"So, Gretchen, you've become an art expert overnight?" Harry's voice was tightly controlled as Gretchen held the phone up to her ear.
"No…"
"Then why the hell did you buy an 'authentic Remington' painting from an online auction, sight unseen, unauthenticated, un-appraised?"
"Well, I really loved the painting and the guy selling it seems legit. He's not?"
"Definitely not. He's a swindler of the first order. When I got the credit card statement with the charge, I checked into it. Do you have the painting in your possession?"
"Yes. It arrived yesterday. Do you think it's a fake? It was very expensive."
"Gretchen, I have to tell you, when I saw this charge, I was very tempted to call you up and fire you as a client."
"Oh, no! No, please don't." The idea of losing Harry was horrible. What would she do without him? She depended on him to give her sage advice and, unfortunately, too often clean up her messes.
"I won't because I care about you. You remind me of one of my daughters. But you must stop doing these things."
"I know. It just looked so pretty. I just bought some art from a gallery in San Francisco, too."
He sighed. "A legitimate gallery?"
"I've done business with them before, so they invited me to their New Year's party. That's where I saw these incredible paintings by a rodeo guy who's a friend of Rowdy's."
"Sounds safe enough. Now about that 'Remington', we'll need to get an authenticator to take a look. It's fairly pointless as at the price you paid, I'm sure it's a fake, but I want you to know what's wrong with it and how obvious it would have been to a person who studied the subject and who knows what he's talking about. A real Remington would cost twenty times what you paid, if you could even find one at a true auction house. You can buy all the art you want, so long as you don't buy 'authentic' masters without authenticating them first. Understand?"
"Yes, Harry. I'm sorry. Can we have Rowdy's artist friend authenticate it?"
"Doubtful. But he might know of an authenticator you'd like to use. I know of one, but he's often very busy and it can take months to get him to look at the art."
"I'll ask and let you know."
"Enough of this. We also need to talk about Neil. I had Bob do some checking on him, and we found out he's deeply in debt and needs to get money quick. He knows he can't get back into your good graces–"
Gretchen interrupted, "Yes, I told him as much."
"Right. It appears his goal now is to take custody of Amy and get child support money from you."
"Ridiculous. What crazy judge is going to give a guy deeply in debt custody over a child when her mother has more than enough money to support her for life?"
"No judge in her right mind would do it, it's true. His weapon is going to be a morals claim. It would tie things up in court and would certainly introduce emotional problems into the mix as Amy would surely know who and what her father is."
"Someday, I want her to know who her father is, but she's too young now. I don't want her to form an emotional attachment to a snail."
"No, of course not. Anyway, I'm expecting to hear from Neil's lawyer sometime soon. My information suggests he's having a hard time securing an attorney, however. Certainly, I wouldn't take the case on contingency and none but the most desperate attorney would, but there's no way he can pay in advance. There are desperate attorneys out there if you aren't too picky."
"Maybe he'll give up."
"Maybe. Well, my dear, I'll let you go. No more big purchases without thinking it through."
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Can I make a charitable donation to the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund? They help cowboys and cowgirls who've lost their livelihood due to injury or catastrophe preventing them from rodeoing."
"Justin as in Justin Boots?"
"Yes. I'd like to send them a few hundred thousand."
"That's a sizable donation. Do you want to deal with the publicity?"
She sighed. "Not really, but it's a good cause and important to me."
"Very well. I'll check into it. I'll let you know when the donation is made so you can expect the thank-you-let's-have-a-party-in-your-honor phone call."
They said their goodbyes and Gretchen hung up. She loved giving to charities, but this time she was going to do it right and let Harry make the arrangements. Her soft heart made her a target.
After a conference call with Bear and a few days waiting for him to network, Gretchen had the name of an authenticator of western art. He was available and willing to come to Reno to look.
The price for his services and his airfare was half of what Gretchen had already paid for the painting, but if the painting turned out to be legitimate, she would have more than made up for the costs. She wasn't holding out much hope.
A week went by, each day filled with Rowdy and Amy and often her mother, but then the authenticator, a Jonas Arbuckle, came by.
While Melody and Amy played upstairs, Rowdy and Gretchen showed the picture to Jonas in the parlor. "It's badly framed," he began.
"Yes, but that can be fixed," Gretchen said, anxious to get an answer to the burning question.
He peered at the paint strokes, holding up a magnifying glass and studying the way the colors were applied and the way the artists' signature was formed. He cut off the backing paper from the frame and looked at the canvas, testing a bit of the paint, including smelling it. When he was done, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Authentic. Congratulations."
Gretchen felt her jaw drop. How had this happened? "Is it numbered or something? Do we know if it was stolen or anything?"
"I'm not aware of this particular painting. It's not lost from a collection as far as I know. I did some checking based on the photo you sent me and there is no record of it. There were a few paintings mentioned in Remington's diaries which have never come to light. This is likely one of those. Beyond that, I can't claim to know its provenance."
"Oh, gosh! Oh, gosh! Oh, gosh!" Gretchen was nearly hopping around like Amy was prone to do.
"Calm down, princess." She'd forgotten Rowdy was there watching silently. He turned to Jonas. "Can you put the authentication in writing?"
"Absolutely."
"Great," Rowdy said. "Will you send it here?"
"I'll have it couriered."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much," Gretchen said, her hands practically shaking as she found out about her new treasure.
"My pleasure." He gathered up his bag of tools and left.
Gretchen was overjoyed, and just a little bit smug. She hadn't made such a gigantic gaffe after all.
"Skated by that one by the skin of your teeth, princess."
"But I did!"
"You screwed up. You just got lucky, in spite of it."
"Now, don't be a downer on my happiness."
He frowned. "I don't want you to get any darn fool ideas about doing this again."
"Harry told me to cut it out."
"Why you don't listen to Harry more, I don't know. This could have been a very expensive mistake."
"I keep saying I'm sorry. Everyone expects me to say I'm sorry," she said, irritation rising. Why was it always her fault? Wasn't it more the fault of the con men who were always trying to swindle her? How was she supposed to know about all of this stuff? And she couldn't always lean on Harry. She had to be a grown up and make her own decisions. It was her money to dispose of as she saw fit. It was not Harry's money, nor her accountant's, nor her banker's, nor her financial advisor's. If she wanted to fritter it away, it was her business.
Of course, if she was going to behave so badly, Harry would fire her and leave her on her own. As she calmed down, she realized how hard it would be to keep her affairs in order without Harry. And how intimidating it was to have control over all those dollars, employees, and eventually, a grant-giving foundation to support good causes beyond her personal scope. She couldn't manage it all herself. She needed Harry and his cohort.
Sighing, she said what she hoped was her final, "I'm sorry."
"Put the picture over by the writing table."
There was a small, walnut writing table on one side of the room, and a decorative chair next to it. She placed the Remington against the wall near the table. It might even be a good place to hang it eventually. Standing back to admire it, she didn't hear Rowdy come up behind her. Didn't realize he was there until he gave her a resounding smack on her rump. She was wearing a floral top with black skinny jeans, and there wasn't any padding between her butt and Rowdy's hand. The jeans did nothing to keep the sting from the impact.
"Ouch!"
He walked to the parlor doors and closed them, turning the lock as he did. "You deserve a spanking for not listening to Harry's constant advice to think before you spend. No one is denying you the right to shop, Gretchen. They're only advising you to spend wisely and not on a whim–especially when the sums are so big."
She knew she did deserve a spanking. She'd messed up and barely got away with it. Apparently, she wasn't to get totally away from her mistake. Her punishment wasn't going to be financial, is all. "But Rowdy…" An excuse was elusive, so she left it there.
"Pants down and put your belly flat on the tabletop."
It was only a few steps to the table, so she got closer before she slid her pants off over her bare feet. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her black satin panties, but Rowdy shook his head. "This is not going to be a frolic. Let's make it harder for us to veer off track."
Any hope of a fun kind of spanking went out the window. Black satin panties were not going to save her from a rough paddling either. With trepidation, she positioned herself bent over the table, while Rowdy took a position to her left side.
There was no preamble. As soon as she was bent over, he started smacking her behind with vigor. She ouched and ow'd and complained, but Rowdy kept paddling her. "Too bad there's no ruler on this desk," he said.
Although she knew there was one in the drawer, she said nothing about it. All she needed amidst this spanking was a volley of ruler smacks!
The spanks traveled down her thighs almost to her knees, and she kicked her heels up, the pain forcing tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, her words garbled. "I won't do it again, I promise."
"Every single time you do, I'm going to spank you. Every. Time. And I'll find a ruler, and when I can't find a ruler, I'll use my belt. You're lucky I don't now."
"No! Please don't. It already h-hurts."
"Your thighs are bright red, but not bright enough. I want you to look at that painting. Look at it right now."
Turning slightly, the painting stared at them like a silent witness to her misery.
"Good. Now keep looking at it, and let it remind you what not to do. Think about the painting and what it could have represented had you not gotten so lucky. Think about the college tuition or trip to Europe or world cruise you might have had instead of a flop."
She blubbered and squirmed as his hand kept crashing down.
"Look at it, Gretchen. Don't you ever look at it and forget what kind of pain it caused, which you brought upon yourself."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't take your eyes off it."
So many spanks went by. So much heat and burning pain. So much regret for misbehaving. She sobbed and cried for all she was worth.
"Harry might leave you if you don't stop acting up, Gretchen."
"H-how did you know?"
"It doesn't take a super-genius to figure out he'll eventually have enough and bail on you for being too much trouble."
Sobbing all the harder, she pressed her hot face to the cool tabletop.
"You need Harry. Neither you nor I is equipped to manage so much money."
"I hate the money! I hate it!"
"You don't hate it. You hate managing it."
More spanks fell, though they were slowing. Maybe Rowdy's arm was tired or his hand was smarting. She hoped it hurt him as much as it was hurting her.
"Please stop. Please. Please. Please. I'll learn. I promise."
He stopped suddenly, then rubbed her hot behind gently. Even the warmth of his hand stung and his calluses scratched her tender flesh. "Don't be full of promises, be full of success."
"Yes, sir. Can I get up now?"
"Yes."
As she turned, he pulled her in for a hug and held her as she cried. He even supplied her with his ever-present bandana so she could wipe her nose and face. She cried there, tension being relieved with every falling teardrop, until she had no more tears to cry. Rowdy pressed kisses on her forehead and smoothed her hair.
"Best you squirm back into those tight jeans."
She eyed the ice bucket next to the pitcher of lemonade on the coffee table, but he must have seen where her gaze went. "Uh, uh, uh. No relief. I want you to remember this for a while. Put your pants on then come sit on my lap. I want to talk to you about your ex."
"Neil?" She reluctantly left Rowdy's arms and began to wriggle her way back into her pants. How she wished she'd chosen something baggy to wear!
"Yeah. Come sit."
They made their way to one of the couches and sunk into the cushions. She curled up against his big chest and they were quiet for a minute.
"What about Neil?"
"I got a call about him. Apparently, he's been harassing your parents, looking for you and trying to connect with your friends."
"I wonder why Mom didn't say something, but that must have been a while ago, because he definitely found me."
"Yeah. That's what Bob said when I went to talk to him about it. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't know. It just seemed like he was in the past and I wanted to focus on you and me in the now."
"I understand, but this is about your safety."
"I have Bob."
"Bob isn't 24/7. And I don't trust Steve one-hundred-percent."
"Steve is okay."
"Ever since he let you wander away from that motel, I don't think you should rely on him as much."
"Well, now I have you when Bob is off-duty."
"Yeah, and that's the point I'm getting at. I'm going to start carrying my gun when we go out, and keep it by the bed at night."
"A gun? I didn't know you had a gun."
"I have a number of them, all but one stay in Idaho. I keep my favorite pistol with me when I'm traveling. I have a permit good almost everywhere."
"But are you sure you need it? So far, Neil has been a lot of talk and spittle."
"Not a chance I care to take, princess."
"Okay. If you're sure."
He nodded.
"Mommy!" Amy cried from outside the parlor doors. Seconds later the doorknob rattled. "Mommy!"
Gretchen got up and opened the door, then went back to the couch and sat down next to Rowdy as Amy rushed into the room. "Mommy! Come quick! Melody is sick."
Alarm raced through Gretchen like a hurtling train. "Where? Is she in your room?"
"Yeah." Amy grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door and the staircase beyond. They all three hurried up the stairs and into Amy's room where Melody was curled up in a fetal ball on the floor at the foot of Amy's bed. She was moaning and clutching her belly.
"Melody! Oh, no! What's wrong? Rowdy, call 911."
"On it," he said.
"I don't know," Melody ground out, groaning as she did. "I just all of a sudden started hurting. My belly hurts very bad."
Gretchen smoothed the dark hair off the other woman's forehead and felt for a fever. She felt hot to Gretchen's touch and she was pale. "Can you breathe okay? Is there blood anywhere?"
Melody barely shook her head. "No. It just hurts. I feel like someone is stabbing me."
Rowdy returned. "They're on their way." As he held the phone, Gretchen relayed what was wrong with Melody telling the 911 operator what was going on while they waited for an ambulance to arrive.
It was minutes, but it felt like hours. They weren't allowed to give Melody anything to drink, though she must be parched with a fever so high. The ambulance crew was very competent, calm, and professional, and soon they had Melody on the gurney and out the front doors and to the hospital in their ambulance.
The poor woman was moaning and gritting her teeth, but she still had time to reassure Amy before she left.
Bob stood nearby, looking as concerned as she'd ever seen him. He'd seen the commotion on the external cameras and had come running.
As they watched the ambulance leave, Gretchen made a mental list of all the people she needed to call, then she put on shoes and a light coat and had Jeff bring the limo around to take her and Bob to the hospital so she could be with Melody until the woman's sister could be notified and come be Melody's next-of-kin. Rowdy stayed at home with Amy. The little girl was fit-to-be-tied at not being allowed to go, but a hospital was no place for a child in a situation like this. Gretchen promised to call Amy as soon as there was any news. Rowdy was firm with her, but also promised to be there for her even though her mommy had to go with Melody for a little while.
Once at the hospital, there was some confusion about who was to be allowed to know what was going on, but soon enough Melody's sister, Lyra, showed up, her face set with worry. After talking to the doctor, Lyra told Gretchen it looked like Melody might have a burst appendix. Emergency surgery was necessary.
Gretchen called Rowdy to let him know what was happening and decided to wait for Melody to get through surgery before going home.
It was a longer surgery than Gretchen anticipated, and longer than the doctor told Lyra to expect, but soon he came back and told them Melody's appendix had indeed burst and sent infection throughout her gut. Antibiotics, a brief hospital stay to make sure the infection didn't take hold, and then rest at home for a week or two was the answer.
Gretchen was greatly relieved to know Melody was going to be okay, so she left the hospital and Melody's care to Lyra and went back to the mansion.
She arranged for flowers to be sent, and then spent the next hour comforting Amy.
They had a quiet dinner and then Gretchen called Lyra to check on Melody. Lyra said Melody was doing okay and was awake. They arranged for Gretchen and everyone to come visit the next day for a few minutes and then Lyra had to go because visiting hours were about over.
Gretchen explained the situation to Amy as best she could, but it was clear Amy was worried about her friend Melody, who had been a constant companion for a year.
"Will she die?"
Amy had never faced death before, so Gretchen wasn't sure the little girl even knew what it meant. "No, she's not going to die, sweetie."
"I had a butterfly that died. Do you remember Bingo the Butterfly?"
Gretchen kind of did. "Yes. She was a very pretty butterfly, but butterflies don't live long lives like people do."
"I know. Melody isn't a butterfly so she should be okay."
"Yes, she'll be okay. Now it's time for you to go to sleep. Would you like me to read you a story first?"
"Yeah. “Goodnight, Moon”, please. It's Melody's favorite."
Bob arranged for a temporary replacement for Melody the next day, but in the meantime, he put Steve on high-alert and limited his own rest time to four hours. Gretchen was grateful and reminded herself of how valuable her security team was and how much each of them meant to her on a personal level. When one was sick, the whole family was upset.