More Than a Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 3)

by Sarah Mayberry

  It would be expensive to pay Ron out, but his continued employment with Tate Transport had just become untenable.

  “We also need to take immediate steps to revoke Ron’s access to the internal network and this building.”

  Mandy blinked. “Oh. Um. Of course. I’ll talk to Vinnie in IT. We might need to get someone in to reconfigure the security system.”

  “I’ll leave it in your capable hands,” Garret said.

  She blinked again. Then she nodded. “I’ll make it happen.”

  “And I’d like to see every head of department in my office at two o’clock. I don’t care whatever else they have on, they need to cancel it.”

  Mandy nodded, her color coming back a little now. “I’ll go see them personally, make sure they understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  Garret stood and removed his jacket after she left his office. He felt wired and jumpy with adrenaline, and he stood at the window and forced himself to breath steadily, conscious of his racing heartbeat and clammy palms. Classic fight-or-flight reactions.

  It was a huge pain that Ron had decided to be a douche over the business succession but there wasn’t a whole lot Garret could do about it except cut the man out of the chain of command as quickly and cleanly as possible.

  A thought occurred and he reached for his phone and called his mother, hoping he’d beaten Ron to it.

  “Garret. Your father and I were just talking about you. How is everything going?” his mother asked brightly.

  Garret figured that meant he’d gotten in before Ron, which was a very good thing.

  “Mom, I don’t have time to talk now, but you need to know that Ron has just burned his bridges with Tate Transport. He’s pretty fired up, and there’s a high chance he’s going to try to go over my head to you or Dad. So I’m going to ask you to not take any calls from him until I’ve had legal advice, okay?”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Then he heard his mother moving.

  “I’m just going to step outside for a moment, Gideon,” he heard her tell his father.

  “Mom, I really don’t have time to get into the details right now.”

  “I don’t understand. Did you and Ron have words?” his mother asked, her voice hushed, presumably so his father wouldn’t overhear. “What was it about?”

  “He made it very clear that he is unwilling to work under me,” Garret said dryly. “In the most insulting way possible.”

  “I see.”

  A knock sounded tentatively on the door and Garret turned to find Brianna, Ron’s assistant, standing in the doorway. Blonde and blue-eyed with a plump, smiley face, Brianna had been Ron’s assistant for more than a decade. She wasn’t smiling now. Her face stiff with wariness. He held up a finger to indicate he needed a moment.

  “Mom, I need to go. But we’re clear on the call situation? The last thing Dad needs right is Ron in his ear.”

  “I’ve got your father’s phone, so there’s not a problem there. And I won’t take any calls from Ron until you tell me to.”

  “Great, thanks. I’ve got to go now, sorry.”

  He ended the call and waved a hand to indicate Ron’s secretary should enter.

  “Brianna, sorry about that. Grab a seat.”

  Chapter Five

  Sierra spent the morning checking and testing software updates for the Bell’s avionics before heading into the terminal in search of coffee and something to eat. She ran into some old friends of Jack’s as she paid for her chicken salad sandwich and wound up eating lunch with a table full of pilots. There was a lot of laughter and good-natured shit-slinging and she was still smiling when she left the terminal building to head back to the Bell. She was halfway there when her phone buzzed with a call from Garret.

  “Garret, hi,” she said.

  “Sierra. Sorry for the late notice, but I’m going to need to stay overnight here in Helena.”

  “Okay, not a problem,” she said. Jack had advised her that every now and then he’d had to overnight in Helena when Gideon’s plans had changed, and she’d packed a bag carrying fresh underwear, some toiletries, and a clean polo shirt into the cargo hold, just in case.

  “That was easy,” Garret said, his tone wry.

  “All part of the service.”

  “Nice to know one part of my life is working smoothly. Maybe you could walk me through how this usually operates. Do I need to get my assistant to organize a hotel room for you tonight?”

  “My understanding is that there’s a guest room at your lake house that Jack used to stay in when he had overnighters, and I’m more than happy to do the same.”

  “Right. That makes sense. Good plan. You’re going to need a key to get in, and the security code.”

  “I’ve got a key on the set Jack gave me, but the code would be handy, thanks. And the address.”

  “I’ll text it to you, along with the code. Keep your taxi receipts. I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed,” he said.

  “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later, then. And if things change . . .”

  “I’ll call,” Garret assured her.

  Sierra pocketed her phone after he ended the call, wondering what had gone wrong at his end to necessitate an overnight stay in the city. He’d sounded tense, distracted. But Tate Transport was a big company. It stood to reason he’d have his work cut out for him, getting on top of all the moving parts.

  Her phone vibrated to signal it had received a text and she checked to make sure Garret had sent her both the address and the code. He had, and she saved them into a private folder.

  The Tates had an arrangement where they could rent hangar space if the Bell was overnighting in Helena, but it took an hour or so for Sierra to track down the right person and get her hands on a tow cart to move the helicopter under shelter. It was late afternoon by the time she called a taxi to take her to the address Garret had sent her.

  The taxi took her out of town and she chatted to her driver while taking in the scenery out the car window—tall trees, blue sky, stretches of open land, then the deep, true blue of Lake Helena. The views disappeared when they turned off the lake road and into a private graveled driveway. They rumbled down a gravel road and around a bend, tall trees flanking the road, and then suddenly, just like that, they’d arrived. The trees fell away as the taxi drove into a landscaped clearing and Sierra gasped as she got her first look at the house perched on the shore of the lake.

  A luxurious, overblown take on a traditional log cabin, it was built from local stone and timber and seemed to sprawl in every direction with dramatic pitched roofs, numerous balconies, and expanses of shiny glass.

  The taxi driver leaned forward and peered through the windshield, eyebrows raised as he took the house in.

  “This your place?” he asked, shooting her an assessing look.

  Sierra huffed out a laugh. “God, no. I’m just a pilot.”

  And co-owner of a struggling ranch. She estimated the modest house she shared with her brothers would safely fit into one wing of this imposing residence—with room to spare.

  She’d always known the Tates were wealthy, but this was next level. Seriously next level.

  She settled the fare, pocketed her receipt, and stepped out onto the sweeping driveway. The taxi driver gave her a friendly wave before using the generous turnaround to head back the way they’d come.

  Sierra stood and stared at the imposing entrance after he’d gone, trying to get her head around it. Projecting forward from the house proper, it featured a steeply pitched portico that rose three stories high and was supported by what looked like two enormous tree trunks. An oversized front door with elaborate lead-light sidelights was sheltered beneath it, and the entryway itself was paved with richly colored terracotta tiles. On either side of the portico was a collection of pots and wine barrels filled with carefully curated greenery that complemented the rugged natural surroundings.

  “This is insane,” she whispered to herself.

  She stoppe
d to inspect one of the portico supports on her way to the front doors and confirmed that, yes, it had been formed by stripping the branches and bark from a whole tree trunk. The security keypad was located discreetly on the wall near the front door and she tentatively punched in the number Garret had provided her, half expecting it not to work.

  The lights on the panel went from red to green, so she tried the key. It worked, too, the oversized door swinging open with the barest of nudges, despite its size and heaviness. Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she stepped over the threshold.

  “Sweet baby cheeses,” she breathed.

  Rustic beams soared overhead in the entry hall, the space beneath them filled with an enormous rustic chandelier bristling with light globes. The floor was covered with massive slate flagstones and a round antique table sat in the middle of the space, an empty vase in the center. No doubt it was usually filled with an elaborate floral arrangement when the Tates were in residence, creating a breathtaking display for visitors when they entered the house.

  Talk about shock and awe.

  Eyes wide, she ventured farther into the house, her jaw dropping more with each new discovery—the vast living room with a fireplace as large as her whole freaking bedroom and a custom leather modular lounge suite that could easily accommodate ten people; the kitchen with its antique wood cabinets and acres of marble counters; the study with its squishy leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and yet another beautiful fireplace.

  And the view—the view was insane.

  Every room featured enormous windows designed to make the most of the sweeping vistas of the lake. There wasn’t so much as a glimpse of another house, power lines, or other signs of civilization to mar the sense of privacy. Sierra stood in the living room and stared out at the crystalline blue water for several minutes, astonished that someone could actually own a view like this.

  Setting down her bag in the kitchen, she took herself on a more extensive tour, discovering what was obviously the master suite and other family bedrooms before finding a more modern, simpler space in the west wing of the house. She found a room that roughly matched Jack’s description of where he usually stayed on the second floor of the modern wing, tucked away in a corner. Smaller than the family suites, it was still lavishly appointed with its own private balcony, marble bathroom, and a king-sized bed covered in crisp white linen.

  “Better than any hotel I ever stayed in,” she muttered to herself before taking a picture and texting it to Jack, asking him to confirm she’d identified the correct bedroom before she made herself at home.

  She went back downstairs and let herself out onto a large deck while she was waiting for him to respond. The land fell away toward the lake and she had to descend a flight of stairs to reach the lap pool and pool house. She stooped to test the water. Yep, it was warm.

  Of course it was warm. Rich people didn’t swim in cold pools.

  A trail meandered artfully across the slope and down to the water’s edge and she followed it past a firepit with a circle of Adirondack chairs, all the way down to the private dock that stretched into the lake. Her footsteps thudded on the weathered timber as she walked out over the water. The sun was blindingly bright out here, magnified by the mirror of the lake, and she shaded her eyes with her hand and breathed in air scented with the smell of green living things and wet earth.

  Imagine living like this. Imagine owning all of this.

  But she couldn’t. It was so far beyond everything she’d ever known, she might as well be visiting another planet.

  To think she’d been lusting after Garret Tate yesterday and wondering if he was single—as if she had a chance at catching his eye. She laughed out loud at her own audacity, the sound echoing off the water. What could she possibly have in common with a man who lived like this?

  Nothing. He might as well be another species.

  Her phone chirped with a message. Jack, confirming she’d found the right room.

  This house is astonishing, she wrote back.

  How the other half live, Jack texted.

  You can say that again.

  They exchanged a few more texts—Jack assuring her he was following doctor’s orders, Sierra assuring him all was going smoothly with the job—then she made her way back up the trail to the house and let herself into the kitchen. Faced with several hours of free time, a rarity in her life, she was momentarily stumped. Then she remembered the vast bathtub in her en suite bathroom.

  “Why the hell not,” she said.

  Then she headed off to see how the other half bathed.

  *

  Dinner time found her scrolling through the Uber Eats options for Helena and surrounds. A brief scan of the menu at a local Chinese restaurant got her stomach rumbling and she ordered Kung Pao chicken, fried rice, and a serving of egg rolls. Then she sat at one of the stools in the kitchen and read a book on her phone while she waited.

  *

  The book was so good it felt like barely five minutes had passed when the Uber app buzzed to let her know her meal was nearly there. Standing, she swept her still-damp hair over one shoulder and made her way to the front door.

  Headlights swept across the decorative glass side lights on either side of the front door just as she arrived.

  “You just made my night,” she told the teenage driver as he handed over her food.

  He flicked a look over her shoulder at the entrance hall and raised his eyebrows, obviously thinking she had better things to be excited about.

  Little did he know she was just an interloper.

  His reaction made her thoughtful as she closed the door, though. Having this kind of money brought a whole world of expectations with it. A whole world of privilege, too, but still. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Garret, growing up surrounded by all of this opulence. Despite all the evident luxury, this did not feel like a home.

  She was just turning to take her food to the kitchen when she heard the distinct sound of another car engine approaching. She hesitated, then decided it probably wouldn’t be a good look to be hovering in the front foyer when Garret arrived home. In fact, the best thing to do would probably be to disappear altogether and eat in her room.

  Her brilliant plan was thwarted by the fact that there were one million and one cupboards and drawers in the kitchen and she’d only just found the one holding plates and bowls when she heard Garret’s step in the hallway. He appeared in the kitchen doorway moments later, shirtsleeves rolled up, tie missing, looking just as rumpled and weary as he had at the end of the day yesterday.

  “Hey. What smells so amazing?” he asked, sniffing the air.

  “Kung Pao chicken. There’s more than enough for two if you want some?” she offered.

  “I can’t take your dinner,” Garret said quickly. “The housekeeper keeps the freezer stocked with a bunch of stuff. I’ll just defrost something.”

  He dumped his suit jacket and briefcase on one of the leather upholstered stools and went to the fridge.

  “I need a beer. You want a beer?” he asked.

  “Um. Sure. Thanks.” Maybe it would make her feel less nervous. Or self-conscious. Or whatever it was she was feeling right now.

  Not comfortable, that was for sure.

  He pulled two imported beers from the imposing fridge and twisted the tops off, sliding one across the marble counter toward her.

  “Cheers,” he said, tilting his bottle toward her briefly before lifting it to his mouth.

  Sierra watched as he swallowed deeply, the muscles of his throat working, his eyes closing as he savored the small pleasure.

  She didn’t need to ask to know he’d had a shitty, stressful day—it was written all over him—and even though they were not friends and hardly knew each other, she made a decision.

  Reaching into the drawer for a second bowl, she started dishing up the food, dividing it evenly. Garret set his bottle down on the counter with a contented sigh, then frowned as he registered what she was doin
g.

  “Seriously, Sierra, I can’t take your dinner.”

  “You’re not. You’re saving me from indigestion,” she said.

  She rested one of the two egg rolls on top of the heaped food in his bowl and offered it to him. “Help a girl out.”

  Garret hesitated, then he smiled, making the corners of his eyes crinkle attractively. “Hard to resist a call to offer humanitarian assistance,” he said, taking the bowl from her outstretched hand.

  “Only a monster would refuse,” she agreed.

  He nudged one of the stools toward her, indicating she should sit before taking the next one for himself. “Seriously, though—you just saved my life,” he said.

  “You can return the favor by telling me where I can find a fork,” she said. “It just took me ten minutes to find the bowls.”

  “Yeah, this kitchen is a bit crazy.”

  He crossed to a set of built-in drawers near the sink, extracting two forks and holding them up in the air as though he’d just uncovered buried treasure.

  “Voila, madame,” he said, handing her one before returning to his stool.

  “French. Very impressive. What a pity we’re eating Chinese,” she said.

  He smiled as he dug into his food. “What happened to me being a hero for finding the forks?”

  “In your own home.”

  Garret surprised her by grimacing. “This is not my home.”

  “And yet, here we sit,” she said before biting into her egg roll.

  It was lukewarm, but she was so hungry it tasted amazing and she made a happy sound as she swallowed her first mouthful.

  “This is no one’s home. I don’t even know why my parents bought it.” He took a bite of his own egg roll. “Mom has always preferred the Marietta house, hence the fact that my father commuted every day via helicopter except in the worst of winter. This place is a big white elephant.”

  “I thought white elephants were supposed to be useless and unwanted? Hate to break it to you, but a lot of people would kill to have a house like this.”