Chapter 5
Midweek, Flynn made it back to Rosser Ranch. He wondered if Gia would continue calling it that, though the locals probably would never stop. The place, in his mind, would always hold the name of Gia’s predecessor.
He threw flakes of hay to Dude and Rory. Since the previous Friday, Gia had been feeding them. Nice of her, although he suspected it wasn’t so much a favor to him as a kindness to his horse. As he watched both equines munch away, his stomach growled. He’d left at dawn’s early light and hadn’t had time for breakfast or even a cup of coffee.
Perhaps he’d go into town and grab something at either the Ponderosa or the Bun Boy. While the Bun Boy didn’t have any indoor seating—it was just a drive-through with picnic tables—the mornings were warmer now for eating alfresco. It would give Dude time to finish his hay before Flynn rode him to the back forty to check on the cattle. He was about to get in his truck when Gia came down the trail from her house carrying two mugs.
“One of those for me?” he asked, joking. When she nodded, he was surprised.
It must’ve shown because she said, “It’s in return for running the men in suits off my property. Again, how is it you knew them?”
“Small world.” He blew out a breath, took one of the mugs from her, and sipped. “Mmm, good stuff.”
She eyed him for a few seconds and kept whatever she was thinking to herself.
“What’ve you been up to?” he asked just to fill space.
“Day trading.”
He creased his brow. Brilliant financial lady like her should know better. “Isn’t that kind of risky? Isn’t investing all about the long-term?”
“In most cases, yes. But I’m pretty good at it.”
He figured what she wasn’t saying is that she needed money. Not at all the actions of a person sitting on a pile of stolen cash. Then again, the loot had likely been stashed away and couldn’t be touched without raising flags.
“I never saw you mention day trading as a viable financial plan in any of your books,” he said.
“You’ve read my books?” She looked stunned.
“My mother does. But I’ve been known to leaf through one or two. Good stuff.”
She smiled. It was the first genuine one he’d seen from her and it about knocked him over like a mad steer. It was that powerful.
“What does your mom do?”
“She’s a housewife and helps my dad run the ranch. It started with her wanting to set up college funds for her grandkids. She’d seen you on TV, bought one of your books, and the rest is history.”
“You have kids?”
“My brother’s kids,” he said and took another sip of coffee.
“That’s nice . . . that she likes my books . . . thanks for telling me.”
“She liked your show too,” he added. “Was angry when they canceled it.”
“It appears she’s in the minority. Most people wanted to see my head on a pike.”
He nodded. “A lot people lost money in that scam. How did someone like you fall for it?” Flynn knew he was pushing it.
At first he didn’t think she would answer. She just stared past him to the empty horse stalls.
“To fall on the old cliché: Love is blind. I trusted him . . . not in my wildest dreams could I imagine him stealing from me or anyone else. At least I was conservative when it came to investing with him. Others invested all they had.”
“Yet you’re day trading,” he said a mite too sanctimoniously.
“You wanna know the truth? It’s like you said, I couldn’t really afford this property. But I had to have it. The whole world was falling in on me and this ranch was the first place I felt safe. Really safe. Like everything here would make everything else all right.” She gazed up at him and shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
“I get it. How much you in the hole for?” He was getting mighty personal.
She let out a puff of air. “I paid cash for the ranch . . . but I have things I want to do . . . and those taxes you were talking about. And . . . well . . .”
“Money’s tight?” When she nodded, he said, “Sounds like you need to get a job.”
“I’ve got one.” She grinned. “Day trading. If things keep going the way they’ve been, I should be flush by summer.”
Foolhardy if you asked him, but she wasn’t.
“I guess Ray’s buying cigarettes in prison with my grazing-rights money,” Flynn said. Rosser got to keep the proceeds from the lease as terms of the agreement, even though Gia now owned the property.
“Dana thinks he’s giving the money to his wife and daughter. If that’s the case, I don’t have a problem with it.” She said it like she had empathy for them.
If the rumors were true, the sale of the ranch had been a windfall for the Rossers. Enough to pay Ray’s legal fees and then some. “I think they’re doing okay.”
“I hope so. It sounds like Ray was a pretty difficult man.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I thought your families were good friends.”
He knew she was referring to the sweetheart deal the Barlows had gotten on the lease. “I helped him out once. He was returning the favor.”
Flynn had written up a living trust for Rosser. Turned out Raylene wasn’t his only kid. Ray didn’t exactly want that news getting out, and in these mountains word had a tendency to travel. Of course as Ray’s attorney, Flynn was required to keep his mouth shut. But he’d worked it out so that the specifics of the trust could never be leaked. Only when Ray died would his beneficiaries find out.
“As far as my family,” he continued, “there was no particular love for the Rossers. We both ran cow-calf operations, that’s all.”
“Cow calf? Is that what Clay McCreedy runs too?”
“Yep. All that means is we keep a permanent herd and sell the calves for beef. Clay’s is one of the finest.”
“I met him on Monday. He seems like a nice man.”
“Yup, great guy. Now there’s a family that mine has been friends with forever.”
“It’s amazing how everyone here knows one another, how you’re entwined since birth.”
He laughed. “Sometimes it has its drawbacks, but for the most part it’s good to be part of a small town where everyone looks out for one another.” He nudged his head at her riding outfit, a pair of skin-tight pants—Flynn thought they called them jodhpurs—knee-high equestrian boots, and a short-sleeved, fitted T-shirt. It was sexy as hell but completely impractical for the dusty trails of the Sierra. “You going riding?”
“Yep.” She looked at her watch. “I made my profit target more than an hour ago.”
He knew she was talking about trading stocks. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” It was high time he got to work too, though he was still considering that breakfast.
Gia led Rory out of her stall, took her over to the tack area, and groomed her with a curry comb before saddling up. He had a hard time—hard being the operative word—watching her move around in those tight pants. Every time she bent over they outlined every curve of her ass while the snug top rode up, exposing a nice expanse of creamy, smooth back skin. Weren’t the English supposed to be prudes? Those jodhpurs, or whatever the hell they called them, were better than porn.
Quickly turning away when he thought she’d caught him ogling her, Flynn pretended to be busy with Dude. Ah hell, he needed to get out of the barn . . . away from her. He put a lead on Dude and, just like Gia, began the ritual of saddling him.
But he was faster, which stood to reason because he’d been doing it daily since he was four. He put one foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself up into the saddle, and guided Dude out the door. “Catch you later.”
“Yep, see you around.”
He spent an hour riding fences. The ranch was huge and no longer employed a staff of hands to check for breaks and holes. All it took was an opening for a few steers or cows to wander out, wind up on the road, maybe get hit by a car, or roam into another rancher’s herd. Although his had the Barlow brand, it was a hassle recovering lost cattle. He found a few places where the wood had rotted or the barbed wire had become loose. As soon as he got the necessary supplies, he’d come back and make the repairs.
He spent another hour checking the herd in the south pasture. It was a beautiful morning, mild enough to get away with a lightweight denim jacket. In the distance, a red-tailed hawk glided across the sky, its broad rounded wings spread wide. It was hunting, and Flynn stopped Dude for a few minutes to observe the bird swoop into the field, catch breakfast, and quickly take flight. He loved everything about spring mornings in the Sierra. The serenity, the fresh, dewy smell, and the way the light played on the mountains. Breathtaking.
But he wanted to get those fences fixed by noon so he didn’t have time to dawdle. Reining his gelding around, he headed back to the stable. There was no sign of Gia, which he hated to admit disappointed him. This morning they’d made decent strides toward being civilized with each other. Hell, she’d been damned friendly, considering their past encounters. Frankly, Flynn had been surprised how open Gia had been about her finances, the day trading, Evan Laughlin.
Love is blind. Nice line, even if it was a cliché.
And pretty personal stuff to tell a near stranger. Perhaps it was part of her cover. None of it made any sense to Flynn, and he’d always been good at reading these things. In the Bureau his uncanny ability to see through the bullshit had made him a crack agent and after that, his aptitude for putting the pieces together had made him an even better prosecutor.
Disappointed or not, the less he saw of Gia the better. She was a little too tempting.
He unsaddled Dude, got him situated, and headed to town. There was a line at the drive-through for the Bun Boy, so he parked, went to the window, and ordered two egg sandwiches, hash browns, and coffee. When they called his name, he took his food to one of the empty picnic tables. Everyone seemed to be on the go this morning.
He was halfway through one of the egg sandwiches when Donna Thurston, proprietor of the fast-food joint, wandered over. He’d known her for years.
“Flynn Barlow, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sneaking in and out without saying hello.”
He grinned. “I wasn’t sneaking. I just didn’t see you.”
“How’re your parents? I haven’t seen them in ages, not since the Plumas County Fair.”
“They’re good,” he said. “Busy.”
“Your ma still jarring that delicious honey?”
“You bet.” They kept two dozen beehives on the ranch in Quincy. His mother swore that due to the lavender and cloves she grew her honey was the best in three counties.
Donna looked up at the clear blue sky. “Farmers’ market starts next week. She planning to have a booth?” They held two a week—Wednesdays and Fridays—in the square while the weather held.
“I believe so.” She’d been making the forty-minute trek every spring and summer for the last six years. Barely breaking even, she mostly did it to socialize with the Nugget friends she rarely got to see.
“Well, good,” Donna said and sat herself next to him on the picnic bench. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Calving season. I’ve been spending a lot of time at Rosser Ranch.”
“With that Gia Treadwell?” She raised her brows. “You think she buried the money somewhere on the property?”
“What money?” He played stupid.
She shot him a look. “All that money Evan Laughlin stole. I’ve got two conflicting theories on it. The first one: She’s in it up to her eyeballs; she and that Laughlin fellow, a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Yeah,” Flynn said, trying not to sound too amused. “What’s your second theory?”
“Laughlin seduced her right out of her bank account. You ever see the man? He looks just like Hugh Jackman. Now what kind of red-blooded woman could resist a man like that?”
“Hmm,” Flynn replied, not that interested in how good-looking Laughlin was. He was a crook, which made him ugly in Flynn’s eyes.
“Well? What’s your theory, former G-man?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You’re no fun.”
He laughed and started in on his second sandwich. “What’s going on around here?”
“Not a lot. And I’m praying for a noneventful summer, not like last year.”
Last summer there’d been a series of arson fires in town. No one had been seriously hurt, but the blazes had caused some of the buildings considerable damage. The region’s new arson investigator had solved the case and last Flynn had heard, the firebug was doing time.
“Everyone’s excited about Dana and Aidan’s wedding, even though it’ll be in Reno,” she continued.
Flynn didn’t know Dana or Aidan, but he nodded as if he did. Otherwise he’d be here all day while Donna gave him their entire life stories. “You going?”
“Of course I am. How about you?”
“Didn’t get invited.”
“I could certainly fix that, Flynn Barlow. How else will you meet a nice woman? Everyone knows weddings are the perfect place. I bet Dana has lots of single girlfriends from college who’ll be there.”
“I’m actually seeing a stenographer in Sacramento.” He wasn’t really, but it would keep Donna off his back.
“Hey, Flynn.” Sloane McBride, one of Nugget PD’s finest, sat down across from him and Donna at the table. “How goes it?”
“It goes.” He eyed her heaping tray of food. “Doesn’t your chef husband cook for you?”
“He’s in San Francisco at the mother ship.” Brady worked as the executive chef for Breyer Hotels. Nate Breyer, the owner, lived part-time in Nugget and owned the Lumber Baron with his sister, Maddy.
“You going to my brother’s wedding?” Sloane asked.
“He wasn’t invited,” Donna said.
“I could make that happen.” Sloane popped half a hash-brown patty into her mouth and said, “Wanna go?”
“I don’t know him or the bride.”
“So, free food. Brady’s catering it. And Dana’s parents have a mansion. There’s plenty of room.”
“I’ll think about it.” Flynn scrunched up his garbage and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “In the meantime, I’ve got to get to Farm Supply, buy material, and mend some fences. It was nice seeing both of you.”
“You too,” Sloane said on a full mouth. It looked to Flynn like her uniform was getting a bit on the snug side. The extra weight looked good on her, like she was in love and happy.
He kissed Donna on the top of her head.
“Don’t you go being a stranger,” she said.
“I won’t.”
He crossed the picnic area, strolled across the parking lot, got in his truck, and drove to the other side of town to Farm Supply. The giant Quonset hut carried everything but the kitchen sink. Western wear, home goods, chicken coops, sheds, feed, tack, seeds, plants, fencing, you name it.
“Hi, Flynn.” Grace Miller, who owned the feedstore with her husband, Earl, waved from the front counter.
“Hey, Grace. How you doing?” The problem with small towns was you lost a lot of time exchanging pleasantries. Not a whole lot he could do about it. Unlike Sacramento, where capital workers were brusque and always in a rush, incivility in the country was a hanging offense. Everyone stopped to make small talk. “How’s Earl?”
“He’s out back if you’d like to say hello.”
Flynn suspected the barbed wire was also outside. “I’ll do that,” he said and made a beeline for the nursery. In back, there were a series of smaller Quonset huts where they kept hay, bags of grain, and building supplies. Nothing like a lumber store, but enough for small jobs.
Earl was directing workers unloading feed sacks off a semitruck with a forklift. He waved to Flynn, who walked over.
“Delivery day?”
“Yep. How are things over at Rosser Ranch?”
“Good. Just have a couple of fences to mend and came over to get some barbed wire, fence posts, and a bag of concrete mix.”
“You should find everything you need over there.” Earl pointed to one of the buildings, too preoccupied with the delivery to chitchat, which was fine by Flynn. “Let me know if you can’t find what you need.”
“Will do.” But Flynn found it all, loaded it on a flat cart, and paid at the register.
“How’s your ma, Flynn?” Grace asked as she ran his credit card.
“Good. I think she’ll be here next week for farmers’ market.”
“We’d love her to join our cooking group, the Baker’s Dozen. Now that we’ve got a commercial kitchen . . .”
“She might be interested.” His mother was a good cook and as far as he knew didn’t belong to any cooking clubs in Quincy. It was just that in the winter getting to Nugget in the snow could be hairy. He didn’t like his mother driving in bad conditions. “I’ll tell her to call you.”
“You do that.”
He loaded his supplies in the bed of his truck and drove back to Rosser Ranch. First spot was along the highway. Flynn pulled into a turnout and restrung new barbed wire where the old had come loose, then moved on to the next weak spot. That one required a new post and he mixed the cement in a spare bucket, using water from a tank he kept in the back of the truck for the cattle. It was mindless work and for this one he turned on his truck radio to the local country station, humming along to a Dixie Chicks song.
The work took longer than he’d thought it would. But by four he’d got it done. Next, he decided to drive over to the stable, return some emails from his laptop, and make sure things were running smoothly at the office. Then he’d feed Dude and head back to Quincy, maybe pick up dinner at the little Mexican joint in Cromberg. At the ranch he stayed in a small efficiency apartment. It didn’t have much of a kitchen. Although welcome to eat dinner with his parents in the main house, he usually saved that for Sunday nights and family gatherings, when his brother, Wes, his wife, and the kids came over.
He found a shady spot by the barn and pulled his laptop from the backseat. The computer automatically signed onto the ranch’s Wi-Fi; evidently Flynn had used it before. He scrolled through his emails, deleting the junk ones and opening those that seemed important. Wes wanted to discuss buying a new bull. A good breeding bull with the right lineage cost a pretty penny. They could weigh the pros and cons over a couple of beers. The two brothers were close, but between work, running cattle, and life, there was little time for hanging out. He returned the message, suggesting a couple nights that week for a get-together, and was about to go on to the next email when someone tapped on his window. He looked up to see Gia and opened his door.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Catching up on work. Thought I’d hang out long enough to feed Dude his dinner, then go back to Quincy.”
“I’ll feed him for you. Just hay, right?”
It was tempting. He could do his work from home. “I’m already here and don’t want to take advantage. You’ve been feeding him for me quite a bit as it is.”
On the days he didn’t come, she handled Dude. Although he provided hay, it wasn’t a fair trade because he got board too. He could always pay Clay’s kids to do the feeding before and after school.
“It’s no big deal to throw him a flake when I’m feeding Rory,” she said. “Around five, right?”
A few days ago she’d wanted to shoot him with the Winchester. Now she seemed to want to be his friend. He assumed it had to do with him booting Jeff and the other agent off her property. That had just been a defense-attorney reflex. Next time he wasn’t getting involved.
“That’s all right.” He held up the computer in his lap. “I need to get this done.” Hell, maybe she wanted him off her property so she could dig up her money. Donna was a kook, but she might be on to something.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “I didn’t realize cattle required computer work.”
“It does.” Tons of it. Everything from breeding and birth records to profit-and-loss statements. It was like any other business. “This is for my other job.”
“What’s that?” she wanted to know.
“I’m a lawyer.”
She jerked her head in surprise. “You are?”
Yeah, lady, I graduated first in my class from Stanford. He rolled his eyes.
“Uh, I just meant . . . I thought you . . . you know . . .”
“That I herded doggies,” he mocked.
“What kind of lawyer?”
“Estate and corporate.” He left out the criminal defense part. Now that she knew, she’d look him up on the Internet anyway.
“Where do you practice . . . uh, besides your truck?” That little bite was back, like she was embarrassed that he’d put one over on her.
“Sacramento.”
“Is that how you knew those FBI agents?”
“Yes. How’d you know they were FBI?”
“They left their cards on my door. They’ve been calling ever since.”
“My advice to you is that you don’t talk to them without representation.” And here he was, sticking his nose in it again.
“I thought that once the grand jury didn’t indict me it would be over.” There was a weariness in her voice that tugged at him.
“You want it straight?” He studied her face. “Until the authorities find Evan Laughlin it’ll never be over, Gia. Get yourself an attorney.”
“You think I was involved, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m going to say it again . . . a lawyer, Gia. Get yourself a good lawyer.”
“I wasn’t involved and they’ll never find Evan because—”
“Stop! There is no privilege here.” He wagged his hand between them. “We are not attorney-client. Anything you tell me could eventually be used against you.”
She shot him a menacing glare. “I’m innocent! Try using that against me.” Gia turned back to the house in a huff.
Guess they weren’t going to be friends after all.