The Countess and the Cowboy

by Linda Wisdom

  Tyler shook his head. "Do you want to tell her more about him or shall I?" he asked Myrna.

  "Let her find out on her own," she advised, walking out of the kitchen. "She's eager to meet with everyone on their terms. She might as well find out it can't always work out her way." She stared pointedly at his open shirt.

  "I guess I better get back out," Tyler edged his way toward the back door. He wanted to escape before Myrna cornered him with some personal questions. The woman was worse than his mother had ever been!

  "Tyler?" Her voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

  "Yeah."

  "I'd hide that shirt if I were you. The men might wonder just as much as I do how you lost all the buttons."

  He cursed under his breath as he slipped out the door. "Good idea."

  LETITIA BUSIED HERSELF gathering up all the paperwork she'd need for the meeting. She only hoped she could put off suffering any more aches and pains until she got back to the ranch. A long hot shower hadn't helped much except show her just how bruised and battered she felt.

  "My whole life has turned around," she murmured, pushing the papers into a manila folder. "Up at dawn, eating probably three times my body weight, having a cowboy drive me crazy." The last lingered on her tongue like the aftereffects of a fine wine and left a smile on her lips. She didn't notice the smile stayed there as she dressed and applied her makeup.

  TYLER DECIDED HE WAS going to drive Letitia to the bank whether she wanted him to or not. He took some time to wash up after he cleaned out the truck.

  "What is she planning to do?" J.T. asked, holding a trash bag open as Tyler swept out empty pop cans and cigarette wrappers. Tyler gazed at the mess, realizing the last time the truck had been cleaned out was the day he'd picked up Letitia at the airport.

  "She thinks she can charm old man Beecham into extending the loan," Tyler gritted.

  The older man chuckled. "That's 'cause she hasn't met him yet. Not even a pretty face like hers will get him to part with money easy. You'd think he owned all of it the way he's so tight with loans."

  “We had to have the vet out four times last month for emergencies. Operating expenses increased and income decreased," he said grimly. "She may not know ranching, but she can read the figures I give her. If something isn't done pretty soon, she could lose the ranch and she knows it."

  "Her brother's rich. She could ask him for a loan to tide her over."

  "If you were her, would you?"

  J.T. sighed, recognizing Tyler's meaning. "Then we all better pray she can charm that old boy."

  Tyler's senses went on alert as something in the air warned him of a tornado on the way. A tornado named Letitia. He straightened up and turned around to find her walking down the steps.

  "Holy cow," he breathed, unable to take his eyes off the vision walking toward him.

  J.T. stared at Letitia with frank awe. "Well, if anyone can get Beecham to part with bucks, it should be her."

  Letitia smiled at them. "Gentlemen," she greeted them. "I thought I'd try for the professional, yet feminine, look. Think I'll pass?" She turned around slowly with her arms held out.

  "I know I'd sure open the vault if you smiled that pretty at me," J.T. announced, before leaving them alone.

  Letitia looked expectantly at Tyler, but he didn't seem to have anything to say. He was too busy admiring her slender form garbed in a black silk suit that set off her honey blond coloring. Black hosiery and pumps completed the outfit with only a hint of aqua lace that matched her eyes exactly, peeking out of the deep V-neckline of the suit jacket. She'd pinned her hair low on the back of her neck in an intricate coil. She looked professional and beautiful. Tyler just didn't have the heart to tell her she looked too professional and too big city for a small-town banker. Beecham was convinced he was the county's answer to sophistication since he vacationed in New York City every year.

  "You'll make him sit up and take notice," he said abruptly, assisting her into the passenger seat. He couldn't help but notice how her skirt hiked up to reveal an extensive length of thigh and a black lace garter fastening a sheer black stocking. He swallowed the stone threatening to take root in his throat. He had a feeling it was going to be a long drive.

  "I wish I could speak with a southern accent," Letitia fretted, as they barreled down the highway.

  That was a new one in his book. "Why a southern accent?"

  "Because men turn to putty when they hear a woman speak with a southern accent. One of the girls at college was from Savannah. Her father was with the American embassy. All she had to do was bat those baby blues and lay on a sugary drawl and she had the professors eating out of her hand," she explained. "I don't know what it is. The best I can do is a passable Italian accent, but it doesn't work the same as a good drawl."

  "If Mrs. Higgins can survive Beecham, you can," Tyler said casually. Too casually.

  She eyed him suspiciously. "Who's Mrs. Higgins?"

  He shrugged. "I don't think you need to worry about it."

  Letitia held out her hand, idly inspecting her nails.

  "Maybe not, but why not let me in on the story?" Her sweet voice was laced with strychnine.

  He shrugged as if it was no matter to him. "Mrs. Higgins has been a widow for the last thirty years who's always done things her way. Including writing out her checks but not signing them. She always feared someone would learn to copy her signature and forge checks on her account. Since she'd dealt with the bank for more than fifty years, no one thought anything about it. Until Mr. Beecham informed her she either began signing her checks or the bank would start refusing them. Well, she ignored him and her checks started bouncing all over the place because old man Beecham ordered them sent back."

  "I can imagine she wasn't too happy about that," she mused, already visualizing a modem-day Scrooge.

  "I know I wouldn't be. He should have taken steps to explain to her they would watch out for her, not give threats."

  "There's more," he went on, catching a glance of her in the corner of his eye. She did look a bit unsettled. Good.

  "More?" She was surprised. "What more could he do than refuse to honor the checks? Although, I would think the people she wrote them out to would complain about this man."

  "Beecham is a law unto himself," Tyler said bluntly. "Mrs. Higgins decided to be the one to take action. She waited until Mr. Beecham left the bank at lunchtime and she told him loud and clear how she thought he was the meanest man in town and he deserved everything he got. When he basically told her to get lost, she began hitting him over the head with her umbrella." There was no missing her wide eyes and stunned expression.

  She hit him with her umbrella?" She giggled. "I love it! This is one woman I'd dearly like to meet."

  Tyler shook his head. "She still got a raw deal, Letitia. He closed her account and Mrs. Higgins was out a very good umbrella."

  Letitia kept her feelings of unease to herself. "I'll make sure to find a very strong umbrella," she asserted, settling back in the seat. Her posture indicated she would prefer silence. Tyler was only too happy to comply.

  She looked around as Tyler cruised the business section of the town. Clothing shops for all ages, a Sears catalog store on one corner and gas station on the other, hardware and a video store. She studied the people sauntering down the sidewalk. She started to exclaim to Tyler when she saw a man who was clearly it full-blooded Native American, then subsided. If she was going to settle in here, she had to learn to act like a long-time resident.

  "The town seems busy," she commented instead.

  "They get a lot of steady business from the surrounding ranches and tourists stopping by a craft co-op run by the Crow," he replied.

  "Something for everyone," she reflected.

  She smiled when they drove past the town square with its benches and gray-haired men sitting there probably reminiscing about the past, she decided. Tyler had parked the truck in front of the bank. He climbed out and walked around to help her down. She reached bac
k for her envelope of paperwork. She marched up to the sidewalk with her head held high, shoulders back, her manner one of a woman who knew exactly where she was going. Tyler immediately thought of Daniel entering the lions' den.

  As Letitia entered the old-fashioned bank building, she idly noticed the year I875 etched into the cornerstone.

  "One of Beecham's ancestors built it," Tyler explained when she commented on the date. "I guess you could say banking's in their blood. They sure couldn't ranch worth a damn."

  The moment Letitia walked into the shadowy interior, she felt as if she was under inspection and somehow had been found wanting.

  "Good afternoon." She smiled warmly at the receptionist who couldn't have been less than seventy. In fact, she noticed almost all the employees were above forty. Obviously they preferred more seasoned personnel, she silently reflected and applauded. "I'm Mrs. DeMarco. I have an appointment with Mr. Beecham."

  The woman nodded as she took in every stitch of Letitia's clothing and seemed to find something wanting. "He'll be with you in a moment." She looked past Letitia toward Tyler. "Tyler, haven't seen you around here in quite a while," she commented in her dry tone.

  "I've been pretty busy, Ida," he replied. "You're looking well."

  "Only 'cause I take my iron tonic every morning," she pronounced, fixing him with a steely look. "You should think about taking something for yourself. You're not getting any younger. If you don't take care of your body now, it won't take care of you later on."

  "I'll keep that in mind," he said a little too jovially although his tanned features looked a bit gray around the edges. He shifted his weight from one' foot to the other, looking like a little boy listening to a lecture from his teacher.

  Ida's head snapped up and down in agreement. "You do that. Your health isn't something you should ignore."

  Letitia bit her lower lip to keep her smile hidden.

  She decided watching a chastened Tyler receive this lecture was vastly entertaining.

  "Mrs. DeMarco."

  Letitia looked up to see a tall, cadaverous man standing in an open office doorway. He wore a brown suit that had been-out-of-date for possibly the last thirty years. She was positive she was looking at the man who stood guard at the gates of hell.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Here." Tyler pushed the folder into her limp hands.

  She gazed frantically at him, "You're not coming in?”

  "Not my place. After all, you keep reminding me you're the boss." He gave her a little push. "Don't worry, you'll do fine. Remember, he's going to treat you like a long lost daughter."

  She forced her feet to move her forward. "I don't think I want to be a member of his family."

  "Well, Mrs. DeMarco, we finally meet." Micah Beecham showed her to a chair alongside his large old-fashioned roll top desk. Try as she might, Letitia couldn't find anything to suggest modern times in the office. The chair she sat in wasn't meant for the comfort of his visitors. Walnut bookcases held dusty tomes dealing with the financial history of the state, the only source of light besides the overhead lamp was a large window, and Mr. Beecham's desk didn't hold a calculator nor a computer terminal. She wasn't surprised when he pulled out a fountain pen as he perused the papers in front of him then looked up to face her with piercing dark eyes that she swore belonged on a vulture.

  "I understand when the deed to Running Springs Ranch was signed over to you, you also took over all debts pertaining to the ranch," he said in his dry wheezy voice.

  "That's correct." She resisted the urge to cross her legs at the knee. A little leg wouldn't accomplish anything with this man. Instead, she opted for the ladylike crossed ankles. "I hope you realize that I've only been in Montana for a few weeks and am still learning the operation. That's why I hadn't contacted you before. I wanted to have all the facts before we talked."

  He shook his head. "It wouldn't have mattered. It's been losing money for years, Mrs. DeMarco. I'd advise you sell out before we are forced to repossess the property."

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. "I read the papers and the next payment isn't due for another three months."

  She could swear there was no emotion on his angular face. "Except the last payment hadn't been made. The loan is in default. The only reason I haven't processed the paperwork sooner is because you are new and I knew you'd be in soon to take care of it."

  "With penalty charges, how much does that come to?"

  Letitia saw spots before her eyes as the man handed her a sheet of paper with the figures written on it.

  "I would need some time," she said softly. Say ten or twelve years.

  He considered her request. "I could be generous and give you five days."

  Letitia mustered up her winning smile. "Mr. Beecham, you have to understand that my funds are tied up in Italy. I'm in the process of having them released and transferred over, but it does take time," she lied without batting an eyelash.

  "The way I heard it, your ex-husband died and his family cut off your income."

  Her smile briefly dimmed. She leaned forward to give him a whiff of her perfume. She'd made sure there wasn't any deep cleavage to admire. That was never her style. "A minor technicality. Now, I'm sure if we put our heads together we can come up with a reasonable plan. Can't we?" She settled back in her chair and waited for his reply. She was confident he could only agree with her. After all, she wasn't being unreasonable. She just needed time to figure out what she could do. If nothing else, she had confidence she could come up with something.

  'TYLER PRACTICALLY MANGLED his hat's brim as he sat in a hard-backed chair pinned like a helpless insect under Ida's steely gaze as she talked about the latest tonics and herbal cures. He'd forgotten how fanatic the woman was about curing the body's internal workings with seaweed or other noxious concoctions. He just wished Letitia would hurry up before Ida brought out something she thought might pep him up.

  It was a good thing that Letitia couldn't care less about the latest vitamin regimen. Come to think of it, Letitia was as much a law unto herself as Ida was. She gave as good as she got and didn't believe in backing down from a battle. He enjoyed her company and all its drawbacks more than he'd enjoyed a woman in a long time. The idea was downright scary! He could feel his back breaking into a sweat as the situation started to fall into place. Lord, he couldn't be falling for her, could he?

  "Talk about punishment," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "Thank you for your time, Mr. Beecham."

  Her soft voice brought him out of his musings. His head snapped up as she was ushered out of the office by the grim-looking man.

  "I will see you next week, Mrs. DeMarco." Mr.

  Beecham made it a statement.

  She smiled as her proffered hand was held in his dry grasp. "Of course." When she turned toward Tyler, he noticed her smile hadn't reached her eyes.

  "I guess he didn't recognize you as a relative," Tyler commented after they left the bank.

  "The man shouldn't be a banker. He's a natural undertaker," she snapped. "Then he'd have a legitimate reason to take your blood, too."

  "No refinancing? No extension?"

  She shook her head as she tried to make her brain work at double speed. "That arrogant ass! I wish I'd had my gun with me. Then we'd see who was in charge!"

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Tried to tell you."

  She rounded on him, fully prepared to do murder.

  "Oh, shut up before I use that gun on you!"

  He followed at a safe distance. "Hey, I'm not the one who lost the battle."

  "I did not lose anything," she spat. "I have an extension of sorts. Five days to make up past payments that Giancarlo missed." Her lips tightened. "I knew I should have shot him that day."

  "Want to stop for a drink before heading back?"

  "Don't tempt me." She looked up with a speculative gaze. "You men are all alike. You think you know more than women."

 
"We do."

  "I suggest you stop right there if you don't want to walk back to the ranch," she warned, pulling open the truck door with more force than necessary. She climbed in, affording Tyler another provocative view of a black silk-stockinged leg with a hint of black lace garter.

  He gulped and looked around to make sure no one else noticed the sexy sight.

  It took all of Tyler's willpower not to spin her around and kiss her right then and there on the street.

  He coughed to clear his throat. “Yeah, we'll get right back."

  "Might as well since I have to be back again in five days." Letitia went on to sputter dire predictions of Mr. Beecham's death.

  "Then let's see how fast we can make this baby go."

  Once in the truck, Letitia slipped off her pumps and sighed with relief as she wiggled her toes.

  "I can't believe I once considered high heels a necessary part of my wardrobe," she groaned.

  "Well, they do something very nice for your legs," he observed, swinging in behind the steering wheel and starting up the truck.

  Letitia pulled the pins out of her hair and combed her fingers through it. She massaged her aching scalp with the pads of her fingers as she frantically tried to come up with a solution to her problem. She refused to call Jack for help.

  "When I said I wanted a chance to prove I could do something on my own, I thought I could start out with something small," she muttered, talking more to herself than to her interested audience. "Such as deciding what color to paint the house or whether the truck needed a new part. Or wondering if we need to add more cows to the herd or however you do it. I didn't expect this." She closed her eyes, but all she saw was brightly colored numbers in the amount she owed. She unbuttoned her suit jacket to reveal the aqua laced camisole that was opaque enough to double as a blouse.

  Tyler's hand jerked on the gearshift as he saw the bare skin and scrap of silk. There was no question that she wasn't wearing a bra. The curved neckline caressed the top swells of her breasts.