SPENCER WAS ON the side-by-side, dragging the dead pole, secured by rope, behind him, when his cell phone rang. He had kids. He always checked.
Natasha. Work. It could wait.
Justin had had a practice scheduled that afternoon.
“Longfellow,” he said into the phone.
“I think Claire Williamson is still in town.”
Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Bryant on an identical side-by-side, back and to the left of him. He was seeing Spencer out to the road, where he’d leave the pole to be picked up, and then Bryant was heading back to help the guys herd the cattle to another field.
Not now. He didn’t need Claire Williamson in his vocabulary that day.
As soon as he rid himself of the telephone pole, Spencer was going straight back to the compound. He had calls to make.
Not because of the pole, or the wire. But because while he’d been out on the property, Spencer had checked on a small orange grove his father had planted. It didn’t amount to much. A couple of hundred trees. Didn’t make enough money for him to consider it a viable part of the business. But it had been his father’s.
And he’d seen larvae on several leaves from the light brown apple moth—a nonnative invasive pest from Australia that had migrated to Hawaii and most recently to California. The bug was said to cost the state potentially millions in lost produce and controlling expenses and could affect not only fruit and produce but also many of the other trees on his property. He had to get it off his land.
“You still there?” Natasha’s voice was soft. Calling to him in a way that made him want to answer, in spite of the fact that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say.
“Yeah. What makes you think Claire’s here?”
He was no happier when he heard a replay of the twins’ conversation regarding the “old lady” who liked them.
“She didn’t approach them,” Natasha was quick to add. “Or attempt to get them to come to her…”
“They know better than that.” He hoped. If they didn’t, they would before either of them stepped foot outside the house again.
Too bad he couldn’t put Daisy Wolf on the woman’s scent. Send her to school with the kids.
“Tabitha told me that you’d take away everything they ever liked forever if they did,” Natasha said with a soft chuckle. Like the moment could use some levity.
And he realized she was right. It could. Claire hadn’t specifically promised to go home. He’d just assumed she would. She was a busy woman. Not one you’d think would have the time to hang around a small southeastern California town.
“What are you going to do?” Natasha asked. “Call her?”
“No. She didn’t do anything illegal. I still want to avoid the fight if I can. I’m going to do what I said I was going to do.” He was making it up as he went, but liked the soundness of the plan as it unfolded between them. “I’m going to think about it. And call her cell when I’m ready to speak with her again.”
“I wouldn’t wait too long.” As he’d come to expect, her advice was reasonable.
“I don’t intend to.”
“I’ll be done at the studio by seven. We can talk more then if you’d like.”
Afraid he’d like it too much, he wouldn’t have accepted the invitation if he could have. But… “Jolene’s coming for dinner,” he told her.
He’d invited her over as soon as he’d left the studio that afternoon. If the kiss between him and Natasha had just been a work-related growing pain, then there was no reason to diverge from his original plan.
“I’d say that by the sounds of things, that’s a good plan.” Natasha’s agreement solidified his own certainty to the rightness of his course.
The only reason he felt a pang of disappointment, of letdown, as they rang off was because of the bad news she’d delivered.
Not because any part of him wished a different woman would be joining him and the twins for dinner that night.
* * *
NATASHA MET JOLENE on Saturday. She took the fact that Spencer had invited the woman to sit in the audience with Tabitha to mean that Friday night’s dinner had gone well and his plan to ask Jolene to marry him, to make her a part of his family, was on track.
Jolene held her hand out shyly when Spencer introduced them. She looked Natasha in the eye when she smiled. And thanked her for allowing her to attend the day’s taping.
Natasha played her part. The gracious, successful show host and producer who flirted on stage with her rancher cohost. And when Spencer took her hand at one point, linking his fingers with hers, and she felt that same peculiar thrill she’d noticed when he kissed her—a sensation that swept through her like the chills—she put the whole thing down to professional growing pains. She’d never had a cohost before.
Had never had an onstage flirtation.
The whole thing had been Angela’s idea. And the noticeable boost in the first week’s ratings gave credibility to the rightness of Angela’s choice.
And now they’d be on stage together, one segment a year, for four more years. At least. She wasn’t worried. She’d adapt. She always did.
Because it was good for Family Secrets.
And what was good for Family Secrets was good for her.
* * *
“DID YOU TELL Jolene about Claire?” Standing on stage with Spencer near the end of the show, Natasha turned off her mic and asked the question. They needed shots of her and Spencer on stage while the cooking was going on—looking like they were enjoying themselves. She and her crew would clip and paste them in as appropriate before that night’s airing.
He glanced at their contestants, grinning. “No.”
Impressed with how quickly he’d picked up the ability to be “on” and real at the same time, with how quickly he’d grown comfortable with his role, she nodded, as though agreeing with something he’d just said.
In the red Western shirt that fit him to perfection and tight black jeans, he looked…exactly as they’d wanted him to appear to their viewers. Like everybody’s fantasy cowboy.
“I’d have thought you’d tell her.” Why was she pushing this? And why did she feel a momentary thrill knowing that, for now, his deepest problem was between the two of them?
Like they were best friends or something.
He shook his head. “If I decide to ask her to marry me, I don’t want her to think I’m only doing so because of Claire Williamson,” he said. “Because I’m not. My plan was already in place.”
Curious about that, she studied him. “Because…”
“It’s time.”
The innocuous words gave her nothing. And yet…she understood them. Life had a way of letting you know that a change was necessary. Like her funk over the past few months, culminating with the news of her mother and Stan’s breakup. She’d needed to adopt a cat.
And she’d needed a new professional challenge, too, which had now come her way. Funny, that. Life knew what you needed even when you didn’t.
And often had a way of providing it, too.
* * *
ANGELA CALLED SPENCER Tuesday evening to set up a time for a film crew to get some shots of him around his herd. She also suggested that he hire a firm to help him come up with branding for his beef.
When he explained that Longfellow Ranch’s brand had been around for more than a century, she asked for an image she could use and permission to use it.
With the merger of two TV stations, the establishment was going to be taking on more of the responsibility of getting advertising revenue. Because ratings were up for this segment, they wanted to run a national commercial, paid for by the station, about the new venture with Longfellow Beef.
He agreed to meet with the film crew on Wednesday. And to speak with his lawyer about the rest of it.
He wondered if he needed additional legal aid. Someone in the entertainment industry. Or someone in national food distribution—beyond selling cattle.
He wondered what he should wear for filming the next day.
He didn’t ask any questions.
Angela wasn’t Natasha.
And Spencer had always been one to keep his own counsel.
* * *
IT WAS GOOD business for Natasha to accompany the film crew to Longfellow Ranch on Wednesday. And to make the trip even more worth the drive time, she scheduled appointments for later that afternoon with the design firm that she’d hired to remodel the Longfellow studio. The architect was driving out from Palm Desert to do a walk-through with her.
She had appointments with a couple of local businesses on Thursday, too, lining up sponsors for future episodes. Angela normally handled the local ad base, leaving the national, more moneyed clients for her, but now that they were going to be a permanent part of Longfellow Ranch for a number of years, and because Longfellow Beef was going to be a notable part of the show, she wanted to tap into local money.
Every town had it—the elite who held power. Those who, if she offered a win-win, could be counted on to support their efforts rather than fight them. Media was bound to find the town, at least for curiosity’s sake. She wanted to make certain Family Secrets had some friends there when they did.
Filled with the familiar adrenaline, she arrived at the ranch in time to drop off her things at her cabin. Took time to open a window and let in some fresh air. And to have a glass of the tea she’d left in the refrigerator Saturday before heading back to town.
She’d said goodbye to the kids while Spencer had been introducing Jolene to Angela after the show.
She’d left without saying goodbye to her cohost.
It hadn’t seemed right for her to intrude on Jolene’s time.
The rap on her door was unexpected. And yet…she wasn’t surprised. She’d come early. Driven up the main drive, past the house. If Spencer was around, he’d know she was there.
Her cabin was the only place they could be assured of being alone.
Not that they had need to be.
He was holding a pose that nearly tripped her heart when she opened the door. Pure cowboy in tight, worn blue jeans and a red-and-white-checked Western shirt, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, drawing attention to the big, shiny buckle on his belt.
“Got a minute?” he asked, a slight grin shining from his eyes more than curving his mouth.
“Yeah.” She sipped tea to rid herself of her suddenly dry throat.
When had he become such a consummate actor? And how had she suddenly grown susceptible to such frivolous things?
Tempted to step out onto the porch with him, she thought about someone seeing them there and drawing the wrong conclusions.
And if that someone happened to be Angela stopping at her cabin before going down to the studio, she’d make a big deal out of nothing.
She drew back, allowing him to follow her to the simply but comfortably furnished living room.