Perfecting For Love - A Standalone Novel (A Doctors Romance Love Story) (Burbank Brothers, Book #3)

by Naomi Niles

  "I see." I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't want you to feel like I was abandoning you again, but I've got to go where the work is. And since you were going back to Chicago, I didn't think it mattered."

  "It's okay. I understand," I said – and burst into tears, finally giving into the emotion that was overwhelming me.

  Frank held me tight, patting my back awkwardly as he tried to soothe me. "It'll be okay. You're young, beautiful, smart, and talented as hell. There will be guys lining up around the block to be with you. You'll forget that Colton in no time.

  “And, we'll still see each other. We've got email, texting, and I'll give you my address as soon as I get settled in, we can mail each other Christmas presents and birthday cards."

  "Thanks, Dad, but I don't need anything from you like that. I'm just glad I got to know you, and I don't want to lose you."

  "You won't, sweetheart, not ever again."

  He released me from his embrace, and I wiped at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand.

  "Here, take this." Frank reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and a bunch of things fell out with it, scattering on the ground.

  "Crap!" he muttered and rushed to pick it all up. I crouched on the ground beside him.

  "Let me help. What's this?" I picked up the questionable item and held it between my thumb and forefinger.

  "Hand-rolled cigarettes." He snatched it from my hand and stuck it between his lips. Talking from the side of his mouth, he said "They're cheaper if you roll your own. Don't worry, it's not weed or anything. My father used to hand-roll his cigarettes, and so I do, too."

  "That's something I never would have known about my grandfather if we'd never met," I said with a smile.

  I was starting to feel better from my emotional meltdown, if not a little silly. Talking to Frank helped squelch my embarrassment, and I liked learning about my family history. Mom never talked about it, but Frank loved to, and I enjoyed listening to him.

  I watched as him reached into his other pocket and pulled out a lighter. It was silver metal with a bird etched into the side. He lit his cigarette with it and then tossed it to me.

  "That was your grandfather's, too. About the only thing I got from him when he died. His damn new wife got all the rest. That's why you've got to take what the world owes you when you can. Don't let yourself be blindsided by love because it doesn't always last. Get yourself a good career where you can make your own money and you don't have to rely on anybody else to take care of you.

  “Don't make the same mistakes your mother and I made. No matter how great a guy Colton seems to be, he's still a guy. Take it from me, the sooner you go back to Chicago, the better off you'll be."

  "You think so, but you don't know him like I do. You don't even know me." I took offense to his words, but what he said next softened my heart and changed my mind.

  "I wasn't there for you when you were growing up like I should have been, but let me give you some advice now as a man who knows the harsh realities of life.

  “Go home to Chicago where you belong. This family isn't your family. They're just looking to get everything they can out of you and then they'll toss you aside. They're bonded to each other, and you and I are just strangers who work for them.

  “You have a family and a life in Chicago. Your mother, your internship, your friends, and your art. And, now you have me, too. I'll call and write every week and even visit when I can.

  “Listen to your father and go back home to Chicago where you belong. You won't regret it, but if you stay here, you surely will."

  Chapter Sixteen: Colton

  "Damn it." The numbers on my spreadsheet weren't adding up right again. Try as I might to concentrate, I just kept hitting the wrong keys, and I knew why: Bethany.

  I couldn't keep my mind off her. She was already halfway through painting her final canvas, and it was now just a matter of days before I'd lose her.

  I wasn't a big enough fool to try to maintain a long distance relationship with her. Some guy where she lived was bound to try to romance her, and the thought of trying to go months at a time without being able to kiss those soft lips was pure torture. I had to find a way to convince her to stay, but how?

  As I sat in my office, trying to reconcile the books for the quarter, I wracked my brain, trying to come up with a solution. Thomas said the school had already hired a new art teacher, so that idea was out. Clyde down at the hardware store said he could hire her to paint houses, but that was seasonal work at best and definitely not full time. Most folks around Riverbend painted their own fences and barns and didn't hire the work out. It was odd that Mama had hired an outsider to make the paintings for me and my brothers.

  Hey, that was it, I realized. Maybe I could hire Bethany to keep making paintings here on Hutchinson Ranch. We could sell them as a side-business and share in the profits. I'd suggest the idea to her tonight when we took our walk together after dinner. She was sure to love it.

  Speaking of profits, why weren't these numbers adding up right in my computer? I knew for a fact I'd input all the digits correctly this time because I'd paid careful attention to each one.

  Frank had told me the number of cows we herded from the east pasture. I'd even made him count them three times just to be sure, and he told me the same number every time. The slaughterhouse paid me by the pound for the sellable beef, and with a herd of that size, we should be able to break even, even after the partial loss of the herd before we discovered the theft.

  With the losses stopped, I calculated that we should have enough to make the payment on our loan, pay our employees, and keep the ranch going another season. When I got the check from the slaughterhouse, however, it was much smaller than I’d expected. Each 1,200 pound cow produced an average of 780 pounds of sellable beef, so why was my check equivalent to so much less than that?

  "Are you trying to stiff me?" I barked into the phone with barely contained rage.

  "I might ask you the same thing," Mike Walker, the owner of Walkers Slaughterhouse, growled back at me.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" I was taken aback by his response. Mike was a good guy with a solid reputation in the beef industry. I'd never known him to get into a dispute with anyone.

  "I promised my client a certain amount of Angus beef based on your estimate of how many cattle your boys would be bringing in, and now I look like a damn fool. Why would you short me on an estimate like that?"

  "I didn't. My man counted the same number of cattle three times, but you paid me for far less."

  "I paid you for the exact count that came in my doors. You can see the recorded numbers that came through the turnstile at entry to the plant, plus the recordings on the scales for every aspect of processing. I run a clean business, and nobody accuses me of cheating."

  "I'm sorry, Mike. It's just my numbers aren't adding up. How come the number of cattle that went through your gate is less than the number we had in the field?"

  "Didn't you have a couple of rustlers on your ranch? Gus down at the bar heard it from Mack that Will arrested two of your new employees right on the grounds."

  "Yeah, but this count came after they were thrown in jail, not before."

  "Well, then it sounds to me like you've still got a thief in your midst. Those boys weren't the only two."

  "Thanks, Mike. Sorry for coming across so strong." I hung up the phone with a heavy hand. I knew he was right. I was about to up the phone again to dial William when it started to ring in my hand.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey. You got a minute?" It was William calling me from the Sheriff's office.

  "Yeah, I'm glad you called. We need to talk about something important," I said.

  "Whatever it is can wait. I think you've still got a thief working on the ranch." he said.

  "I know. I just figured out we've lost 82 heads of beef in the past couple of weeks, even after you arrested Jackson and Floyd."

 
; "I've been interrogating those two idiots. They don't have the brains to organize an operation like the one we uncovered, but they refuse to give up the name of the guy in charge of the whole thing. I guess he bought them off pretty good or scared them into keeping silent. Either way, they'd both rather go to prison than make a deal."

  "I'm beginning to think the gate in the fence we found wasn't the only one," I said. "But I had the men check the fence line very carefully, and they didn't find a thing. This is clearly the work of someone who planned very well. They were even able to sneak cows off the ranch after I had Frank count the herd, but before we loaded them onto the truck."

  "Well, I did a complete check on all the men working on the ranch, and I didn't find anything. Forensics came up empty, too. Our only chance now of catching who did it is to find the missing cattle."

  "That's the only chance of saving the ranch, too. Without the income from those missing cows, we are too deep in the red to keep going."

  Will said, "I've got some guys undercover looking to buy beef on the black market, but they haven't had any takers. Whoever our guy is, he's already got a buyer. With the season coming to an end, he might get away clean."

  "So, how do we flush him out now that the herd is gone?" I asked, but Will didn't have an answer.

  The problem nagged at my mind, and I wandered out to the fields where the workers were busy preparing the pasture to be reseeded for next season's herd to graze upon. Once the herd was sent to the slaughterhouse, it was time to get to work preparing for the next one.

  "Have you seen anything suspicious lately?" I asked Mack, one of our oldest and best employees. He could be counted on to handle any situation, no matter how tough, and I trusted him like one of my brothers.

  "Not a thing," he said.

  "Did you ever suspect Jackson and Floyd of steeling cattle?"

  "I knew they were up to something, but I thought it was boozing or gambling. I never would have taken them for thieves."

  I nodded in agreement and turned to Clive. "How about you?"

  "I'd have done something about it if I had. I've worked this ranch most of my life. It'd be a damn shame to see it closed down over some thief."

  "How about you, Frank?" I turned to our newest employee.

  "I knew those two guys were up to something, too. I saw them walking out in the pasture around midnight one night, heading out to a truck with its headlights on low beam."

  "Why didn't you say anything?" I was furious.

  "Well, I'm the new guy on the block. I didn't want to stick my nose where it didn't belong. Besides, they were rough. One of them always carried a knife in his boot. I didn't want to cross him."

  "Is that why you lied about the count on the cattle?" I fired at him.

  "What?" He turned white as a sheet, and I knew I had him.

  "The slaughterhouse records show your count was significantly less than theirs, and I don't think the cattle got lost somewhere between the truck and the slaughterhouse. I think they were never there to begin with. You lied on the count, and I want to know why."

  "No, I didn't!" Frank cried, but it was obvious he was lying.

  "Cut the crap. Just tell me why you did it, or maybe you'd like to tell my brother William."

  "No, don't call the Sherriff. I did it because they made me."

  "Who? Jackson and Floyd?"

  "Yes. They knew Bethany was my daughter, and the big one threatened to slit her throat if I said anything."

  "So, you lied on the count."

  "They told me that if you asked for a count on the herd, I was to give you the number they said. I never even counted the cattle; I just said what they told me to. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been such a coward. I should have told you the truth from the start."

  "They really threatened Bethany?" I was no longer mad at Frank – I was mad at the thieves for saying anything against her.

  "They did. I know I wasn't a good father to her, but I love her. I couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to her. I hope you can understand that."

  "I can." I clasped my hand on his shoulder. "What else haven't you told me?"

  Frank stared down at his shoes for long time, but I wouldn't let up my hand on his shoulder. Finally, he drew a deep breath and said in a shaky voice, "There weren't just two of them. There was a third guy. I recognized him from one of the other ranches, but I don't know his name. We used to drink together at the Hair of the Dog. He met them from the other side of the fence, handed them a bag, then got in the truck and drove away."

  "Would you recognize him in a lineup?"

  "I sure would."

  "Good. Just don't go anywhere until William can bring in some guys for you to look at."

  "I won't. I promise." He sealed the vow with a handshake. I had never liked him that well, but he'd done what he thought was right to protect Bethany, and we now shared a bond in our affection for her.

  Chapter Seventeen: Bethany

  "Go back home to Chicago where you belong. You won't regret it, but if you stay here, you surely will." My father's words echoed in my mind over and over again.

  I loved Colton and staying on the ranch would be paradise. But was my father right? Did they think of me as just as employee that they could use and throw away? Would I grow to resent Colton if I stayed and regret having sacrificed my art career for a fleeting romance?

  I desperately wanted to talk to Colton about it, but he was busy all day in his office, talking on the phone and in meetings. Then William showed up unexpectedly in the middle of the day, and Colton came out of his office to meet him.

  When the two of them headed to the stable, I thought maybe they were both taking an early afternoon off, and Colton and I could finally talk.

  "Not now. He's busy." William was surprisingly rude to me when I walked up to them.

  I looked to Colton to defend my honor, but he just climbed onto Whiskey and said to me, "Can we talk later when I get back? Right now I need to take a ride with Will."

  "I like riding. Would it be okay if I came along?" I said with a coquettish smile, but to my disappointment, Colton guided the quarter horse to walk right past me.

  "Sorry, but this is just between us brothers," he apologized. "I promise to make time for us later."

  I watched as they rode off together, leaving me behind in a cloud of dust. It had been this way for most of the week, with Colton treating me like an inconvenience, instead of his girlfriend. Perhaps my father was right, and I should go home to Chicago as soon as possible.

  I tried to work on my painting, but I just couldn't concentrate. It was supposed to be a pretty country scene of the ranch house with the forest in the distance, but I felt like I'd done the same thing too many times already, so I wiped it out by covering the canvas with white.

  This was supposed to be a piece for Colton. The other four I'd made specifically to cater to the tastes and preferences of each of his brothers, and now Colton was the only one of Margie's sons remaining. I thought I knew him well enough that this would be easy. My creativity failed me, though. I couldn't think of a single idea of what to paint that would represent the ranch, but still be uniquely him.

  "I give up," I sighed and started to pack up my paints.

  Just then, Brett passed by. Even though he knew I was dating his oldest brother, he still followed me around like a puppy and flirted with me constantly. At first it had annoyed me, but over time, I got used to it, and even looked forward to it. I realized that as the baby of the family, Brett was just seeking attention and had learned that hitting on girls was a way to earn a smile.

  Plus, it had the added benefit of boosting my confidence on days when I was feeling homesick. A wink and a compliment from Brett was just what I needed at that moment after being brushed off by Colton at a time when my father's words were weighing heavy on my mind.

  "Hi, Brett," I called out to him.

  "Hey, beautiful," he answered back. This was usually the moment when he dropped whatever work he
was supposed to be doing and came over to lean on my easel, give me a cocky wink, and make some obnoxious comment about how blue my eyes were or how tan my legs. Not today, however; he surprised me by walking past with hurried strides.

  "I was hoping you could help me carry my canvas and easel back to the barn," I called out hastily before he was completely gone.

  Brett paused in his tracks and glanced back at me. "But it's blank."

  "I know. I didn't like what I'd done, so I'm going to start over fresh tomorrow. Maybe a better idea will come to me tonight."

  "That's not very likely," he said, and I blanked at the insult. Brett must have realized how rude that had sounded because he flushed and said, "I mean, your ideas are already good. You're not a bad artist. The museum in Chicago is lucky to have you."

  "Yeah, thanks," I said just to shut him up. With a depressed little sigh, I said, "I'll be going back there soon."

  "That's good," he said. "I have to go meet Colton and William out in the pasture, so I can't help you now. But just leave your stuff there, and I'll put it back in the barn on my way in for dinner."

  "Dinner. I guess I'll go help with the preparations," I said, eager for something to d, and the chance to hang out with Margie.

  She was like the mother I'd always wished Jillian could be: warm and nurturing, and a wonderful cook. In the weeks that I'd been staying on the ranch, I'd learned more about baking pies and preparing vegetables than I'd learned in my past twenty-two years on earth. Her stories were enthralling, and she made me feel like I was really helping her, even though I'm sure I was actually slowing her down.

  "Hi, Margie. How can I help tonight?" I said with a smile as I entered the kitchen. The smell of beef stew simmering on the stove made my mouth salivate, and I began to wash my hands in the sink, eager to begin.

  "You can take the night off from cooking," she said.

  "It's okay, I enjoy helping." I turned my back as I dried my hands on a dishtowel so she wouldn't see the look of disappointment on my face.