The next morning, Mindy rose with the sun and a plan.
The sun didn't surprise her. She'd asked a few of the hands for more information about dust storms. While several had heard of storms lasting for more than a day, none had actually experienced one. Mindy guessed that Bret had been trying to scare her. Another mark against him.
She took the shortest shower on record and headed for the dining room.
The scene bore an eerie resemblance to yesterday's breakfast. Bret stood, half eaten biscuit in hand, pointing to a map stuck to the wall while the men looked on intently. Mindy guessed that this was an every-morning routine.
He looked incredible. For an instant she let herself wonder why he'd become a gigolo, and why he’d chosen such an inhospitable part of the world to do it in. A west Texas ranch is worth something, but half the land she’d passed looked abandoned. The odds of striking it rich had to be better in New York or Los Angeles. With his chiseled face, rock-hard body, and the leadership she saw the hands responding to, he could have been anything.
None of the men, she noticed, bothered to look up when she walked into the room; she didn't even warrant a frown from Bret. Evidently yesterday had accounted for her fifteen minutes of fame at Babbage Ranch.
"Any questions?" Bret asked the men.
Shaking heads and the stuffing of whatever they could find on the table into pockets and pouches followed.
"Perhaps our new co-owner would like to add a few words of encouragement," Bret said.
He hadn't missed her entrance after all.
"Uh. Since I don't know what you're doing today, I don't think I have a lot to offer."
That got her the actual beginnings of a smile from Bret. He enjoyed seeing her squirm.
"Then that's it, men. We need to know how much we lost in that storm. Sharon, make sure you stay within listening distance of the radio and forward regular reports. We can't afford to do this twice."
Sharon nodded.
Bret looked around, then grabbed his hat from the chair. As if this were the signal, all the other cowboys stood and clomped out of the house. In a few moments, the harsh roar of all- terrain vehicles filled the air. Bret, along with one of the other men, climbed into a pickup. Mindy watched through the dining room window. He gave her a jaunty wave as he headed out.
"I guess it's just the two of us today," Mindy said to Sharon.
"Leave me out of it," Sharon replied as she began clearing the dishes. "You heard Bret. He wants me near the radio."
So much for friendly chit-chat.
"Do you have a list of the places the ranch has accounts with?" Mindy asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"As half owner, I think it's my responsibility to know what's going on. Do you have a problem with that?"
Sharon backed down. "No problem. I'll print you out a copy."
Sharon stepped into Bret's office, fired up an ancient PC and loaded a spreadsheet.
"Bret doesn't like anyone to come in here," Sharon told her.
"I can understand that," Mindy agreed straightfacedly. Bank robbers probably didn't like it when people came and watched them at work either. "I guess he'll have to put up with the disappointment, because I'm going to be living in here until I figure out what's really going on."
"Here's your list." Sharon handed her a torn off sheet of pin fed paper.
"Thanks."
****
Something had changed. Bret rubbed his tired eyes and looked at the house.
It wasn't his imagination. When he had left that morning, the house had been colored a dark beige by dust that had adhered to it after the storm. Now the moonlight glistened off freshly painted walls.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Mindy met him as he pushed his way into the house. "Take off your boots. I had the carpets shampooed." She gave him a smug smile. The streak of paint across her nose made her look cute rather than stunning, but he decided not to point it out to her right then. Besides, he actually kind of liked it on her. It made her a little more approachable.
"I don't think I asked for advice on my attire, but maybe I didn't make my question clear. What--have--you--done--to--the--house?"
She held her hands out from her body and spun around, a huge smile on her face. "It's amazing what a little soap and fresh paint do to a place, isn't it?"
"Amazing," he said. "Are you going to tell me what you're up to, or am I supposed to guess?" He tried to stay calm. Getting mad at Mindy made as much sense as getting mad at the dust storm. Like the storm, she was a boundless source of directionless energy. Right now, he wasn't sure which was more annoying, or more destructive.
"Oh, no. It wouldn't do to challenge our intellects by guessing, would it?" she shot back. "Let me explain. I had the ranch house exterior painted and the carpets shampooed." She spoke slowly, mimicking the way he'd repeated his question.
"Only the exterior? I'm surprised that you didn't have the inside painted while you were at it." Where had she gotten the money to pull this kind of stunt?"
"I thought about it. Then I took a closer look. Do you know that, underneath about ten layers of paint, this place still has the original wallpaper? I thought, why not return to that earlier look. So I found something that nearly matches the original paper and I bought thirty rolls. That should last us for a while. When we run out, we can order more. It's great. Next, I'm going to do something about the bathrooms. I can't believe how bad they are."
"You just happened to have the money for all of this lying around, right?" He abandoned the effort to hide his sarcasm.
"Of course not. I put it on the ranch's account."
Bret forced himself to take a deep breath. Even if she'd gotten a crew to work for minimum wage, paint and labor had to add up to hundreds of dollars. More likely, thousands. Of course Mindy probably got taken to the cleaners by the local workmen. The wallpaper would be hundreds more, but maybe he could return that.
"You never thought to ask my opinion?" he demanded. I'm the one who owns the other half of this ranch. Remember?"
"Just like you've been consulting me on your ranch management, right?" Mindy replied. "Get real. You're doing the best you can to make this place unsalable. I say tough. I intend to find out what it's really worth and get it. Then if you still want to make me an offer, more power to you."
He resisted the urge to strangle her; it wouldn't set a good example for the hands. "Bankrupting the place is a strange way to maximize its value."
"If a few hundred dollars worth of paint and wallpaper are going to put this place under, you'd be a fool to offer me seventy-five thousand. Face facts, Bret. I'm onto you. You'll have to come up with a better move if you want to stay in the game."
She actually seemed to enjoy playing with his life. The little spark in her eyes made him want to do something, although he couldn't decide whether that something was to toss her out on her ear or kiss her senseless.
"I don't suppose that the concept of cash flow enters your vocabulary."
"Ooh, my. That is a tough one, but I think I can understand the theory," she said. "Good news. If you'd listened, you would have heard that I put it on account. I bargained for net ninety rather than your usual net thirty. And I got the paint store owners to do the painting at half price."
"Half of what price?"
"He said they normally charge six dollars an hour. It seems low."
"Oh."
"Oh, what? No snappy comeback?"
Three dollars an hour for painting was better than he could have negotiated. In fact, he'd be ashamed to offer so little. Maybe he wasn't the only one who went a little crazy when Mindy wrinkled up her nose and wiggled her hips. "Look, Mindy. I don't want to fight with you. But you behaved irresponsibly going off and spending the ranch's money without my consent." He held up his hand to hold off her retort. "I heard what you said about me giving the orders. I did that as ranch foreman, not as co-owner. If you have a problem with me staying on as foreman, let me know. Who knows, your co-owner may go along with you if you want to fire me."
"You blew it, bud." She gave him a 'cat got the canary' grin.
"What?" This conversation was making him as dizzy as when he was a kid and spun himself around a hundred times to see what it felt like.
"You called me Mindy."
"I suppose we might as well be on a first name basis if we're going to be partners."
She froze. "We're not going to be partners. I'm selling as soon as I get a fair price."
"Whatever. We're not good at formality out here so, partners or not, I guess you're Mindy." Her name felt surprisingly good as he said it. He decided not to think about it.
"Now that that's settled, would you please take off your boots?" Mindy made the words an order rather than a question.
She'd been blocking his path for a good ten minutes so he figured he'd never get in if he didn't play along with her. He amused himself with the idea of Mindy trying to stop the hungry cowboys on their way to breakfast with silly rules about taking off their boots before getting fed. On the other hand, she might actually pull it off.
He could almost hear his bones creak as he leaned against the wall. A decade before when he'd been working the rodeo circuit, he'd generally found a sweet young thing to help remove his boots in the evening. Frequently, one thing had led to another. The mental picture of Mindy bending over his leg, of giving her trim bottom that little extra push to help her pull off his boot, was pleasing. It was also a picture Mindy had shown no interest in making real.
He had to get these absurd fantasies out of his mind. Whatever had happened the previous day in the truck, whoever had kissed whom, Mindy clearly had no intention of a repeat performance. Even if she had, he knew better than to get involved. Once he had the ranch in the black, producing the way he knew it could, maybe he'd consider finding himself a little female companionship. Until then, he'd go without. A woman like Mindy was the last thing he needed. He'd spent ten years trying to persuade Lucy not to throw her money away on crazy ideas she'd called investments. It looked like Mindy had inherited Lucy's spending habits.
While Mindy kicked his boots outside, Bret headed for the shower. He'd rescue them later. A decent pair of boots was too valuable to leave outside for coyotes to drag off. In the meantime, a stone-cold shower would do him more good than just about anything he could imagine. Except maybe--he cut off his errant thoughts.
****
Mindy stared at Bret's back as he headed for his room. As soon as he closed his door, she picked up one of the boots.
The dark leather still radiated the heat of the noonday sun even though darkness had fallen more than an hour before. Whatever Bret had been doing, he hadn't been hanging out in any air conditioned saloon. Above the line made by the hem of his jeans, the boot leather was supple and soft. Below, they were caked with mud and dust.
Even in Omaha, she had seen expensive pairs of boots made of exotic birds, lizards, and mammals. Bret's looked like simple cow leather. Not at all what she would expect someone like him to prefer.
Sharon cleared her throat as she stepped into the hallway. "Thinking of going into the shoe polishing business?"
Mindy dropped the boot as if it had suddenly scorched her fingers. "You can tell a lot about people from the clothes they wear."
"I'll bet. Dinner will be ready as soon as that man gets out here. You might want to freshen up."
"Oh." Mindy turned and ran to her own bathroom.
Sweat streaks running through the dust on her legs would have been bad enough, but the big smudge of white paint on the tip of her nose reminded her of a circus clown. Maybe Bret would take her more seriously if she looked less like his teenage kid sister and more like a responsible schoolteacher and woman.
She splashed warm water on her face and tried not to think about exactly what Bret might do if he ever did start thinking of her as a woman.
Washing her face only showed how filthy the rest of her had gotten. Why did it always seem that cleaning house left most of the dirt on her? After a quick shower, she dug through her duffel bag looking for something to wear. At nine in the evening, the temperature had finally dropped below ninety but it wouldn't fall much further during the night. She settled for a sundress, then returned to the dining room.
Bret looked up from the table, his gaze hitting her with an almost palpable force, sliding up and down her body, lingering on her legs, hips, and breasts, before locking on her eyes.
"You clean up nice."
Was that the first compliment he'd paid her? She decided she'd be better off settling for his insults. The way his eyes had rested on her breasts convinced her that the sundress had been a bad idea. She should go back to baggy T-shirts. Or maybe a burka.
"Whatever. I see you didn't wait for me."
"Oh.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair. “I figured you'd already eaten."
"Well I didn't. We've got to talk."
He sighed, reached for the pitcher and poured himself a glass of iced tea then poured her one too. "We have to talk. Now those are words every man dreads. Still, I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Shoot."
"You know I went into town."
He nodded. "Somehow I figured that out."
"While I was in the hardware store, I met a Mr. Andresson."
"I know Andresson." His voice told her nothing.
"He said that you are an idiot to try to make a go of this ranch. He said it would be worth a lot more if we sold it to him."
"And I'll bet he suggested spending some money fixing the place up, too."
"He seemed to think it would be a good idea."
Bret nodded. "That would figure. And just how did selling the ranch come up in conversation?"
She struggled to remember, but couldn't. The morning had been so full of meetings and negotiations that she found it hard to remember who had said what to whom. "I don't know, exactly. I was trying to decide whether to stick with white or to change the color into something a little more sunny when Mr. Andresson walked up and started talking."
Bret shuddered. "I suppose I should thank you for sticking with white."
Mindy felt herself blush. Darn, how did he keep doing this to her? "Actually, I decided on a robin's egg blue. Andresson thought it was pretty too. Mr. Murrey, who runs the hardware store, persuaded me that white would reflect the sun better and keep the house cooler." She didn't bother mentioning that Mr. Murrey had also told her that Bret might strangle her if she painted his house some girlie color. She didn't want Bret to get the idea she cared what he thought. Not that she did, of course.
"Robin's egg blue would have been unusual, all right. I don't know that it would have accentuated the value of the place, though."
"Mr. Andresson didn't seem to mind the idea."
"Why would he? If he gets his mitts on this place, he'll tear down the ranch house."
Now that sounded like a stretch. "I don't think so. He said that he would pay top dollar."
"When he starts talking like that, watch your wallet. The man is a snake."
"Really? He seemed nice to me." At least he hadn't looked at her like he was considering her for dessert the way Bret did.
Bret pushed back his chair and walked over to her. Whether intentionally or not, his body invaded her space, creating a sense of intimacy and danger that raced her pulse.
"I know I'm having trouble with the idea that we're partners. Until one of us sells, though, that's the way it is. And we need some rules. I was thinking that our fifty-fifty ownership gives each of us the right to veto the other. If we can't agree, then things stay the way they are now. And I won't agree to sell this place, no matter what offer Andresson puts on the table. What I will do, though, is suggest you count his money before you call it an offer. And make sure it's real. Then, whatever he offers, I'll match"
Bret sounded so sincere that she almost forgot that he had already stolen his half and then some. "Sure you will. Delivery when the cows come home. I've heard this story before."
"I don't think you have a lot of choice."
"Interesting that you put it that way. I also talked to Henry Longstreet."
"Let me guess. He sought you out at the hardware store too?"
"As a matter of fact, he did. He told me that I have a legal right to cash out my equity."
"It figures that Andresson would put him up to that. The surest way to make certain that both of us end up with nothing at all is to invite lawyers in."
Mindy took a deep breath. Bret might be angry all the time, but he hadn't gotten violent yet. "I'm going to lay it straight. I don't trust you. If I sold you my half of the ranch in exchange for some future promise, I don't think I'd ever see a cent. If Aunt Lucy had wanted to leave everything to her loverboy, she could have. Lord knows I wouldn't have complained. I don't know why, but, for whatever reason, she left half to me."
"I'm still trying to figure it out myself," he drawled. "At least we've got that in common."
She ignored his jibe. "Frankly, I can use the money. I've been a teacher at a private school. I'm good at it and I love it. When I went to college I had no idea what I wanted to be, so I majored in Business, unfortunately. If I want a permanent teaching job where I can make enough money to buy a new car and have more than a one-bedroom apartment, I've got to get my teaching credential. Aunt Lucy's money gives me a chance to do that."
Her explanation didn't seem to affect him one way or another. He just watched her, like he was waiting for her to make a salient point.
"I won't give up my inheritance, unexpected though it was, just so you can have a few extra bucks when you head down to Rio."
For a second, she thought she had said too much, that he actually would hit her. His hazel eyes darkened almost black. "You don't trust me?"
"Of course not."
"Well take a good look. I'm a thirty-three year old cowboy. That means two things. First, I haven't gotten shot for cheating at cards or stealing another man's wife. Second, I've earned enough trust to stay in this business. If I stole from people, I couldn't get credit and your Aunt Lucy wouldn't have had anything to give to you."
"My Aunt Lucy had over ten million dollars when she met you. Now you tell me that her entire estate is worth less than two hundred thousand. What am I supposed to think?"
"Frankly, I don't care what you think."
"That's pretty obvious." She paused, took a breath. Was he totally at fault here? She had to face the possibility that she'd been squabbling with him on purpose. That she was actually enjoying the repartee. "Maybe if you treated me with a little respect, we could make some progress around here."
He gave her a funny look. "Coming from you, that's a joke. When, exactly, have you shown anyone else some respect?"
He stood so close that Mindy could feel his breath as he talked. She felt almost drowned in his scent of soap, leather, and man. But, though his body stood only inches from hers, she could no more reach out and bridge the distance than she could touch the moon.
"Bret, if you'd give me--"
"I've already offered more than your half of this ranch is worth. Sharon tells me you went into my office today. Fine. Go back in tomorrow. Spend as long as you want. Run the spreadsheets. It's all there. Take a look at the check stubs and, when you're done, call the bank and make sure that I didn't fake any of the expenses." He turned on his heel.
She felt a burning in her eyes and knew that she'd cry in a moment, although she couldn't tell why. She had been honest with him, let him know her concerns. After all, she'd been shafted by people who looked a lot more honest than Bret Sanders. If he couldn't understand that she needed some assurance beyond his word, he had spent too much time in the hot Texas sun.
"Good night," she told his retreating back.
Possibly the muscles in his back tightened slightly. She blinked away the blurring in her eyes and watched him walk. The way his jeans hugged his buns like a second skin sent a fluttery flicker deep in her abdomen.
****
Mindy struggled out of bed late the next morning, the roar of ATV's finally dragging her from a too-short sleep. Not that she hadn't gotten to bed early enough. She'd spent hours staring into the dark room and doing her best to ignore the way Bret's presence permeated the entire house.
Should she try to seduce him? Maybe she could get her hormones out of the way and move on with her life. She'd come up with the idea about two in the morning and had actually gotten out of bed and pawed through her bag looking for a sexy nightgown before she'd thought better of it. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Bret had to be used to women throwing themselves at him.
Thinking of the hundreds of women who had probably tried to seduce him over the years hadn't helped her sleep at all. Especially since most of them had probably succeeded. Then again, they’d had money. She’d come out and admitted she was broke, lived in a one-bedroom apartment. How pathetic was that?
She showered, dressed, and stumbled toward the kitchen for coffee.
"Eat quickly and I'll show you how to find the numbers. I've got a lot to get done today and I'm already late," Bret called to her from his office.
She stopped and peered through the doorway at him. Bret's muscular build and dark tan looked totally out of place in his darkened office. Still, his fingers moved over the computer keyboard like he knew what he was doing.
"You don't have to wait. I've been around computers before."
Bret sighed. "Maybe someday I'll say something and you'll just say yes."
Trust Bret to find a way to put a negative spin on everything she said. She'd only been trying to save him trouble. "I'll be back." She headed into the kitchen looking for Sharon.
"Coffee's on the stove. There's still some eggs on the table," Sharon told her. The woman was up to her elbows in dirty dishes and didn't look ready to pitch in and make anything special.
Mindy decided that dirtying a bunch of pots and pans and trying to make herself something healthy wouldn't earn her any brownie points with Sharon, even if she did the dishes herself.
She poured herself a cup of the strongest coffee she'd ever suffered through and forced down a few bites of eggs and bacon. Pure cholesterol. She'd have to start a regular exercise program if she kept eating like this. And she certainly hadn't seen a health club in town.
It didn't take her more than ten minutes to eat, rinse off her dishes and return to Bret's office.
While she waited for Bret to return from wherever he had gone, she looked around. Ledger books, each neatly labeled with a month and year, lined the top shelf. Books on livestock management, government regulation of ranches, animal husbandry, and financial management filled the remainder of the shelves.
Bret stepped back from somewhere carrying a box of floppy disks. Suddenly the furnishings became a lot less interesting.
"Thanks for hurrying," he said.
She looked at him sharply.
Was he being sarcastic again? "You're welcome," she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
"The books list our receipts and expenditures. Which reminds me, I need the receipts for your paint. The actual balances are all on these floppies."
He handed her the box which held, she saw, the old kind of big soft diskettes that no one used any more.
"Thanks." She pulled out the oldest of the ledger books and flipped through it. She'd spend the time for a complete study later. Right now, she wanted to get a feel for the expenses and revenues so she could see how things had changed after her aunt got sick and lost control of the day to day management.
To her surprise, her aunt's handwriting was almost totally absent even from the oldest book. A strong, masculine but easily readable hand laid out the figures, sometimes with amusing or informative annotations.
"Do you want me to show you the accounting program? It's a little tricky at first."
"Sure."
He twisted the monitor around so she could see it and handed her the keyboard. Big blocky letters crossed the screen.
Mindy glanced around. "Where's the mouse?"
"Ummm ... your cat probably took care of it?"
"I meant a computer mouse."
"I was joking. I don't use a mouse."
"Oh. I've never worked on such an old computer."
"It does the job."
Bret had to be hoarding money. He hadn't spent anything on the ranch house, he didn't buy fancy boots or cars, and he didn't seem to have acquired normal man-toys like computers and expensive stereos.
"All right," she said.
He stood behind her. Putting his arms on either side of her body, he typed a few commands into the computer.
Stay calm, she ordered herself. His nearness, the sensation of his strong arms brushing against her shoulders made staying calm impossible.
"What were you saying?" She'd somehow lost track of his words, just as he launched into his instructions.
"Just load the floppy with the year you want to look at."
Quickly he brought up the year corresponding to the ledger book she'd been looking at.
He showed her how to use the arrow keys to move around the screen. Once she got used to the green and black monitor, she didn't believe she'd have any problems.
"You think you have it?" Bret asked.
She almost asked him to explain again, just so she could hear his voice, feel his breath in her ear, and enjoy the touch of his arms against her own. "I can handle it."
"I'll be back late this evening, but if you need something, Sharon may be able to track me down on the radio."
"Fine."
He nodded, grabbed his hat, and headed outside looking for all the world as if he'd been granted a reprieve from prison. Was he fleeing the paperwork? Or her?
She turned back to the finances.
The ledgers were remarkably complete. Bret had attached copies of all of the checks the ranch had paid, or received, his signature boldly scrawled across the bottom of both the paid checks and the deposit slips for incoming revenue.
Everything appeared to be in order just as Bret had indicated. If anything, he was underpaying himself. Even Mindy knew that a ranch foreman would earn more than the average hand, yet Bret got less. The ranch had made comfortable profits through the first eight years that Bret had managed it. Frustratingly, she couldn't tell what had happened next. Neither the ledgers nor diskettes for the past year were in their place.
She searched through the cubbyholes in the old desk, but found no more floppies. She attempted to search the hard disk but found that the ancient computer didn't even have one. This clunker had been old when she'd visited the ranch a decade earlier.
Clearly Bret had to have deliberately neglected to provide her with the most current, and most critical, information. Now that was interesting.
Mindy pushed herself away from the desk and turned off the computer. Bret had invited her to look at the finances, then managed to ensure that she couldn't. Maybe he thought she'd lose patience before getting to the newest reports, the reports that showed what had happened after her aunt got too sick to supervise him. If so, he had a surprise coming.
One thing for sure. His jeans had been too tight to hide any of those huge floppy disks. Unless he'd taken them out earlier, they had to be somewhere in the house.
Mindy stepped into the hall. Banging noises from the kitchen told her Sharon was fully occupied. Which meant she was on her own.
Mindy reached for Bret's door.
A shiny brass deadbolt held his door shut. She rattled the door anyway, hoping that he might have forgotten to lock it that morning. No such luck. Why would anyone put that kind of lock on an interior door?