by Diana Palmer
“Lisa Monroe is sweet,” Ebenezer said. “She’ll love that child to death.”
“She’s like that,” Cy agreed, smiling. “I wish she wasn’t so bullheaded. I went by to see her this morning and found her out in the barn, trying to pull a calf all by herself with her bare hands.”
Ebenezer chuckled. “I won’t turn your hair white by mentioning some of her other exploits, before she got pregnant.”
“This isn’t the first time she’s done something outlandish?”
“Let’s see.” Ebenezer pursed his lips, recalling gossip. “There was the time she stood in the path of a bulldozer that was about to take down the huge live oak in the square that a peace treaty with the Comanche was signed under. Then she chained herself to a cage in the humane society when they were going to put down half a dozen dogs without licenses.” He glanced at Cy. “The Tremayne brothers suddenly developed dog fever and between them, they adopted all six. Then there was the time she picketed the new chain restaurant because they refused to hire immigrants…”
“I get the idea,” Cy murmured dryly.
“We were all surprised when she married Walt. He was a real man’s man, but his job was like a religion to him. He didn’t want anything to tie him down so that he couldn’t advance in the agency. If he’d lived, that baby would have broken up the marriage for sure. Walt said often enough that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted children.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t much of a husband to her, at that. Most of us felt that he married her on the rebound from that model who dropped him. He felt sorry for Lisa when her dad died and she was left all alone. Even after the wedding, he flirted with every pretty woman he saw. Lisa went all quiet and stopped staying home when he was around. He wasn’t around much of that two months they were together, either. He volunteered for the undercover assignment the day they married. That shocked all of us, especially Lisa, and he got killed the same day he was introduced to Lopez.”
“They knew who he was,” Cy guessed.
“Exactly. And it was Walt’s first undercover assignment, to boot. The only reason Rodrigo hasn’t been discovered infiltrating Lopez’s distribution network is that he’s still a Mexican national and he has at least one cousin who’s been with Lopez for years. The cousin would never sell him out.”
“Lucky man,” Cy remarked. “I hope we don’t get him killed.”
“So do I,” Eb said with genuine concern. “Rodrigo’s been in the business for a lot of years and he’s the best undercover man I know. If anybody can help us put Lopez away for good, it’s him. But meanwhile, we have to keep Lisa safe.”
Cy went thoughtful. “She’s a kind soul.”
“Kind and naive,” Eb replied. “People take advantage of her. That baby will wrap her right around its finger when it’s born.”
“I love kids,” Cy said. “I miss mine.”
“Lisa will love hers,” came the quiet reply. “She’ll need a friend, and not only because of Lopez. She can’t run that ranch by herself. Walt was good with horses, and the men respected him. Lisa can’t keep managing those two cowboys who work part-time for her, and she can’t get a foreman because she hasn’t enough capital to pay the going rate. Besides all that, she doesn’t know beans about buying and selling cattle.”
“Didn’t her father teach her?”
“Not him,” Ebenezer chuckled. “He didn’t think women were smart enough to handle such things. He ran the ranch until the day he died. She was kept right out of it until then. Walt proposed to her at her father’s funeral and married her shortly after.”
“She loved her father, I gather.”
“Of course she did, and he loved her. But he was a nineteenth-century man. He would have fit right in after the Civil War.” He shook his head. “That ranch isn’t sol vent. Lisa’s going to lose it eventually. She needs to go ahead and put it on the market and get the best price she can.”
“I might see if she’ll sell to me. I could rent her the house and have my own men work the ranch.”
Ebenezer grinned. “Now, that’s constructive thinking.” He leaned forward, emptying his coffee cup. “As for those so-called beehives, I think we’d better send somebody over to have a quiet look after dark and see if there are really any bees in them.”
“Good idea. Then we can start making plans if it looks like Lopez is sending drugs through here.” Cy got to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime. Watch your back.”
Cy smiled. “I always do. See you.”
When Cy got home, Harley was out in the front yard having an animated conversation with a foreigner in an expensive pickup truck. He turned as Cy drove up in front of the house. He cut off the engine and eyed the newcomer’s vehicle with knowing eyes. Here was an opportunity not only to meet one of Lopez’s executives, but to throw them off the track about him, as well.
“Hey, boss, this is Rico Montoya,” he said with a grin. “He’s our new neighbor with the honey export business. He just dropped by to say hello.”
Sure he did, Cy thought, but he didn’t reply. He got out of the utility vehicle slowly and deliberately favored his left arm as he moved to the pickup truck.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Montoya,” Cy said with a carefully neutral expression. “My men noticed the ware house going up.” He tried to look worried. “I don’t re ally like bees close to my purebred Santa Gerts,” he said without preamble. “I hope you’re going to make sure there aren’t any problems.”
The man’s eyebrows rose, surprised at Cy’s lack of antagonism. Surely the rancher knew who he was and whose orders he was following. Or did he? His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Parks was holding his crippled left arm in his right and he had the look of some one who’d seen one tragedy too many. Lopez had been worried about interference from this rancher, but Montoya was certain there wouldn’t be any. This wasn’t an adversary to worry about. This was a defeated man, de spite his past. He relaxed and smiled at Cy. “You’re very straightforward,” he said with only a trace of an accent. He was wearing a silk suit and his thick hair was not only cut, but styled. There was a slight bulge under his jacket. “You have nothing to fear from our enterprise,” he assured Cy. “We will be meticulous about our operation. Your cattle will be in no danger. I give you my word.”
Cy stared quietly at the other man and nodded, as if convinced. Near him, Harley was gaping at the lack of antagonism that Mr. Parks showed to most visitors. It wasn’t like him to favor that burned arm, either.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Parks,” Montoya said with a grin. “I hope that we will be good neighbors.”
“Thank you for taking the time to stop by and introduce yourself,” Cy said with a noticeable lack of animation. He got a firmer grip on his injured arm. “We don’t get many visitors.”
“It was my pleasure. Good day, señor.” Montoya smiled again, this time with faint contempt, and pulled his truck out of the driveway. Cy watched him go, arrow-straight, his mouth making a firm line in his lean, taut face.
“Mr. Parks, you are the oddest man I know,” Harley said, shaking his head. “You weren’t yourself at all.”
Cy turned to him. “Who do you think that was?”
“Why, our new neighbor,” Harley said carelessly. “Nice of him to come over and say howdy,” he added with a scowl. “Your arm bothering you?”
“Not in the least,” Cy said, both hands on his lean hips as he studied the younger man. “What did you notice about our new hardworking neighbor?”
The question surprised Harley. “Well, he was Latin. He had a bit of an accent. And he was real pleasant…”
“He was wearing a silk suit and a Rolex watch,” he said flatly. “The truck he was driving is next year’s model, custom. He was wearing boots that cost more than my new yearling bull. And you think he makes that kind of money selling honey, do you?”
Harley’s eyes widened. Once in a while, his boss threw him a curve. This was a damned big curve. He fr
owned. How had Cy noticed so much about a man he only saw for a minute or two when Harley, a trained commando he reminded himself, hadn’t?
“That was one of Lopez’s executives,” Cy told the younger man flatly, nodding at his wide-eyed realization. “I want you to go work cattle over near that warehouse and take a pair of binoculars with you,” Cy told his foreman. “Don’t be obvious, but see who comes and goes for a few days.”
“Sir?”
“You told Eb you wanted to help keep an eye on Lopez’s operation. Here’s your chance.”
“Oh, I see, Mr. Scott told you to send me out there.” Harley grinned from ear to ear. “Sure. I’ll be glad to do it!”
“Just make sure you aren’t caught spying,” Cy told him flatly. “These people are killers. They won’t hesitate if they think they’re being watched deliberately.”
“I can handle myself,” Harley said with faint mockery.
“Yes, I know, you’re professionally trained,” Cy drawled.
The tone made Harley feel uncertain. But he put it down to jealousy and grinned. “I know how to watch people without getting noticed,” he assured his boss. “Does Mr. Scott want tag numbers as well as descriptions of the people?”
“Yes, and pay attention to the trucks that come in.”
“Okay.”
Cy wanted to add more to those instructions, but he didn’t want Harley to know everything. “Be sure you keep your mouth shut about this,” he told Harley. “Eb won’t like it if he thinks you’re gossiping.”
“I wouldn’t want him mad at me!” Harley chuckled. “I’ll keep quiet.”
“See that you do.”
Cy walked back to the house with a quick, sharp stride that reflected his anger. He’d just met a new link in Lopez’s chain, probably one of his divisional managers. It would work to his advantage that he had just convinced the drug lord’s associate that he was a crippled rancher with no interest in the bees except where his cattle were concerned.
Lopez thought he had it made with his “honey business” as a blind, here in little Jacobsville. But Cy was going to put a stick in his spokes, and the sooner, the better.
Chapter Three
Harley drove the little red car with its new water pump back to Lisa Monroe early the next morning, with Cy following in his big utility vehicle.
Lisa was overjoyed at the way the engine sounded as Harley pulled up at the front porch and revved it before he turned it off.
“It hasn’t ever sounded that good before!” she enthused. “Thank you, Harley!”
“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” he said, making her a mock bow with his hat held against his chest. “But I didn’t fix it. I’m just delivering it.”
She laughed and Cy glowered. She and Harley were close in age, or he missed his bet. The man, despite his bravado, was honest and hardworking and basically kind. Cy wondered how old Lisa was. Well, at least she was young enough to find Harley’s company stimulating—probably much more stimulating than the company of an aging mercenary who was half-crippled and cynical….
“Won’t you both come in for a cup of coffee?” she invited.
“I will,” Cy told her. “Harley, go take a look around and see what needs doing. Then find Lisa’s part-time help and get them on it.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Parks,” he said with a wicked grin and turned to follow the tersely given instructions.
Lisa gave Cy a speaking look.
“Go ahead,” he invited. “Tell me that chores are get ting done by people other than you. Tell me that the south pasture is being hayed before the predicted rains day after tomorrow. Tell me,” he added mockingly, “that you’ve got your new calf crop vaccinated and tagged.”
She got redder by the minute. She didn’t want to tell him that she couldn’t get the men to take her suggestions seriously. They were throwbacks to another age, most of them were twice her age, and the madder she got, the more indulgent they became. Once they threatened to quit, they had her over a barrel and she gave up. Hands were thin on the ground this time of year. She could barely afford to pay her employees as it was.
“Harley will get them moving,” he told her.
Her lips compressed and her eyes sparked. She looked outraged.
“I know,” he said helpfully. “It’s a new age. Men and women are equals. You pay their wages and that means they need to do what you say.”
She made a gesture of agreement, still without speaking.
“But if you want people to obey, you have to speak in firm tones and tell them who’s the boss. And it helps,” he added darkly, “if you hire people who aren’t still living in the last ice age!”
“They were all I could find to work part-time,” she muttered.
“Did you go over to the labor office and see who was available?” he asked.
The suggestion hadn’t occurred to her. Probably she’d have found young, able-bodied help there. She could have kicked herself for being so blind.
“No,” she confessed.
He smiled, and that wasn’t a superior smile, either. “You aren’t aggressive enough.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you’re going to hire that type of man, you have to have the whip hand. I’ll teach you.”
“If that means I’ll end up being a local legend like you, I’m not sure I want to learn it,” she replied with a twinkle in her dark eyes.
“Old lady Monroe,” he recited, chuckling, “carries a shotgun and emasculates men in the barn.”
She flushed. “Stop that.”
“Isn’t that a nicer image than sweet little Lisa who hasn’t got the heart to fire a man just because he lies in wait in her bed dead drunk and stinking?”
“Cy!”
He grinned as she curled one hand into a fist. “Much better,” he said. “Now hold that thought when you speak to your lazy hands next time. In fact, don’t smile at them ever again. Be decisive when you speak, and don’t ask, tell. You’ll get better results.”
She had to admit, she wasn’t getting any results at all the way she was. On the other hand, she was still young, and feeling her way through leadership. She wasn’t re ally a drill sergeant type, she had to admit, and the ranch was suffering because of it.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a ranch?” she asked whimsically, and was startled when he replied immediately that he would.
“Oh.” She stared at him, poleaxed.
“I’ll give you the going market price. We’ll get two appraisals and I’ll match the highest one. You can rent the house from me and I’ll manage the cattle. And the cowboys,” he added wryly.
“It’s not in very good shape,” she said honestly, and pushed her glasses back up onto her nose.
“It will be. If you’re willing, I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers tomorrow.”
“I’m very willing. I’ll be happy to sign them. What about the appraisals?”
“I’ll arrange for those. Nothing for you to worry about now.”
“If only my father hadn’t been such a throwback,” she murmured, leading the way into the ramshackle house. “He thought a woman’s place was in the kitchen, period. I’d much rather be working in the garden or doctoring cattle than cooking stuff.”
“Can you cook?”
“Breads and meats and vegetables,” she said. “Not with genius, but it’s mostly edible.”
She poured black coffee into a mug and handed it to him. When she sat down across the table from him, he noticed the dark, deep circles under her eyes.
“You aren’t sleeping much, are you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m still halfway in shock, I guess. Married and widowed and pregnant, and all in less than two months. That would be enough to unsettle most women.”
“I imagine so.” He sipped his coffee. She made the decaf strong and it tasted pretty good. He studied her narrowly. “You haven’t had any more problems at night, have you?”
“None at all, thanks.” She smiled. �
��And thank you for having my car fixed. I guess if people are going to own old cars, they need to be rich or know a lot about mechanics.”
“They do,” he agreed. “But I’ll keep your little tin can on the road.”
“It’s not a tin can,” she said. “It’s a very nice little foreign car with an—” she searched for the right words “—eccentric personality.”
“Runs when it feels like it,” he translated.
She glared at him. “At least I don’t have to have a ladder to get into it.”
He smiled. “Remind me to have a step put on just for you.”
She didn’t reply, but that statement made her feel warm and safe. God knew why. She was certain he wasn’t really going to modify his vehicle just for her. She’d only been in it once.
“Do you like opera?” he asked out of the blue.
She blinked. “Well, yes…”
“Turandot?”
“I like anything Puccini composed. Why?”
“It’s playing in Houston. I thought we might go.”
She pinched her jean-clad leg under the table to see if she was dreaming. It felt like it, but the pain was real. She smiled stupidly. “I’d really like that.” Then her face fell. She moved restlessly and averted her eyes. “Better not, I guess.”
“You don’t have to wear an evening gown to the opera these days,” he said, as if he’d actually read her mind. He smiled when her eyes came up abruptly to meet his. “I’ve seen students go in jeans. I imagine you have a Sunday dress somewhere.”
“I do.” She laughed nervously. “How did you know I was worried about clothes?”
“I read minds,” he mused.
She sighed. “In that case, I’d love to go. Thank you.”
He finished his coffee. “Friday night, then. I’ll go round up Harley and see what he knows about your place.” He got up, hesitating. “Listen, there are some things going on around here. I don’t want to frighten you, but Lopez has men in and around town. I want you to keep your doors locked and be careful about strangers.”