Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Fox, Roz Denny

  Larkin spoke, interrupting Summer’s speculation about the helpful stranger. “You were a million miles off. I said, call me if you find a backer. I’ll take a gander at any contract they draw up.”

  “Of course. But don’t hold your breath. Everyone in this neck of the woods is pretty much land-rich and cash-poor, like me. Thanks for being here for me today, Larkin. Dad would be pleased.”

  The old man shrugged off her gratitude. “I didn’t do anything. I’m getting deaf as a post. I’ve tried hearing aids, but those dang things make every little mouse squeak sound like a lion’s roar.”

  Impulsively, Summer hugged him. “You’ve believed in and stood behind the Callans for as long as I can remember. You’re like family. Something I’m very short of, I’m afraid.”

  Larkin shook out a clean white handkerchief and blew his nose. “Why don’t you take back the name Callan, and cut Frank Marsh out of your life forever?”

  “I can’t do that,” she said with a rueful smile. “Rory’s a Marsh and he always will be, regardless of Frank’s and my differences. Our son already feels abandoned by Frank and we’re both still reeling from losing Dad. I may cave on this deal, if for no other reason than to get Frank to pay attention to Rory. Maybe if he gets the money he’s after—”

  “Don’t you dare! I guarantee Bart and Ben will come back to haunt you. To say nothing of old Ben.”

  She laughed, and felt suddenly better. “Point taken, Larkin. If I go down, I’ll go down like a Callan. Fighting to save my land.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  COLT STEPPED OUT OF THE SHOWER and heard his cell phone ringing in the main part of his hotel room. Snatching a towel from the rack, he sprinted out of the bath and dived across the bed to grab the phone from the nightstand. He caught it on the last ring.

  “You must have radar,” he told the gruff-voiced man on the other end of the line. “Either you wake me up at the crack of dawn or you roust me from my shower. You’re running five days for five, Kenyon. So, if I disappear on you, it’s because I’m trying to listen and dress at the same time,” Colt said, reaching into his dresser drawer. “What’s up? Yesterday, you said you’d wait to hear from me.” As he spoke, Colt struggled to drag a pair of briefs over still-wet legs.

  “Sources tell me Ed Adams is calling in a lot of markers. It’s rumored he’s putting together a seven-million-dollar bid on property in Oregon. Marley assumes it’s the Marsh ranch. Can you confirm? And is that the figure we’ve got to beat?”

  “I know there was a court hearing today having to do with the property. I accidentally stumbled upon that information. I can probably get details tonight. If not at dinner, then later in the bar. Frank Marsh’s new lady is out of town. He bellies up to the bar every night to bitch about his ex to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “You’re not hitting the sauce again, are you, Colt?”

  The sudden question went unanswered for a moment.

  “One drink’s my limit these days, Marc. You wouldn’t believe how good I am at nursing a single beer through a long evening. But I understand why you ask, and appreciate your concern. I swear I’ve got my head screwed on straight and my life headed in the right direction now. My goal is to do a good job for the consortium and save enough to buy myself another small spread. And do it before I’m too old to break a green horse,” he added jokingly. “So you’d better believe I’m not squandering my hard-earned cash on booze.”

  “Your word’s good enough for me. God knows, if anyone’s entitled to drown himself in booze, Coltrane, it’s you. Doesn’t mean watching you try was easy on your friends.”

  Colt stopped with his jeans halfway up his hips. Gripping the phone tight, he looked back at his last job as a hostage liberator for a private group of ex-military types. His jungle operation went under, thanks to a rebel coup. Recalling that always made Colt’s throat constrict and his head swim. Mercifully he’d managed to block out the worst of what happened during five years in a stinking, makeshift prison where he ate disgusting things to stay alive. What stood out in his mind, what sent him reeling over the edge after escaping, was the fact that his loving wife had him declared dead for the purpose of dissolving their marriage. Colt discovered later it was a legal proceeding in Idaho. Apparently it had been a simple matter for Monica; she’d convinced a judge that because Colt’s friends had seen him captured by guerilla forces, they all assumed he was dead. As his ex, she was able to liquidate his ranch and horses, lock, stock and barrel. Monica and her crafty lawyer took the proceeds from his ranch and sailed into the sunset. Reportedly they were living the high life in Rio de Janeiro.

  At first, Colt drank to forget. Then he drank hoping to find the courage to go back to South America and confront Monica. It took him six months to discover that drunks were capable only of wallowing in self-pity. His recovery began the day he sobered up enough to get so angry with Monica, he actually recognized she wasn’t worth losing the only thing he had left—his self-respect.

  “You there, Colt?” Marc Kenyon’s voice slid anxiously across the wire.

  “Yeah. I was thinking back. In case I never said thanks to you and Mossberger and Gabe…”

  “Look, none of us wants or needs gussied-up words. Semper fi, man. If we’d drifted off course—jeez, until we all wised up, it could as easily have been you dragging my butt out of a sleazy bar.” He cleared his throat. “We won’t mention this again. Call me when you get the info we need, okay?” The line went dead in Colt’s ear.

  He closed his phone and finished zipping his pants. He felt an odd sense of melancholy as he shrugged into his shirt. There was no doubt his life had taken a detour from the goal he’d once set for himself—to become a top American horse breeder. He’d bought the ranch and married Monica while he was still in the military. When he got out, he’d let Monica convince him that doing a few paramilitary rescues with his ex-marine pals would provide easy money to pay off the ranch.

  Now he counted himself lucky to have found his way out of the darkness into the privately funded consortium known as Save Open Spaces—a group committed to saving threatened rangeland by establishing parks or wildlife sanctuaries. Luckily, his same ex-marine buddies had given up the rescue business following his capture, and created SOS. Traveling around the U.S. looking for large ranches in danger of being gobbled up by money-motivated land grabbers would never be as satisfying to Colt as raising and training Morgan horses. But the job got him out in the fresh air, occasionally on horseback. Sometimes he went for days at a time without wishing Monica to hell and back.

  Not tonight, however. Not until his conversation with Marc conjured up her memory.

  No, it wasn’t fair to blame Marc. This particular ranch deal had regenerated his anger at his ex-wife. Since he’d been so badly betrayed himself, he’d automatically sided with Frank Marsh.

  In fact, until Colt met Summer Marsh this morning and subsequently listened to Myron Holder defend her, he’d planned to work his organization’s deal solely with Frank. Now something held him back and urged him to wait—to listen to the other side. He’d be darned, though, if he knew why he should waste his time.

  Because Frank Marsh comes across as a braggart and a blowhard. And because you discovered there’s a kid to consider.

  The answer echoed inside Colt’s head as he toweled his hair.

  “Well, hell!” Heaving a rough sigh, Colt made up his mind to eat dinner at the café where he’d been told fans of Summer Marsh usually gathered. After eating, he’d mosey over to White’s Bar and Grill and eavesdrop on Frank’s troops again.

  One way or the other, by the time he contacted Marc, Colt wanted to have made a clear-cut decision. Or if the issue needed further investigation, he’d still know how much money the consortium needed in order to snap up the Forked Lightning. Colt intended to save this property from being ripped asunder like the Marsh marriage.

  THE GREEN WILLOW CAFÉ offered good food and a mellow atmosphere. Colt removed his Stetson as he entered. He sto
od there a moment, appreciating the low babble from tabletop fountains placed strategically around the room amid green plants. It didn’t take him long to notice and appreciate the enticing scent of roast beef drifting from the kitchen. Roast beef sure beat downing another run-of-the-mill greasy cheeseburger down the street at White’s.

  A waitress who’d taken his breakfast order earlier in the week greeted Colt warmly. “Booth or table tonight?” she asked, looking him up and down with an admiring glance that wasn’t lost on him. She was an attractive woman. Long legs. Blond hair. Blue eyes. If he was in the market for female companionship, which he wasn’t, he’d have little trouble returning her interest.

  “Booth, if you have one.” Colt wagged a leather portfolio he’d been holding at his side. “It’ll be another working dinner,” he said, hoping to discourage her from getting too friendly.

  “Oh? What kind of work brings you to Callanton?” she queried lightly. “I couldn’t help noticing you in town this past week. On Tuesday I met some friends for happy hour at White’s and we saw you sitting at the bar. Gina, one of my girlfriends, said I should invite you to join us. Another girl said not to, that you were part of Frank Marsh’s group.”

  Colt frowned. He thought he’d been more discreet in his observation of Marsh. Usually he wasn’t so careless. But then, he should’ve figured that any stranger would stand out in a town as small and tight-knit as Callanton.

  “I wasn’t with anyone at White’s,” he said, sliding into the booth the waitress, whose name tag identified her as Megan, had directed him to. “It probably only seemed as if everyone at the bar was one of Marsh’s pals.”

  Megan’s blue eyes widened perceptibly.

  Colt accepted the menu she held out, wondering whether or not Megan represented another view of the warring couple. “Is Frank related to a woman named Summer? I bumped into her this morning at the veterinary clinic. I needed my horse checked out. She brought in a wild bird. An injured eagle.”

  “Doc Holder came in for coffee. He told us about the eagle. Summer used to be married to Frank Marsh. They’re divorced, so I guess technically they aren’t related anymore. Why don’t I give you a minute to look over the menu? Tonight’s specials are listed on the yellow sheet inside.”

  “Uh, thanks. Say,” Colt called as Megan turned away, “did Holder happen to say how the bird’s getting along?”

  The blonde flashed Colt another of her perfect smiles. “Oh, yeah. He said with the proper care she’ll heal and fly again. Which’ll happen, once Summer gets her out to the ranch. Summer’s pure genius when it comes to fixing wild animals.”

  Because Megan seemed to expect further comment, he nodded as if he already knew this was true. “Good. That’s good.” He bent over the menu, conjuring up a vivid memory of Summer Marsh’s strange golden eyes. He’d thought about her eyes several times since they’d parted. In the short time they’d been together, after he’d taken note of their unusual color, Colt had observed how they changed to reflect feelings of anger, wariness and hope.

  Unsettled though he’d been by the chance encounter, he had little problem believing that Summer Marsh possessed an uncanny ability to connect with both humans and animals.

  Wishing he hadn’t broached the subject of Summer Marsh with the waitress, he turned his full attention to the menu. He’d been right about the roast beef. Old-fashioned pot roast was the evening’s special. Colt had no more than given Megan his order, than his eyes were drawn to a flurry of activity at the café’s entrance.

  For a moment he thought his mind was playing tricks. Summer Marsh had suddenly appeared, standing next to the sign that said patrons should wait to be seated. Was he hallucinating, creating an image of the woman he’d been thinking about?

  Colt deliberately shut his eyes, then opened them again. She hadn’t gone away. And she wasn’t alone. A child, a boy Colt guessed to be six or seven years of age, stood with her. The kid wore a too-big cowboy hat that rested on slightly jug ears. Colt grinned. Otherwise, the boy was pretty ordinary. Towheaded and freckle-faced. But the kid’s body language suggested he wasn’t happy to be going out to dinner with his mother.

  Colt couldn’t help recalling himself at the same age. Also an only child, he’d loved eating out. Which fortunately the Quinn family did a lot. His dad followed big-money rodeos, and his mom played jazz piano in night clubs. For tip money, she said. Colt wasn’t very old before he guessed the real reason. If a dinner crowd was especially receptive to her tunes, the establishment threw in a meal for the family. Not only did the food beat rodeo hot dogs as a steady diet, but the various club dining rooms’ meals were far superior to those prepared and eaten in the cramped quarters of the cab-over camper in which the three Quinns lived.

  That was probably why Colt identified, just a little, with Summer Marsh’s son. A boy whose once-stable world had to be in turmoil. Lord, as an adult Colt knew how it felt to have a well-ordered life thrown into disarray; it’d be doubly hard on a kid.

  Mrs. Marsh hadn’t seen him yet. Colt had no idea if she’d recognize him even if they bumped squarely into each other.

  An older waitress, not Megan, greeted Summer’s party, grabbing a pair of menus and offering them a table. Colt strained to hear what was being said. “Summer, hi! Sorry to keep you waiting. There’s a wheat-growers meeting going on in the back room. You and Rory attending it tonight?”

  Summer slid a steadying hand onto the shoulder of her fidgety son. “I probably should, Helen, especially if they’re discussing winter feed prices. I hadn’t intended to go, though. I wasn’t sure how late the hearing would run. I arrived home from Burns to discover that Rory’s teacher had requested an after-school visit. We’ve just come from there. Since I’ve spent virtually my entire day on the road, I decided we might as well eat in town before heading home.”

  “How did the hearing go?” Helen asked as she directed them to the booth right behind Colt.

  “Oh, fine, I guess,” Summer murmured absently. “Larkin Crosley is representing me, bless his heart. If the judge hadn’t been pro-ranch and anti-development, who knows how I’d have fared. Even now, the best that can be said is the court gave me a reprieve.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “I’ve got six months to come up with money to buy Frank out.”

  “Isn’t that good?”

  Summer looked dejected. “There’s always a catch, Helen. The buyout’s based on an inflated price set by Ed Adams and his land-rustlers. He’s willing to pay a little over seven and a half million dollars. To keep the Forked Lightning, I’d have to pay Frank 3.8 million,” she said, her voice cracking at the end.

  “That’s awful,” Helen commiserated. “What on earth are you going to do?”

  Summer didn’t answer. She’d drawn abreast of Colt’s booth, and obviously recognized him, because she stopped abruptly. “Mr., ah…Quinn, isn’t it?” She extended a hand, then stumbled back as Colt rose politely, which crowded her. “That’s correct. And you’re Summer Marsh?”

  Colt knew her name perfectly well, but he’d been thrown off guard when she spoke, as he’d been eavesdropping on her conversation with Helen. What he’d overheard concerning the results of the hearing interested him a great deal.

  Summer met Colt’s unwavering gaze and felt heat stinging her neck and cheeks—which she found surprising. She’d dealt with men in a man’s world almost all her life. Men twice as tough and imposing as the one standing before her now, taking in every tiny detail from her head to her toes…

  “You two know each other?” Helen exclaimed, glancing from one to the other. “Well, isn’t that nice. I hate seeing anyone eat alone.” Without fanfare, the older waitress plunked Summer’s two menus on the table opposite Colt’s coffee mug.

  “I’m Rory,” the boy piped up. “Look, Mama. The man has a hat just like mine.” Rory scrambled to the inside of the booth and laid down his smaller version of Colt’s Stetson. “Are you gonna cowboy for us, Mr. Quinn? All our wranglers, ’cept
me’n my dad, wear dorky straw hats. Daddy says ranch owners wear felt ones.”

  “Rory! Come here. Excuse us, Mr. Quinn. Helen, there’s been a misunderstanding. I met Mr. Quinn for the first time this morning. I wouldn’t dream of horning in on his privacy.”

  “It’s Coltrane, or Colt,” he cut in swiftly. “Please, do join me. Helen’s absolutely right. Eating alone holds little appeal.” The words had scarcely left his lips when Colt groaned inwardly, wondering what on earth had made his tongue run away with him? The notebook he’d shoved beneath his hat sat inches away from Summer Marsh’s precocious son. A pad filled with notations on her ex-husband, and even a few on her.

  Trying not to appear as panicky as he felt, Colt grabbed the binder and hat, and wedged them into the empty space on his bench seat. “There,” he said, almost too exuberantly, “now you have room to spread out.”

  Summer stood there, still looking doubtful, even though Rory bounced up and down on the opposite seat, all the while informing Helen he’d like fried chicken and a glass of milk.

  “Do you want the special, Summer?” Helen dug out her order pad. “Pot roast, loaded with carrots and browned potatoes. Elvin outdid himself tonight.”

  Capitulating with a sigh, Summer gingerly sank into the booth across from the man who’d invaded her thoughts at inopportune times since their chance meeting. “The special sounds great, Helen. And bring me a carafe of coffee. Strong and black,” she added. “It’s been quite a day.”

  Colt let her finish ordering before he turned to Helen. “Megan took my order already. Would you see if you can delay its arrival to match theirs, please? And a carafe of coffee sounds good to me, too.”

  “We aim to please.” Helen tittered, patting her hair in place before scurrying off to the kitchen. Summer realized Helen might have twenty years or more on her, but she was no less bowled over by Coltrane Quinn’s charms.

  Folding her hands on the table, Summer decided not to be impressed, at least until she learned more about the man. After all, she’d been duped by Frank’s seeming charm.