Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Fox, Roz Denny

  Summer waved a hand. “With the exception of Dane, everyone in this room is family. Or like family,” she corrected herself, noting Gabe’s frown. “And our sheriff—” she nodded at Dane “—has a bona fide interest in Callanton’s newcomers. Especially men who contend they have dealings on my ranch. You fit both descriptions, Mr. Poston.”

  “Gabe, please. I won’t pretend to understand how those statements relate to me. Perhaps after I finish my spiel, you’ll enlighten me. First, let me offer my sympathy for your son’s recent accident. If I weren’t so pressed for time, I’d have delayed my visit and given you a few days to settle him after his hospital stay.” He extracted an expensive gold pen from his pocket and opened a black attaché. “You probably think I should’ve phoned for an appointment. Coltrane could tell you that once I get moving on a case, I’m unstoppable.”

  “Case? You’re a lawyer?” Summer slid to the edge of the chair cushion and hunched her shoulders forward protectively.

  “I’m an attorney, yes. Corporate,” Gabe added, looking quickly around at the stern faces. “I’d better explain my role, I guess, so you all can relax. I represent an organization called Save Our Space. SOS for short. We’re based in Washington, D.C. but are privately funded. SOS is an institute maintained to ensure nationwide preservation of farm and ranch lands that might otherwise disappear.”

  Everyone exchanged surreptitious glances. Summer frowned.

  “I see you aren’t familiar with our work,” Gabe said. “Tracey Jackson’s uncle heads the group. Coltrane Quinn and I, as well as others, work for him.”

  “Coltrane does?” Summer’s jaw developed a tic. “I knew he took a job with me under false pretenses. I’m glad I fired him,” she choked out.

  “You fired Colt?” Gabe’s mouth dropped open. “Well, I hadn’t heard. That’s interesting, since you have him to thank for this generous offer. When he and I met last week, and he laid out his wishes for you and your ranch, Mrs Marsh, I thought he was nuts. I didn’t believe Marley Jones—that’s our boss—would buy into the idea at all. But he did. So without further ado, here’s the proposition.” Gabe handed Summer a packet. Then he donned a pair of gold, wire-rimmed glasses he took from his jacket. The glasses gave him a scholarly look as he thumbed open a copy of Summer’s contract and began explaining it section by section.

  The room remained dead quiet throughout his presentation. When he reached the signature page, Gabe removed his glasses, sat back and picked up his coffee. Silence reigned for all of five seconds. Soon chatter exploded from Audrey, Virgil and Dane. Summer sat as if shell-shocked.

  “Bear with me, young fella,” Virgil said. “I’m not so quick on the uptake these days. If I understood all your legal mumbo jumbo, these SOS folks are giving Summer a cashier’s check to pay off Frank. And another for improvements, or to add to her experimental herd of woolly Belted Galloways? Plus, she gets to live here and do what she’s been doin’ all along, for as long as she’s able? She’ll get to plow all her profits back into the ranch? All she’s gotta do is sign on the dotted line?”

  “The contract also allows her son the same privileges if, in the future, he agrees to abide by SOS rules. Those rules are spelled out on page one of the contract.” Gabe stood. “I don’t expect a signature today. Read it over. Have your own attorney give it a look. I’ve attached a list of other properties we’ve purchased. Most are national parks or wildlife sanctuaries now. The starred ones are ranches that have temporary managers of the type we planned to bring in here, until Colt recommended otherwise.”

  That statement shook Summer out of her stupor. “Coltrane recommended I be left in charge of the Forked Lightning?”

  Gabe laughed as he closed his briefcase. “Yeah. And boy, did that surprise me, since Marley offered to put Colt in charge. The two of us go way back, to our military days. Everyone who knows Colt, knows how badly he wants another ranch where he can raise horses. When he turned down a chance like that, you could’ve flattened me with a toothpick.”

  Gabe hiked a brow, eyeing Summer with interest. “Coltrane sure ripped into me when I insinuated he’d let another woman cast a spell over his good sense. Or maybe you weren’t aware his wife sold his ranch out from under him.”

  Summer clasped the contract to her breast. “I am aware. I owe him an apology. Mr. Poston…Gabe,” she stammered. “I don’t need a day to think this over. I’ll sign right now.” He handed her his pen and she signed all the copies. Giving them back, she said, “There’s one other thing I’d like and I hope you’ll grant, even though it’s evident you think your boss and Coltrane erred in leaving the ranch in my care.”

  “I make no judgments,” Gabe protested. “All I do is carry out the will of the consortium in a legally binding manner. Name your favor, Mrs. Marsh,” he said, removing two bank drafts from his case and handing them to her.

  “Will you tell me where I can find Coltrane? I did him a huge disservice. Accused him of something terrible. I need to set things right with him, or I won’t be able to enjoy this good fortune he’s made possible for me and Rory.”

  “I don’t know where Colt’s gone. I thought he was here. Maybe Tracey knows.” Gabe shrugged into his top-coat and started for the door.

  Virgil’s gravelly voice broke in. “Maybe not. Tracey acted as confounded as me when Colt busted his butt taking the herd to the rail yard, then lit out of here not more than an hour ahead of the latest snow.”

  “Colt helped bring in the last of my steers?” Summer demanded of Virgil.

  “Yep. You mean you didn’t know?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  Gabe turned up his collar and placed a hand on the doorknob. “Marley’s probably sent him on a new assignment. I’ll ask the boss if it’s okay to give you Colt’s cell phone number.”

  “I have that in my office. Apologizing is something I prefer doing face-to-face.”

  “I admire you for that, ma’am.” Gabe jerked open the door. The wind muffled his promise to determine Colt’s whereabouts and to call her once he did.

  After Gabe drove away, talk escalated to a happy crescendo among those who remained. Her friends reveled in Summer’s good luck, until Dane Morse finally set aside his mug and collected his ten-gallon hat. “So, we have one less stranger as a suspect in Rory’s kidnapping. I’m calling it what it was, Summer. My next move is to pay Jill Gardner a visit—and then locate this joker, Weston, the guy named in the fax. I recommend you hold off giving that check to Frank until I determine if he’s mixed up in Rory’s ordeal.”

  Summer trailed him to the door. “I know Frank’s weak, Dane. He might boast out of turn and cheat on his marriage. Or even bribe my wranglers to leave. He probably ran off my bull, or had it done. I still don’t think he’d do anything potentially harmful to his son.”

  “I hope you’re right. Thanks for the coffee, Audrey. I’ll be in touch, Summer. Oh, and I’ll keep your news under wraps for the time being. I’d give a week’s pay to see Frank’s face when you present him with that check, though.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Summer produced the requisite smile, wishing she could get as excited over her good fortune as the others had. She was more intent on clearing the air with Coltrane, if that was still possible. In hindsight, it was easier to understand why nothing in her heart had felt right for the past two days. Nothing, not since she’d lashed out blindly and ordered Colt off the Forked Lightning.

  THREE DAYS AFTER Gabe Poston had changed her life for the better with his shocking offer, Summer took her seat in a commuter plane bound for Boise.

  Rory, while claiming he felt good as new, hadn’t yet returned to school. It was Summer’s decision to keep him out until the following week. Until the furor died down. Dane had arrested Jill Gardner and her former real estate partner—the man responsible for kidnapping Rory. Max Weston, it turned out, had been bunking in the cabin. Jill knew of the place because Frank had made it their love nest. And now Jill was double-dealing him.

&n
bsp; Once that came out, Summer had few qualms about making a public show of paying Frank off while he held court, as usual, at White’s Bar. In front of the towns-people—including Dane—she magnanimously offered to maintain a line of communication for Rory’s sake—on her terms, however.

  “The hell you say!” Frank replied. “You’ve squelched my chance for a management job with Ed Adams. I’ve got the funds now to shake the dust of this two-bit dump. I’m out of here. I’ll send Rory postcards from London or Paris or maybe Singapore. You find a way to tell him there won’t be any more cowshit on these boots. I won’t even wear boots again if I can help it.”

  Almost before anyone could blink, Frank had snapped up his 3.7 million dollar cashier’s check, half of which would go to Uncle Sam, and swept from the room. As far as Summer knew, he’d left town that afternoon—leaving her to break the news to their son.

  “I don’t care,” Rory admitted after a painful pause. “I want Colt to came back. He showed me how to do cowboy stuff. All Daddy did was buy me ice cream one time. Mostly when he came around, he said bad stuff about the ranch and…and you. I don’t wanna be like him, Mama. I wanna be like Colt.”

  That proclamation, as much as Summer’s need to apologize, prompted her to get on this Boise flight. Shortly after Gabe phoned with the information that Colt had returned to his condo in Boise for a week or so, until Tracey’s uncle sent him out to study another endangered ranch, Summer impulsively decided to go see him. In the back of her mind hovered a plan to beg his forgiveness on bended knee…and an invitation to return to the Forked Lightning as her business partner. Or more.

  Deep in Summer’s subconscious burned a hope, a dream, a fantasy—that Coltrane would accept, and that he’d want a personal as well as a working relationship.

  Flying made Summer extremely nervous. That niggling hope for more made the butterflies in her stomach whirl madly.

  Her plane, twice delayed, landed in Boise late that evening. Tracey had drawn a rudimentary map to Coltrane’s condo. The hour and the fact that it had begun to snow hard, threatened her plans for a polished reunion. For any kind of reunion.

  Summer considered turning tail and catching the next flight back to Burns. She’d hoped to arrive early enough to book a room and freshen up before casually dropping in on Colt. It would’ve been easy then to pretend she was in Boise on ranch business. The late hour and the weather thwarted that idea.

  If you don’t go see him right now, you’ll start thinking about what you’re doing, and then you won’t go at all.

  Head up, she marched to the counter and rented a car. Tossing her overnight bag in the trunk, she took a last look at Trace’s map and set out.

  Blowing snow stuck to street signs and it was almost ten before she found the correct street. As she drove slowly by Colt’s building, Summer prayed she wouldn’t see his pickup. But it was parked in plain sight. Lights twinkled from a second-floor window she knew was Colt’s.

  As luck would have it, on her second pass-by a Mercedes pulled out from behind Colt’s pickup, leaving more than enough room for Summer’s rental car. Whipping into the space, she sat there for a few minutes and gave her nerves time to settle.

  Finally, hauling in a deep breath, she swiped on a coating of lip gloss, turned off the engine and made a dash for the main door. A remote part of her brain registered the charm of the well-kept building nestled amid snow-draped trees. She gathered every bit of resolve she possessed and pushed open the lobby door. Shaking snow from her hair, Summer walked up the two flights of stairs.

  Surprisingly, Colt’s door stood ajar.

  Summer rechecked the number Trace had jotted down and stuffed the paper into her pocket. She rapped firmly. Twice.

  The door flew inward, bouncing off a pile of persimmon-colored leather luggage. Summer stared into the face of a gorgeously-attired blonde, whose hair had obviously been done in a salon—and very recently, by the look of each perfect, shimmering strand. The woman wore spiky heels and a black wool suit. Her jacket was buttoned snugly around a narrow waist and full breasts. Her pencil-slim skirt intersected long, shapely legs at mid-thigh. Brrr. That was all Summer could think.

  While she gaped, the woman returned the favor, taking in Summer’s rumpled appearance, snow-studded cowboy boots, wool jacket and blue jeans. “Who are you?” the blonde demanded rudely, edging the door closed.

  Summer snatched Tracey’s scribbled page from her pocket, responding hesitantly. “I’m…uh…here to see Coltrane Quinn. And you are…?” Summer let the sentence trail.

  “Monica Quinn, Colt’s wife.” Blood-red lips formed a pout as the woman’s eyes narrowed further.

  Summer couldn’t prevent the explosive gasp that emerged from her lungs. She would have turned right then and left had Colt not materialized from the interior of the place.

  “Monica, I thought you’d be—Summer?” His sudden wide smile and exquisite body language indicated he was exceptionally happy to see his newest guest.

  “Colt, please tell your little friend to leave and call back another day.” The woman in the suit tapped an impatient toe. “We have things to discuss.”

  Before he got a word out, Monica again tried to shut the door, which forced Summer to stumble backward over the threshold. “Excuse us, hon, I’ve just blown in from a tedious trip. Frankly, this is a bad time. I only recently discovered my husband didn’t die in a rebel coup years ago. I’m sure you understand we have a lot of unfinished business before we take up where we left off.”

  “Monica, for crying out loud,” Colt exclaimed.

  Summer’s brain pulsed with the overload of information she’d just received. What hit her hardest was knowing that if she didn’t apologize to Colt this instant, she might never get another chance.

  In a move very unlike her, Summer stuck her foot in the rapidly closing door. Muscling in with an arm, she widened the crack significantly, then stepped inside. “I’ll only take a minute.”

  Meeting Colt’s interested brown eyes, Summer blurted, “Two things, Coltrane. I made this trip to tell you I’ll never forgive myself for not trusting you. Jill Gardner and her former real estate partner engineered Rory’s kidnapping. Jill never intended to marry Frank. She just wanted that commission, is all, and apparently thought making off with Rory would force my hand.” Drawing in another breath, she rushed on. “Secondly, I brought you Rory’s invitation to his school holiday show. It’s the one he made specially for you.” She dragged a bent, crayon-colored card out of her purse and pressed it into Colt’s hand.

  “Rory’s recovered?” he asked softly, staring at the stick figures on the card. He assumed they depicted him passing out presents around Summer’s kitchen table. Each stick figure wore a smiley face. Colt felt his stomach knot.

  Not trusting herself to speak, Summer nodded. “Rory’s too young to appreciate the other sacrifice you made. But I know. There are no words in the English language suitable to thank you for…for…” Summer’s voice rose, fell and then broke. “I—I know how much you want a ranch of your own.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” Monica rolled her eyes. “You’ve apologized and said thanks. Colt accepts both. Now vamoose, little cowgirl.”

  Colt cut off Monica’s tirade with a scowl. “Is that all you came this distance to say, Summer?” His eyes and his husky tone held undisguised hope.

  “I, uh, Rory misses you very much. So do Audrey and Virgil. And Tr-Tracey.”

  “And?”

  Summer wasn’t able to contain a heartfelt sigh. “So do I. Miss you,” she whispered. Because the light suddenly leaping in Colt’s dark eyes left room for encouragement, she elected to go for broke. “I…need a partner, Coltrane.”

  “Someone who doesn’t know a woolly Belted Galloway from a woolly mammoth?”

  “Come spring, we’ll plant a pasture near the house with sweet grass. Rory said Morgan horses thrive on sweet grass.”

  “What is going on?” Monica demanded, trying to insinuate herself between
Colt and Summer.

  He extended a stiff arm, deliberately blocking her. “Monica, I already asked you to leave without causing a scene. I know you visited Mossberger when you hit the States last month. You think I wouldn’t hear that you’ve approached my friends, borrowing cash to tide you over until I came back to Boise? I know why you’re here. We all know your slick attorney—the guy who cleaned me out—did the same to you. It’s not me you want, Monica, baby. With you, it’s always been about sucking up to the guy with the most dough.” He looked at her with open contempt. “I’m sure you can do better than a broken-down horseman.”

  Wiping the anger from his face, Colt turned and smiled gently at Summer. “I’m not reading more into your offer than a business transaction. Am I right?”

  “I want you back—on any terms. Just name them.”

  “I’ll come back on any terms. But the one I’d like most has to do with spending my nights with you.”

  “Oh, Colt. I want that, too. I’ve been afraid to dream—”

  Abruptly he pulled Summer into his arms for a kiss.

  Monica’s “Good grief!” broke them apart.

  Colt yanked his jacket off the coatrack. “You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable, Monica. The rent’s paid on this place through the end of next month. You can stay here until then while you get your act together. Find a job in Boise, or do whatever. I couldn’t care less. But I’d advise you to learn to fend for yourself soon.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice verging on the hysterical.

  It was Summer who answered, having regained her confidence. “We’re going where we both belong. Back to the wide open spaces.”

  Colt traced a finger across her smile. “It’s a long drive to Oregon over icy roads. I know a cozy motel about halfway over the pass. The cell phone’s in my pickup if you want to call Audrey and tell her not to expect us until late tomorrow.”

  Monica followed them to the stairs, wailing at Colt. “I wrote you that I was coming back. I really thought you died in South America.”