CHAPTER TWO

 

Tanner, the Foreman of the Bar LB, buzzed Leatrice on the intercom. “Miss Meredith, ma’am, Driscoll’s here.”

In her bedroom, Leatrice flicked on the reply switch. “Have him wait in the study, she ordered. “Oh, and break out a bottle of—“ “Cut the social graces, Lee, and get down here.” Seth’s voice came through grindingly loud and sharp.

Leatrice eyed the intercom as though it was made of flesh and blood. Seth was angry. Well he was going to be angrier. But she was counting on his anger, and his stubborn streak, to see her plan realized. She meant to attempt the impossible, the ludicrous and the incredible. Seth Driscoll was no irresponsible, impulsive youth. He was a man nearing his fortieth birthday. He would not easily discard his property—her property—and the years of backbreaking, hard-riding work he had lavished upon it. He would accept her solution.

At the landing at the bottom of the stairs Leatrice paused. The door to her study was open. Seth Driscoll stood waiting, turned slightly toward the French doors. His sandy-colored hair was ruffled as though he had run a nervous hand through it. His grey-green eyes were pensive and fixed on the outline of snowcapped mountains in the distance. His lips were pressed together, his square jaw tight, raised as if in anticipation not to his liking. The front of his lambskin shearling coat was open, revealing a wide, trunk neck above the plaid shirt that was tucked-in haphazardly into his heavy-weight denims, as though he’d dressed more for comfort and necessity than looks. He held his battered Stetson at his side, the curled brim clenched tightly in his large, sun-tanned fist. His feet in heavy dusty riding boots were set slightly apart as if at any moment he might open the French doors and stride out.

But it was not the vast pastures shading to soft fawn with the coming of winter, or the snowcapped mountains shrouded in pale blue mist that Seth Driscoll saw as he gazed out the French doors, but the records at the courthouse proving Leatrice’s claim. The present clerk could find no copy of a bill of sale from the previous owner of the Bar LB for the five thousand acres known as the Triple R Division. The deed Seth and his lawyer had accepted from Bessenger as valid at the time of the sale had been forged. Everything he had worked for, his security for the future, his one hold on life, had all been for nothing.

Bessenger had died two years ago, and the courthouse clerk who had abetted him in the illegal transfer had quit the Montana country long ago, neglecting to leave a forwarding address. Seth’s brow furrowed. Upstairs that scheming she-devil must be congratulating herself for having dropped the ground from under him.

Seth loved the land he rode daily, as his father had loved it before him. Calvin Driscoll had harbored one real ambition; to afford a spread he could call his own on which to breed horses and work cattle. He had spent his life cowpunching on other men’s ranches, never to fulfill his ambition. Seth watched his father grow old and disillusioned, and finally die along with his dream, his hopes withered. After his father’s death Seth scraped and saved from the pittance paid for cattle doctorin’ and punchin’, fixin’ fences, and occasionally rodeoing, and he achieved his goal. He bought the Triple R, five thousand acres of lush grassland, buttes and rising hills. He began with four broodmares and a stallion. Fifteen years later his horse count numbered in the hundreds, pure breed quarter horses that cattle ranchers who could not afford to raise their own remudas for rounding up cattle, or simply horsemen in need of sturdy steeds, bought at top dollar and praised highly ...

A tingling sensation in the nape of his neck made him turn. Leatrice had entered the room. It was the same each time he saw her, the gut feeling that he wanted her. He had to pull hard on the reins to keep from succumbing. She was too tall for a woman, too broad of shoulder, too intelligent and shrewd, too rich and used to getting her own way, too presumptuous and arrogant for a female according to his book. A usurper, a schemer, an Easterner coming to his country a year and a half-ago not knowing a heifer from a steer, or a stallion from a gelding.

He was glad of the added height nature had bequeath him. It gave him the advantage of looking down at Leatrice, of being able to withstand the rock hardness, the authoritative and indomitable pull of those blue eyes. They would fell a lesser man. Alone in the study, Seth and Leatrice faced each other, neither sure of where to begin.

The phone rang breaking the silence. Leatrice turned off the ringer. “May I offer you some refreshment?” she asked.

Seth shook his head. “Lee, let’s get down to business. The Triple R is legally yours. I don’t have enough assets to buy the ranch back outright, but I can raise a sizable down payment and mortgage the rest.”

“I’m not selling the Triple R, not yet,” Leatrice said.

Mildly surprised, Seth searched her face. What was she up to? “I’m not selling, not yet, but I do have a solution. You might not like it; in fact, you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I’d consider well before walking out of my life and the Triple R forever.”

“Out of your life,” Seth murmured. “Then this solution has something to do with you and me personally?

“Yes,” Leatrice said, her color heightening. “I’m not going to bandy words or make excuses. For a long time both of us have known how we feel about each other. If I were Montanan born and bred, I’d be Mrs. Driscoll by now. This past year I have tried to prove myself to you, but with only occasional visits to your ranch, with you fighting your feelings for me every step of the way, nothing much has come of my attempts. I have one last card to play.” She met his gaze and almost staggered under its intensity. “It’s my last card, I promise.” His gaze had her riveted and her courage threatened to falter. “Go on, Leatrice, play your last card.”

At least he hadn’t denied his feelings for her. That was all he had to do, and she would have signed the Triple R back over to him right on the spot. By asking her to play her last card, he’d proved her diagnosis correct.

Leatrice said nervously, “All right. I’ll give you back the Triple R, and I’ll throw in the Bar LB at one quarter of its cost, if you will permit me to stay one year under your roof, so that we can have time together, time for you to learn about the real me, not the fancy clothes and the refined manners, but the girl inside desperately in love with you.” For the first time since she had entered the room, his expression softened. She felt encouraged. “I’ll pay you the same fee you’d charge a tourist, like the Sweeneys who rent cabins for the summer. And perhaps you could find some work for me to do so I could make myself useful and—“ “And not be bored,” he finished for her.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say.” What she intended saying was …and prove that I am as good as any woman born and bred in your country. All at once Seth looked tired. “Leatrice I think you are crazy, but you’re not the first woman to do something unorthodox in the name of love. The Triple R means too much to me to loose it in the name of pride. I agree to your terms, but only on condition that you let me buy it back, as I offered before.”

“At the end of the agreed upon year, along with the Bar LB,” Leatrice emphasized. “In fact, I want you to run the Bar LB while I stay at the Triple R.” Leatrice knew the offer was irresistible. Not in his wildest dreams could Seth have imagined owning a cattle ranch the size of the Bar LB, along with the Triple R, on his limited resources. What man in his right mind could refuse? She waited for a reply. Seth hesitated. He appeared to be struggling with his thoughts. Finally he nodded.

“I’ll call my lawyer.”

“No, no written agreements, no lawyers. Just a gentleman’s word."

“Just a gentleman’s word,” Seth repeated. “I certainly have been one.” He clapped the battered Stetson on his head, adjusted it, tilting the brim slightly at an angle. “Lee, if that’s all, I’ve got a horse ranch to tend to.” He sounded weary. “Move in when you like.” Halfway out of the study, he turned. A corner of his mouth went up and an almost humorous expression entered his eyes. “Coincidentally, my housekeeper is leaving at the end of the week. Her son is returning from a stint in the Army. Want to give the job a try?”

Leatrice practically glowed. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Can you cook?”

“I studied in Paris.”

“I should have guessed,” he said. “Well, leave the expensive dresses and jewelry at the Bar LB and bring some work clothes. You’ll need them.” He turned and walked out of the study.

Leatrice listened to the clack of his boots as he crossed the foyer and went out the front door. She strode to the French doors and focused on the mountains Seth watched. They reminded her of her favorite candy, Snowcaps. She felt cold and hugged herself. Who was she after all, to be playing with Seth’s life? What pompous arrogance gave her the right to imagine she could win him over, body and soul, by her mere presence in his home? The glass panes in front of her glinted with sunlight. The pale golden rays touched her diamonded earrings and cuff links causing them to shimmer and sparkle. She felt even colder, and shuddered, not knowing what the future held. She wanted Seth to accept her; she wanted the right to spend the rest of her life at his side.

 

Driscoll's Lady

by Paula Freda

 

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