Chapter 2

A good night to stay home. Second-guessing himself, Luke blew on his hands, warming them as he entered the hotel lobby.

Then Maeve stepped into the hall. With the soft blue sweater clinging to her silhouette like contour feathers, she was as eye-catching as an indigo bunting.

He caught his breath, reminded of why he’d ventured out in the storm. “Good timing.”

“Hey.” Her smile lit up the lobby. “Been waiting long?”

“Just got here.” He shook his head as his gaze swept her from head to toe. “But I wouldn’t have minded waiting an hour. You look terrific.”

“Thanks.” Blushing, she tilted her head in a shy smile.

Good looking but doesn’t know it. His gaze lingered, and the pause lengthened. Then the puffy vest on her arm registered. “Let me help you with your jacket.”

“Thanks.” Relinquishing her vest, she slipped her arms through its sleeves.

He breathed in the fresh, lemony scent of her shampoo. “Thought you might like some company for dinner—being new in town and all.”

“That’s especially thoughtful on a night like this.” She glanced at the snow outside.

“Not really. Selfish is more like it.” He laughed at himself. “Might as well be honest.”

“As long as we’re being honest…” Turning toward him, she lowered her voice. “I hate eating alone in restaurants.”

“It isn’t every day I stumble on a long-lost cousin.”

“Third cousin”—her green eyes danced—“by adoption.”

His gaze caught hers and held it a beat too long. Recovering, he gestured toward the café next door. “Hope you’re hungry. The bistro makes a mean beef bourguignon.”

“You mean beef stew?”

“Hey, it’s a small-town restaurant trying to be chic.” Pretending indignation, he opened the door, and a blast of frigid air sucked away his breath.

“Brisk.” She shivered as the wind swept back her hair.

“And icy.” He stepped over the downspout’s ice flow, where the snow had melted and refrozen beneath the snow. “Watch your st—”

She shrieked as she slipped.

He caught her, then keeping a protective arm around her shoulders, guided her beneath the strung lights. Relentless snowflakes swirled about them, weighing down the giant oak boughs overhead and collecting in drifts along the hedges. If this snow freezes, will the roads close?

“This storm’s turning into a blizzard.”

“You read my mind, but we’ll be cozy inside.” He opened the restaurant’s door, and the aromas of flame-broiled steak and smoked brisket filled his senses. Dismissing the uncertainties, he breathed deeply, and his optimism returned.

“Table for two, Luke?” The grinning host grabbed two menus.

“Yup. Charlie, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Maeve.”

“Do you live in the area, Maeve?” Speaking over his shoulder, he guided them to a window booth beneath an antler chandelier.

“Nope, just visiting a few days, at least ’til my car’s repaired.”

“Hope you enjoy your stay.” He handed her a menu. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

“Would you like wine?” Curious about her tastes, Luke turned toward her. “Red or white?”

“I like a good cabernet or tempranillo now and then.”

Luke exchanged a grin with Charlie. “A woman after my own heart.”

“What’s so funny?” She looked from one to the other.

“Luke’s winery makes cabernet sauvignon and tempranillo.”

“What a coinci—” Her eyes sparkled. “Synchronicity.”

“Which would you prefer? A cab or tempranillo?”

“Tempranillo, especially if we’re having beef bourguignon.” She smiled at the host. “Which I hear is the house specialty.”

“Definitely a woman of refined tastes.” Luke exchanged another look with Charlie. “A bottle of tempranillo and beef bourguignon for two.”

“Be back in a minute with the wine.”

“You own a winery?” Head back, she appraised Luke.

“A vineyard that I’m”—he stifled a sigh—“slowly expanding into a winery.”

“How’d you get started?”

“I worked summers at my grandfather’s boutique winery. Then I changed my major to viticulture.”

“The study of grapes, right?”

“Grape cultivation.” He nodded. “And I took a double major in enology.”

“Which is…?”

“The study of wines and winemaking.”

She cocked her head as if interested. “What led you to that field?”

Recalling the sequence of events, he took a deep breath. “That’s a longer story—”

“Honey, I’m home.” Wearing an impish grin, Charlie brandished the wine’s label in front of Maeve. “Chateau Mont Bleu, Luke’s winery.” After opening the bottle, he handed Luke the cork and splashed a taste in his glass.

Luke breathed in its bouquet as he swirled the silky, deep-red liquid. Then sipping, he rolled the wine over his tongue. “I detect tones of cherry, dried fig, and cedar, with just a trace of dill.” His tone tongue-in-cheek, he winked.

“My, what a developed palate you have, sir.” Charlie’s smile broadened as he poured a glass for Maeve and refilled Luke’s. “The beef will be out in a minute.”

“Thanks.” Luke lifted his glass. “To meeting new kin.”

“I’ll drink to that.” She clinked glasses and inhaled before sipping the tempranillo.

“Well, what do you think?” He watched her lips, still red from the wine.

She sipped again. “Full-bodied, yet light…delicious.”

“Glad you like it.” He breathed a sigh, then gave a self-conscious laugh. “Guess I take wine personally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just realized I was holding my breath, waiting for your verdict.” His sniff passed for a laugh. “Apparently, I confuse people’s opinion of me with my wine.”

“I can relate. Wine’s your career. You’re not confusing the two. You’re fusing your results to your self-esteem.”

“What are you in your spare time? A psychologist?” Relaxing, he leaned back.

“Far from it. For the past five years, I’ve done nothing but push myself, always trying to prove myself, yet never quite measuring up.” She snickered. “Now that I’ve mustered out of the Army, I have to ask myself, where’s that drive gotten me? What do I have to show for it?”

So, she has self-doubts, too. “You did what you had to do—kept on keeping on, and it’s gotten you to this point—gotten you here.” He tapped the table for emphasis. “For that, I’m glad.” Recognizing a kindred soul, he held out his glass. “To persistence.”

“You mean, pigheadedness.” Her smile crooked, she clinked glasses.

A server set a basket of warm sourdough bread on the table, its sharp, yeasty scent rising with the steam.

“Bread?” Luke offered her the basket.

“No thanks.” Shaking her head, she paused while Charlie placed individual cassoulets before them.

“Smells wonderful.” Luke glanced at the buttery mashed potatoes piped around the terra-cotta bowl’s edge, then closed his eyes to better appreciate the rich meld of aromas: beef brisket, pearl onions, cremini mushrooms, and hickory-smoked bacon.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Charlie topped off their wine and, with a friendly nod, stepped away.

“I don’t know whether to take a picture or dig in.” Maeve leaned over the steaming dish and breathed in its bouquet. “My mouth’s watering, but the presentation’s perfect.”

“Don’t stand on ceremony. Enjoy.” Leading by example, Luke speared a brisket cube and popped it in his mouth. “Melts on your tongue.” He ate leisurely, savoring the textures of the velvety mashed potatoes and al dente chewiness of the fork-tender brisket as much as the stew’s taste.

She tried a forkful and groaned. “Delicious.” Smiling, she raised her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast for this fabulous meal. May neighbors respect you, trouble neglect you, angels protect you, and heaven accept you.”

After clinking glasses, he leaned forward and cupped his mouth with his hand. “I have a confession to make.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Since Charlie sells our wine exclusively, I feel obligated to bring in new customers.”

Her eyes glistened beneath the chandelier’s muted glow. “This restaurant doesn’t need your help. The food is great.” As she tipped back her head sipping her wine, her delicate neck arched from her sweater’s cowl neckline.

His gaze traveled the length of her torso, and he caught his breath at the swell of her breasts. Clearing his throat, he took a long draught of wine.

“You never finished telling me how you became a vintner.” Stabbing a beef chunk, she attacked her food like a starving model.

“After graduation, I interned at a major winery—didn’t pay much, but it gave me firsthand experience.” He scooped a forkful of the beef.

“What kind of experience?” She met his gaze. “Specifically.”

“Winery design, wine-processing technologies, fermentation, and my personal favorite”—he winked—“flavor chemistry. But the most important takeaway was what I learned about grapevine diseases.”

“Why’s that?” Her fork suspended mid-air, she paused, her green eyes wide.

“Because I learned how to prevent Pierce’s Disease, which attacks grapevines from Florida to California. It’s what destroyed my grandfather’s vineyard.”

“Pierce’s Disease…never heard of it.” She shook her head, her shiny hair swinging with each movement. “What causes it?”

“Insects spread the bacteria, and in my grandfather’s case, sharpshooter leafhoppers destroyed his vines.”

Her brow bunched. “If he knew Texas vineyards sat in the middle of this zone, why did he start a vineyard here?”

“Because…”

She speared another beef cube and used her teeth to slide it from her fork.

Her gesture was strangely arousing; he lost his train of thought. Then covering, he sipped his wine. “Because experts misled him into believing the area’s high altitude and snowy winters would protect his vines from leafhoppers.”

“How sad.” Staring at her cassoulet, she seemed lost in thought. Then brightening, she leaned across the table. “How could he have prevented Pierce’s Disease?”

“The industry’s developed better practices and pesticides.” He scowled at the irony. “If my grandfather knew in the seventies what I know now, he wouldn’t have lost his shirt—or the vineyard.”

She arched her left brow. “What are the workarounds?”

Is she interested or just being polite? “I won’t bore you with details, but prevention boils down to pruning and pesticides.”

Nodding, she peeked through her eyelashes. “So, you’ve hit upon the magic combination?”

He shrugged. “The proof is in the yield.”

Shaking her head, she raised her glass. “The proof is in the wine, as this tempranillo attests. To your continued success.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” As he clinked glasses, he caught her gaze. “You mentioned you were headed to El Paso. What takes you there?”

“Originally, I was going to visit my grandmother.” She shrugged. “But now I’m just relocating.”

“Any particular…reason…?” Person? He left his words hanging.

Her smile distant, she shook her head. “No, I’m not seeing anyone if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Glad to hear it.” He leaned across the table. “Though it’s hard to believe you aren’t taken.”

“I was engaged.” Grimacing, she glanced at her plate before meeting his gaze. “But long story short, just when I mustered out, he was deployed. I was collateral damage.”

“Wow.” He sat back. “Three of the top five.”

“Top five what?”

“Most stressful life events: leaving a job, moving, and ending a relationship.”

“Never thought of it that way.” She stared out the window as if lost in thought, then came to attention. “The storm’s getting worse. All I see is white.”

“You’re not kidding. Visibility’s zero.” A groan escaped as he rubbed his chin. “Just wondering about the roads.”

“Where do you live?”

“A couple miles from here”—his laugh was dry—“vertically.”

“Maybe we should call it a night.” She checked her watch. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be safe at home.”

“No worries.” Let’s see where this evening leads. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’d be responsible if anything happened to you.” She slipped her arms through her vest. “Thank you for a lovely meal and terrific company, but you’d better leave before the storm gets any worse.”

“Can I get you folks anything else? Coffee? Dessert?” Charlie set an open menu between them.

“Their coconut cream pie melts in your mouth.” Luke appealed with a smile.

“Thanks, but I couldn’t eat another mouthful.” She shook her head. “Besides, we should leave, so you can beat the storm.”

Hiding his disappointment behind a smile, he turned to the host. “You heard the lady.”

“Here’s your check.”

“That was fast.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re my last customers.”

“What?” Luke eyed the empty tables and booths before glancing at his watch. How long have we been here?

“Everyone else had the good sense to leave. You may be my supplier and best customer but get out”—Charlie laughed—“so I can lock up.”

Chuckling, Luke placed several bills inside the folder.

“Be right back with your change.”

“Keep it. It’s the least I can do for keeping you late.” Then standing, he offered her his hand. “Don’t know about you, but I’ve been kicked out of better places than this.” He winked. “Ready?”

****

Ready for what? My pulse spiked as he helped me to my feet. Despite meeting him just hours before, I liked his hand’s warm grip around mine. I studied his profile as we crossed the room, taking in his long eyelashes, hint of sideburns, bristling five-o’clock shadow, and thick shock of hair that invited tousling.

His arm brushed mine as he opened the door.

Goose bumps broke out, then the blast of frigid wind sent chills up my spine. Or was he the cause?

Snow covered the courtyard in a thick mantle of white. Knee-deep drifts between the bistro and hotel hid the path, and beneath the snow was ice.

Sleet stung my eyes and burned my cheeks as the wind whipped at my hair.

“Whiteout.” He draped his arm around my shoulders and guided me through the wet, driving snow.

I side-glanced. His lashes were so long, they caught snowflakes. “Somehow, the courtyard didn’t seem as wide walking here as going back.”

“Almost home.”

“I’m almost home, but what about you?” I stared into the frenetic white. “I can barely see my feet. You can’t drive in this storm.”

“That’s why they invented windshield wipers.” He turned toward me with a grin.

Blaming myself, I drew a deep breath. “Seriously—”

“Seriously, here we are.”

As he opened the door, the warm, dry heat of the hotel’s cheery fireplace surrounded me. Inviting armchairs faced the open, stone hearth. “Why don’t we sit by the fire until the storm passes?”

He glanced at the crackling fire, peeked out the door’s window, and a slow smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “You talked me into it—just until the snow lets up—but first…” His dark eyes twinkling, he held up his index finger. “Back in a sec.”

Where’s he going? I peered through the window as he disappeared into the white.

Two minutes later, he returned with a bottle.

“Where’d you get that wine?”

“Never know when I’ll have to make a delivery, so I keep a case in my pickup.” The label facing me, he held up a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

“Always prepared, huh?” I chuckled.

“Not really…no wine opener.” Grinning, he turned to the desk clerk. “Do you have a corkscrew we could borrow?”

“Sure.” The night clerk dug behind the desk and produced an opener and two plastic cups. Then he offered a napkin-lined basket of cookies. “Help yourselves.”

“Thanks.” His hands full, Luke’s dark eyes appealed for help.

Responding to his body language, I snatched two cookies with a napkin and set them on a tea table between overstuffed chairs in front of the fire. What a cozy setting. I dropped my guard, unwinding for the first time in months…years. “All the comforts of home.”

“Home away from home.” The wine cork came out with a pop.

While Luke poured, I got an idea. “Be right back.”

I rushed to my room, grabbed the most dilapidated diary from the box, and caught my windblown reflection in the mirror. Yikes. After exchanging my puffy vest for a silky, merino-wool wrap, I ran a brush through my hair and added a touch of lipstick.

Five minutes later, I returned with a water-stained, antique composition book.

His gaze embraced me from head to toe as he rose to his feet.

Butterflies tickled the pit of my stomach, and I squirmed beneath his stare. “Thought you might like to page through one of Marianna’s journals.”

“I would, but first, a toast to new friends.” He handed me a plastic glass as he raised his.

I tapped my glass against his with a nonmusical thud, then sipped the cabernet, rolling it over my tongue and letting it linger. “This cab’s even better than the tempranillo.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s what I like to hear.” He gestured to the armchairs. “Have a seat.”

“I haven’t sorted through the diaries yet, but this one looks the oldest.”

Its stained, cloth covers unraveling, the notebook’s narrow spine hung by a thread.

Though the disintegrating book had no market value, I cherished its sentimental value. This belonged to Grandma and, before her, Marianna. I placed the journal in his hands as gently as if it were eggshell art.

He opened the front cover, smiled, and lightly traced a child’s penciled scrawl. “Marianna Rodriguez. My great-great-grandmother.”

Beneath the childish print, Mrs. Ramon Garcia was written in an ornate cursive font.

His eyes glistening in the firelight, he turned the lined, yellowed page. “November sixteenth, eighteen-ninety-nine, Castolon, Texas. Henrietta discovered cinnabar.”

“Seventeen.”

“What?”

“Page seventeen.” Pointing to the ink stamp on each page, I thumbed through the notebook. “The numbers are consecutive, but they start at seventeen. What happened to the first sixteen pages?”

“Maybe they were so worn, they fell out of the binding.” He rubbed the edge of the crumbling, dog-eared page between his fingers.

“The stitching’s loose, but I don’t think they fell out.” I fingered through the missing pages’ straight-edged stubs. “See the neatly sliced edges? Someone used a ruler to tear these off.”

“Wonder why?”

****

Marianna Garcia examined the blood-red crystal. As the mid-morning sun poured through the window, the mineral lit up like frozen fire.

“Where’d you find that stone?” Ramon hung his hat on the wall peg, gave his wife a peck on the cheek, and sat at the table.

“Henrietta flew the coop again this morning. I found her near the arroyo, sitting on this stone like she was hatching eggs.” Chuckling, Marianna handed him the crystal before ladling three-bean chili into terracotta bowls.

“She’s broody.” Studying the rock, he spoke over his shoulder.

“Loco, you mean.” She set lunch on the pine-plank table and sat across from her husband. “But she made a discovery.”

“What do you mean?” He handed back the stone.

“I think that’s cinnabar, though I’ve never seen it crystalized before.” Gesturing to it with a nod, she passed him the basket of warm corn tortillas. “Usually it’s a dull, brick-red, so I’m not sure.”

He helped himself to a tortilla, then spooning thick chili on it, rolled it into a taco. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Add it to my rock collection.” Shrugging, Marianna glanced across the table. “Why?”

****

Luke sipped his cabernet before resuming. “November twenty-third.” He chuckled. “Treatment of chicken lice. Paint the upper edges of roost perches with small amount of nicotine-sulfate.”

“Wait a minute.” Maeve’s fingertips grazed his wrist. “Did you skip several entries?”

“No.”

“Are the pages stuck together?”

“Nope.” Turning the tattered page, he shook his head and pointed to the ink stamp. “Page eighteen.”

“That’s it? Marianna skipped a week, then left a cure for chicken lice?”

“That’s all she wrote.” He held the journal closer to the dim firelight. “See?”

Maeve’s Irish-green eyes danced in the flames’ reflection as she read silently, then glanced up. “Marianna doesn’t say much the next day, either.”

“Why don’t you read a while?” Swallowing a smile, he handed her the diary, rested his head against the back of the chair, and watched her bow-shaped lips move as she read aloud. How would those feel?

“November twenty-fifth. Henrietta flew the coop again.”

Maeve smiled as she turned the page and glanced from the diary. “Finally—longer entries.

“November thirtieth. Today, the storekeeper dropped by with an offer on the ranch. Told him no.

“December second. Ramon surprised me on my Saint’s Day with a pendant made from the cinnabar. When I told him it was too expensive, he called it an early Christmas present.”

“December fourth. Mr. Barnes stopped by with another offer.”

****

“We’re not selling.” Ramon exchanged a glance with Marianna. “This is our home.”

“Don’t force my hand.” Teeth gritted, Mr. Barnes slammed out the door.

“What’s he talking about?” Concerned by the man’s tone, Marianna turned to Ramon.

“Remember the day you found the stone?”

“You mean, the day Henrietta found it.” She fingered the pendant at her neck.

“I’d seen necklaces at the general store, so I asked Mr. Barnes if the vendor could wire wrap the crystal.”

“So that’s how you arranged it.” She grinned at his ingenuity, then puckered her brow. “But what’s this have to do with him wanting our land?”

“When he saw the cinnabar, he opened his ledger and reminded me how he’s carried us on his books.”

“We’ll pay our bills at harvest, just like all the other ranchers.” Marianna stiffened at the man’s gall. “Did you tell him we have good crops of corn and cotton planted?”

“Yes, and I told him the goats have started dropping their lambs. Cabrito sales will cover the bills until July, when the corn comes in.”

“And…?”

“He said July is five months off and asked how I had ‘money for trinkets’ when we’re three months behind in bills, and the taxes are due. Then he slammed the ledger, saying he tries not to foreclose…but if we squander money instead of paying our bills, he’ll be forced to reconsider.”

She swallowed hard. He wouldn’t evict us, would he?

“If it weren’t for the boll weevils, we wouldn’t be in debt.” Ramon’s shoulders slumped.

“The cabrito and corn will get us through. We’ll be fine!” Marianna flashed a smile, but a chill seeped into her bones. Won’t we?

****

“December twelfth. Henrietta flew the coop again. This time, a chicken hawk got her—found her feathers at the arroyo.”

Maeve clicked her teeth. “Poor Henrietta.

“Also found footprints and churned-up caliche. Someone’s been digging on our property.

“December twenty-fifth. Tried the recipe for Simple Sponge Cake. Beat six eggs long and well with a teaspoon salt. Then slowly add one cup sugar, and in the same manner one cup flour. Flavor to suit the taste.”

Shaking her head, Maeve glanced from the journal. “No oven temperature or baking time. I’d be lost.

“January fourth, nineteen hundred, Castolon, Texas. Mr. Barnes stopped by with a final offer. Said he’d be back in the morning for our answer.”

“What a persistent son of a gun.” Snickering at the man’s relentlessness, Luke topped off her glass.

“Thanks.” Maeve raised it in a toast. “To Marianna’s resistance—hope she doesn’t cave.”

Luke studied her as he clinked glasses. The flickering firelight lent her skin a soft, rosy glow, accenting the red highlights of her tawny hair. Then he settled back in his chair, enjoying the camaraderie. “Want me to read a while, or are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her lips curled in a smile. “Besides, I’m curious what happens to Marianna.

“January fifth. Mr. Barnes returned this morning with Mr. Holden. When we refused to sell, they threatened us.”

****

“I’ve purchased your debt from Mr. Barnes, and I’m within my rights to collect the full balance—forty-seven dollars and seventy-nine cents.”

“We’ll pay when everyone else does, Mr. Holden, just as soon as we bring in the harvest.” Ramon straightened his shoulders.

“You’ll pay today.” The corners of the man’s thin lips dipped in a sneer. “Or I place a lien on your property.”

His forehead wrinkling, Ramon repeated his installment plan. “Cabrito sales will cover the bills until July—”

“Payment is due today…with interest.” Holden peered down his nose.

“We can make monthly payments against it.” Marianna twisted her apron’s ruffle between her fingers. “Weekly, if you like, now that—”

“You’ve been in arrears for three months.” Mr. Barnes gestured toward her pendant. “And what did you do when you had a few dollars? Spent them on trinkets.”

“Before the boll weevils destroyed the cotton, we weren’t in debt.” Marianna bristled. “And now that lambing season’s here, money’s coming in again. We can make weekly payments until the corn’s ripe. Then we’ll pay you in full.”

“Not July.” Mr. Holden jabbed the air with his finger. “Not next week.” He jabbed again. “Today. Pay me in full today—with interest—or I’m placing a lien on your property.”

“Don’t you use that tone with my wife.” Ramon jumped between them, shielding her as he shoved the men out the door. “Get out of our home. Both of you!”

Mr. Holden threw the letter in his face. “These aren’t idle words. They’re my rights. And you—”

“Get out and stay out.” Ramon pushed the men onto the porch and bolted the lock.

Holden shouted through the door. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”

Marianna froze until the porch boards creaked with the men’s retreating steps. Then she ran into Ramon’s arms. “What’ll we do?”

****

“January sixth. I woke Ramon early with a solution.”

****

“They want the cinnabar, not our ranch.”

“What?” Ramon rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“They just want the mineral rights—not the land.” Marianna jumped to her feet. “Get dressed.”

****

“Mr. Barnes, we’d like a moment of your time.” Marianna straightened her shoulders.

“Come to your senses, have you?” The storekeeper smirked.

“We’ve come to a decision.” She tossed her chin. “Do you have a place to speak privately?”

“Fetch Mr. Holden from the hotel.” Grabbing the ledger, he barked orders over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” His clerk scrambled from behind the counter.

“This way.” Mr. Barnes led them to the inner office, plunked himself behind an oversized desk, and opened the ledger. “Do you have the forty-seven dollars and seventy-nine cents?”

Marianna exchanged glances with her husband.

“Well? Be quick about it.” He tapped his fingers on the wide, deep oak desk. “I’m a busy man.”

“We prefer to wait for Mr. Holden.” Uninvited, she sat across from him.

Following her lead, Ramon pulled up a chair.

Minutes later, Mr. Holden joined them. “Got the money?”

“Let’s lay our cards on the table.” She flashed a smile. “You don’t want the ranch. You want the cinnabar. Why buy the cow when we’d happily sell you the milk?”

****

“I don’t recall any family stories about a mine.” Luke leaned across the lamp table and peered at the journal.

“Here.” Maeve passed him the diary before snuggling into the upholstered chair. “Your turn to strain your eyes.” Then after a languid stretch, she leaned back.

“Tired?”

“Nope, just relaxing.”

“Maybe I should let—”

“No, I want to see how this works out.” She came to attention. “Don’t you?”

****

Marianna swallowed, summoning her courage. “We’ll lease you the minerals under our land, Mr. Holden.”

“Why should I pay you royalties, when I can buy your property outright?”

“Simple.” She met his jeer. “Because our ranch isn’t for sale.”

“Then I’ll place a lien against your property.” He snickered.

“A lien would cost you legal fees, as well as time…” She glanced at her husband, gambling she was right.

“What makes you think time is of any concern?” His pupils became tiny black flecks.

“Because of your sudden demands after Mr. Barnes learned of cinnabar on our land.” She stared him down.

“Coincidence.” He scowled at the storekeeper before turning back.

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“And I don’t believe in leases.” Mr. Holden turned to leave. “I do not, and I will not pay royalties. Good day.”

“Since we have a stalemate”—Ramon sprang from his chair—“I suggest a compromise.”

Mr. Holden turned. “I’m listening.”