed Joe’s thinking, but from the tone of his voice, the cop was hooked. For the next ten minutes, Ry described the ranch house, the corrals, the horses and the ranch hands, but didn’t discuss the True Love curse. He mentioned the John Wayne Room but omitted anything about spiders and scorpions. He described the reservoir stocked with bass but didn’t add the story of his personal experience with the fish.
“Have you been out riding?” Joe asked.
“Some,” Ry said with a grimace. “There’s a beautiful spot above Rogue Canyon where you can see the whole valley.”
“Sounds great, just great. What’s this guy Freddy Singleton like? Think we can work with him?”
A picture of Freddy coming up out of the horse trough like Venus rising from the sea made Ry smile. “Freddy’s a woman,” he said. Is she ever.
“No joke? Probably one of those leathery old ranch gals, full of vinegar.”
His fingers still remembered the softness of her cheek, and his mouth retained the rich taste of her lips. “She’s full of vinegar, all right. But she’s not what I’d call leathery.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Are you telling me that Freddy the foreman is a babe?”
“I wouldn’t let her hear you say that, if I were you.”
“McGuinnes, you must be the luckiest s.o.b. on the face of the earth. It’s not enough that you’re out there in God’s country. You’ve stumbled on a ranch with a beautiful woman as its foreman. I suppose she’s married, though, probably to the head wrangler or somebody like that.”
“No, the head wrangler is her sister, Leigh.”
There was a short bark of laughter. “You’re putting me on. This is beginning to sound like a fantasy beer commercial.”
“Nope. The Singleton women are very real.”
“I’m calling Lavette. This’ll settle it for him.”
“Look, Joe, the women don’t have anything to do with anything. If we buy this place, we’ll be their employers. We can’t—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, it beats the heck out of dealing with some grizzled old cowpoke, wouldn’t you say?”
Ry thought of all Freddy had put him through and wasn’t so sure. A grizzled old cowpoke would have simplified this deal considerably. “I suppose,” he agreed, mostly to get off the subject. “We have to start putting this offer together if we want to beat out the neighbor who has already made a lowball bid. Can you give me those pension figures now?”
“You bet. Got them right here.” Joe read off the amounts and the method of payment.
Cradling the receiver against his shoulder, Ry scribbled the information on a notepad beside the phone. If they closed the deal in thirty days, Joe would have his pay for unused sick leave and vacation by then. Ry could borrow the rest, with Joe making payments out of his monthly pension checks, but a contribution from the trucker would help a lot in the beginning.
“Have you talked with Lavette recently?” Ry asked.
“Yesterday. The doctors can’t guarantee he’ll be able to continue his trucking career, and the insurance company wants to settle for a lump sum. Personally, I think he should take the money and run. I’ll go see him and fill him in on the ranch details. Maybe that’ll help him get off the dime.”
“Good idea.” Ry walked the length of the telephone cord. “Tell me, why are you so gung ho all of a sudden?”
His question was met with silence.
“Hey, if it’s too personal, forget it. I’m glad you’re on board.”
“It’s my kid,” Joe said, his tone reluctant. “My ex-wife and her new husband are turning him into a pansy.”
Ry struggled to connect this information to Joe’s decision to go in on the ranch. “And...?”
“And I figure if I bring him out to the ranch, I can toughen him up some.”
Ry bit back his laughter. “No doubt. Just turn him over to Freddy Singleton.”
“I mean, he’s not a complete weenie yet. He’s only seven, but I can see where he’s headed and I figure it’s up to me to turn him around.”
Ry decided to play devil’s advocate, to make sure Joe was nailed down tight. “But you wouldn’t have to buy the place. You could just pay for a week or two as a guest.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. If Kyle thinks of me as part owner of the spread, I think I have a better chance.”
The spread. Ry loved it. Joe was nailed down, all right. Welcome to the Ponderosa, Joe Gilardini. “You may have a point.”
“And it’s a good investment, right? We’ll make a lot of money when we sell it?”
“I don’t see how we can lose, Joe.”
7
AFTER RY FINISHED his phone call, he felt restless. He couldn’t start negotiating with the bankers until morning, although he itched to start putting the deal together. He called his lawyer about drawing up a partnership agreement, but he’d left the office and Ry decided not to bother him at home.
By consulting an activities schedule left on his pine dresser, he discovered dinner didn’t begin until six. He had a couple of hours to kill. He walked back into the main room of the ranch house, which was deserted, and surveyed the pool and Jacuzzi. Both were busy. He decided to postpone his soak until evening, when it was more likely nobody would be around.
Then he headed for the front porch, thinking he might take a walk down to the stables and check on Mikey. Everyone else around here drove between the house and the stables, but the distance wasn’t any longer than between his office on Wall Street and Battery Park, where he sometimes walked on his lunch break to enjoy the sweep of the harbor and a view of the Statue of Liberty.
“Mr. McGuinnes,” a woman called.
He turned.
Leigh Singleton still sat on the far end of the porch. Dexter and his walker were gone, but the dog remained, curled across her feet. “Need a lift somewhere?” she asked.
He walked back in her direction. “Not really. I was headed down to the corrals. I can walk that.”
“I’m sure you can,” she said with an easy smile. She wore her honey-colored hair caught back in a clip, as Freddy did. Her faded jeans and work shirt spoke of practicality, but she wore silver hoop earrings decorated with an intricate design. A small turquoise feather dangled from each hoop. And her eyes, golden brown and almond-shaped, seemed exceedingly wise for a woman as young as Leigh. “I would have thought you’d had enough exercise for a while,” she added.
He flushed. “I’m a little tougher than you and your sister give me credit for.”
“Apparently. But if you were hoping to see Freddy down at the corrals, she’s not there. After she doctored Mikey, she rode out to check on one of the stock tanks which seems to be leaking.”
Of course he’d hoped to see Freddy, he admitted to himself. “I wasn’t going down to see her, specifically.”
“I—”
Leigh waved a hand, cutting off his protest. “Any man who spent twenty-four hours with my sister and wasn’t interested in her would have something wrong with him, don’t you think?”
“Depends on whether he’s a masochist.”
She chuckled. “Freddy’s not usually like that. You’ve threatened her very existence. Our very existence, to be exact. Do you blame her for fighting back?”
“I’ll probably feel a lot more charitable when my backside returns to normal.”
“Yet you were headed down to the corrals because you th
ought she might be there, doctoring Mikey.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but the all-knowing look in Leigh’s eyes made him close it again.
“Care to sit a spell, Mr. McGuinnes?”
“Ry,” he said, stepping up on the wooden porch and crossing to the chair next to her.
The dog raised his head, but at a word from Leigh it settled back down. “Ry?” Leigh asked, frowning. “I thought you went by initials. J.R., or TWA, or something.”
“Cute. It’s T.R.”
“I was close. So why the change?”
Then Freddy hadn’t told her everything, he thought, gratified. Of course, Freddy might not want anyone to know all the intimate details of their outing. Unless she was a liar, which he sensed she wasn’t, she’d have to admit he’d kissed her. Brutal honesty would have required her to add that she’d enjoyed it. “Your sister suggested calling me Ry,” he said. “She thought T.R. sounded stuffy.”
“Did she?” Leigh gave him an assessing look. “Sounds as if Freddy is somewhat interested, as well. She doesn’t assign nicknames to people she doesn’t like.”
Ry glanced away, afraid those knowing eyes would read too many things from his expression. “If the deal goes through and my partners and I buy the ranch, you and Freddy will become our employees. She and I both understand the politics of that.”
Leigh chuckled. “Loosen up, Ry. Out here on the ranch, we don’t worry about office politics. People are people. Besides, you don’t strike me as the kind who would fire an employee because a love affair didn’t work out.”
“No, I wouldn’t. But she might quit.”
“She wouldn’t leave the True Love over something like that. But suit yourself. Lord knows, I’m not trying to talk you into anything. I’m glad you decided to take the name she slapped on you, though.”
He shrugged and stretched out his legs. The gesture hurt like hell, but he was working hard to appear nonchalant. “No big deal.” He wished he had on denim and boots. Out here in the West, denim and boots seemed to telegraph nonchalance much faster than khakis and deck shoes. “I’m pretty burned out with the big-city routine. The new name felt right.” He looked over at her. “This ranch feels right.”
The Trailblazer Page 9